Three years ago, almost to the day, I first saw the bluebells at Strelley. Yesterday I revisited with my friend Heather, she who on that prior occasion introduced me to this woodland haven bounded west, north and south by farmland, and east by an M1 whose muted roar is heard from every dell and shaded glen of an otherwise arboreal paradise.
We parked west of Strelley Village, close to Strelley Hall.
Leaving Jackie with Tebay, who has a gammy leg, we took the cart track spanning six lanes of motorway before turning left and south on the path down to Oldmoor Wood.
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I mentioned Tebay’s gammy leg. The previous Friday he – a terrier through and through – saw fit to go down a badger set in our local park. We didn’t see his entry but it was clear that’s what he’d done because the GPS tracker on his collar went blank on our phones, ruling out his having slipped into the garden of one of the houses bordering the park. You may as a parent know that sinking feeling when you lose sight, however briefly, of a small child on a crowded street.
It’s no different with an animal you love.
I went home for torches. Back at the park we narrowed our search to two sets, each with several large entrances, some two hundred metres apart. Frantically googled advice said not to shout down every hole, for fear of further confusing a dog already panicked in a tunnelled maze. What we needed to do was call repeatedly down just one hole while shining a light.
After two of the worst hours of my life – for which, trust me, there’s no shortage of competition – Jackie heard a faint bark deep underground. She called again. Gradually a different sound was heard, of frantic panting. Jackie called encouragement until finally he emerged: one eye closed, fur matted and in places missing altogether, and – not immediately apparent – with a sprain or pulled muscle to front left leg. His demeanour was subdued, as yours or mine would be after hours of not knowing when or indeed if you’d ever emerge from dark tomb to light of day.
After parting with £140, our vet assured us there was no lasting physiological damage, while a week of antibiotic drops would deal with an infected eye. All’s well that ends well, as Chaucer said, but I still shudder at what might have been.
Time I think for one last touch of blue.
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Lovely piece, Philip. Marvellous photos and good to know Tebay’s excursion had a happy ending.
Thanks David. I confess, there were moments I caught myself hoping he’d be killed by a badger rather than spend hours or even days with his life, and all hope, ebbing away.