THE MILKMAN’S MATE

One Saturday, I had been shouting at Branston for some sort of misbehaviour, when the milkman called for his money. While I was finding some change, the dog slipped out of the front door. I paid the milk man and went to see where the escapee had got to, only to find him sitting in the front of the milk float with a look on his face which seemed to say, “If you don’t start treating me better, I’m running away with the milkman!”

NEITHER USE NOR ORNAMENT

At this time I was managing my son’s youth football team and we went down to Portsmouth to visit some friends and play a friendly match. We left Branston in the kitchen with a good supply of dried food and water and closed all the other doors in the house, leaving him the run of the hall stairs and landing. During the game we received a call on our mobile phone from a neighbour, saying that the dog was in the back garden and barking incessantly. There was little we could do from so far away and we were very puzzled as to how he had got out of the house.

Returning home that evening, we discovered that the carpet in our daughter’s room had been pulled up, making it almost impossible to open the door. Our friends next door then related how they had found Branston on top of the ledge outside her bedroom window, above the front door! He had evidently pushed open the bedroom door which couldn’t have been firmly shut, but got locked in when the door shut behind him. Scratching at the carpet, he had been unable to get out and sought an alternative escape route.  He had somehow squeezed his enormous bulk through the tiny fan-light window at the top of the frame and stood outside on the ledge, barking! Being good neighbours next door, they had let him in through their larger window, taken him downstairs and deposited him in our back garden where he had continued to bark for the rest of the day.

            We kept a very low profile for the rest of the weekend, and the following week!

A CHRISTMAS TREAT!

One Christmas Eve I came home early from work. Anne was out and I thought I would give her a nice surprise by taking Branston for a walk, something I rarely did. We went over to the lakes near our house and I let him off his lead when we reached the river, which ran under the motorway bridge. He scooted off as soon as he was free, probably chasing a duck, and disappeared out of my sight. On the other side of the bridge there are woods and I called for him to come back but to no avail, which was unusual as he normally responded.

              After a few minutes searching I concluded that he must have gone up the bank to the main road. I climbed the bank myself and found heavy traffic moving very slowly on the 3-lane motorway, so I started to walk along the hard shoulder, and suddenly thought I caught sight of him darting between the cars up ahead. I began to run, fearing for his safety and mine as if I was to let anything happen to him, my life would not be worth living!

           Eventually I spied something up ahead which I couldn’t quite make out, but it looked like something his colour lying by the road side. Beginning to panic I ran faster and faster until I could focus properly and finally realized it was a pile of sandbags weighting down a temporary roadworks sign!

           Still, the traffic was heavy and stopping and starting, so I continued on. I decided that if I didn’t find him alive I might as well run all the way to Scotland and not come back! My wife would never forgive me!

           At long last I saw some vehicles ahead pulled up on the hard shoulder. As I got nearer I could see one was a truck, but my heart sank when I realized that ahead of that was a Police car. When I was close enough to see properly, I could see someone holding Branston, but he appeared to have blood all down his front. I was afraid he was badly injured. I confronted a small group of people, the lorry driver, a young woman, and a policeman, who I expected to give me a severe dressing down for allowing my dog to cause such chaos to the traffic. Far from it, he was most concerned about Branston’s welfare! He wasn’t able to have him in his care however, so the young lady very kindly offered to take us both home. I sat in the back with my exhausted animal and wondered what reception I would get when Anne saw him all covered in blood!

            I managed to get him out of the car, but sadly, whilst Anne and I were checking Branston over for signs of broken bones the young lady disappeared before I could thank her properly. We were fortunate that our vet was a good friend and agreed to fit him in for a check up later on, despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve, and it turned out that he was fine. The blood appeared to belong to perhaps a rabbit which he must have caught!

Having lost Jet so tragically we were hugely relieved to have Branston home in one piece, but it wasn’t long before he gave us another scare.

SLOBBERCHOPS

Branston became rather listless and Anne took him to the vets. A course of anti-biotics didn’t seem to help and the vet suggested we take him to the Royal Veterinary College at Brookman’s Park. By this time his face had swollen out of all proportion and various theories including blood poisoning and Weil’s disease were being put forward.

           Several weeks of tests were carried out, fortunately for us he was well insured and we would go to visit our sorry looking dog with his grotesquely bloated face and bandages on his legs holding his drip feeders. We prepared ourselves for the worst, until one day the vets said he could come out for a short walk. We still didn’t dare to believe he would recover, but before long we were told we could take him home. His face was still swollen but gradually it returned to normal and he is now in his ninth year. He is less active these days, much to the relief of local cats, rabbits and wild fowl but still going strong!