Heartfelt thanks and gratitude to the angel from Tidworth who not only rescued our German Shepherd, Tadhg, from the A360 miles from home in the pitch black dark last night, but also spent half an hour searching on foot for our house with him tied to a piece of string.

When he finally knocked on our front door and delivered him, I was in too much shock to take it all in.  The dog had only been in the garden for a short while.  How on earth had he got out?  Where had he gone?  Who was this kind man?  Was he local?  I remember asking a few questions, but when he went away I had no name or number to be able to thank him properly after the shock had subsided.

I'm still shaking thinking of what might have happened on that road, but at least the little sod of a dog was honest enough to admit where he'd jumped the fence. This is one of the advantages of animal communication, I must admit.  And in times of crisis Tadhg (pronounced 'tige' as in tiger) is very honest about exactly what has happened, even when to saintly hounds it might risk being sent to the dog house.

It reminds me of the time he came inside from the garden pouring with blood from his nose.  How can noses bleed like that?  He flopped down in his bed, the red trail having followed him from the back door.  Grabbing some kitchen paper and holding it over his nose to try to stem the flow, Tadhg immediately began to describe (in spite of my disbelief) how he'd pushed Monty our little Westie through the side of the greenhouse and his own nose had gone in afterwards and come to to rest on a large, trangular shard of glass. Talk about instant karma. Luckily Monty had escaped injury. It was pitch dark outside, but when I checked in the morning, there was the smashed side panel of the greenhouse, complete with large, triangular broken pane just as Tadhg had described. 

However when I asked Tadhg where he had managed to escape our garden last night, initially he was quiet.  So I asked Monty instead, but he seemed not to have a clue.  All he kept giving me were images of himself sniffing around near the house, of the grass, the flowers and plants, the little holes where Tadhg's buried all Monty's bones.  In other words, he was saying, "This is where I was all the time, I had nothing to do with it, honest!"  So, after some persistence, Tadhg eventually admitted what he thought had been a very clever trick.  He'd jumped over the post, rail and chicken wire fence at the bottom of the garden.

When I inspected our previously dog-proof fence, the 4.5' sturdy wire mesh fencing had been bent and pushed down so even I could climb over it, something that I knew a dog couldn't have done.  I began to suspect that a local kid had climbed over it to retrieve a football, leaving it low enough for Tadhg (who by choice is not a natural jumper due to a slight sensitive spot in his back) to contemplate jumping over.

Later, en route to the woods for a walk, the dogs and I met one of our neighbours. You'd think I could nip out secretly with the dogs for a walk in the rain, but no.

"Was that your dog out running out on the road last night?" he shouted over a distance of 20 yards, as I locked our front door.  Just a bit louder, I thought.

"That's right," I smiled nervously.

"Almost hit by a car, he was.  Running all over the place."  And so his story went on describing my poor dog who must have felt clueless as to how to escape the traffic coming in all directions, and none of which I wanted to hear.  Living in a village does have the advantage that people do at least notice these things.  The disadvantage is that it's only to a point. He knew he'd seen my dog before but couldn't for the life of him remember where. 

I told him I found it hard to know how Tadhg had managed to get out; that kids must have pushed down the fence in our garden.  "You got apples?" he asked.  Yes, I affirmed.  "Saw kids playing with a whole load of apples in the field.  Looks like they got them from your garden then."

My husband Peter and I have put up 3 fence panels there now, but it doesn't take away the awful thought of what horror might have been inflicted so easily in our lives last night. But one thing's for sure. That kind soul from Tidworth who not only found and rescued my beloved dog, but went out of his way to find and return him to us, was an angel.  Wherever the road leads him, I hope his life is blessed.

May we all be angels to those animals, children and people who need us when they cross our path.  Going out of our way for another, even when you've got other other things to do, is an act of Grace.

And on that philosophical thought, I must stop.