The JuryI had gone to the horse feed bin to make up the horse’s night feed. I opened the lid and there staring up at me were three pairs of eyes, three pairs of ears, 3 snouts and 3 tails No they were not dinky little gerbils or dormice, they were better known as Rattus Rattus Minimus (or was it Maximus?) They had been caught in ‘flagrante delicto’ knicking the horse’s tea. Undoubtedly they were ‘Guilty’ as charged. What to do? Leave three of these little devils for a week and there would be 103 in very short time. But I did not fancy myself giving them a one way ticket for they have sharp teeth. be they ever so little.
I gave it some thought and came to the idea of a jury made up of one Bull Mastiff, called Libby, one Rottweiler: Blunderbuss (Rocky’s uncle) and a Cairn Terrier called Samson.. Sentence would be passed democratically. The three members of the jury were summonsed to sit around the dustbin which by now I had upended on the concrete.
A Bull mastiff is a formidable dog, over twice the size of a pit bull terrier Libby was a character dog - regardless of her breeding and the supreme matriach of the family‘s dogs. For such a big dog, she was very agile.
Blunderbuss was a typical Rottweiler in build but a bit thick in the head. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. A superb guard dog, he did not suffer fools gladly but he was no Einstein.
Samson was the hunter in the family, A Cairn terrier is a feisty little Scot, bred for chasing foxes out of their burrows. Sam had proved his mettle on a number of occasions.
I called the three of them over and eventually got them to sit down facing the dustbin. Libby already knew something was up and she was sniffing at the bin. Blunderbuss was a bit perplexed. Just why was he being asked to sit in a circle? Sam knew something was going on but he was not fussed. He was favoured to win more than his share of prey. He was the smallest and the quickest.
I called out: “one, two, three” and lifted the dustbin to see the three furry devils sitting in the middle of a pile of horse feed. So did Libby. Instantly she made a lunge and one of the snout nosed demons wound up in her mouth - a bit like Moby Dick inside the whale. The other two rushed off towards the garden wall, with Libby, (yes the Bullie), in hot pursuit. She could move in a straight line when she wanted to. Samson had come alive when he had realized what was up but he was a bit late off the mark. Blunderbuss sat there, looking at the pile of horse nuts, wondering whether to eat some.
So the name of the game was Libby or Sam The second whiskered creature took the wrong path and the next thing he (or was it she?) knew, was that he/she was pinned down under the furry claws of a Bullie, Sam, in the interim, roared off after the escapee. Now Libby had a problem, she was still holding one furred mini-monster in her mouth, so she had two doomed creatures to take care of. She lay down and when comfortable lifted her paw to allow the poor crushed rodent to move - about 6 inches. Then whop - down came the paw again. The poor little fellow, the little monster which could spread rabies and all sorts of nasties, really had no chance. Interestingly the other rodey was still having a warm bath in Libby‘s mouth. Bull mastiffs do dribble a lot.
A crestfallen Sam sneaked back. He had lost his quarry in the bushes but he knew not to interfere with Mother Libby. She was the Queen. You did not get on the wrong side of her, that was or sure. Eventually the poor little devil under the paw stopped squirming and so Libby lifted her paw to take a closer look at what she had caught. She sniffed it, then pushed it about with he nose, but it would still not move. Her quarry had caught his/her last bus. The crushing power in the stamping of a Bullie’s paw is sufficient to squeeze an orange dry. Then it was time to check her other captive which she gently spat out onto the concrete. It did not move - even when Libby licked it, not that it needed licking for it was already soaking wet. A Bullie can dribble for a part in an Alien film. But to be fair to her, maybe Libby was thinking that she could lick it better. She did have a motherly instinct.
So there laying peacefully at rest were two of the little furry devils. Neither of them had got very far. However the third little furry devil was by now making eyes at another of his kind behind some shed or something. You are never more than 10 feet from a rat - so they say. As for Blunderbuss, well he had already wandered off. Rotties are not that good for hunting. Samson came back and sniffed the horse feed, just in case there was another little creature hiding.
Libby sloped off for a snooze. She had proved her point. She was the mistress of the house. Justice had been fairly done. No blood had been spilt. System normal.
Rocky Dog’s Dad