In the inimitable styles of Bill Bailey and Jack Dee; as the tides of hopeful bargain hunters wash up against the sea wall of the Argos book of laminated dreams, 2023 draws to a close. And with another year of doom and destruction looming into view through the fog of war, we have dipped our toes into the murky waters of the dark side; and gone ‘full cat’. Sure, we’ve chaperoned the odd furry feline in our pet-sitting career, but always in the company of their canine cousins. And so, we came to Chagford on Dartmoor, for the second time after a brief fact-finding sojourn to meet our charges and their owner. Now, I may not be the sharpest tool in the box but the task of trying to remember who was who defeated me for a while and was initially left to my wife. Two lovely cats, brother and sister, both black and white with very similar markings and with androgynous names - Freddie and Frankie. Luckily it soon became much easier as Freddie became the much more vocal one. He certainly knew when breakfast and dinner was due ! That said, cats are easy 😄 Feeding, watering and lots of play and cuddles and all was well. Such a pity that they are total rubbish at going for walks. Over the course of a very wet and windy stay we ventured out across hill and dale several times although F ‘n F chose to go just as far as the front gate. Well, who can blame them ? Dartmoor in winter is, basically, like a giant, water-soaked sponge you’ve had in the fridge overnight. We had hoped for ‘deep and crisp and even’ but what we got was wet and windy and wellington boots. Chagford, an old stannery town, long ago traded its extraction of base metals for cheese mining, with the spoils of hard labour on display in the delightful Fat Mouse dairy. Stinking Bishop sir ? A nice bit of Tilset perhaps ? Or just a hunk of Cheddar ? The temptation to play John Cleese in the infamous Monty Python sketch was almost irresistible. But that shop typifies this pretty, lively, if not a little touristy village with everything you need. Five ( and one half) cafes, four pubs, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers - they are all here. Just don’t even try to catch a bus anywhere (and expect to come back again). Trips to Bovey Tracey and Moretonhamstead uncovered a pair of interesting small towns ( the Cheese Shed in BT is a must - is there a theme developing here ?) and we can heartily recommend the Cleave Inn at Lustleigh. Our host’s home was lovely; comfortable, easy to clean and in a great location. Walks abound with picturesque routes along the River Teign, up into the surrounding hills, or further afield onto the heights of Dartmoor. We’ve grown really fond of this lofty, granite plateau over several tours - I just hope these ageing legs want to continue exploring. A diverted walk, courtesy of an uncrossable River Reign, took us through the beautiful grounds of the Gidleigh Park Hotel. And here we met Isaac - a lovely ginger tom that insisted in following us for the next mile. Worried that we were taking him far from home (and unable to take him back with us - Frankie and Freddie would not have been best pleased methinks) a chance encounter with a dog walker explained that Isaac's 'patch' was wide and often found himself driven back by car to his Chagford home ! So, if you see him roaming around don't worry - he knows his way home. 2023 has been our busiest year pet sitting yet, and with a greater proportion of ‘repeats’ than ever. The coming year is already in the planning stage with three encounters booked. That said we would love to get across the Channel again, after all the difficulties presented by the pandemic, brexit and the stupid ‘5 application rule’ inexplicably imposed by THS; unpopular with owners and sitters alike. And, perhaps, a re-jig of the way in which our ‘adventures’ are recorded. Given our all too frequent encounters with every type of awful weather, it might be best to arrange our trips by storm name, rather than month ! So, this time it’s storm Gerrit that has rather curtailed our exploits 💦 Next stop - back to Dartmoor with Buck, Logan and Hobbes in February. . . Brrrrrrrr 🥶
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Not a million miles from home this time amidst the three Bs south of Glastonbury - Baltonsborough, Butleigh and Barton St David, staying in a labyrinthine cottage of listed loveliness in walking distance of the local. What more could one need ? Nevertheless new routes were discovered, several beers enjoyed and yummy cakes dispatched courtesy of our hosts (sorry; we ate them all). And, talking of labyrinths, rather than fear the footsteps of the Minotaur, we shared this country retreat with something far, far worse - the dreaded Lickosauraus ! AKA Skye - a one year old bundle of the most affectionate Golden Labrador one could imagine. Golly, such has been the tongue lashing I’ve endured over the week that I’m sure I’ve lost a collar size with the amount of epidermis that’s been worn away. We had a ball together discovering all of the paths and bridleways in and out of the local village and further beyond to the delights of the Cheddar Reservoir, the hills at Dundon and one of the nicest walks we’ve found in Somerset at Batcombe (does everywhere near here start with a B ?). Cheddar was easy - whilst the wife languished in the dentist’s chair I was let loose with the beast to circumnavigate this huge lake - a glorious circular puddle nestled against the backdrop of the brooding Mendip hills. No map needed for this one and Skye quickly discovered a liking for walking atop the low retaining wall most of the 2.5 mile way around. Batcombe was special, starting from a village whose honey-stone houses all seemed to be an outpost of the landed gentry (where do the peasants live ?) around primeval ponds, through woods, over hills and along rivers. Lovely. We had intended to lunch at the much lauded Three Horseshoes on our return but fell foul of the Westcombe Dairy a mile before the end. Here we sampled generous offerings of their cheese and charcuterie platters, washed down with local apple juice. A must visit location indeed ! Trouble is we may have given Skye an expensive appetite for Serrano ham . . . And the Dundon hills, despite their mere 100m elevation, provide some of the most jaw-dropping views across Somerset - all the way to Exmoor, the Quantocks, Glastonbury Tor and the Dorset borders. With woodlands and wide open meadows this was heaven for the hound who just adores hurtling across turfy grassland. The local routes were nice too - especially the way through fields and orchards to a wonderful little honesty-box type farm shop on the outskirts of Butleigh where we stocked up on more than one occasion. Sourdown Farm also hold the occasional ‘pop-up’ bar and coffee morning. Residents included the goats, chickens and a pair of rheas; in marital disharmony apparently . . . In the middle of our stay we took Skye to her regular puppy training centre which she (and her bestie Tara) just adore. Might be because of the treats they receive mind you. Strange how their obedience is far more focused at the centre than it is elsewhere ! In fact we met up with Tara (see our previous adventures) a couple of times over the ten days which gave the pooches the opportunity to create mayhem in their respective homes - chasing, tumbling, and tugging all over the shop. Crikey, the gardens looked like bomb sites afterwards what with the scattered remnants of once intact toys grabbed from their box by enthusiastic jaws. And then it was over - time to go and more heart strings broken. We so miss Skye already and it’s only been a day. Hopefully her proximity might mean we meet again . . . . Yaaayyy - we’re back on the western edge of Dartmoor again for a reunion with Buck, Logan, Hobbes and a few new characters - five hens (all called Gertrude as I failed to tell them apart and veritable machines when it comes to egg production) and two more ponies, bringing the total to four. It’s a stunning location, just a stone’s throw from the tumbling, twisting river Walkham before it bubbles and boils into the Tavy just a mile downstream, and surrounded by wooded hills, bracken covered moors and the odd agricultural field. A mile or two east and you are climbing up towards the High Moors and, of course, the lovely town of Tavistock is a quick hop on the bus away, or a decent walk with the pooches or along the Drakes Trail by cycle ( t’other way goes all the way to Plymouth). The dogs are such characters, and just love attention. Buck’s always so keen to get involved, chasing sticks, having a bit of rough and tumble with his bestie or insisting on the occasional tummy rub. Logan, the deeply thoughtful one, gives as good as he gets and just adores any opportunity for a leisurely swim. If Buck is the moustachioed Victorian bounder, then Logan is that chap in a stripey swimming costume stepping out of one of those seaside rolling beach huts. And, being labradors, food sometimes appears in the equation. Well, all the time really ! With just a week's stay we didn’t venture quite as far afield this time but still fitted in a few decent walks over several hours every day. The mercurial weather didn’t matter at all - wherever we went and whatever we did it was great to breath in great lungfuls of Devon air. That said we took regular walks around the ‘hood’ , up on the moors past Princetown and Two Bridges, along the Dart valley, over to Sampford Spiney and Pew Tor and, via the Drakes Trail, to Horrabridge (great little bakery) and Yelverton (another great bakery near the vets with the most amazing cakes). Everywhere had something different to offer - boggy moorland, views from atop the tors, wooded tracks and valleys, riverside adventures and springy, turf covered hills. Now, is there a shop that supplies new knees ? The hens were a hoot - quick to realise who had the corn they followed you everywhere and, like children, needed no bidding to go to bed without fuss. Yeah, right. T’was a daily routine for Buck and I to let them out in the morning and gather the eggs (Buck always hoping I’d drop one of course which he could immediately rescue, ahem). Hobbes was, well, Hobbes and did cat stuff with aplomb. Very handsome, very cuddly and clearly superior to the hounds who know who's boss ! The ponies have a lovely life and are quite happy for a little nuzzle but beware - like Gremlins that get devilish when wet, the ponies have the same reaction to carrots. Just don’t try and feed one without the others 😈 The week’s end came all too quickly and we were re-united with Julian, Clare, Ben, Grace and Daisy. Our departure followed all of us watching Englands defeat to Spain in the FIFA world cup after a pancake and smoothie breakfast. We do miss the boys - this pet sitting mullarkey is tough. Like an expectant mum browsing the shelves of Mothercare (do we still have Mothercare ?), we often find ourselves mooching around supermarket pet shelves. Perhaps it’s high time we nab a pooch or two for ourselves . . . After a long, long journey the length of England we arrived in the Scottish Borders, a few miles NE of Kelso. Despite our fears, our route through the wilds of Northumbria was not punctured by any remaining bands of freedom fighters, still squabbling over the rightful placement of the national boundary. Nay, not even by a roving highwayman astride his fearsome steed and armed to the teeth with pistols and cudgel. Our destination appeared, after a couple of wrong turnings, as yet another country pile - this time a beautiful Torridon stone farmhouse, so sturdy and sober it may well have simply grown from the very ground on which it sits, stolid and so, so permanent. The house; a maze of beautifully proportioned rooms such that we almost needed a map just to find our way around them. And then there were the gardens - acres of lawns, shrubs, hedges, orchards, veggies and lake with incomparable views in all directions. A horticultural infinity pool amidst a sea of varied green. The sultry moon rising over the Cheviot like a great glob of lava, erupted from those ancient hills fifteen miles to the south (we waved to England and the end of the Pennines) underlined the sense of solitude here. Silence so complete it’s like being wrapped in a gigantic, cuddly duvet. All to be heard is the birdsong and the breeze that carries it. Bella and Slipper are a cuddly couple, albeit one several times the size of the other. Bella an incredibly affectionate black labrador and Slipper (escapologist, ball stealer and rabbit worrier par excellence), a feisty little Norfolk terrier. Our first challenge was to figure out where to go for walkies. And here’s the thing - Scotland has a ‘right to roam’ which is both a good, and a bad, thing. The good bit is that one is free to go almost anywhere that is not strictly private land. However, that means there are few marked paths and routes, either on the ground, or depicted on maps. So, without local knowledge, planning a route means you risk not being able to follow it accurately. And often that means simply tramping around field edges or trying to traverse the wilds, often covered in dense vegetation making progress very difficult. If, like us, you enjoy walking try and undertake some preliminary research beforehand lest you end up frustrated by impassable woods, bocage or heavily ploughed fields. It was a car ride to gather comestibles, otherwise we would have been subsisting on eggs from the resident hens and bantams. Both Greenlaw and Duns are several miles distant. The former sports a butchers, pub and small convenience store, whilst Duns is a lovely small town with shops, petrol station, cafes and other facilities (nice tennis courts and park) including an enormous school and stunning castle and grounds - in themselves good for a few miles of perambulation. All said and done then, apart from daily saunters around the house and farm, we usually whisked the hounds off in the car to do some exploring - on the Lammermuir Hills, along the Tweed ( Scotland’s fourth longest river), out on the coast twixt Berwick and St Abbs and elsewhere. All under big, big skies and through every shade of green one could imagine. For anyone fortunate enough to follow in our footsteps at this location, here are a few suggestions for walks . . . Across the fields (exit from lower garden gate) to Fogo. Make sure to take the path down the side of Fogo kirk to the river Whiteadder bankside. Lovely picnic spot. Then cross the footbridge and bear left to return just west of Fogo and back to the house. Just short of four miles around. Going west, take the track immediately across the road from the farm entrance. Continue all the way along this lovely track ( great views of the Cheviots) to the minor road and turn right up to the junction with the B road. Turn left and after a couple of hundred metres take a track into the woods. Carry on for about 350m and turn right onto a wide, grassy track. All the way along to a T junnction, turn left and keep following the path as it curves right through the woods. When you reach the B road, turn left and after a few hundred metres, turn right along the road back to the farm. You can also use the same starting track as a way to walk around the old airfield. St Abbs. A stunning piece of headland adjoining a marine conservation area. Start from the little harbour either going south along the coast path to Eyemouth (you can shorten the walk by turning uphill at the sands to Coldingham) or, better still, walk up to the St Abbs nature reserve and around the marked paths - just beautiful. And don’t forget to drop into the Ebb cafe in the harbour for a lovely lunch. Up into the Lammermuir Hills - more barren uplands but lungfuls of fresh air. We centred our walk on the reservoir and up around the surrounding hills via waymarked tracks. Duns and the castle. Duns has all the services you need (great butchers) and a castle. The castle is mostly private but you can walk for several miles around the grounds and up to the hill on the east side for great views over the town and beyond. Melrose and the Eildon Hills. Melrose is a very pretty little town and very ‘cafe society’. You won’t be short of options for coffee and cake. We walked up into the hills via the St Cuthberts Way path (steep !) - fantastic views from the top, over to Galashiels, and just about every other direction. Beware - some of the slopes are steep and covered in loose scree which makes for slippy, slidey progress. The castle at Norham (free entry !). Well worth a look in its own right and, after that, trot down to the banks of the Tweed and follow upstream, back past the back of the village for about three kilometres. Then turn left, away from the river where it starts to braid and bend, through some woods for another kilometre then left again over fields into Norham again. Two weeks flashed by, again, and we do hope to return. The Borders has captured our hearts with its huge skies, rolling countryside, superb roads ( just the job for cyclists), gorgeous coastline, and solid little towns and villages. Kelso was our favourite town (see the cobbled market square, old abbey and the Cobbers Walk) and we never met a less than friendly soul. We are now scouring estate agent listings . . . . who knows ? East and West Hendred are a pair of disarmingly lovely villages, albeit with a dark and mystical secret. So secret I cannot divulge more without incurring the wrath of the local Guardians - the infamous Hendred Owls. These, seemingly static, creatures ring East Hendred with their wooden gaze, protecting the homes and hearths of the village population. They may seem harmless enough during the day but beware nightfall . . . So it was with some relief we had experienced guides to lead us safely through the landscape; Ronnie and Gladys, aka Bonnie and Clyde. Like their alter egos, these two rascals led us a merry dance up and down dale, through streams, under woods, over hills and through labyrinths of tiny lanes and tracks. Gladys (Bonnie) is most assuredly the mischievous ringleader - eager to dash off into the unknown in the eternal hope of cornering a squirrel. Ronnie plays the muscle, cleverly hanging back until his services are required. Well, this was our second time with R and G and we lasted several hours before losing our first sock to the ravages of canine teeth ! These two have character to spare and use their unavoidable charms to 'encourage' us on walks, to fetch grub, or deliver cuddles. How can we resist the appeal of Gladys greeting us in the morning with sandal in her maw ? A subtle hint methinks . . . We thought we had covered most of the local tracks on our last visit but, to our delight and wonder, discovered a handful of new routes and, especially, the wonders of the woods. Christopher, Ardington and Sawdust Woods were all planted 30 years hence and are a beguiling square mile of the most gorgeous mixed arborea. To our amazement we came across a large open space featuring a model of the solar system and a series of stones to mark the passage of the sun, a la Stonehenge, complete with instructions ! And finishing up with a swift half at the Boars Head in Ardington made a couple of hours weaving back and forth through this forested maze even more of an event. One to be repeated we hope. Beyond the local villages highlights included the DISH at the Harwell Research Campus - a collection of pop-up fooderies serving up street food from several countries. And when we went on a Saturday afternoon, the delights of a little classic car show. Gosh, those MGBs and Triumphs took us back to our misspent youth. It amazes me that back in the day you could actually access an engine. Today I'm lucky if I can top the windscreen washer up without having to remove the entire contraption. Other jaunts included the Wilts and Berks Canal (being very slowly restored), overland to Wantage and a bus back with the pooches, and through Ginge to the Ridgeway and back down around the gallops. In the mornings and evenings local wanders were the order of the day - to admire the village allotments (we do miss ours so much), running the gauntlet of the mad horsewoman of the apocalypse (she does not like dogs anywhere near her steed) and the perils of Black Cow Gate. Bobby is not a bovine enthusiast and we had to turn around en-route to Steventon as our path was blocked by a herd of rambunctious bullocks. Oddly, we've never actually met Ronnie and Glady's family - arrival and departure times have never quite synchronised. But they were generous to a fault having pre-booked a brace of the best pizzas we've tasted for some time (the neighbour runs a wood-fired pizza company) along with a bottle of bubbly ! Oooh, I could do that again. And that's not including several of the owner's indulgent brownies (see the JollyGoodBrownies company for mail order). It was with much sadness we had to say goodbye - we've learned not to prolong departures lest the hound's long faces keep us rooted in place. Moist eyes in the car home then and an hour poring through our photos whilst devouring a late dinner near Cheddar on the way home to Somerset. Hope we see you again R and G - in any case you owe us a sock ! It’s barely been a month since we were last in Edington to care for, not so little anymore, Tara. Now eight months old she has become larger, stronger and even more curious. Attendance at weekly dog training class is working well and she is obviously picking up new skills and enjoying life at the same time. And I’ve time to write this as she gives a beef short rib bone some serious attention ( golly, it’s kept her occupied for well over an hour after a long trot this morning). We’ve lived just a few miles away for more than twenty years now - it was supposed to be a two year, re-join the home ownership crowd but, well, dreadful inertia just took over. So it seems curious that here, just a few miles away, we are discovering a new network of tracks and paths in and around the Somerset Moors and the Polden Hills - rising to a mighty 98m - oxygen masks advised. Yet the views are fantastic as so much of the surrounding countryside is only a little higher than sea level. A local wag has produced a very popular, and quite detailed, map of the whole area showing the sea having risen just 10m ! It’s amazing how much of the land could easily be submarine; at least our home won’t be washed away, even though it would be on a tiny island standing proud of the ‘Cyder Sea’. It’s early May and spring has sprung in an almighty flourish. I should think so too with all the rain we’ve had lately. The grass stands tall and billows in the breeze, dotted with jewel like daisies, buttercups, cowslips, dandelions and a variety of less pervasive plant life. Still a way to go though before we start to see a return of the older, traditional wildflowers so rare in our rural landscapes these days. Tara just adores the long grass - diving in as if plunging into a deep pool, vanishing from sight until a black nose surfaces for air. This is the time for her ‘zoomies’ ( a phrase coined by her trainer to describe a puppy’s mad five minutes of going hell for leather in all directions, often simultaneously). For a black labrador it’s strange that she’s not fond of water (perhaps not yet anyway) - leaping over puddles like a spring lamb in vertical take-off mode. However, one morning, armed only with a pair of wellies, I waded into a stream when Tara followed, albeit in a state of some trepidation. Understandable I suppose as the raging torrent must have been 5” deep at least. After which a very smug labrador regained dry land and proceeded to not only bound about with ecstatic fervour, but braved the stream several times again, on her own, whilst on the return leg homewards. For us the week will was over all too soon, but we may return for conversational French sessions in the village hall or, if not, for the Wednesday travelling pizza van and of course, J’s cafe in nearby Chilton Polden. Being so close to home (we rarely undertake ‘sits’ so nearby) we hope to see much more of Tara. We’ve already enjoyed a couple of ad hoc walks alongside her owners and are sure there will be more to come. Time to stop now though as it does get a bit difficult to type with a young hound draped around your neck, scarf like, whilst perched on an armchair backrest ( a favoured spot apparently). Still, at least with a bone in her jaws it provides much less opportunity for a good face licking . . . Next stop - back to Oxfordshire with Gladys and Ronnie ! A back to back sit with our previous jaunt last week to Chedworth - this time just a few miles up the road from our home to look after Tara, a 6 month old black lab. Sits so close to home are not usually something we do (after all, we know the locality already) but this was for a friend. How could we resist ? And so it came to be - the second week of living in our wellies doing our best to keep a tangle of teeth and legs absorbed ! She was an adorable, squirming bundle of curiosity that clearly loved to learn. A trip to a local puppy training centre was an obvious favourite for her ( nothing to do with the numerous, tasty, rewards she received of course) and she quickly picked up a few new commands. Even though we lived nearby, we still managed to discover several new routes and hidden pathways and learned a bit more history of the Polden villages. The Polden Ridge is a line of low hills stretching across and between the Somerset Levels and Moors. Although less than 100m high the views across the landscape is far reaching - to the Mendips and Wales to the north and west and towards Exmoor and the Quantocks to the south. Easy and very peaceful cycling country for those inclined ! March had clearly been a very wet month - much of the ground was sodden with oodles of mud on the country paths. Getting grip twixt wellies and mud wasn’t a problem - the difficulty arose when whole layers of mud just slid over each other. Two steps forward, one step back - oh to have the benefits of four leg drive. That said, our Lady Tara was not one inclined to wet paws, oh no - like a spring lamb (she had plenty nearby to learn from) she employed the simultaneous four leg bounce to cross streams and puddles wherever she could. Hilarious. Of course we were forced to sample the delights of local emporia and, at least for now, the Polden villages are hanging on to several pubs and cafes, unlike many that have closed their doors around and about. So many villages here now that have lost their inns, post offices and little shops. But particular mention must go to J’s cafe in Chilton Polden ( look for West House on the western edge of the village) for its great coffee, cakes and snacks. It’s a popular stop for walkers and cyclists. Also the farm shop at Chedzoy by the bridge over the Kings Sedgemoor Drain (the looks give lie to the name). The week flew by, and we and Tara become closely accustomed to one another. So much so that we will be back again in a month’s time for round two !
Yes, here we are again in the wild west frontier village of Chedworth in the delightful Cotswolds; home to those fugitives from justice Billy (the Whizz) and his sidekick, Ollie. It’s late March, the daffodils are rampant, the buds about to burst and the streams and bournes in full post-winter vigour. Just a mile or two away from the A roads and better known villages and there is so much beautiful country to explore. A year has passed since we last had this pair of varmints in custody but the status quo remains. Billy as eager, vocal and affectionate as ever, Ollie, as his senior, a little more restrained as befits his rather smaller stature. That said the pair could still walk the legs off us ! The setting here is just fantastic, with a selection of great walks starting from the doorstep - along river valleys, open grassland, woods, agricultural fields and up and down the, surprisingly tiring Cotswold hills. Good job the Seven Tuns at the head of the village offers great vittles and a decent swig of rye ! But be warned - pub snacks are not your usual 'cheesy chips'. Oh no, these are truffle infused fries, dusted with parmesan - bloody lovely with a pint of Norton's finest. And, if you have the good fortune to step into our temporary shoes, the included tennis court provides plenty of larks, especially playing in wellies - Alcaraz, eat your shorts. The icing on this cake is the inclusive benefit of having a ball-dog ! Much faster than the human equivalent but, alas, with one minor drawback - we don’t always get Slazenger’s finest back, or if we do they tend to be coated with a thin dressing of saliva. Pigeons at Wimbledon ? Try serving with a pooch the other side of the net in pounce mode. A week was much too short - so many more places to explore. This time we just started and finished from the house but throw the pooches in the boot and many more miles of glorious walking opens up - through woods, across hills and valleys and along beautiful rivers. One can see why that Clarkson chappie likes it here. Now, who will create a public transport network to service these few stops (especially as I am now the proud owner of a lightly used bus pass) ? This title may be a little misleading as it paints no picture of the constitutions of Amber and Mabel; a brace of adorable Hungarian Vizslas. Rather, it refers to the old Disney film and the scene with the two Siamese cats. Like those felines, this mother and daughter duo were clearly up for mischief and adored hurtling around the open vistas of the Salisbury Plain. Mother and daughter - they were clearly well accustomed to coursing the ground as a team. If ever there was a synergy twixt dogs and their surroundings, this is it. The Plain offered wonderful walking under big, big skies, across grassland, heath and pastures free from the ravages of intensive farming. Being the military’s playground our walks were, more often than not, accompanied by the distant cracks and thumps of ordnance being let loose. In these times as a result of training Ukranian soldiers. Unperturbed, Mabel and Amber led us for miles around their vast playground - chasing hares, scaring pheasants, skylarks and generally covering ground at an astonishing rate (normal for Vizslas - ed.). Luckily no wildlife was harmed although we did have to wrestle the odd piece of long-expired manky rodent from the hounds’ jaws. We enjoyed some really mixed weather, from balmy 15 degree sunny days to below zero snow. The latter provided some of those almost surreal moments on top of the Plain in quiet, white solitude. This time, as there were such good walks locally, we didn’t venture that far afield but plotted 6-10 mile tramps from our doorstep or just a handful of miles away. On our adventures we came across numerous red kites, muntjac deer, hares, rabbits, voles and a short-eared owl coursing the ground in the late afternoon. Not to mention a variety of bullets, grenades, flares and the odd fashion item. Never did see a great bustard though England's heaviest flying bird. Especial thanks must go to our generous hosts who took us out for dinner on arrival at the local Swan Inn; a venue we returned to several days later for their ‘burger night’ . Not only did we have two of the best burgers we’ve eaten for some time, but were also presented with a third mystery variant! Washed down with g and t for the wife and ( this was a first) a flight of ales to accompany the burgers ! I can heartily recommend the Old Bustard. All too soon our week was up and a clamorous welcome home awaited Amber and Mabel's owners, accompanied by Mabel's little brother, Claud; another lovely Vizsla but the smallest of the litter and less likely to be able to keep up with the pace and adventure of the others. So Claud had spent the week in the care of another family member instead. The home was lovely, in a beautiful setting on the banks of the Hampshire Avon. The resident hens survived our care and rewarded us with three eggs during a very cold snap and the next door rookery presented us with their raucous morning and evening calls - sometimes it can still feel all is well in the world . . .
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'23 Adventures
January 2024
photosby Bobby ! |