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What's Yours Called?


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Sorry to hear the sad news about Denver.  He looks a right sweetie.




Rosie was named by her breeder, we kept the name cos it suits here.  As she was four when the breeder let us have her, it would be a shame to have changed it.


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This is Tink or Dawnglo Tinkerbell to give her her official name. Like others, it was the name her breeder gave her, she came to us aged 4. We shortened it to Tink after getting strange looks shouting "Tinkerbell" in every park in the area.


Fortunately she loves being afloat but is bone idle in reality.IMG_2283.JPG

She used to be a supermodel and even made it to Crufts in her youth. These days she just eats, sleeps  and manufactures... well you get the idea. She also loves toffee eclairs!



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Erm well.. ships cat "Sylvester" as his vet records show was nicknamed "s***bag" by us when we invited himself aboard all those years back... Although lately as he's getting use to his name and plays up to it is now answering to "Oi" and lots of other associated french words... I've started calling him "Cat" as he gives be a right evil look... (as the cat prison lady said there is actually a cat that comes in with the name "Cat"..)... 

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Sadly no longer with us, in the order we had them

Duke,        a farm bred border collie

Baron,      a blue merle rough collie,  Registered name, Baron Blue Moon.

Odin,       a shaded sable rough collie, Registerd name, Samberry Sinclair at Sheque

Amber, a golden sable Rough collie, Registered name, Hazelside Sanderling at Sheque.

Glenn, A golden sable rough collie, Registered name, SheQue Amber Glenn.

Crystal, A golden sable rough collie, Registered Name, SheQue Amber Crystal.

Twix,  an honorary Dog,     AKA the Cat.


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Actually Poor old Odin was not very bright, and because he was always out with Baron, we used to call them in shouting Baron Odin.....

Odin didn't realize his name was Odin but would only turn up if we shouted both names Not just Odin (or Ody)

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Prior to the Beagle Brothers I had Sam who was a Lakeland Border Terrier Cross. In appearance he resembled Spit the Dog, and by the time he shuffled from this mortal coil at the ripe old age of 24 or 25 (ongoing arguments as to the dates) he smelled worse than Uncle Albert's privy carpet.

Sam was with me for half my life (so far) and outlasted both my marriages, was around for six years with my current partner, moved with me between Cambridge, Greece, Bradford, Bahrain,Jerusalem, Spain and back to the UK.

My mother once stood on my doorstep in Bradford shouting Sam into the house at the top of her voice adding the suffix 'bo' to his name.

I had two 'deathbed' scenes with Sammy. At 19yrs old I thought he had died. He was stiff, cold and definitely not breathing.Tearfully I wrapped him in a blanket to bury the following day only for him to miraculously rear up from under the blanket two hours later and frighten the living out of me.

The second and final scene was much like the death of Nelson with Ellie my partner, my first wife, my daughter, youngest son all gathered round...with Ellie and my first wife discussing my failings...Sam would have liked that!

Sam never used a dog lead as he would almost never stray from my side. However when my daughter was born my first wife insisted on the advice of her dog trainer friend we take him to dog training lessons as Sammy would not respond to commands from my wife. At the training session the trainer spent twenty minutes squirting Sam in the face with a water pistol if he did not do what my wife asked. Sam just sat and took the treatment until I arrived and I gave him permission to bite the trainer whereupon he joyfully sank his teeth into the blokes hand then ate the water pistol. We never did dog training again.


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when I was about 9 years old we acquired a 2 years old springer spaniel named Skipper. No matter how hard we tried to curb his talent for escaping he always managed somehow to get out and go street raking sometimes not returning until the early hours. Skipper used to do the rounds of cake and sweet shops on the high street in North London where .we lived  and could hold the begging position indefinitely, a talent he put to good use in the middle of the pavement outside the shop of his choice. Skipper had a few personal hates one of which was black people and he was known to jump on the platforms of passing buses to make his feelings on this matter known to the West Indian conductors that were so prevalent at the time.. Most of them came to know him and  never took offence, rather, when the bus passed the bottom of our road they would move down inside the bus so he couldn't see them! The whole area knew Skipper but my dad found another home for him as he was destructive when left in alone and he went to a pub at the Elephant and Castle where he caught and detained 2 burglars, Another of his quirks was that he would let anyone come in but woe betide them if they tried to leave!








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When I bought my yard in Womack, my good friend Pat Simpson had just come back from the States and we both wanted a gun-dog. We chose two pups from the same litter and he, being ex Navy, called his "Malin" after the sea area, so I called mine "Lundy". He later had a dog called Rockall, and now has a dog called Wight. He reckoned if he got an Alsatian, he would call it German Bight. By the way, he also has a son, called Shannon!

Lundy with poser master.jpeg

Here we are, sailing Evening Flight together, near Thurne mouth on our way to Wroxham Broad.

She was fully trained to a gun, using hand signals, not words, so as not to make a noise when out duck shooting. She hardly ever wore a collar and was never on a lead. They say the best gun dogs are not pedigree, but need a bit of cross breeding to give them strength of character. She was Yellow Labrador, but with a bit of Beagle in the mix!

Lundy with Moira and pups.jpeg

A Yellow Lab with black puppies! This was because the father was a big Black Lab, known as "H" (for hound) and well known on the river bank at Potter Heigham!

Lundy with H.jpeg

Here she is in her later years, with my daughter outside our apartment in France.

I am afraid the story doesn't have a happy ending as, after only a year and a bit, the company I was working for sold the boatyard and I had to move back to England. She was too old by then to suffer 6 months of quarantine and I could not have afforded it, so I had to give her to some friends we had made on a little yard on the Canal du Midi, and there she spent the last couple of years of her life.

I seem to have always been moving around ever since, and so I have never owned another dog. I prefer to stay with my happy memories of Lundy.

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Vaughan, neither you nor Pat tempted to call a dog Dogger then?

Gerald Durrell, the author, had two dogs, Widdle & Puke, that always amused me. Port & Starboard is an obvious name for a pair of boat dogs. For a single boat dog I suppose Watch is an option! Dog watch, geddit?!

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