… Four o’clock on an idyllic Spring afternoon. A yelp, whelp, scream from the wood, a sprinting Rosie (aka Meg), and a West Kent Sprint champion (aka Sandie) rushed there. Bigboy (aka George), is transfixed in horror and shock, with a patch of skin hanging loose.

Sandie couldn’t move him, so carried him to the back doorstep and knocked politely to ask if I was receiving visitors. Dumped him in the car, and raced to Builth and David the Vet. No blues, but Sandie “neee-Naaarred” all the way so that helped clear the traffic.

Both vets are on visits, but after twenty minutes of waiting with George in the car, David returns. “George, you stupid b++++er, what have you done? Oh! Hello you two! Bring him in”! We left him and returned at 6. 30 to take him home, woozy, scared and stubborn.

He’s no CB (confined to barracks, or “gated”. Cause? Barbed wire is the consensus, but we’re opting for a cut-off branch stub that he bumped into chasing whatever danger or prey was in his mind! Prognosis? Anti bacs, painkillers, and quiet!