EASTER might be early this year, but spring still feels like a long time in coming. Nights, in particular, are very cold and Sam tortoise has only just decided to wake-up from hibernation.

Unfortunately, I understand from the forecast that further snow will once again be on its way, within the next couple of weeks.

Last week’s snow, I must admit, took us all by surprise. At eight am there wasn’t a flake in sight, but within half an hour they were coming down like goose feathers and none of us, dogs included, were inclined to leave the fireside.

Thankfully, it didn’t last and by lunch time, as a weak sun decided to put in an appearance, the gang of three began to show an interest in maybe going out for a walk after all.

There was still a nip in the air as, with all of us wearing our snug winter coats, we set off across the field. We hadn’t gone too far when I noticed something bright and shiny in the grass. It was an ID tag, the sort that a dog would wear on its collar.

I must say that the dog’s owner was very pleased when I rang her later that afternoon. After all, name tags such as this one are not cheap and particularly so when you have to keep replacing them.

Besides being micro-chipped, all my dogs have ID tags attached to the collars that they wear when out and about.

Not wanting to tempt fate, and I do realise that over the years I have been very fortunate, but up to now none of my gang have ever gone astray.

The same, however, cannot be said, for the dogs belonging to my son and his wife.

Bertie the Border terrier, a mature little chap now, had always suffered from a wander lust in his younger days. I remember one occasion in particular when Bertie came to stay with me, noticing that he wasn’t wearing a collar.

Apparently, he had lost it, during one of his recent unscheduled and unaccompanied forays. So to be on the safe side, I gave him one of our spare, out grown collars to wear during his stay and then thought no more about it, until a couple of weeks later when I received a telephone call.

“I’ve got your dog here,” said a gruff male voice. A quick head count quickly allayed my fears and confirmed that all my guys were present, correct and snoring on the sofa.

“No, not one of mine” I replied. “Well it’s got your phone number on its collar.”

Slowly, realisation began to dawn. “Is it a Border terrier?” I asked. “I dunno. What’s a Border terrier?” was the terse reply, ‘It’s a scruffy little brown thing. We found it wandering in our yard and now it’s made itself at home in front of the fire.” Poor Bertie!

But even Fliss, Bertie’s little Dachshund sister, and a proper little princess if ever there was one, has had her moments.

Moments like the time that she went AWOL at a large and very busy horse show.

It was a baking hot summer’s day. My son and his wife were away showing and had taken their dogs with them.

It was too hot to leave the dogs unaccompanied in the lorry, so it was felt that it would be best to leave them in their horse’s empty stable, which was positioned in the shade, just for the duration of their class.

Much to their angst on returning, however, they discovered that little Fliss was missing and at the back of the stable, which was standing on grass, was a small dachshund size hole. Fliss, so it would seem, had decided to tunnel her way out to freedom.

Fortunately, their panic was short lived as almost immediately my daughter-in-law received a call from the show secretary, to say that her errant Dachsy was now in the secretary’s tent, enjoying lots of fuss and tummy rubs and waiting to be collected.