Desperately seeking Bertie

Our Border terrier, Bertie is now 18 months old and, in human years, a teenager. He is becoming more and more aware of the wild animals that are to be found in the woods, fields and vines that surround our hameau, Les Mayets. These include roe deer, rabbits, hares and coypu. There are also plenty of pheasants.

Thanks to our neighbouring farmer, Alan Pujol we are able to take Bertie anywhere on his land covering one hundred hectares and often further. While on his normal walk yesterday we spotted a couple of roe deer amongst Alan’s prune trees beyond which there was a small wood. On the other side of his orchard Alan had ploughed a field and the deer set off across the plough. I decided to let Bertie give chase because the field was quite small and the furrows were deep impeding him from getting too far too fast. The gamble paid off because the deer quickly slipped him and, after stitting in the middle of the field for a time, Bertie decided to give up and came back to me.

Congratulating him on being bid back, I quickly sarted to attach him to the lead again. As I was doing so we both sighted three more deer grazing on the other side of a lake about 200 yards from us. A steep ploughed field rose from the banks of this lake into woodland. Vines and a big seeded field lay on the other side of the hill bordering a large wood. Feeling more confident now about Bertie’s ability to answer my call I slipped him off the lead again. This time there was grass between us and the deer and Bertie was off like a missile.The deer hooked left up the steep plough the other side of the lake and ran up the hill with Bertie in full chase. He and the deer were quickly out of sight.

Determined not to panic I climbed up the steep incline and continued down the fields into the next valley to the large wood where, to my relief, I saw him coming out of the trees into the corner of another field.

I managed to get within a few feet of him but however much I muttered “good boy”; “stay”, there was no way I could grab him. My final lunge was to no avail and he was off again into the wood. There were problems here. It was late afternoon, the light was going, it was freezing hard and the wood into which Bertie had disappeared was big with dense undergrowth. This was a place popular with “chasseurs” for shooting Palombes – small grey birds similar to Doves. They fly over areas of south west France in October and November on their migration south from Scandanavia and East Europe to Spain and Africa. I noticed several platforms had been built high up in the trees. I could see all sorts of make shift pulleys and cradles which, I was later told, were employed to hoist live pigeons, used a decoys to attract the Palombes, up into the trees. The wood had a rather sinister eerie feeling about it and I was fearful there might be fox traps in which Bertie could get snared.

Still no sign of him but once or twice I thought I heard the jingle of his name tag on his collar and on another occasion I heard a distant bark. Otherwise it was deathly quiet and the light was going fast. It was becoming difficult to pick out the fallen branches, brambles and fox holes. Heart in hand, I reluctantly left the wood in the direction of home.

No early drink by the fire for me and possibly no dinner either. Instead an all night search by torch light. I secretly hoped that Bertie might find his way home as I started to trudge up another steep hill and back into the vines.

“Oh well, it was nice to have known little Bertie since he was a puppy”, I told myself.

“I suppose I’ll just have to get a replacement but it won’t be the same. What is my wife, Lyndia going to say? She adores the little chap and treats him like a baby”.

Just as I was nearing the top of a strip of vines and giving up hope, I heard a “chink, chink” to my right. And there he was, the little bastard, soaked to skin, covered in mud and lying panting in an adjoining strip of vines.

“Good boy, good boy, stay, stay”, I shouted as I crawled and edged my was under the wires tethering my line of vines. Finally I managed to grab him. He was too tired to run off this time. We slowly made our way home.

Like a true terrier,Bertie was still pulling on the lead when we got back to the house.