The soggy shooting season is over, bar a bit of duck shooting. It shouldn’t be, as it would make more sense to start it a couple of weeks later-which is what most people do anyway in order to give the poults more time to mature-and finish shooting pheasants and partridges in mid February. It’s one of those small, common-sense changes that require a change in the law.
A government keen to impress the rural vote would be wise to consider doing so. Despite the rain, it was an excellent shooting season. There were many more wild birds thanks to the fine weather last summer and, these days, our shooting kit is able to cope with most of what the weather can throw at us.
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The vet’s waiting room is no place for a terrier. The other patients this morning include a gerbil, two cats and three other dogs. After a lot of barking and a near incident with a tabby cat, Cracker and I have been banished. I’m now waiting and writing this in the car park outside the surgery.
We survived-or at least the other patients did- as we were whisked through the waiting room. Cracker, our Lucas terrier, has ‘done’ her cruciate ligament. Three months of no exercise is the prescription. The local rabbits will be delighted.
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