I’m Raven, an English pointer.  Belle is letting me tell stories for now.

Leashes – that’s the topic.

But first the collars – have to get this right.

When I was a pup, I called them ‘slave rings.  I bounded around the yard, scratching at it while I ran and she LAUGHED at me. I burned with shame but then I saw a big, white butterfly and forgot about the ‘slave ring’. By the time I remembered, I knew it wasn’t so-o-o bad. Plus I often got treats with the collar so that changed my mind.

The collar she picks tells me what we’re doing. So my hi-vis orange collar with a small bell means hiking. My mauve collar with daisies means agility. My blue collar with tiny pointers pointing at pheasants means that she takes me into a store to display my beauty. My soft martingale collar-leash-thing means dog shows- which I think are silly; all that staring and those strangers prodding me – a bit weird if you ask me.  I do pride myself in standing as still as a statue. Oh and that silly trot around a ring the size of small house?  THAT does NOT equal ‘moving’ in my books.  But I get lots of treats there…

Where was I? Oh yes – then there’s the dreaded orange bathing collar – yuck. It hangs on the banister. I see her reach for it and I charge low and quick to the bedroom then into the open crate. I lie at the back and think, ‘Pick Harry – Pick Harry.’ He’s the youngest so I think he should automatically get the bath torture. Do I feel guilty throwing him to the ‘wolves’? Nope.

Of course now that we have the collars down pat, leashes are next. I’m happy to see a leash but I don’t get the big whoop-de-do. I mean my doggie friend Wally loves his leash, slavers over it. I lift my nose and turn away when he does that – yeesh! But we go OFF leash so much that leashes cramp my style. I’m a free-flowing kind of girl. Off leash I USUALLY listen to her – even if she babbles…I guess it makes sense that she wants a leash around roads (but thank DOG I’m a country girl!).

I do act blasé around the whole leash thing but in fact she has a leash I like. It has a stretchy part in the middle and when I rush to the end, I bounce back at her! So it’s lunge-boing! Lunge-boing! And it doesn’t even make her wince! She always says I’m a ‘slip of a thing but solid as a rock.’ She also says she’s going back to something called ‘loose-leash-walking.’ I think that means no more ’lunge-boing…’But maybe this ‘loose-leash’ thing will be fun too…

I have to say that my very favourite thing of all is to blast past leashed dogs. I kick up stones as I flash by. I bet I’m the fastest thing they’ve ever seen. That must be why they lunge and bark and their people yell things. I know they’re admiring me and they’re not afraid to shout about it. I get a little tingle all over and have to stop myself from making another pass. But it’s better to give them just a taste…not to overdo it. SHE sometimes looks unhappy. I glance back to see her mouth opening and closing over and over but the wind is in my ears. I catch the tantalizing scent of a rabbit or, even better, a fat feathered one I’ve heard called a ‘grouse.’

Forget the leashes…scents to sniff, places to run.

Gotta go.

Raven