It was sleeting with rain as I climbed the style that gave me access to The Moor, "I liked days like these" you encountered so few people and you could look and take in all the wonderous sights of nature, "the deer as they sheltered in the birch trees, against the driving rain, the wood pidgeon who flew quickly towards the shelter of a tree, the hare with ears pinned back against the wind" that inhabited The Moor.

On rounding a bend I saw a man with spade in hand digging a hole, "strange I thought" I pondered as to whether to make an approach or not, "he was dressed in a thick wooly jumper and jeans tucked inside wellingtons" "his coat lay at the side of the hole which he was digging" there seemed to be something inside the coat, which forced it's rise from it's flat repose had it been empty.

I called out "good day there", The man looked up from his task, as the raindrops scarred his face whilst they ran off his hair. "Good day to you" he replied, "Can I help?" "No thank you, this is something I must do by myself! I have come to bury my dog" That was the lump that I had noticed in his coat.

I carried on walking, after about an hour I returned the way I had come, and found the man kneeling beside the freshly covered hole he had dug only an hour before. He was soaked through. I asked if he would like to walk with me off The Moor, as he rose I could see that it was not only rain drops that dripped from his face, they were mingled with tears, and his eyes showed a redness of copious tears having been shed.

Directly across from the style by which I had entered The Moor, is a little tarven which takes most of it's business in the spring and summer months catering for the fishermen who fish the lochs "lakes" on The Moor. I asked the man if he would like to have a beer and get dried by the log fire always alight at this time of the year. "That would be nice" he replied.

As we sat down I waited for him to speak, I had no wish to intrude on his mourning.
Eventually he spoke:
"I had had my dog for 15 years, I had got him as a pup, "at a time in my life when all was not well" I had met a woman with a Stafford all those years ago, and could not help but notice her dogs zest for life, "something missing from my own life at that point in time" I decided that day to get myself a Stafford pup. The coat you saw wrapped around my dog as I buried him, was the same coat that he had snuggled inside on the day that I bought him. He knew in the winter months when I placed the coat on, we were off to "His Moor" for it was his, as much as the deer or kestrels, lapwings or hares. He lived for The Moor "and it sometimes felt as though The Moor lived for him" Upon those heather strewn hills lay an abundance of memories that only he and I know of, and they will stay in my heart until death wrenches them from me.

The rain had stopped as we looked out of the window of the tavern, and the gent thanked me for my time and assistance, and said he hoped we would meet again one day in more pleasant circumstances.

As he rose to leave I had to ask, "What was your Staffords name?" "PAL" was his reply and he was the BEST one I have ever had.

 

It must have been some ten years ago now? That I climbed the style that gave access to The Moor. It was a bright May morning, the grass still damp with the remnants of the previous nights dew, "you know the conditions which leave a damp map imprinted on the ground of where you've been" if anyone wished to know.

As I looked ahead of me in the distance I could make out the shape of a jogger, "accompanied by their canine companion, "they were setting a hefty pace" one I could once have kept up with, . I strolled at my usual pace taking on board the changing tapestries that this month brought to The Moor, "the industry of the flying insects as they search for mates, the dance of the hares as they let off the remaining energies from a few months previous, and the sharpening of the colours on the trees as the sap rose to the top-most branches to feed the extremites of the woods.

I had progressed about a mile along the well worn path,when again I spotted the jogger and her companion, " a brindle bitch" who was well toned and muscled, "as was her owner" I said "Hello" as they passed me, and could not but admire the the shape of both of them, I continued my walk meeting a few others out with their dogs, a few cyclists, and also those who were here only to take on board the majesty of The Moor at this early hour on a May morning.

Some ten years later as I climbed the same style, The Moor had changed, "not so much The Moor itself but it's borders" the grassy path that for so many years I had trod, was now covered with tarmac, "presumably to afford better walking for those who now used it's perimeter for such varied activities as cycling, jogging, pony trekking. I again looked eastwards and noticed a wheelchair, "obviously with someone occuping it" and a dog. The person in the wheelchair was throwing a ball for the dog to retrieve, as they drew nearer I could make out the dog to be a brindle Stafford, "no it couldn't be?" I was greated by a warm smile and a hearty good morning by the occupant of the wheelchair, and a standard Stafford smile from the now greying brindle bitch. "I had to ask" "excuse me did I not see you and your dog many years ago on this same path?" "Yes it is very possible that you did. we used to jog around here most mornings many years ago" I felt somewhat uneasy not knowing what to say, the young woman must have sensed this and said "how times have changed", I no longer run around The Moor, but I can still excercise my dog by throwing a ball for her which she will bring directly back to me. Again she must have noticed my unease, "I had an accident as you can plainly see, and for a long time I gave up on life. My bitch here used to stare at me wondering why we no longer visited The Moor. If I'm honest I used to get angry with her, "could she not see I was wheelchair bound?" Until I realised that she did not see what humans saw, to her I was the same person I had always been. Her love and devotion for me did not change because of my circumstances, she never averted her eyes from mine "as most do" for fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. I eventually realised all she wanted was for me and her to be back on The Moor, and this gave me new impetus to rebuild my life, and once more walk or roll The Moor with her . She enabled me to accomlish tasks that other humans had tried so hard to help me do but where unable to succeed in their efforts. I knelt down and patted the ageing bitch on her greying head, and told the young woman that I hoped to see them both more often, "Oh you shall, if you are on The Moor regularly" "Do you mind if I ask your dogs name?" "not at all, as a pup I named her HOPE and now I know why.

 

It was late one evening as I placed a foot on the style. The sky was edged with a tint of red, fore-telling of a pleasant day to come in the morning. Fruit bats came within a foot of my head before veering off with the realisation I was not a giant moth,

The Moor at this time of day is fascinating, with everything from trees to deer silhouetted by the setting sun. As I walked towards the woods, "still being buzzed by the bats" I noticed an elderly gent with what looked like a yearling Stafford. I bid the gent good-evening and asked if I could see his dog? "Of course you can" was his reply.
The dog was a mahogany brindle, and as I looked into his eyes I felt I could detect a knowledge far greater than his age should allow, as though this dog had had experience far wider than one of his age should have. The young dog threaded his way in and out of the trees in his tireless pursuit of something to chase. Just then a Peregrine Falcon became visable high in the sky above the wood. The Rooks rose as one screaming their warning of "predator" The Peregrine folded it's wings and dived at an incredible pace, smacking into one of fledgling rooks but being unable to take hold of it. The young rook tumbled earthward, and bounced as it landed on a mossy knoll. The young dog lost not a second, as he shot off in the direction of the fallen rook. Looking on I thought "this is natures way" I awaited the execution of the rook by the young Stafford. To my amazement the young tyro, placed his fore-paws and chest above the fallen bird, "as though cradling it from further danger" the elderly gent and I walked towards the knoll where both dog and bird seemed frozen in time, "both awaiting the next moment" the gent called, " stand " and the dog rose from his crouching position, leaving the young rook free to move if it so wished to. The gent on reaching the rook lifted it gently and other than being slightly shocked could find no other ailment. He placed the young bird inside his jacket, and we walked further out onto the moor. As we walked his jacket noticeably moved where the young rook was regaining full awareness of his world. I had to ask " what is your young dog called" "Joe" was his reply. Just then he put his hand gently inside his jacket and retrieved the young bird from it's place of safety. The young rook eyed the world that only a few minutes ago was all but lost to it, and as it looked towards the wood the gent gently hoisted it into the air, and it flew directly toward the wood from which it came.

I remarked how unusual it had been for the young Stafford not to have killed the rook when it fell to earth. Oh JOE he said, "he doesn't have a bad bone in his body, well not yet?" strange that as his ancestors were said to be FEARLESS.

 

It was just as the sun rose that I stepped over the style on my way to The Moor, for the last few months I had noticed on a few ocassions a strikingly conformed dark brindle, who was accompanied by a youthful man. The mist had not fully risen on the horizon as both dog and owner came into veiw. On reaching me the young man asked if I could possibly hold his dog, "as he had left something in his car which he needed to get" I will be only to glad to hold him. I replied.

When the young man was a distance away, the dog looked at me and I listened. I am almost two years old, and life is great, "so why the worried look?" I asked. In the last few months as I sleep I have seen things I know nothing of. I see men with black faces emerging from the earth, on other ocassions I feel the heat of intense fires followed by the hammering and shaping of metal. In my waking hours I have never seen the like of these things. More recently I have seen dogs of my breed, who's bodies looked to be chisled from solid rock so imposing was their presence.

There is nothing to fear in your sleep, you are at that time in your life when The Ghost Dogs visit, it is the canine equivilent of a human history lesson, least you forget from whence you came. The men with black faces where the miners who had dogs such as you over a century ago. The intense fires were the furnaces of the Chainmakers who to kept dogs of your ilk. The dogs who look as though they are hewn from rock themselves are The Ghost Dogs of which I speak, you may never have to perform the tasks once asked of them, but it would please them to know you could if required. You are leaving behind your puppy days and becoming a Stafford and all the things that are expected of your breed. So fear not your dreams are only setting you on the true road.

With that the young man returned, "he had a collar and lead in his hand" seeing my puzzlement, he kindly explained. Each year on this date I place a collar and lead on the spot where my grandfathers old dog is buried, he asked me to promise to do this on his death bed. So each year since his death I have kept my promise, and placed a collar and lead on the spot where his old dog is layed to rest, far out on The Moor. I have no idea what becomes of them for after a few weeks there is no trace of them, "I imagine over the years someone or a few have gotten a good collar and lead out of it" Sometimes I wonder if Grandad is looking down and smiling at me as I place the tributes on his old dogs grave. This he also told me don't ever take life to seriously for it is only a GAME LADDIE.

 

That morning as I stepped on the style, the world seemed good. The first leaves of spring were appearing on the trees, and The Moor seemed to be a hive of activity, from the heather sprouting to the creatures displaying to attract a mate. The Moor had turned full circle once again and was preparing for the imminent surge of life that is brought with each new year.
As I walked along my usual route coming toward me was a old dog, "whom I'd seen since puppyhoood" but had never had reason to get close to other than the obligitory "Good morning" to his owner. The main reason I had looked so closely this morning was the fact that behind the old dog, trotted a Stafford pup of no more than 4 months, "he looked a cocky little fellow" as we drew closer the owner asked "would you mind, restraining my pup whilst I go to my car for a towel, he has not yet learned that muddy puddles are to be avoided, . "My pleasure" I said as I have long admired your old dog but never taken the opporunity to meet him. "Do you wish me to hold him also?" no need to hold him he will not leave the pup, "don't ask me why" with this the owner headed for her car and the towel.

The old dog looked at me and spoke, I came to my family when their daughter was but a child of five, "now sixteen" each morning I would walk to school with her, and be there to walk her home when school was over. Her and I were inseperable and as she grew so to did I, we were constant companions. Then about a year ago all that changed, she would go out a night without me to protect her, "like the time that strange dog had growled at her, I soon put a stop to that" she would still give me an ocassional pat and cuddle, and would even take me to the local shops with her on a Saturday morning, but it was not the same as it once had been. It seemed that my part in her life was over. One Sunday very early she put my lead on and we headed for The Moor, "to our rock" it no longer seemed that I was in the company of a child, but in the company of a young woman. On reaching "our rock" she held my head between her hands and said to me, " You have been my constant companion since childhood and I owe you debts I can never repay, you were my friend in the times I felt I had none, you were my clown when I was sad, you have been all the things and more that any person could expect of another, and you mean the world to me. I am growing up and will have new challenges in my life, I will ask one more favour of you, if I get a pup will you teach him your ways so that in time to come when I leave home I will have a dog like you to take with me. I would love to take you but that would break the families hearts, so I ask you this one last favour. For you have been my TOUGH GUY and MY LITTLE GEM and I will love you all the days of my life.

I now understood better, and that is why I will never leave this pups side until he has grown and gone with her. I must admit it is a great feeling to know that you are needed, and as my young mistress said to me you will always be TOP DOG.

 

 

 

It was one of those "sad days" if you know what I mean as I stepped off the style and headed for The Moor. The wind was non-existant and there was a stillness in the atmosphere, "as though the world had lost somethning, or was awaiting some imminent event, as I headed towards the windbreak, I noticed someone already seated there. I knew him from The Moor, and had seen him many times over the years, in the company of his old dog, whom when I had first met them some 14 or 15 years ago was but a pup. On drawing closer I noticed he held a collar and lead in his hands.

I sat down beside him, and nodded "Hello" he returned my aknowledgement, and then gazed out towards The Moor. In time he turned to me and said " I had to put my old dog to sleep yesterday, after almost 15 years, it was so difficult" "I have no doubt that it must have been" I said.

"This may sound stupid but when I look over The Moor I can see him at all the different stages of his life, " the impudent pup, who I never thought would take heed of the name I'd given him, the strong vibrant adult he became, who was not only a credit to me but also his breed, and the elderly gentleman who walked with the assurance of one who had lived life and solved all the puzzles."

"Yesterday at the vets was so hard for me, "but I knew I had to perform the last act of love for him" The vets surgery was empty, "I had arranged the previous week that it would be so" as we entered the vet who knew my old dog well, was there to great us both, I asked if I could be present when my lad breathed his last, "of course you can said the vet" I cradled him in my arms, and placed him on the table, our eyes met, and I moistened his with the tears from mine. The vet placed the syringe beneath his skin, and looked at me, I placed my thumb over the vets and pressed, almost instantly he drifted into The Valhalla where old warriors go. I gathered him up again in my arms, and took him home to his back garden, where I layed him to rest in his favourite spot, the sunniest spot in the garden, where he loved to wile away his days, when not out walking. I can only hope that all Stafford owners share the bond that I shared with my old dog Sam.

As we had talked the day had become brighter, with a hint of a breeze, the man looked better for having spoke of the ordeal he had gone through the previous day.

On looking toward the path I saw a young couple approach, they had a delightful Stafford pup who was jumping and bucking with the vigour of youth, on spying myself and my companion, he made a b-line for us. One of his owners called out Sam!! come here!. It couldn't be! Could it?

 

The style was cold to the touch, as I climbed over onto The Moor, the ground solid beneath my feet, she was here in all her majestic splendour. "Who was" "Winter of course" and it felt like we were in for a long hard one. The grass crunched with each footstep, and tenticles of ice gripped fast to the leaves and bark of the trees, like tears drops frozen in time.

Thankfully I was well wrapped up against the elements, for just like nature Winter has no mercy. As I progressed along the pathway, another walker was comig towards me, I regonized him from previous sightings on The Moor, "although never having spoken to him for any lengthy period. At a distance we waved "Hello' and as we drew closer I said "Good morning" he seemed a little pre-occupied, and took a time to reply. I asked "have you lost something?" "No not at all" he replied.

"It is just on mornings like these I recall the "Snow Dogs" "Snow Dogs" I echoed, "What are they"
" I have seen you many times on The Moor and you have no knowledge of the tale/legend of The Snow Dogs? "Never heard of them " I replied. "If you would like I will tell you of the legend" "Please Do" I implored.

"Many years ago " early 1800s I believe" in our Town which was but a Village at that time, there was said to have been a child attacked by a dog. Now the only dogs of note in the village at the time belonged to Old Brian, "an aged Scotsman" who kept his dogs for ratting and other activities associated with dogs of this type. The villagers demanded the death of his dogs, even though the child who had been bitten, said publicly that Brians dogs were not at fault. "People being people had to have their pound of flesh. Old Brian was told that come morning he would have to hand over his dogs for destruction, "He knew his dogs were blameless but could not defend them against the massed numbers of villagers" So late that night in a blinding storm he headed for the Mountians that rise up at The Moors end.

It was still snowing heavily, when villagers arrived at Old Brians home to confiscate his dogs, "it is said that his footprints and those of his dogs were still visable in the snow, making tracks for the mountains. In the afternoon a group of travelling people descend on the Village, amongst their charges was the dog who had bitten the child. "she identified it postively' it was taken from them and put to sleep immediately.

The Villagers were now racked with guilt, thinking that they had forced a once valued member of their community to flee rather than give up the dogs he loved. When weather permitted, a group was sent from the Village to the mountains to search for Old Brian, as they rose higher into the range, they became aware that there had been Avalanches during the heavy snows and no trace of Old Brian or his dogs could be found.

As time passed and no word or sightning of Brian or his dogs was ever heard, it was taken as fact that they had met a tragic end in the avalanches on the mountains.

This is where The Legend really comes into play, it is said that if the snow on the mountains ever fully melts, that the dogs of the old sort will once again return home to our village "Now a town" and ways and practices now lost to most, will once again be common place, and that once again dogs of the old sort will walk with pride amongst the people of our town.

"That is a stange and exciting tale" I said. "but surely the snow must have left the mountains at some point in all those years?" "Oh it has" replied the gent. "Do you not notice there are more dogs of the old sort around now, where once there were none."

With this I said my goodbyes, and promised to look more closely at the present day dogs, for signs of frost bite,

 

It was the first dry day we had had in a week as I stepped off the style and onto The Moor. Everything seemed flat and lifeless after the deluge of rain the past week had brought us. Water still ran in little streams at the side of new path put in to make access easier for people to at least look at The Moor if not intending to traverse it.

As I looked further up the path my eyes were met with the sight of a man and dog, "both looking the worse for wear". the man appeared soaked all down his front, and the dog looked as though he had bathed in mud. When near enough I asked, "Are you OK my friend" "I am now replied the gent, what a terrifying few minutes I had there," "It seemed like hours" "Oh what happened?" I asked

"Myself and my dog set off as normal earlier, to go round The Moor. Further up this path it is flooded, so rather than cut short our walk I decided to go onto The Moor, "proper" and meet up with the path later. As we crossed The Moor we came to the channels left by the old peat cutters. I decided to jump across these, "as to have gone around them would have taken an eternity" We managed to clear the first few channels easily. Then as I jumped across the next one, the ground beneath my feet gave way slightly, before I could stop him my dog jumped onto the exact place where my feet had landed, and the overhang gave way completely, he fell the three feet into the old peat cuttings. I bent down to try and reach him, but was about a foot or so short of of grasping his collar. The more he tried to free himself the more he sank into the sodden peat. I told him to stay, "which he did" at least whilst stationary he sank no further. I looked aroud invane for something with which to extracate him from the peat, I could see nothing that would be of any use. I must admit I was starting to panic, "I could not risk going into the peat channel myself" or we would both be doomed. I was staring at his collar in the hope it would stretch itself towards my hand, then I thought of my own belt. I stood up and removed the belt from my waist, I flicked it towards my dogs mouth saying to him "Get on" as I do when he is working the springpole. At last he took hold, and still encouraging him to hold I manged to drag/pull him close enough to grab hold of his collar, and hoist him free of the peat. I don't mind telling you that was a scary period. I could oh so easily have lost my dog.

"I'm gald you are both OK" I said, " and no doubt a lesson has been learned?" "It cetainly has said the man" I looked at the dog, who was none the worse for his ordeal, and gave his head a pat. "By the way what is your dogs name?" "Gripper" replied the man,