For one day only, a lurcher post to break up the horror!

Autumn, then. Yes, it’s that wondrous mellow season when enough leaves fall off the trees to make every longdog and lurcher aware of their ancient foe. Camouflage lost, the plume-tailed rats from Hell descend to wreak havoc…

The squirrels claim, of course, that they’re quietly collecting nuts and other goodies for the long winter ahead. They’re not. Having had lurchers for many years, I know only too well that the squirrel army is beginning its winter campaign.

The little cute ones appear first, munching on an acorn. People go, aw, that’s so sweet. The grizzled squirrel elders, perched high above, observe our every movement. It’s the film Zulu all over again:

Lieutenant Linseed Grant: Adendorff, what’s wrong with them? Why don’t they fight?
Adendorff: They’re counting your londgogs.
Lieutenant Twiglet (too old for active service): *What?*
Adendorff: Can’t you see that old boy up in the tree? He’s counting your longdogs. Testing your biting power with the lives of his warriors.

Our response is initially muted. A start of Chilli’s head and stretch of her neck, the famous longdog ‘point’ as she stiffens in the face of the enemy, ready to charge. Django trips over his paws, notices an interesting snail and finds part of a Greggs pastie. He is brought into line by the alpha, told that there are no conscientious objectors in this war.

Lieutenant Twiglet sits down and refuses to go on. She isn’t against the fight, but she’s 93, her bum hurts and she hasn’t had a cup of tea for hours. Adendorff, who is only there in the tortured mind of J Linseed Grant (Officer Commanding, Dork’s Drift), decides to be someone else’s imaginary friend and disappears.

Chilli prepares herself.

She is, to be frank, a distinct improvement on our late lurcher Jade, who was incapable of planned action or wise restraint. I once let a friend walk Jade with me in autumn. Once.

“She’s fine, but you’ll have to watch out for squirrels. She really will go mental.”

Friend nods knowingly, confident in his dog-experience. “No problem.” he says.

Ten minutes later, friend is hauling desperately on a heavy leash, rope burns on his hands and his heels dug into the turf. At the other end is 30 plus kilos of Bedlington x greyhound x wolfhound, shrieking insanely and incessantly at the top of her voice and in the process of clawing apart a 200 year old sycamore. One small squirrel sits at the top, quietly enjoying the scene.

“I didn’t realise.” sobs friend, handing me the lead afterwards. “I thought you were joking!”

He took Twiglet the next time.

October is when the larger warrior squirrels begin to emerge, bold and not so cute. They have already scared off the neighbourhood cats, stripped down the few walnuts we had waited ten years for, and generally ruined my pickling plans. I thought that when my partner and I saw a squirrel carting a large banana around, way back, that we’d seen how far they would go, but no, this year they have assaulted the fig tree. My beloved fig tree!

“Look, I can grow figs in Yorkshire.” says I. “Look, the squirrels are eating them all.” says my best beloved.

So today I took our two best troops into the woods and let them loose. It was a sort of reconnoitre, testing the enemy strength in return. Just how many prime warrior squirrels do they have up there? It didn’t do much good, of course, because even Chilli can’t get eighty foot up an oak, no matter how hard she tries. But she did try, and she scared the little buggers, at least. Unlike dear old Jade, she gives a sharp bark and then gets down to it with agility and cunning. Good dog.

Django found a discarded packet of crisps, and peed on a birch tree.

I don’t think we’re going to win.

Back to the weird and wonderful world of October Horror in a couple of days; more longdogs after everyone is scared enough…