Leigh Woods in frost and mist

It's quite difficult socialising a young pup close to where we live. There's the meadow, of course, but we seldom see anyone else up there. The nearest place to walk her where there are other dogs is a playing field the far side of a dual carriageway, but a few of them are quite in-your-face, and Cwtch gets a bit nervous. So, after much debate re the meaning of the word 'local', we got up at sunrise and drove 4.9 miles to Leigh Woods, where dogs are (supposed to be) on leads, and are therefore a bit less scary for a very young collie. 

As it turns out, our prime minister travelled further for his exercise, so presumably we weren't in breach of the rules, whatever they are. Also, we were there long before the crowds, and just leaving as they arrived - so many bikes! so much lycra! - so it worked out well all round. 

Along the top edge of Nightingale Valley

And it was beautiful. Sun and frost, a misty blue light ...

 

... and the gloriously twisted veteran trees that make these woods, and the nearby Ashton Court estate, such a joy to walk in during the winter. 

Approaching Stokeleigh Camp, the iron age hill fort

Up through the ramparts

First glimpse of the Clifton Suspension Bridge in the mist

View over Avon Gorge

Around the third side of the camp

On the left, a veteran small leaf lime coppard, which is a tree that has been coppiced and then later pollarded. 

An officially veteran re-pollarded oak

One of the most striking trees in the woods is the veteran yew standing on the parish boundary. I love the way the wall, which was built in 1813, breaks to accommodate it. 

But hey, what's up, Cwtch?

Something bitier than you? Oh dear. 

 

O brave new world

There's a whole new world for puppies to explore, but it's not as easy as it might be in the middle of winter and the dead of a pandemic. Still, we're doing our best, and now Cwtch has had all her vaccinations, we'll be able to visit the park and encounter other dogs a bit more.  

We were loaned a puppy carrier for the time before she could walk outdoors, which I was really pleased about, but she never managed to settle in it comfortably. 

So it was back to the original plan of carrying her around. 

We've had to avoid dogs till now, but there's been lots of other places to explore and people to meet and experiences to get one's teeth into. 

One of these experiences was a Zoom poetry launch, at which my publishers, Ronnie and Dawn, were launching their fantastic joint collection, 'Forest Moor or Less'. From Cwtch's point of view, however, it wasn't an unqualified success. Our previous collie, Ted, was an old paw at this sort of thing. His protests never extended beyond the occasional theatrical sigh when yet another poet asked 'How much time have I got?' accompanied by a crash as he dropped to the floor, as if someone had cut his strings. 

The newbie didn't last as long. After posing momentarily for a screenshot, she started chewing my jacket and spent the rest of the event maurauding and looking for trouble. She'll learn. 

There have also been very important people to meet, and a lot of learning about support bubbles and the like. 

Busy roads, rain and the perfidy of glass. Not so keen on any of that. 

But a little light shopping in Pets At Home went down well ... 

... and best of all, late night trips up the churchyard. 

I sniff dead people

Having a little Cwtch

A home that's lost its dog - well, it's still a home but there's an emptiness two people can't fill on their own. 

After our Ted died at the beginning of September, it became clear that although we'd be grieving for a long time, we'd feel better if we found another dog sooner rather than later. Not to replace him - a dead dog is like a family member or friend in that respect - but to provide a new focus.

We decided a long time ago that we'd like a rescue collie next time round, and we applied for a few, but dogs are much in demand during this time of Covid-19 and we didn't get anywhere. (We're also too old and too urban for some collie-specific rescues, who like their charges to be rehomed with childless 30-year-olds in possession of several hundred acres at least 25 miles from the nearest A road, and who are happiest belting around fields of a weekend in a competitive sort of way.) (I'm afraid we just do walks in the landscapes of poetry. 😊)  

We also noticed that lots of dogs acquired during the first clockdown are being offered for sale by owners whose jobs have changed or who didn't realise how much work they'd be when they bought them, but they are also being snapped up really quickly. 

Then the Northerner decided he'd rather like A Puppy as although he'd had dogs, he'd never Had A Puppy before. And since neither of us had had a bitch, we started to look for a female border collie puppy, and bloody hell, they're expensive. I paid £140 for Ted twelve years ago,  and now they're between £1,000 and £3,000, frequently with a surcharge for a girl. Even what we used to call mutts but are now Labracockadoodlepoos cost a small fortune.

I'm not sure about those tennis balls ...

We started to resign ourselves to Winter Darkness, Covid-19, Brexit, and No Dog. Then, one Saturday evening, I was scrolling down one of those pets for sale websites, and saw a litter of black and white guinea pigs for sale in Wales. Except on closer inspection they weren't guinea pigs, they were border collie puppies - five bitches and two dogs - and they were only £400 each. Never did I move so quickly. 

A Zoom meeting later, and we had ourselves a little bitch; we just had to wait for her to be old enough to leave her mum. We filled the time by poring over our weekly pupdates and choosing a name for her. Ideally we wanted something to do with poetry, and as she was born in Dylan Thomas country, I thought Polly the Collie Garter would be a good name. But the Northerner then countered with Mrs Ogmore-Pritchard, which wouldn't do at all, and in the end we compromised and settled for Cwtch, that beautiful Welsh word that is both noun and verb, a request and a command; and means a cuddle and a snuggle, a little cupboard or nook, and best of all, a safe place in your arms. We also like that there's no exact equivalent in English.

2 weeks old

There was some anxiety during this time. A puppy we could afford, and not too far away (even though the lockdown meant she had to be delivered to us, rather than us going to pick her up).  It did feel too good to be true. Could it be a scam? But no, it turns out the breeder, Scott, is just a decent bloke who loves his dogs. We're so lucky we found him and Cwtch.

Six weeks old

So here she is, galloping around on the longest legs you ever did see, half border collie, half hare. I still feel a bit ashamed we didn't have the fortitude to hold out for a rescue dog - in another, non-Covid year with unlimited travel we might have done - but when she's older, we'll look again for one that's in need of a home, this time with a steady female in the mix. For now, though, that seems some way off ...