The Yorkshire Vet: Triumphant dog that took the biscuit - Julian Norton
As predicted by me, Bolt, the cute five-month-old stocky Jack Russell did win his category in the Wath Village Street Fair last weekend, and also the coveted Best-in-Show rosette.
For all I’m very biased when it comes to JRTs, the competition was mostly very closely contested. My favourite category was “The Best Biscuit Catcher”, partly because it was spectacular, but mainly because it was much more objective than the “Prettiest Bitch” or “Most Handsome Dog”. The smooth coated Dachshund, who had removed his hat and sunglasses to give him a better view of the flying biscuit and therefore afford him an improved chance of catching it, was never going to win. I gave him two chances, the first biscuit landed on the desiccated grass to his left, the second attempt hit him on the head. Neither throw caused even a flicker of recognition nor any attempt to catch the biscuit. As expected, the chocolate Labrador was an expert, plucking the treat from the air with skill and efficiency. There was no drama, just a clinical performance. But the clear winner was a cocker spaniel who not only caught the biscuit first time, but executed a near perfect back flip and then landed on all four feet. She received extra points for artistic impression.
With the judging complete, I could relax and Judith (my assistant who was in charge of the loud hailer for the dog show and keeping everything running smoothly) took me to the Pimm’s tent to quench the thirst that had developed in the show ring. We chatted about the village, its charm, and the enthusiastic vigour with which the locals tackled every event. Conversation returned to my first introduction to the village, back in 1996, when I used to treat the cattle of the farmer called Fred Bewley, who turned out to be a doyen of the village and a stalwart of the village committees which organised such events. Judith went on to describe one such party, to commemorate Trafalgar day (which, by coincidence is the same day as Anne and my wedding anniversary). Fred had been in the merchant navy and had apparently played a pivotal role on the seas near Japan. As a nautical man, he was insistent that the village celebrations should include this important day. Judith had discovered a recipe for an alcoholic drink called “Grog”, which is evidently as dangerous as it sounds and is concocted from Ginger wine and Navy rum. On that particular Trafalgar day, Fred and another senior member of the village had been discovered, late in the evening, lying in a ditch. Thanks to the potent effect of Judith’s “grog”.
Luckily for me, there was no grog on the menu today, but the next excitement came in the shape of a vintage tractor rally, where antediluvian farm vehicles chugged down the main street. That some of them could move at all, seemed not much short of a miracle. One had a plastic squash bottled fastened with string in a strategic position, although it was not clear what it contained. Each and every tractor processed past, in ceremonial style. It wasn’t long before it was time for me to leave, and head back home to my own street near Thirsk. With a box of strawberries, a lovely bunch of hand-picked garden flowers and a thank you bottle of fizz following a successful dog show, it had been a lovely day. For the locals, without a drive home and with fizz, Pimm’s and beer flowing almost on tap, it looked as if they were all set in for a long evening. Hopefully, without any casualties in the ditch!