An Irishwoman's Diary

Funny how an episode taking all of three minutes can cause a lasting reaction. Arriving at the vet's the other day, we noticed a man leaving. He was carrying at arm's length a medium-sized sheep dog by the scruff of the neck. Admittedly, the dog was none too clean, but the man was a lot dirtier. Braying at the top of his voice about a recent business success, he slung his dog into the back of a filthy off-road vehicle.

My five-year-old daughter pulled at my sweater, asking: "Is the dog dead?' No; he had had an injection and was unconscious. In other words, he was ill and in need of gentle handling. As the man was the size of the average second-row forward, he would have been well able to carry his animal, a working dog with years of service to his credit, more humanely. I put this to him, in a civil rather than aggressive tone. He sniggered at the suggestion. Big man, how macho. Tossing an unconscious dog about clearly proves you're no cissy.

Working dog

Although the man's treatment of his employee - "pet" hardly being a word he would use - was unnecessarily rough, it could be argued that at least he had brought his employee to the vet. Were the animal not a working dog, and therefore "useful", professional care might not have been sought. With the collapse of farming, more and more working dogs are finding themselves out of a job. Stray sheepdogs are a fact of country life.

I remember some years ago, having covered the Clifden Pony Show, going off to a beach in Connemara. It was a magnificent evening in early August. At the edge of the cliff we came across an ancient sheepdog lying down facing towards the sea. She was dead. There was not a house or farm in view and at the time it seemed as if the animal had deliberately chosen the spot as a beautiful place to die. Somewhere, we reckoned, was a broken-hearted owner. Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't.

Nowadays more and more working dogs are left to wander. In a country area it is inadvisable to be sentimental about dogs. They are pests. Ask any sheep-farmer. I have become used to seeing locals smile at my protected, pampered pets on leashes - dogs who aren't allowed out in the rain. Aside from the lunatics racing about country roads at illegal speeds, there is the reality of farmers prepared to shoot on sight.

In another era, two of our dogs would have been farm workers. Born in a barn to a pair of working sheep dogs, these pups, brothers, were claimed by me at six weeks. They have never worked, and never will. Genetically, however, the response to commands is there and they need their daily ritual of small tasks and relay racing games. .

Children

Most of my friends barely tolerate my obsession with dogs. Express your fondness and immediately you are told about children in Rwanda and Kosovo. The implication is: if you love dogs, you must hate people. So if you have no time for dogs you must really adore your fellow man. I don't see the connection - possibly because I have never confused dogs with children.

A few weeks ago, taking my life in my hands as I regularly do, I went for a run along narrow, winding country roads - ones with tight bends and limited visibility. Sure enough, yet another of the crazies complete with double headlights - the illegal ones that no one appears to be doing anything about - came careering along at about 80 miles an hour. The driver didn't see me, even though it was daylight, and would have hit me had I not jumped into the ditch.

The car, a battered wreck, its engine howling, charged on. Thanks to that dangerous driver I found a litter of puppies. There was no problem, we would bring the pups home. There is lots of space and our dogs are natural hosts. Except that the puppies were dead. Someone had taken the trouble of strangling each of the five with bits of cord. The nooses, yanked savagely tight, were still around the tiny necks.

Stray dogs

It has become trendy to adopt retired greyhounds. I welcome this. But there are so many stray dogs, as some owners are reluctant to have bitches spayed preferring instead to have more puppies end up in ditches - and all for the sake of £60.

No-one should be forced to be a dog lover. If you can't look after a dog, don't have one. But the fact remains, sentimentality aside, that it is easy to care responsibly for a dogs. Treated properly - and indeed even when not - they have dignity, innocence, courage, loyalty, supreme patience and intelligence. Dogs enhance our lives. Why don't we treat them a bit better?