Little Lost Dog Returns after almost one year,


If only he could tell his story

If only he could tell his story

Lost little dog returns home from Liverpool to Westerham in Kent after 8 months. Here is his story.

The name suited our little Jack Russell dog as he was always getting himself in a pickle. This is a true story about our little dog  who went missing for almost a year.  Although we only know the beginning and end of his adventures and can only surmise what happened in between, I think this story shows just how amazing these little dogs can be.

It was 1963, when we moved into our new home.  There were still a few houses still being built opposite us and Mum would often make the workmen cups of tea. Our little dog Pickle got to know and befriend everyone he met, so he was well known in and around the new estate that we had moved to and had a lot of freedom to wander in and out of everyone's home. He quickly got to know these workmen and was often found scrounging morsels of their lunch. 

Pickle was an amazing little dog, who discovered that he could get away with just about everything by walking on his hind legs for quite some distance, which amused everyone he met so they all became very attached to the little one.

It was one Friday when he didn't return home.  We weren't too worried as this wasn't the first time he had gone missing, and there was always a kind neighbour who would bring him home after finding him curled up in their cupboard fast asleep.

Saturday and Sunday came and went and we were beginning to worry. Could he have been shut in a neighbours shed, perhaps in a spare bedroom, was he hungry and thirsty.  We spent Sunday evening knocking on doors and the whole neighbourhood were out calling him but he didn't show up.

Monday morning the workmen arrived to inform us that they live and travel from Liverpool and stay in BB during the week. The driver of the van was distraught and very upset explaining to us that Pickle had gotten into the back of their van on Friday, traveled to Liverpool with them and when he went to remove some things from the van Saturday morning, Pickle jumped out and ran off.

I think you readers of this story understand how devastated everyone was. It was not just the workmen, our neighbours and friends but also everyone at my school pupils and teachers who had all at some point had some experience of Pickle.

 He had after all jumped through a high window to remove cakes from a school bag, which was recently cooked by Alison in Domestic Science.  He was in and out in a flash. The teacher who fought to hold onto her handbag when Pickle decided that he wanted it and Pickle had won, the games teacher who spent  the hour, chasing Pickle to retrieve the tennis balls, the tuck shop prefects who went to open  a box of blue ribond wafers to have the whole box vanish in a second before their very eyes.

 Even the local butcher, who delivered Meat products to peoples door steps, which more often than not were returned to him by us after Pickle had kindly brought them home. 

Yes, this little dog was the naughtiest you could ever meet but although most cursed the day we ever brought him into our village, everyone was going to miss him terribly.

So what adventures had Pickle had before returning home?

Before I go into this, I must tell you that since his return, I have read everything to do with dogs, from the age of 10, I have read and learned the latest knowledge on where they came from and how they have evolved, read up on every breed I met, 


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Pickles sense of smell

Pickles Long Walk Home

Dogs have an incredible sense of smell.  They not only take in smells by breathing inwards but they also take in smells when they breathe out.  The scents they pick up are stored in their brains, every scent they ever smell from a puppy to an old dog are stored and they are recognised throughout their lives.

Pickle was trapped in a work-mans van. Think of all the different, strong smells inside this van, all the tools, the paints, cement, shovels, The scent of every person who had entered this van, their lunch boxes, their sweat and their clothes.  I could write a huge list but I think you get the jest of where this is going.

As they drove through Kent, onto the M25. the M1 and all the way to Liverpool, Pickle was able to pick up hundreds, ney thousands of different scents from outside as well as inside this van.  They passed through towns, the countryside, lakes, rivers, houses, gardens, garages, railway lines and stations, to name a few.  Pickle had obviously picked up the scents of everything that they passed, which enabled him to find his way home.  So, how did he survive, such a long, arduous journey.

Here's how it all happened in Pickles words:

I've scratched at the front door, I've scratched at the back door,  I've barked as loudly as I can,  and no-one is letting me in. Now it's started to rain-GREAT- I need to find shelter.  I know, I'll go and see the workmen, they will take pity on me. No-one around, where the hell is everyone. I am getting soaked and no-body cares.  The back of John's van is open, yippee, a bag of rags! yep this will do, I am an expert bed maker,  so if I drag these rags under that bench...Ahh comfort and a well deserved snooze. Who is this rocking me, no hands, no lap, just this motion of rocking, ah, I remember now. This van is rocking, oh well, back to sleep. I am hungry now, must be dinner time and I can smell burgers, fish and chips, a butchers shop, sweet smell of flowers, fields, so many smells and I am stuck inside this smelly old van. I can hear and smell John, HEY JOHN, JOHN. Why is he ignoring me? What a din, he is singing, no wonder the fool can't hear me.

Now I am starving and bored. The rocking has stopped and I can't hear a thing,  All I can find is shovels, cement, tools, boxes of stuff but nothing to eat and now I am thirsty.  I may as well sleep.

This is getting worse, I can smell bacon. I think I have been here forever and I want my breakfast and bowl of water. Hello, hello the door is opening at last breakfast. Whooo, freedom, the perfect tree for a pee,  but where the hell am I? 





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