Pups

Whenever I breed a litter I always endeavour to follow the progress of the pups into adulthood. Sure enough, even after careful vetting – if you forgive the pun – some go to homes , which on face value, look as though will keep them working; after all, we cannot keep all pups, all working. I know that some of my own breeding has gone to less than ideal homes but, unfortunately, it’s difficult to assess when releasing an eight week old pup to someone who purports to be a terrierman, whether or not they are legitimate.

Some years ago I advertised a litter and was contacted by a ‘terrierman’ from Brighton who convinced me he was the ‘real deal’. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and sold him the pup for a nominal fee. The litter was a small one of only three pups, two dogs and a bitch. The bitch was passed to a friend who already had one working dog and so I knew she was going to a good home. This left just the one dog at home, the biggest and boldest of the litter and he too soon found an owner.

After a few months, I contacted the Brighton man to find out how his pup was getting on. He told me ‘his mouth’s gone a bit wrong’; ‘he’s gone to my sister as a pet’. This annoyed me immensely, considering that when I sell or, for that matter, give a pup away I always offer a ‘take back’ service, including a refund of all monies.

However, after trying fruitlessly to contact the owner of the other dog pup, I one day unexpectedly received an email from him. Syd had come to my house to buy the last pup, fully equipped with a knowledge that wasn’t gleaned from reading the tomes of a well known pseudo-terrierman; hopefully my gut feeling would be right. Anyway, we got talking and he informed me that his pup, George, was catching mice at five months old. The following season we met, along with a few of my accomplices, and had a day out. George showed much interest and much promise which made feel just a pang of pride, although his career proper was still a way off.

As the back end of the season approached, George’s interest became increasingly deep and on one day out we decided to collar him up and let him ‘have a go’. We approached a great looking, shallow, sand earth and tethered the more experienced dogs, lest any of them should get to ground and find in such an ideal ‘first timer’s earth. Not anticipating too much, we never bothered to net the surrounding holes, expecting George to perhaps sniff, enter a few feet and then back out to let one of the old boys show how it was done: Not the case. George flew to ground and after about ten minutes was baying like thunder, a baying interspersed with a wailing that would shame a champion banshee. Seconds later a fox flew out of the hole in front of me, straight past the terriers’ noses; they were looking at me with an expression of disbelief that equalled mine.

George had entered and I was proud that I’d bred him.

The one day that sticks in my mind though, was the day Sid and I were out with George alone, at the end of last season. We were walking him near our local golf course and the cover was just starting to get a bit on the high side. George disappeared and trying to find him we walked to a nettle and bramble covered area. We could hear baying beneath us and as we attempted to pinpoint the noise, heard a commotion some twenty feet away, only to see a big old fox lolloping away. George showed momentarily and then re-entered the earth. Minutes later, he was off again, a high pitched, excited barking beneath us. In the absence of a spade, we started to dig with an old piece of picket fence which we found lying nearby. As Syd broke up the topsoil, I cleared it with my cupped hands. At about eighteen inches we broke through, with the stake which landing between George and his quarry. The fox obviously realised we had formed a temporary cordon and decided that the time to go was now. Sid and I stood and watched in disbelief as a second fox lolloped along the same escape route.

Both Sid and I hold much hope for George for the coming season; indeed the older dogs could do with some of the pressure taken off them.

To this day, I don’t know the fate of the litter brother but I hope he’s okay, even if he is a pet.

And the bitch? She drowned when she managed to fall through the protective grating covering her owner’s pond.

Sad when you think that all three litter members had the potential to be good terriers but only one will now be given the opportunity.

Written By Nuv