Into the Long Grass

Jack the Giant TerrierWhat a day, my first spent trying to evaluate the jobs of some of my colleagues to decide what pay they should get for what they do. Agenda for Change they call it. Agenda to Lose the Will to Live say I.

Basically, what you have to do is look at someone’s job description and then allocate them a slot in 16 job characteristics. It’s a bit like those computer RPG games where you have to assign experience points to strength, agility, stealth, charisma, magic points etc — all totally arcane and probably a job best left to the PC to do automatically.

So it was good to come home and be asked by Mrs P to take our overgrown Jack Russell for a spin round the field at the back of our house as he hadn’t had a walk today. It was very relaxing after a stressed sort of day.

I should explain that it is a big field with planning permission for a couple of hundred houses. The only reason the developers haven’t swooped yet is that it’s landlocked. On two sides there are houses, including ours and the other two are blocked by the canal and the railway.

The only way for a developer to get in would be to build a bridge over the railway which would bump up the price of the houses somewhat. I suppose it might happen eventually. It’s not too much of a problem for us as the land is much lower than ours and I doubt we’d even notice the development, other than the increased traffic.

Until that day comes, we have a wide open space on which to convince Jack that he has had a walk by getting him charging round chasing a ball.

I must confess that I can’t throw a tennis ball too far these days. If my throwing arm shoulder and elbow aren’t exactly crocked, they soon would be with too many overarm chucks, but my underarm action was okay because the field is waist deep in grass, apart from the paths.

And into the deep stuff Jack plunged time and again to recover the tennis ball. The miracle was that he found it every time. We’re talking long, deep and thick stuff and on the few occasions he did lose track of the ball, his terrier traits kicked in and he would quarter the ground and go snuffling until he found it.

His persistence can only be described as ‘dogged.’ And a simple pleasure to watch him at it. Especially after a complicated day.

Nobody’s prefect. If you find any spelling mistakes or other errors in this post, please let me know by highlighting the text and pressing Ctrl+Enter.

2 comments… Add yours
  • sandy 26th July 2005

    Thanks for stopping by. Spit or spat, I don't care. As long as it was done. Did, dud, dun(whatever)

    Reply
  • krip 27th July 2005

    Your lucky. When Barney gets into terrier mode, he often vanishes for ages. Often to be found in someones back garden.

    Reply

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