A Dog, a Bird, and a Donkey

A Dog, a Bird, and a Donkey

Diamond

I’ll never forget the dog we had when I was growing up. His name was Diamond. He was about the size of a Labrador with a black-and-white, medium-length hair coat. I suppose he was a Labrador/Border collie cross. He was called Diamond on account of a big white diamond formation on the back of his neck. He loved chasing seagulls and would start barking in the air at the mere mention of the word “seagulls”!

In his younger days, he was swift enough to give the rabbits on the hill at the back of Tullichewan in the Vale of Leven a run for their money. I was not impressed with Diamond the time he caught a baby rabbit and had it half eaten by the time I arrived on the scene! Otherwise our regular hill-walking together was great. Every young boy needs a dog!

The strange thing about Diamond was that at one point he had at least three or four groups of people who thought they had some claim to him, viz., the Ewarts on whose farm on the east  side of Balloch Diamond had been born, Lynn’s Boatyard on the eastern shore of the River Leven at Balloch, a family at the front of Tullichewan, and my family who lived up the back of Tullichewan. Diamond would often go “walkabout” and could be found at various times lodging at any one of these places. Eventually we were accepted as the rightful “owners” of Diamond. However, this didn’t stop Diamond from wandering, eventually mostly between our place and Lynn’s Boatyard. “Bath time” for Diamond was a swim in the Leven. Like most, if not all dogs, Diamond had a penchant for rolling in smelly dead things. This made it hard sometimes to welcome him home from his travels!

Diamond got along famously with Jock, the young jackdaw I had found one summer’s day while going strawberry picking at Sir Patrick Telfer-Smollet’s orchard at his Cameron House estate. Jock was very friendly and all the kids in my class at Levenvale Primary School were suitably impressed by his antics when I was allowed to bring him in one day for Show and Tell.

Jock the jackdaw just loved bright shiny objects. This led to a problem. My youngest sister, Mhairi, was about to be born. The big fear was that Jock would peck Mhairi’s eyes as she lay in her pram. Taking a 10-year-old’s jackdaw from him is like removing one of his limbs! But Jock the jackdaw had to go.

There was a nice couple who lived in Caldarvan, a stop on the old and disused railway line to Stirling. Caldarvan is a fair few miles from Tullichewan. I was told I could visit whenever I wanted. I wanted to visit every day. I did manage the trip a few times, walking the many miles alone along the old line through the beautiful countryside. I can still hear the bees buzzing, and I can still taste the juicy rasp berries, goose-gogs, and the green ground leaves we called “sourocks” that I found and ate along the way. These all served to keep me filled and happy on the trip.

Neil as a 10 year-old

I can’t say I remember ever finding the couple at home whenever I arrived unannounced at their place. Jock was never anywhere in sight either. However, the couple did own a donkey, so my long walks weren’t a total waste of time. I fancied myself as a bit of a cowboy. The donkey was my trusty steed. Only once did the donkey ever do anything more than stand in one spot with me astride his back. One day he decided that he would make a bolt for his wooden stall. As he dashed into his stall, I raised my arms and was left dangling from the crossbeam above the entrance. For some reason, the donkey was most annoyed with me and let his displeasure be known with the usual donkey bronchial and asthmatic hee-hawing.

As the weeks and months went by, it was eventually communicated to me that Jock the jackdaw had gone missing and was presumed dead. I remember looking out my parents’ bedroom window toward Caldarvan and praying to God with tears - many tears! - for Him to send Jock back to me. Jock never returned. So I fell out with God, and, like a spoiled child holding his breath because he didn’t get his own way, remained in a huff with Him.

From Mason To Minister: Through the Lattice, Nordskog Publishing Inc., Ventura, California, 2011, pp. 73-75.

Purchase book at: https://www.nordskogpublishing.com/product/from-mason-to-minister-through-the-lattice/