Foxglove - October 21 2009

THE rain was twice blessed, like the quality of mercy. The first blessing was because we so badly needed it: the second because it was light and continuous, so I never realised just how wet I was becoming.

I was in the long thin wood with the long thin pond, on my first ferreting day for some months, and the drizzle swept across from the coast in ragged grey sheets.

The trees offered partial shelter, although trees have a primitive sense of humour and store water up on their leaves, to stream it in a sudden trickle off the bough and on to the unwary predators below. The dog startled, and shot me an outraged look, as if it were my fault.

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Her concentration was intense. Now in her middle years, she is master of her trade, with most of her early capriciousness tempered, most of her impatience controlled, though she can still make me feel at times that I am the junior member of the team.

She prowled the wet bury on cushioned feet, following the action underground. Sometimes I could hear the action too as subterranean ferrets chased rabbits, and rabbits kicked out at ferrets.

Finally, a rabbit would elect to bolt, either to be tangled in one of my nets, or picked up by the dog, usually in a matter of yards. Our progress was slow, but the line of damp rabbit bodies was increasing, fur dewed with droplets from slanting rain driving under the canopy of trees.

We worked our way towards the pond, where some escape-holes were low down the bank. Rabbits swim well enough but not fast, and we have had them take to water before, with the dog plunging in after them. Nothing bolted into the pond today.

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We had one more bury to try before heading home. It seldom holds anything, but the dog was most insistent and she knows better than any human what lies below the surface. So down went the nets and ferrets, and the dog took up her stance where she thought there was going to be some action.

Almost at once, two rabbits bolted one behind the other, the first to be netted and the second to dodge past the dog as she slipped on the wet ground. She was up instantly, but the rabbit was well ahead and going as fast as it could uphill towards the next bury.

The dog streaked after it in mighty bounds low to the ground, no energy wasted, and pushed it away from its chosen retreat, but the rabbit knew its ground and swerved down the bank of the small stream that fed the pond.

Down out of sight went the dog, and I thought she had surely lost it, but she had put so much pressure on it that it had been unable to tumble into one of the rabbit holes there, so up over the bank came rabbit and dog almost together. The rabbit put in a tremendous turn but the dog was equal to it and lost only a length or so as she swerved in pursuit.

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Now the rabbit was in the bracken, but the dog ran parallel, giving it no chance to gain refuge down a hole. She struck and missed and struck and held.

Pausing briefly to shift the rabbit in her mouth for ease of balance, she then cantered back towards me and delivered her quarry.

We had two more out of that bury, and then decided to call it a day. The dog and I were very wet by then, the ferrets were drying themselves off in their carrying-boxes, and there was a wet pile of rabbits to deal with.

Once home, there would be wet nets to hang up, and wet boots and clothing to sort out. This would be no chore, for I would be recalling that marvellous run, and adding it to the memories of other good ferreting days.