Tangle's web

I was up filming at Manchester Dog Show last weekend when I got a call from Maura, who runs an Irish rescue, asking for our help. Maura had sent Tangle, an oldie, over to another UK rescue who had placed him in a home with an elderly owner. But 24 hours after Tangle arrived, his new owner was on the phone complaining that he didn't bark when someone came to the door. Then a couple of days later, she rang to say the dog was vicious. Apparently he'd tried to bite first her and then the vet.

Maura was really upset. She'd saved Tangle (above) from being put to sleep in a local pound (after his owners, who had taken the dog in as a stray five years previously, decided to move back to Germany without him). Tangle had shown no hint of aggression in the five weeks he had been with Maura and had got on famously with her other dogs. It sounded like he must have been traumatised by the trip over (it's rare but it happens). Now, the UK rescue wanted to put him on the next van back to Ireland. No one wants to be landed with an aggressive dog and we rely on the Irish rescues to filter out those with real problems. But poor boy. Something had clearly gone very wrong and my heart went out to him.

I said I would help and managed to get Tangle into local kennels until I got back from Manchester on Monday. Promisingly, the kennels reported that he was no bother and when I went to see him on Tuesday, I was met by a total sweetie. Deaf as a post, though - which explains why he proved to be a rubbish guard dog.

We were warned that he would bite if you touched his ears or feet. But he's been totally fine with us and, indeed, enjoys having his ears ruffled. Absolutely no reaction if you touch his feet, either. Yesterday, we took him out for a long walk with two of our dogs. He loved it and when we stopped and lay down on the grass, he came running back and showered us with kisses.

I have a passion for older dogs and Tangle is such a gent that I am sure we'll have no problems finding him a terrific home.

More about the old fella here

A special appeal for Prince, the rottweiller-lite...

Just before Christmas, the newspapers reported that a rottweiller in Yorkshire killed a one-year-old baby. It's hard to imagine anything more awful than losing a child in this horrific way. It also further tarnishes the rottweiller's reputation, despite the fact that most rotties are as soft as butter.

We took on Prince last year, knowing he was a young springer/rottie mix. He was clearly such a divine, bright, soft dog and we felt deperately sorry for him. He had once been much-loved, but after a family split-up, he was stuck in a flat in town with a relative who didn't walk him. Prince was very sad - and in danger of being given away to travellers, as the other family dogs had been.

So Prince arrived a few weeks ago, and went into foster with wonderful foster mum Moira and her flatcoat Ellie in High Wycombe in Buckinghamshire. As he was so terrific (and looks just like a very fit labrador) we thought he'd quickly find his forever home. But there was a hitch: Prince is a sensitive boy and was shaken by the transport over. He arrived very scared. And when Prince is scared, he growls. Five weeks on, Prince has his confidence back. There is still the occasional rumble indoors when he meets someone new for the first time, but outdoors he's fantastic: brilliant on a lead, terrific recall, great with other dogs and friendly with anyone he meets. It's only when confined that there's any problem and we are confident that this will resolve completely soon. (Prince lived in Ireland with several boisterous young children who hung off his ears and he was totally bomb-proof with them.)

Foster mum Moira has worked wonders with Prince and has total confidence in him. But other commitments mean she cannot keep him for much longer and we're now faced with the awful prospect of putting Prince in kennels, which we know he'd find so traumatic.

Many of our retriever homes are put off by his ancestry, but we know there's someone out there who would adore Prince and could offer him the home he needs. Our behavioursit Lez (a retriever gal herself) thinks he is completely stunning and has offered her ongoing support to anyone who takes Prince on. Lez does competition obedience and says that Prince would be brilliant. But he'd also make a wonderfully loyal, loving family pet for the right person. And, really, because he's so perfect in every other way, he's not a big project.

Is there anyone who could offer Prince a lifeline - either as a foster or a forever home? And if you can't, can I ask you all to put the word out for this gorgeous boy who simply needs a bit of love and understanding to fulfil his immense potential?

Thank you!

Where there's a will...

..there's a way and, da-daaaaaa, we did it! In the past two weeks, we've managed to save every dog we hoped to and all except for young Gemma, who cannot travel until after Christmas anyway, are now in the UK and in foster homes. A huge and massive thank you to all who have helped - it's been really inspiring that so many of you responded to the Christmas Appeal, particularly those willing to open your hearts and homes to a rescue dog at this time of year.


It's good news all round, really, as we've managed to save Finn's tail (well I say "we" but it's entirely down to foster mum Jan who has been so diligent). Then there's lttle Gemma, who went sick when she came out of Dunboyne pound, but has now made a full recovery. Oh, and Tickle's cast is off and an x-ray reveals her leg has healed well. Above is a pic of her on Salisbury Plain yesterday morning on the dog's mammoth Christmas morning walk in the traditional pouring rain.... (That's a clump of dry grass in her mouth, not some unfortunate furry thing.)

So now to more important things. Who to wear the ridiculous Christmas hat this year...? Tickle refused. She doesn't think it's fair that she should be some kind of Christmas poster pup for Black Retriever X Rescue given that she is neither black nor a retriever. Boz (right) was willing enough but didn't really get into the Christmas spirit. ("Er... exactly why have you lifted a dog my size on to the window sill...?")

Maisie (left) gave it a shot despite protesting that she was way too posh (being a purebred flatcoat an' all although we don't tolerate any of that purebreds-are-superior nonsense round these parts). Luka, though, pulled off the impossible (below). He wore the stupid elf hat and still looked dignified.

Happy Christmas!

The BRX Christmas Appeal

Christmas is a bloody awful time for dogs in Ireland as the whole rescue system grinds to a halt.

The rest of the year, it works like this: a stalwart band of volunteers, come rain or shine, go round the pounds, taking photos and posting on the internet descriptions of the dogs in danger. The UK rescues monitor the Irish rescue boards and make offers on dogs they think they can help. The Irish volunteers then get those dogs out of the pound and into foster homes and kennels, where the dogs are vaccinated and usually neutered.

The dogs that don't get offers and are not reclaimed are put to sleep and many thousands of young and healthy dogs die needlessly in Ireland every year. It is not usually out of meanness on the pound's part (although there certainly are awful pounds, with 100 per cent euthanasia records, that volunteers can't reach); it's often because they have to make room for the next raft of strays and surrenders coming in.

For the lucky dogs that get offers from UK rescues, there's a 10-day wait until they can travel to the UK on one of several transporters who tirelessly take the overnight ferry to Holyhead or Pembroke - a pretty grim journey at times. The UK rescues meet the transporters at various drop-off points, often at the crack of dawn at motorway service stations. It must look very suspicious, but of course for the lucky dogs it's the start of what will hopefully be a wonderful new life.

But at this time of year there's a problem: the transporters stop mid-December and don't start again until January, which means that there's a mad push now to get as many dogs as possible out of the pounds, foster homes and kennels. That way, there's still some small chance of survival for the dogs coming into the pounds over Christmas.

All of which is a very long way round of saying that I have offered on as many dogs as I can in the past couple of weeks. As a result, I have black retriever x's like Echo (top), Danny (right) and Henry (below) coming out of my ears - and nowhere for some of them to go.

They are all lovely. They all deserve a chance. And we could really do with some help. If you could offer a temporary refuge to one of them, you really will be helping to save a life. A donation towards kennelling costs (our only option if we can't find enough foster homes) would also be a huge help (and it's very easy and totally safe to donate via the PayPal button on the bottom left of our home page, here).

The Black Retriever X Rescue website is now getting an astonishing 6000 hits a month so I know there's a lot of you out there.

Thank you to all those who have supported us in the past year, particularly those of you who have opened your hearts and homes to one of our wonderful black retrievers. Very special dogs. Very special people.

Tickle gets the boot

It's wet and muddy and miserable and we've had a terrible time trying to keep Tickle's splinted leg and foot clean and dry. There are dog boots available but of course they're dog-foot shaped and Tickle's foot is currently encased in a straight-up-and-down cast. So how on earth to protect it?

The genius solution (if I may say so myself..) is a cut-down child's wellington boot - £3.99 a pair from Woolworths. If you get the right size, it simply wedges on with no other fastening required.

Tickle's leg is encased in vet-wrap, that amazing bandage that only sticks to itself. I have a spare roll of it, so can add or subtract it to ensure a good fit for the boot.

The red fleece, by the way, is made by Hotterdog. We don't approve of clothes for dogs. Oh no - not for our rufty-tufty beasts. We got this only as an alternative to an elizabethan collar which the vet wanted Tickle to wear to foil the little witch's attempts to remodel the top of the splint. Really. And if we've also brought her a black one, too, it's only so we have a spare.

The saga of Finn's tail

We have a gorgeous red setter boy in foster with us at the moment. Finn arrived from Ireland a couple of weeks ago in a sorry old state - very thin, smelly and with a raw wound to the of his tail. Earlier this week, we thought we would have to amputate it - sad in such a beautiful boy, but tails in a strong, waggy dog like Finn often simply don't heal and the kindest thing to do is lop 'em off.

But last Sunday we finally took the plunge and let Finn off lead for the first time (in a very safe place, over a mile from the nearest road). For the first time since he arrived with us, Finn could run free. And, boy, did he run! He also poo-ed for England. Afterwards, foster mum Jan took him home and he slept the sleep of the truly-content for perhaps the first time since he'd arrived.

On Sunday evening, when Jan re-dressed his tail, she was astonished: where there had been blackness and a deep, semi-infected wound, there was now fresh pinkness. It looked 100 times better than it had just 24 hours previously. So we had a dilemma: Finn was booked in to have his tail amputated the next day. The vet had told us in no uncertain terms two days earlier that "there is no way that is going to heal". Should we go ahead with the amputation the next day or not?

Well of course not! Finn deserves a chance. And perhaps all that exercise and ridding himself of what looked like a month of compacted stools finally jump-started his immune system into action.

It's still not a pretty sight, let's face it. Foster mum Jan apologises for this picture which she thinks looks rather rude!

Now you really didn't need that mental image, did you...?

Tickle breaks a leg...

Two weeks ago, on an unseasonably warm afternoon, Jon and I took the dogs down to the river in Marlborough for a swim (and a bit of duck acclimatisation...). Tickle only learned to swim in the summer and wouldn't win a style competition, but she's fearless. After a few minutes, she spotted some cattle on the opposite bank and swam over, leapt out of the water on to a wooden slatted pier and raced towards them, barking, totally ignoring my shout to come back. I saw her slide on the slippy wood and then she screamed - her left foreleg had slipped in between the slats. Clearly hurt, she hopped back to the bank, crying. "Well perhaps that will teach her not to chase cows" I said to Jon, not very charitably. I didn't think she was badly hurt.

Now Tickle is a gutsy girl usually (see here). She wouldn't dream of showing any vulnerability in front of strangers. But with us she's pretty vocal if she bumps or bruises herself. On a late summer evening walk a few months ago, she came hopping back to us holding up a front leg and then cried all the way home. Once home, she sat on Jon's knee and continued to cry. I was so convinced she had broken it I dragged my vet, Juliet, out of a dinner party. But it was just a sprain and within 24 hours Tickle was back to her usual self, terrorising Boz at breakneck speed round the garden.

So down at the river I thought she was putting it on a bit. Tickle is so nimble-footed I couldn't believe she had really hurt herself. But she stood forlornly on the bank opposite us, still crying. The river was too deep for us to cross, so Jon set off towards the bridge, 100 yards down river. Tickle, though, so needed to get back to us that she suddenly launched herself back into the river and swam awkwardly over to us. Jon helped her out and picked her up. She was sodden and shaking and still crying. We sped to the car and took her straight to the vet. An x-ray revealed the horrible truth - Tickle had an ugly chip fracture of the larger bone that runs from her shoulder to knee. It was three-quarters through the bone and unstable. Juliet splinted the leg and sent us home with a stern lecture about keeping her really quiet. She also gave us a bottle of ACP, a sedative which would help counter Tickle's natural tendency for mayhem.

As I write this, Tickle is on the sofa beside me, upside down and dreaming. She's doing really well - alternating between demanding cuddles from Jon (left) and hopping round the house and garden. The vet would have a heart-attack if she could see her go up and down the stairs and jump on and off the sofa. But Ticks is a smart girl. She hops around holding her bad leg up and is really careful. There have been a couple of yelps when she's caught the leg on something, or one of the others has knocked her, but she seems more comfortable as every day passes.

Thank goodness for the ACP, though. I hate having to drug her, but the alternative is worse. The other morning, before I had given her the morning dose, she was out in the garden and she came flying towards me terrifyingly fast. We have been warned by the vet that if a knock causes the fragile bone to break through, it will mean an operation and weeks of crate rest so I've been much more careful since then.

We miss our sparky girl, though. Every morning, Boz tries to play with her and he looks terribly forlorn when I have to stop him. As you can see, though, Luka is not about to give up his favourite spot on the bench for anyone. Unlike Boz, he's undoubtedly enjoying the peace and quiet. I've told him to make the most of it.