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I had decided to retire Jiggs from the shooting field at the end of last season. His coat was thin, and I had
his son to take his place. But winning the veteran class at the Kitebrook show seemed to give him a new lease of life.
And we had just started him on a new food (Fish for dogs) which started to fill in the holes in his coat after the damage
caused by steroids years ago. The weather was unseasonably warm and I thought that a September day on duck and partridge
couldn't possibly do him any harm. He was excited when he saw the gun and the cartridges loaded, and he recognised
my shooting clobber. He jumped in the Land Rover with alacrity.
The morning was uneventful. He
sat quietly at my peg, and marked the birds down. He was sent for a couple of partridge. The last drive before
lunch was for duck. My peg was next to the canal that bisected the farm. Two birds dropped dead into the water
and Jiggs had long swims, with the added feature of holiday traffic on the canal to negotiate around. As usual he liked
to have an audience!
He had dried out for the first partridge drive after the break. Walking to my
peg though, one of the other guns noticed that he was moving strangely. "Has he gone lame?" Jiggs
was moving as though he had joined some of the guns passing the port round after lunch. His legs were moving in all
directions, and it seemed as if he were about to collapse. With a heavy heart I walked him slowly back to the
vehicle. He couldn't jump in. I had to lift him into his box. All sorts of things were going through my mind.
Was it a heart attack? A stroke? Had he eaten any of the little blue slug pellets that were scattered on the newly
drilled fields? What a fool I had been to bring an old dog. Well, if he was going to die on me, surely it was appropriate
that he should expire in the shooting field that had been his raison d'etre for almost thirteen years. I drove him
home in a teary blur, and was preparing myself to ring the on-call weekend emergency vet.
Arriving
home Jiggs was sitting up in his box in the truck. It was feeding time for the other dogs and he recognised the clanking
of the metal bowls. He leapt from the vehicle and demanded his meal! He tucked in heartily and then ran out and
proceeded to chase our new young black cocker around the island of shrubs in the garden! He was right as rain,
and there was no sign of his legs going from under him. I then recalled that some springer men take Mars bars when beating
on shoots, and give them to their dogs at lunchtime. I think that Jiggs just needed an energy boost, perhaps some glucose
surging through his veins, after the exertions of the morning. Feeding him had brought him back to his old self. There
was absolutely nothing wrong with him!
Shall he go shooting again? I don't think so ...... But
if the weather's not too bad ....... He would enjoy it so much ........!
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