On Saturday as Rudi and I undertook our mince through the mud at dusk we passed a man on the other side of a garden fence. He was an Irish fella working on a house near where I let Rudi off to run. He asked me what manner of beast he was and asked if he was for sale. He also enquired if Rudi could catch a rabbit. I shared the guilty squirrel secret and went on my way, thinking he might be a bit touched to be truthful.
On the way back the man was waiting for us, on the pavement this time, with his son and his own dog – a Saluki bitch called Abby. This time he wanted to know if I wanted to race his dog (not me, Rudi!). As it was near pitch-black and Rudi was a bit tired from chasing a tennis ball I demurred. We had a bit of a chat and it turned out his bitch was a champion hare-courser (illegal) and he had bought her for thousands. He asked a lot of questions about Rudi, said he looked big and fit, and seemed pleased enough when he found out he was an Irish lurcher. Of course I would not sell my dog, but if M25 Man had been on the end of the lead it would have been a different story that day!
It would have been nice to let them run; I would have offered yer man a match bet that Rudi would outpace his! The only dog that has ever outrun mine was a recently retired male greyhound. Rudi didn’t know what to do when that happened.
I reckon he could catch a few rabbits, but I don’t care to find out. Explaining dead furry things to children is not easy.