In defence of badgers

My dog was bitten by an adder last week. Jessie had been snuffling around in bracken a few yards from where I was walking when I suddenly heard this anguished yelp, followed by still more disquieting, even harrowing yelps. I knew immediately exactly what had happened. I have been boring my family for months with warnings about where not to take Jessie for a walk, because of the adders. They think adders are a manifestation of my warped imagination and do not really exist, possibly something dreamed up by the QAnon people. They never believe me when I tell them anything about animals and yet – ironically, you might think – it is one of the very few things I do not lie to them about.

I was not lying about the adders. Poor Jessie, now in great pain and whining, was bundled in the back of my car and driven 20 miles to Alston – in a different county – the site of the nearest vet with anti-venom. I left the surgery substantially poorer (the anti-venom is so expensive because it is imported, I was told: the same excuse they give you for the price of Lurpak) and with a pitifully whimpering dog. She remained whimpering for two full days and I paced around her, full of guilt. I felt bad because I had the ridiculous suspicion she knew that I was a member of virtually every pro-adder campaigning group on the planet.

As ever, these groups vary between the moderate – people who think it would be nice if we prevented the adder from going extinct – to the radical: those who think adders should be let loose in primary schools, included in the LGBTQ(A) category of creatures with protected characteristics, put on shortlists for jobs, awarded honorary degrees, etc.