Pete is probably wondering what happened to the photos I said I would put here one day when he was photoless… it was the day I went out myself and took some pictures, just by chance. I sat down to look through them and they weren’t too awful, but then things started happening (just ordinary everyday things not worth blogging about) and I didn’t have time to put them up that day.
And so it went on over the next few days… a mixture of being busy doing other things or feeling too sleepy.
But today I spruced up two of the pictures… they’re not exciting or significant in any way, but they’re part of my everyday backdrop. There are no birds or butterflies, but I noticed a blurry spot which was either a bee or a hoverfly. I couldn’t see it clearly enough to make it out… maybe it was hoping I would blog about it.
Anyway, the first photo is of a little path up the side of a small hill. I used to go this way to work. I had a light summer coat which was a lovely fresh red, and it had a hood. I didn’t meet any wolves though…. not then.
The second picture is where I DID meet wolves, or should I say, on two separate occasions here, Thundercloud and I were set upon by those unleashed hounds from hell. It’s from the wrong viewpoint (this is actually the route the hounds from hell were taking when they spotted us… we were coming down at right angles to this). Maybe if I do another Diddums Tour with my camera, I can go to the very spot where… (distant sound of ferocious baying)…. oh, wait a minute.
A couple of times lately when out walking Thundercloud, a bunch of dogs (three or four of varying breeds and sizes) suddenly rounded the corner and we found ourselves in the middle of them. No owners in sight. On both occasions one of the dogs got a little sarky, though both groups were different. Thundercloud looked curiously at them; the other dogs paused, stared back, then the nearest, biggest one snarled and barked (perhaps deciding that Thundercloud was bigger, therefore a little scary).
Still no owners in sight, having been left well behind by the dogs.
One of the groups we bumped into was coming down a small footpath from the duck pond – they had been looking around there hopefully. Maybe for breadcrumbs, maybe for ducks! The lead dog growled and I looked around for the owners, then realized they weren’t ahead of me with their dogs – they were well away down the hill behind me, strolling leisurely along in another direction entirely.
When dogs have questionable temperaments or are running around in a pack, I don’t think they should be off the leash or out of their owners’ direct control. Especially when they’re anywhere near ducks, moorhens and swans – or cats and children (like on small residential roads).
Comments for this entry (from its previous life on Blogigo):
1. kateblogs wrote at Mar 26, 2007 at 15:42: I know what you mean about people leaving their dogs to run free, I often come across similar groups when I take our dogs out. One couple in particular walk 3 or 4 terrier type dogs, which rampage around the fields trying to pick fights with everything they see, while their owners sit on a bench chatting, completely oblivious to it all.
Though eager to set out for a walk, N.’s dog was in a bad mood. When I pulled out a drawer to get her lead and collar, she reared up and slammed a large clawed foot on my hand. I could feel the shock run up my arm.
During the walk, she suddenly headed off down side turnings as though to say “well I don’t care what YOU want to do, I’M going down here.” When crossing roads, she shouldered in front of me, placing a paw squarely on my foot. When we came across a nice muddy bit of grass, she rolled over and rubbed her halter in the mud, one gleaming eye fixed on my face. While ambling along a pavement, she decided it was time to cross, and swerved sharply across my path.
Mum said, “Don’t let her off with it!”
“With what?” I asked, brows beginning to beetle warningly.
“With being bossy.”
“I didn’t say I let her off with anything,” I said.
We cut through a park, following a winding trail. N.’s dog stopped to pay her respects to the soil on one side of the track. It was covered with a thick layer of last autumn’s leaves. Having finished, she turned round and enthusiastically kicked up the leaves into a whirling maelstrom. Green doggie bag in hand, I waited patiently.
She stepped back onto the path. Behind her was a dark scar in the earth where she had scraped away the leaves, and next to the scar lay her ‘present’, still in full view.
“You missed a bit,” I complained, pointing, but she ambled off without a backward glance.