The Chicken House Blog

Hurriedly stopped in the lane outside Forsham Cottage stood a little grey van. The driver, farmer Humphrey’s was skewed awkwardly across the passenger seat. His attempts at gaining our attention being hindered by an assortment of dogs and a seat belt.” Has he still got all his bits”, he shouted, “has the dog been cut“ he re-phrased his question, now able to indicate he was talking about our Dill the dog, who was rapidly circumnavigating the little van, his hackles up, progress punctuated by a succession of ‘pee stops’ up each and every mud encrusted wheel.

It was soon established that farmer Humph’ was asking if Dill the dog was able, and if we were willing for him to ‘service‘ his Collie bitch. We had no problem and as farmer Humph’ preference was for a bitch we agreed the deed in exchange for the first choice of the dog pups.

I was at work several days later when little grey van pulled up outside. “we’d better see how they get on” farmer Humph’ said to Cindy whilst undoing the vans back doors. Lynford Christy said that an Olympic start needed you out of the blocks at the ’B’ of the bang from the starters pistol. Dill was in the in the back of the van at the ‘Cr’ of the creaking door hinge. The lady jumped out, Dill followed in close formation and was ‘engaged’ in moments, the pair then got knotted.

This was only the second time Cindy had met framer Humph so small talk was a bit stilted as they stood in the lane, watching a pair of bum to bum dogs struggling to pull apart like a contrariwise tug of war. This awkward state of affairs, with it voyeuristic undertones was not being help by a succession of well meaning neighbours who seeing the situation, and knowing his history, assumed Dill was in disgrace and Cindy was in distress. “is he in trouble again” one asked Cindy ”, “no, he’s still on shift ” she is  reported to have said !

It was several months later when we had all but forgotten about the pending ‘son of Dill’ when farmer Humph’ turned up “there was no choice of dogs” he told us  explaining that whilst mum left her litter for a few moments to have a poo brake. The farms Jack Russell terrier got in to her kennel and killed four of the five pups. The sole survivor of the carnage was one very small, very scared dog pup now in a very  small box under farmer Humph’s arm.

I had a notion to name the pup  Dillson. However the kiddies  next door suggested that to compliment his dads ’herb name’,  that perhaps this son of Dill could be called Basil, which on refection seemed supremely sensible to us !

Basil was blessed or cursed with a pure white head giving him what I can best described as a ‘work in progress ’ look, he did not have the classic Collie dog markings of his dad (I never saw mum). He grew into a big dog with a big heart but  Basil never signed up to the training bit. Not that we wanted him to dash up  a hill and gather up fifty stroppy sheep, to lay down, sit and just stay would have been an acceptable start. I am told white-headed dogs are prone to hearing difficulties, that may be the case, but I think our Basil was only deaf when we needed to be. Which as an eight year old I once heard a coach driver say about my granddad when he was suggested granddad and his bell ringer mates get out of the saloon bar and back on the bus. Granddad lost his hearing during the war, not fighting a foe on  foreign soils, but in the living room when an unexploded anti aircraft shell, which all assumed must have been embedded in a log, exploded in the hearth, sending the ‘pointy end’ up past granddad Pellett, who was toasting his bum, and up thought the lath and plaster ceiling. The bullet, (which I  presume was dug out of the roof timbers) and the polished shell case were displayed on the mantel  for years.

One more story about my granddad ( I have lots). He was working at a cottage down near the Stone Bridge Inn in Woodchurch. A car stopped, “Aldington” the chauffeur barked at granddad. (Allington is village at the edge of Romney Marsh,  I think Noel Coward lived there about this time ) You didn’t shout at my granddad, if you could not be polite, then nor could he, ture to form  Granddad ignored the man. “Are you deaf man“ the now irate driver demand of Granddad  who was now  going back inside the cottage  “ NO …… I’m not deaf”, he said (he was) “and  I’ll tell  you sumert else I’m not …… I’m not the bugger what’s lost”.!

Dill the dog we could tell to stay and for the most part he would. However Basil would go ‘walk abouts’ so when going  out we had to tether Basile to his kennel. We returned home one time to find Basils chain disappearing  through a part opened window into the back of our garage. Inside Basil was suspended down the wall  by this neck, his tether chain stretched tight, only extended toe nails keeping him from hanging himself.

About once a fortnight or so, Basils ‘wander lust’ got the better of him, he would trot off down the very busy main road towards Headcorn. Not being the brightest button in box I am still surprised he knew the way but for reason’s only known to himself Basil always went to the same old farm house which was a good two miles down the road and then a quarter mile off the main road. The family would phone us “Basils here “   Cindy ( more patience than me) would drive down to the farm, open the pick up door where upon Basil, glad to see her, would stop playing with his adopted family, leap into in the motor  and without the faintest hint of any remorse, happily waited to be driven home.

Predictably Basil pushed his luck and was hit by a car which unfortunately broke his back, sadly we had to have him put to sleep. But Basil left his mark, years later somebody mentioned a distinctive white headed collie dog they frequently saw striding down the road, head up, with a purpose and a place to go.

And possibly the posh and very nice folks next door will remember  that it was not until they caught him in the act that the mystery of their constantly going missing slippers was solved. Our Basil was poking his head thought their cat flap and nicking them!

    Filed under: The Forsham Saga
    by Robert