As I now live in the centre of Manchester, and being cooped up in a flat is certainly not enjoyable for a dog, Bess, our well loved Staffordshire Bull Terrier currently lives at home with my parents.

Recently they had an incident that was a very close call, so I asked her if she'd be willing to write an account of it for my blog.

Here it is.

When you've read it, please consider leaving a comment.

My mother writes:

As some of you know...

I was 60 years, 11 months and 27 days old last Thursday 7th January 2010. I was a fit, outdoor and morris dancing grandmother. I still am, but I'm different, too!

At that time, probably 9 inches of snow had fallen, but with drifted snow from the barren moors of Bleaklow, in Old Glossop we were now under a foot or more of snow. We had spent the previous two days ~ first, 'holed up' in the house; and then, next digging ourselves out. So Bess, our 8 year old brindled 'Staffie', had had make do with walks in Manor Park, and up the Doctor's Gate track to the sledging fields of Mossy Lea.

Thus on the third day of the Snow, I decided it was time for a bit of outdoors, with a proper walk for Bess. Bess loves snow and goes quite loopy in it (she was a 3 month old puppy the first time she encountered it, and it seems to trigger in her memories and behaviour of that age), even now. At least to start with.

So I decided on our 'usual' ~ up the Cock Hill track, diagonally across the Lower Blake Moor to the far gate, round the end of the Lower Shelter Belt, then back across Middle Blake Moor to the Cock Hill track again, and back down Charles Lane. Normally it would be a short hour, but given the conditions, I expected a long two hours ~ good for dispersing 'festive fat'!

It was fine up Charles Lane. It was tough but exhilarating up the Cock Hill track. It was...ooooh ..such deep snow ~ thigh deep at the bottom of Blake Moor! I floundered, and Bess sank! She is a very thin, tall, leggy 'Staffie', (she has all the Manchester Terrier part of her breed's heritage). So, though she slices through snow up to 10 inches ~ deeper snow, and she sinks! Did we turn back? No!

What could be more typically British than having a dog?

Even the Romans exported our hunting dogs to the rest of the empire, in the early years of the first century. You know every school boy's favourite song about “One Man and his Dog” going to mow a meadow? It's not one man and his kangaroo going to mow a meadow, is it?

Dogs are an inseparable part of Britain's heritage. Having been used in the farming of sheep and cows, they have more recently been used to catch rodents and scavengers, find missing persons and lastly, of course as pets.

My dog, Bess

Our family has never had a dog. Neither of my parents grew up with dogs, and as a result,knew nothing about them. That's not to say they were scared of them; they weren't, but they attributed the bad press sometimes given to dogs by the media to every single dog they met.

I was walking my dog along Hope Street in Old Glossop, when nature took its course Bess relieved herself on the pavement.

Being a responsible dog owner I whipped out a plastic bag and picked it up. A few yards down the street was a wheely bin in someone's yard facing the road and as I walked past, I lifted the lid dropped the bag inside.

Almost instantly the door of the house burst open, and a man, wine glass in hand, exclaimed at me "Could you not do that please!"
I responded that I was "sorry 'sir'" and that I hadn't meant to upset him.
After passing me the plastic bag he complained that he "had children you know," again reiterating I should not do this again..

Is justifiable for me to be confused and hurt by this incident?