But over the past couple of years I’ve started to change my mind about cats and dogs. The more I’ve interacted with friends dogs the more I’ve started to see the benefits in having one. They’re lots of fun, give unconditional love, they encourage you to get out and exercise, they’re like a member of the family and best of all, unlike a wife you get to tell them what to do and they do it!

Anyway, the more dogs I saw the more I started to like them and when another friend brought their very cute and well behaved Lhasa Apso to the house (pictured right) I really started to think that maybe we should get a dog. Around this time we started watching The Dog Whisperer. For those of you who’ve never seen it, the premise is that people with problem dogs (aggressive, out of control, etc) call in dog expert Cesar Millan who comes along and very quickly sorts everything out. But the most interesting thing to me is that in all cases it’s not the dog that’s the problem, it’s always the owner.

Every few years in the UK there’s a horror story about a pit bull attacking a child, causing hideous damage and the press (and Government) bang home the point that certain breed of dogs are dangerous and should be exterminated. Indeed if you own a pit bull in the UK it’ll be destroyed under the Dangerous Dogs Act. But you know what? It’s all complete bullshit. The only reason dogs like pit bulls become aggressive is because the owners, unwittingly or otherwise, let them behave that way. The problem is that humans instinctively humanise dogs, treating them like they’re children and expect them to respond in the same way that children do.

What The Dog Whisperer demonstrates episode after episode is that dogs are instinctively followers, and when they are they’re calm and submissive and easy to live with. But if they feel that there’s not a pack leader (to a dog you and it are members of a pack) then they’ll step up to the role which means they’ll be more aggressive since defending and disciplining the pack is the job of the pack leader. If they see another dog they’ll impose their authority and try to dominate that dog too. However if you’re the pack leader the dog will hold back and look to you because it’s your job to decide if another dog is OK or not. But the real problem is that a dog only sees the world through a dog’s eyes and if you don’t assert yourself as pack leader in a dog-understandable way then you won’t be the pack leader in its eyes.

People will often shout at dogs to try and get them to do what they want. But really to communicate to a dog you don’t need to say a word, it’s all about your posture and body language. If you watch how dogs interact with each other you’ll notice they do it silently. A touch in the right place at the right time with the right intensity communicates in a far more meaningful way to a dog than a thousand words can. Dogs also mirror your emotions – so if you’re tense and nervous then the dog will be tense and nervous. If a nervous dog meets a couple of relaxed dogs you’ll notice that in most cases the relaxed dogs will pick up on the other dog’s nervousness and then you’ve got 3 fidgety dogs!

If you’re hesitant or not assertive when you instruct your dog to stop eating your shoes then your dog will take that hesitancy as a sign of weakness, look down on you as a lower pack member and carry on chewing. But if you prod it to switch its attention and “own” the shoes by standing over them in a confident way, the dog will get the message and back away. At least, that’s the overly simplified summary. Cesar has a complete understanding of dog psychology and can read situations before they occur and correct a dog before it gets into an excited state.

I guess that’s the thing us mere mortals can’t do so easily but it’s fun to see it done properly. And it shows me that with a bit of work and understanding of a dog’s point of view you can have a happy, calm, submissive dog and a happy life. And with the right owner a pit bull can be a far nicer, safer dog around children than an overly-pampered, humanised chihuahua. It’s not about the dog, it’s always about the owner.

Following these cute little birds around is much more fun than work and it’s a shame they have to leave, but hopefully they’ll be back next year!

The first year we had ducks nesting we were like concerned parents. We’d be constantly checking to see if she was OK, wondering if we should put water and food out, on the look-out for cats all the time, panicking if she’d left the nest and hoping she was coming back and just generally worrying. Since this is the third year now we’re a lot more laid back about the process. We just leave her to get on with it. She knows what she’s doing and she doesn’t need us to do anything other than stay out of her way.

In fact the only thing we need to do is keep an eye out for when the chicks hatch since there’s no way for them to get out of the garden unless we leave the gate open! Shouldn’t be long now.

I was planning on cleaning and vaccing my car today but I’m not entirely sure our new visitor would be happy about that:

Since I don’t get very close to swans all that much I forget just how big the things are – that neck’s about as thick as my arm! According to our neighbours it’s been there since at least 8am this morning so I’m expecting it to wander off and get some food / drink at some point (according to the advice I’ve read you shouldn’t feed swans on land as it encourages them to seek out food from people which brings them into contact with dogs and other tricky situations). Still, it doesn’t seem too bothered about me and was happy to demonstrate swan yoga to me with my camera pointing:

I’m not sure what it is about my garden but it really does seem to attract all sorts of interesting animals such as the ducklings we had last year and long may it continue. But I don’t fancy having to battle my way past an angry swan every time I want to go out to the garage or head off to work!

We’ve had a few cats over the years but Sparkie was originally brought up on a farm before my dad got him from the cat protection league so was a bit of a wildie, fighting off the local cats, bringing in mice from time to time and jumping up on every surface in the house. Whereas my dad’s getting on a bit Sparkie’s always been full of youthful exuberance in the way that only a young cat is, which I’m sure has been good for my dad. I took the following picture of him a couple of weeks ago when I was home and he was just his usual lovely, entertaining self and being very friendly:

Unfortunately a few days ago little Sparkie died. Cut down in the prime of his life at the age of around 8 it all happened very quickly in the end. It’s such a shame as he was a wonderful cat with a fantastic personality and he did my dad no end of good – I don’t know how my dad would have coped over that last few years without him. But the real shame is that I could never thank him for being there for my dad when he needed him because he was a cat and wouldn’t have understood the positive impact he had – he was just being himself. So thank you Sparkie, you will be sorely missed.

Last year we were away on Sheep Day (as usual) but this time our friends were staying with us so we just had to take them along. Since there's been rather a lot of rain lately it came as no surprise that it torrentially rained most of the day. However the skies cleared as soon as the sheep dogs came out to show us their stuff. Since Sheep Day takes place in the middle of the high street, there isn't enough room to demonstrate them herding sheep so ducks and geese have to suffice instead.

This was very entertaining as they really didn't want to play along – they were like naughty children – and the sheep dog had to work twice as hard as it should have!

After the ducks and geese were herded and cajoled into their pens it was time for some good old-fashioned sheep shearing. Instead of using the high-tech electric shears they demonstrated the old-fashioned ones which involved wrestling the sheep to the ground, holding it fast and carefully giving it a short back and sides with a pair of giant scissors. I think it's one of these things that looks easy but in fact requires a certain knack to do!

What's surprising is that the average fleece is only worth around 35p which gives you an idea of the fine margins farmers work under these days. Sounds like a tough way to make a living if you ask me. Anyway, there was also a farmers market (where we spent a bit of money) and some sort of show going on but the thunderstorms were coming back and our friends had to head home so we left. But we'll be back next year for more – and if you're anywhere near Skipton on the first Sunday in July I suggest you go along too!

Since it's Saturday morning we knew we didn't have to go to work and could finally follow them around to see where they go. After letting her chicks frolic around she herded them together, somehow instructing them to rally underneath her and then spent around an hour keeping them warm while having a bit of shut-eye:

Then, with the flap of a wing, she decided it was time to move on and she started leading them in a line at a fair pace down our street with us and our friends (who were staying with us) in tow:

They were absolutely adorable and once other neighbours spotted what we were watching they came along to enjoy the spectacle. The duck then led her chicks down a cul de sac – much to our puzzlement as it was not towards water – and then proceeded to have a drink stop at a pond in one of the gardens. After that we decided to leave her to it and not interfere with what she was doing – it was clear that she had a plan.

And with that our duck and her chicks walked out of our life. I hope we'll see them again soon! 

So that's going to be 2 lots of chicks raised in our garden this year in a plant bed measuring about a metre deep by 4 metres wide! Unbelievable. I guess we're getting a reputation in the local duck community as a safe haven for rearing chicks. I'll make sure this time I take the morning off when they hatch so I can get loads of pictures and some video of them frolicking around and formation marching to water!

Whitie (in the video) lasted a good 8 years and sometimes when I rustle a bag of salad I can still hear her squeaking (if you tune out my inane cackling you can hear her in the video). So many happy memories!

You know, I’m sure I don’t sound that Scottish now. I think my accent may have softened after years of living in Yorkshire…