Saturday, 16 August 2008
Hello again, I want to tell you about Little Nelson. The kids had grown up and were off, doing their own thing, so we thought as there was just the two of us going up to our holiday cottage regularly in the glorious Scottish Borders, that we would like a dog. Not a bloody great Dane, but a smallish dog for our smallish house. Well we went along to our nearest dog rescue centre and walked along the isle between two rows of tall steel wire cages. There were several noisy dogs in each, all baying for attention. Our daughter was with us to help make a choice. We told the smiling young girl we were disappointed but she said to do another walk-by. We did so, we didn't want a pup, but a three or four year old. Then amongst the big noisy hounds we spotted a quiet Jack Russell dog that was at the front. He was quietly strutting up and down importantly as if inspecting his troops. He had a certain presence and I remarked that he was like a general. We asked for a lead and it was attached to his collar as my daughter walked him out in the isle. He had his head up imperiously and was still inspecting the other dogs who had quietened down as he passed. We bought him and called him little Nelson. We had him until his death more than ten years later and he was so much fun and had a heart as big as a lion. From the moment we put him in the car to take him home he became one of the family. Once home, we shut the gate behind us and he made a grab for a large round stone and started dribbling it through his back legs. We had to buy him a ball.