Run, rabbit run

21 June 2008

Jeremy Clarke reports on his Low Life

Before going down to the little festive arena in which there was a cluster of fund-raising stalls, I took a stroll around the rescued dogs’ accommodation block. Each the dog was in its own cement-floored, glass-fronted, spotlessly clean pen. At eye level, there was a sheet of A4 detailing the animal’s name, age, breed, likes, dislikes, personal foibles, known history (most often a picaresque one) and finally the fairly crucial question for a dog that might be set in its ways: ‘Does Barney/Willow/Duke/like cats?’

This was the question that Mr Allen would always ask anyone boasting about how hard their terrier was, oddly enough. Mr Allen’s other local reputation as an unrepentant old-school badger-digging man meant that he heard a lot of bragging of this nature. If he could be bothered, he’d innocently ask, ‘Does he kill cats?’ It was his litmus test.

Of the 20 or so dogs currently residing at the rescue centre, only Tyson, a stocky, scar-faced English bull terrier cross Staffordshire bull terrier, disliked cats enough to try to kill them. The author of Tyson’s CV didn’t actually come right out and say this, however. He was trying to look on the bright side. Tyson’s life had been difficult enough already. He needed help and understanding, not negative criticism. So under the heading ‘Does Tyson like cats?’ it said ‘Not really.’

Leaving the dog compound, I unexpectedly found myself in the rescued rabbits section. Mr Allen would have laughed at that if he’d seen it, too. There were about a dozen bunny-wunnies, as he called them, and each was endowed with a luxurious hutch and spacious run, and they were all stuffing their faces with fresh veg. They looked as if they couldn’t believe their luck. Later on, when I again saw my friend with the Harris hawk over at the falconry tent, I made the suggestion that he sneak over to the rabbit section and get his hawk started with a few easy ones.