Monthly Archives: February 2019

Doggy

RIP Pedro

It’s been a difficult winter as several of our good friends have crested the distribution curve for life expectancy and done what we will all do eventually — because of this it hasn’t seemed right to talk about the passing of our dog.


However Pedro was such a special individual he deserves his canine eulogy

Much of his early life is documented in my book Iolo’s Revenge where he looks out from the fly leaf to engage the potential reader just as, in life, he engaged everyone he met –he had extraordinary social skills with eloquently persuasive non-verbal powers — and verbal understanding.

“Not in front of the dog!” my husband would say as we discussed the possibilities of an outing , ” We don’t want to disappoint him.”

It was probably his idea anyway.

He had a way of fixing you with his stare and then glancing at the object of his desire (whole systems of psychoanalysis have been based in this method of communication). His glance would lead you to the path to the woods; his ball on the shelf; my crook when he wanted to look at the lambs; Wellies when he wanted to go to the stream or the beach (he loved the beach) — he knew exactly how to introduce the thought that he wanted into my head: feed the sheep; collect the eggs; walk the dog and don’t forget we are taking next-door’s dog today; it’s six o’clock (I know it is, I’ll feed you in a minute!)

Come on — time to set off!

The thing about dogs is that they communicate on an emotional level, with irresistible sadness when they don’t get their own way and uncontainable joy when they do — and joy is catching. A walk in the woods or a romp in the snow with a happy dog can elevate the meanest mood!

Retrieving a stolen ball on the Gower

Pedro was a family dog:

New Granddog

Good with sheep:

And lambs (he loved baby creatures — he’d bring them in and ask if he could keep them):

Not so good with cats

Protecting Boss from pesky cat (demonstrating sophisticated emotion) Jealous dog — they do PhDs in that.

Athlete:

Intrepid explorer:

Guard-dog:

Farm Manager:

Photo by Peter Jenkins — all rights reserved

Old Friend:

RIP Pedro 2005-2019

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Humour, Local History, Wales

Under Fire!

The first of February was the last day of the season for shooting pheasants in the United Kingdom and presumably the last day for taking pot-shots at innocent little ladies walking in the woods which is what my friend and I were doing that day.

Hoods up against the sharp wind, we leaned on our stout sticks and felt our way through the frozen puddles along the bridal track from Bwlch y Ffridd to Gregynog Hall — so muffled were we that we could have passed for the ghosts of Margaret and Gwendoline Davies, the great patrons of modern art, who will have passed this way a century ago.

“That’s where von Ribbentrop used to stay in the thirties,” said my friend pointing out a building on the far side of the wide valley. I pricked up my ears but before I could question her further we became aware of several large four-wheel-drive vehicles crunching through the snow in the valley below and stopping one after the other to disgorge men with guns who seemed to be scrambling to take up positions along the valley, parallel with our route along the track. “Are they hunting today? Is it a shoot?”

“Shootings over for this year… I think” said my friend.

Young men with dogs and sticks appeared above us in the wood lashing at the tree trunks and clapping.

“Beaters?”

“I think we had better turn back and quickly.”

Bang!

“They are bloody shooting!” In a state of extreme arousal we slid and stumbled our way past the gunmen, along a fusillade that rained lead shot down through the trees like unearthly hail. They weren’t firing at us and probably were 30 feet away but it really was quite exciting!

I bet von Ribbentrop came here for the shooting or perhaps to meet Mrs Simpson (lovers evidently) as they both wooed the future king — it’s a small world.

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