Hello. My name is Idris. After a fair amount of yapping, I’ve finally been given the chance to put my paws to keyboard and have my say about the countryside. Particularly the countryside through the eyes of a dog. I hope you like it *wags tail in anticipation of love*
So what can a dog talk about, I hear you bark? Well, I may only be seven months old but I know a fair bit already: such as what is the best way for you humans to approach strange dogs on a walk; or how do you stop me jumping up at young kids (it’s only cos I want to say hello! – but maybe you’d prefer to be all British and sober about greeting…); or what you should consider before getting a dog; or how to train your new dog etc etc woof woof.
And I’ve got opinions too – such as why do you humans neglect so many of your precious footpaths? And why do some naughty people block them? And what about those bags of poo that some humans leave in trees? I’ve got plenty to say about that, I can tell you!
But hey, that’s enough about you. What about me? I’m a loveable lurcher. My pack, who I call my followers though you might know one of them as THE EDITOR, wanted a country dog. But as black and brown Labradors are all the rage in this bit of Monmouthshire, they naturally went for somebody a bit more special. Me!
So what’s a lurcher? Well, I’m a cross between a working dog, such as a collie, and what is called a ‘sight dog’ – a greyhound or a whippet. So I’m clever and fast. Why did people breed lurchers? There might be a clue in the name. In old Romany, ‘lur’ means ‘thief’ – while ‘cur’ or ‘chur’ means mixed breed. Not very appetizing when you look at it like that. I’m the descendant of poachers’ dogs, bred to sneak around, chase things and not get caught.
I prefer to think of lurchers as rebels. I heard my gruff follower say he’d like me to catch squirrels and the rats in the chicken run. I couldn’t tell if he was joking so I brought him a robin and a vole. Neither were harmed, I might add. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
Still, I did watch the follower spend a day making cheese. I knew he was making it for me because he kept telling me to go out of the kitchen. It was my big surprise. And after all that effort, he left it on the kitchen surface while putting little follower to bed. So I jumped up and ate it. I couldn’t understand why he shouted at me when he came down. *tail between legs* They’re so inconsistent these followers. Still, a nice bit of lurching, if I do say so myself!
So do share my words of wisdom to your friends and I’ll be back next week with something equally profound (or pro-hound, as I like to think).
Love and woofs
And if you liked my first effort, here’s part two where I moan about why some footpaths aren’t dog friendly