Return of the Masked Picnic Raider

As you read this, think of it as being a bit like a therapy session for me. Pull up a chair, perch your glasses on the end of your nose, and assume your most soothing bedside manner, and please do excuse any gibbering on my part. I am sure that in a decade or so, I'll be absolutely fine again.

So, on Saturday I had a nice family day out at a game fair. In fact all of this can be laid firmly at the door of my family. It's all their fault, nowt to do with me, guv...

Henry was veeery excited to be there, and in fact was a bit of a handful. Happily, he did start to settle a bit after a while - which is when my step-dad and step-brother came hurrying over to suggest - nay demand - that we should have a run in the gundog scurry. They had been watching a few of the competitors have mishaps, and were certain that Henry could beat the competition and win a shiny new car in the process.

Yes, that is this Henry here.


















Yes, I know. A scurry champion he is not. But you know, I thought we might have a little go at the novice scurry. Seemed like a nice idea, the fencing looked escape-proof, it was very much about having a go and it was a nice, marked, double retrieve that under normal circumstances Henry would have found easy-peasy.

So the nice man took our entry, and the nice lady threw out two dummies. And Henry, bless him, shot straight over to the first one and grabbed it. OK, he then took it on a lap of honour before he brought it back. But, you know, that's still an improvement on the last time we did this, so so far, so good.

Then I sent him back for the next dummy. He was a bit overwhelmed by all the exciting things going on around the arena, so he ran past it a few times. Then - then it all went a tiny, tiny bit wrong. It all seemed fine at first. There was a family sitting on the floor outside the arena, and Henry seemed to be making friends with them.

Of course, those of you that have read other posts on this blog, or indeed who have met Henry, can probably guess what was really happening. In fact, you have probably abandoned your calming manner and are most likely screaming a dreadful warning at the screen. And you are right. Yes, that family were having a very nice picnic, with a lovely wicker hamper and little triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off, all laid out on a plate, right up to the point when a dirty great spaniel stuck his head through the fence and relieved them of their lunch (although, is the Novice (i.e. half-trained hooligan) scurry really the best place to have a picnic?!). The realisation of what was happening hit both me and the lady throwing the dummies at the same time, and we both arrived with Henry at once to remove him from the crime scene. Henry then completed his performance by finding the other dummy, and taking it out of the arena, to my mum who was, in all fairness, probably quite interesting due to the fact that she was shrieking with laughter (thanks Mum). We then left the arena, although not before we had been given a cheer by all those watching. We may not have been the fastest entry, but we were probably the most entertaining.

I have been having flashbacks all weekend, but I'm sure they'll clear up in a year or two. When that happens please do remind me of this before I enter another scurry. Unless we're going in as a novelty act that is.

Picnics, and how to protect them

Henry likes picnics.

That's all there is to it really. He loves people, almost everyone he meets loves him, and he adores food - especially food he's not meant to have. (Adds to the thrill - Henry).

Unfortunately, this means that no picnic (well almost no picnic) is safe while Henry is on the loose.

I made this unwelcome discovery a couple of months into owning him. I had just got to the stage of letting him off the lead, and my family had come to visit for the day so naturally we headed off for a walk on the beach. Lovely.

These days I scan the horizon for possible Henry hazards with an intensity that would put your average fighter pilot to shame, but back in the day I was foolishly relaxed, and was happily engaged in conversation with my relatives. Thus it was that I did not notice the innocent picnickers up ahead until the same moment Henry did. Henry shot towards them like a rocket, with absolutely no intention of returning until he had thoroughly checked out every piece of food in their possession and tested everything, presumably for food safety reasons.

Eventually he came back - and that's where I made my second mistake. I put him on the lead and walked up the beach and scrambled up a path in a relatively low cliff, at which point I thought it would be safe to let him off again.

I couldn't really make out what the irate picnickers were shouting as Henry went bouncing back to raid their picnic for the second time in ten minutes, but I think we can safely assume it was not complimentary.

These days Henry adopts a more subtle approach to picnic raiding. It's less a sledgehammer now, and more a surgical strike.

His tactic is as follows - gambol up to the picnickers (or marks as he calls them - I think he's been watching Hustle) and make nice with them. Most people are quite pleased to see a cute spaniel heading their way, and are initially charmed. While they are busy making googly noises, lean casually over and dip into their picnic basket. The soundtrack to this smooth move generally starts off something like 'Awwwwwwwww' before rapidly turning into an 'Arrrrrggghhhhhh!' as the hapless food donors realise the ulterior motive behind this visit. Shortly after that is normally when I arrive, puffing and panting, red in the face and burbling apologies as I tackle my dog and remove him from the crime scene. Sadly Henry's picnic detection mechanisms are far more sensitive than my own, which leads to several embarrassing incidents each summer.

There are several defence mechanisms to try in the face of this one-dog canine crime wave. You could attempt a flying leap, like the lady on the beach who tripped and fell flat on her face as she dashed back to save her picnic from the marauding wretch. Fortunately her own dog saved the day that time - Labs aren't too keen on sharing picnics with random spaniels, and Henry left with a flea in his ear.

However only one has ever proved effective. The one picnic Henry sheered away from was the one being conducted by several hardy naturists on Holkham beach earlier this year. Which is a good job really, because they were on their own as far as I was concerned...