This is the story of the missing dog, our one to be exact, going by the name of Benson. The first thing you need to know about Benson is that he is a golden retriever who thinks he is actually a sheep. I know this because from an early age he's looked over into the other fields at them (not being many fields around here with golden retrievers) and figured in the absence of mirrors that living in a world of sheep, he must be one of them.
I could understand the confusion, they were of similar size, colour, soft coat, four legs etc etc but as you can imagine farmers, particularly those with sheep were not too keen on Benson's notion, hence the requirement for us to put up a fence around our little site so that when Benson wished to play with his relatives, his collar let out a bleep which duly warned him that continuing in that direction may not be ideal!
But today, as has happened in the past, somehow, probably due to son of 120 socks who likes to mess around, the fence got cut or damaged somewhere along its path and therefore it left Benson with the freedom to explore, which in turn meant that 120 socks had to explore as well!
So off I went down the hill calling said dog by name and clapping, because I was told by Mr Socks that he likes the clapping, the dog that is, not Mr Socks and even though I couldn't see him, the dog that is, not Mr Socks, I knew he was around, cause I kept hearing the sounds that said 'I am here, but you can't see me!'
The photo above is from down the end of our site, to the right although you can't see it in the picture is a steep drop down through a forest and a river and you've guessed it a place where Benson's relatives like to hang out. The river I might add aids the distance that sound travels, which meant that half the mountain, including the missing dog must have heard 120 socks calling and clapping for a very long time.
Finally the missing lunatic came back, bouncing across the field with the kind of run that says thanks for coming out to play. Said lunatic, the dog that is not me, was no longer golden but black with mud all the way up to his ears. When I gave him my look, the one that meant I did not approve, he turned his head to the right and gave me back an equally effective look which said, it wasn't me, it was the other guy, the one with the woolly coat, I am completely innocent!
So I scolded him in that 'angry but not really meaning it' voice because I am a complete pushover in these situations and brought him home, where he collapsed for a very long sleep, as being missing, even for a dog can be exhausting! Let's hope he wasn't counting sheep.
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| Guilty as charged, just for Kat! |
(And just to add for all sheep lovers everywhere, Benson doesn't do aggression, he is more the cuddly mucky variety of species, and anger means his tail wags slower, but always with a degree of happiness)
