Thread: A Man's best friend

I have been asked about my avatar - well here is the explaination:

Ducko Arrives

Ducko came into my life because a friend misunderstood a conversation wherein I had said that I was looking for another dog - well I wasn’t. I already had two. My friend told me that a TV soap opera star had a daughter, who had a boyfriend, who had a Bull Terrier, which was proving to be a problem dog. A week or so later, the young owner of “Duke” as he was then known, turned up at the local railway station with the dog in tow. The dog had got off the train first and dragged the owner with him. Dinnie and I laughed and we went up and said; “hello“. The dog, an absolutely magnificent specimen, nearly knocked us over, licked us to death and ran about like a thing possessed. He was so pleased to be off that noisy train. It had been previously agreed that we would go round to my friend‘s place to see how this dog got on with my own dogs. Din had a neutral training arena which he used for the horses. We arrived, parked up and got out to make things ready for the big intro. We left Duke alone in the car and went indoors. Big mistake.


Five minutes or so later we came out to collect Duke and show him about. In the interim he had destroyed the inside of my friend’s car. Absolute destruction. No, it was not just a scratch here or there. He had completely and utterly ripped apart the seats, the backs of the seats, the head lining, the carpets - you name it, the upholstery was in shreds. A few weeks later, it cost almost a thousand pounds to repair the car. Ducko had made his entrance - big style.


I did a deal with the young man who was a bricklayer. I would pay the bill and he would build a brick wall for me in my garden. I would take the dog on and try to find him a good home. Mind you the young man had already threatened to take Duke to the vets for euthanasia. I said: “no way - that dog is the most incredible specimen of a dog I have yet seen“. And he was. It was a pity about his excitability. The deal worked out and I got a brick wall. In the meantime, I found that Ducko could live in my house with our dogs without a problem Toos, my little Border left Ducko alone and Ducko left Toos alone. My Rottweiler bitch, Ducko came to adore.


Now an English Staffordshire Bull Terrier is an officially recognised breed in the UK. There are paintings showing them keeping the bull in check at country fairs. They were bred to be the game keeper’s guard dog: fearless of animals; obedient to man. The dog is a relative of the English Bulldog but a lot lighter in stature. More agile, more energetic. Boisterous. Oh, I forgot, ‘and very strong with a massive head, a large tooth filled mouth and the neck of a mature python‘. In fact the old fashioned Staffie is probably the foundation stock of the American Pit Bull Terrier but I did not know that at the time. I was told he was a Staffie and it suited my purpose to carry on believing that. A couple of years later, HM Government brought in the Dangerous Dogs Act and Ducko was suddenly infamous. He was indeed “one of them”.


We placed a few adverts, we made a few home visits. But in a couple of months, I did not find a suitable home for him. Trouble was, I was getting fond of him. Then came the incident which led me to make a fateful decision.


Our house was located on a steep hillside. At the top there was a patio and some 50 feet below was the fence which closed off the woodland area of the garden. Ducko loved tyres and up in the garage he had found a couple of used tyres. Ducko dragged one out of the garage and brought it round to the back garden. It was his best toy. One day when I was trying to get it off him, it came free and rolled down the slope into the stinging nettles at the bottom. Ducko charged off down after the tyre jumping down from level to level in an amazingly exhibition of agility. The tyre only just beat him to the boundary. Ducko sniffed around, found the tyre in the nettles, picked it up in his mouth, held it out horizontally and climbed back up the hill. Most dogs can’t lift a tyre and hold it horizontally. Back at the top, Ducko banged my leg with his toy. I took it off him again with difficulty and then I deliberately rolled it down the hill again. Off flew Ducko; back up came the tyre. He puffed a bit but the time taken was little more than for the first retrieval. This was a good game. So I did it again and off he went and back up came the tyre. He was beginning to puff. So I did it again and guess what; back came the tyre and yet again my leg was bashed with the tyre which was still being held in his jaws. Few men could have matched this feat of strength and speed even by carrying the tyre with two hands. The steep slope would have beaten them. So this time, I tied the tyre up to a tree and it was, from then onwards, Ducko’s to worry with. Some folks need worry beads, Ducko needed a rubber tyre.


Suddenly I had seen this Boyo in a new light. Dogs like him aren‘t found under gooseberry bushes and I should keep him rather than pass him on. And I did so for many, many, years. He got me into scrapes; he did some terrible things but he became the apple of my eye. His mortal body lies wrapped in a favourite jacket of mine, down in the ground under a camellia out in the garden, but he lives on in my head.

Wonderful story! This brought tears to my eyes, I too have a beloved friend buried under a tree of mine. It's been years, but I still think of him often. They truly are dear friends.