A Dog’s Best Friend: The Secrets that Make Good Dog Owners Great. Jan Fennell

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      Sometimes the most influential encounters are also the briefest. So it proved during a summer’s camping holiday in Exmoor and Lorna Doone country back in the 1960s. I was with my parents and the first dog I’d ever been able to call my own, Shane – a beautiful tricoloured collie my father had bought at a kennels near Heathrow.

      My father loved discovering country pubs and one lunchtime went to a beautiful one near the village of Oar – a picturesque spot, with views over the moor. It was a gorgeous day and we sat outside on benches. Shane found himself a comfortable spot under a tree, where he was soon quietly snoozing.

      The pub was a magnet for locals and tourists alike. The local sheep market had been on that morning, so that afternoon the place was crammed with farmers and shepherds. Their Land Rovers and trailers filled the car park. It was a very friendly place. People would say hello as they went in and one or two of the farmers stopped to admire Shane. ‘That’s a lovely dog,’ one of them said, giving Shane’s neck a friendly ruffle.

      Most of the farmers arrived alone, but one turned up with a lovely looking Border collie. I don’t remember the farmer’s name, but I do recall the dog’s – she was called Tina.

      There was something about their relationship that struck me straight away. Tina looked at her owner with a focus and intensity that seemed unusual. I remember noticing that he barely needed to give her an instruction before she did exactly what he wanted. As he headed into the pub, for instance, he just said ‘stay’ and she was down on all fours, sitting passively on the grass.

      The pair seemed to have a great understanding of each other. When he emerged again, he had a pint of beer and a clean ashtray, which he placed on the grass next to Tina. He then poured a small splash of beer into the tray. Tina was soon slurping happily away. What a perfect pair they made, I thought to myself.

      With people arriving all the time, the tables were filling up fast. Soon the table next to ours was taken by a group of half a dozen or so farmers, including Tina’s owner. The air was soon heavy with farming talk – everything from lamb prices at that morning’s market to the quality of that year’s crops and the weather. They were soon engaging us in conversation as well.

      ‘So where did you get this handsome boy?’ one of them asked me.

      I explained that we had got him from a kennels in West London.

      The farmer told me he too had a Border collie.

      ‘So where’s he today then?’ I asked, surprised at his absence.

      ‘Oh, he’s a working dog. He stays on the farm where he belongs,’ he replied.

      Tina’s owner was sitting opposite this man. I looked at him and said: ‘You’ve got your dog with you. You don’t agree, do you?’

      ‘No, I don’t, young lady,’ he said with a wink.

      His friends were soon rolling their eyes heavenward. ‘Oh, here we go,’ said one.

      Almost immediately, the other five farmers were taking it in turns to explain their difference of opinion over Tina. Each of them had collies, but each of them had left them back in their kennels on their respective farms. They simply didn’t believe that a working dog should be included in a farmer’s social life.

      ‘He’s made that dog too soft,’ one said, pointing at Tina.

      ‘She even goes in the house with him,’ said another.

      Tina’s owner didn’t seem perturbed by this. He’d clearly heard it all before. But when everyone had had their say, he turned to me and explained his side of the argument.

      ‘The way I see it, Tina works hard for me every day. She does everything I ask of her and there’s nothing wrong with her switching off and enjoying herself with me every now and again,’ he said.

      As the sun shone and the beer flowed, the conversation continued. It wasn’t aggressive – there were lots of smiles and winks – but there was no doubting that everyone was absolutely serious about their positions within the argument. It was one of those situations where no one was going to give ground. Tina’s owner was quite calm and relaxed about it all. The other five farmers were more agitated, but they weren’t yielding an inch, either. Everyone agreed to disagree.

      At one point, as the argument continued, someone mentioned the fact that Tina competed very successfully in the local sheepdog trials. When I asked the other farmers whether their dogs competed, they all answered ‘yes’. ‘Tina’s got a knack for it though, and she usually wins,’ one of them grudgingly admitted.

      ‘So what about your dog then, young lady?’ one of the farmers asked, trying to deflect the subject for a while. ‘Do you work him at all?’

      ‘Oh no, he’s a pet,’ I said.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I don’t think collies should be pets,’ one of the farmers said. ‘Their instinct is to herd and work, not sit around in a house all day.’

      Until now my father had sat there, quietly chatting to my mother, but this comment clearly annoyed him and he couldn’t let it pass. By now both Shane and Tina were sprawled out under the shade of the trees, relishing the afternoon СКАЧАТЬ