Hooked on Kerries

By Ruth Stiles,
Reprinted from The Kerry Blue Terrier Club of England Handbook 1985 with sincere gratitude

It was 1946 and my father had at last consented to let me have a dog. Our home had been bombed and we were living in the top half of a house belonging to friends, together with our cherished pre-war cat. I made a short list of non-moult middle-sized breeds with the aid of the Observer's Book of Dogs, headed by the miniature poodle; but these cost at least eighteen guineas, and as I had only saved two pounds, I was soon dithering between a Kerry or a Bedlington, more accessible at around twelve guineas.

One day while on holiday I saw a lady walking down the main street of Paignton [seaside resort] with the dog of my dreams, black, wavy, beautifully turned out and friendly. I thought it was a Kerry, but as I had never seen one in the flesh, I asked the breed as they came to a halt in the Post Office. So I came to know Erinmore Blue Pixie and her owner Miss Skinner. For the next few holidays, I haunted the streets of Paignton to be rewarded occasionally by the chance to stroke Pixie.

The obsession to possess a Kerry of my own developed into a frenzied search for Kerries. As I hung around Midland shows, restricted at that time to twenty five miles radius, where I met amongst others, Pat Littlefield (Mrs. Lees) with her famous Bemels. I shall always be grateful to her for her help and kindness to a novice, both before I had a dog and when I was trying to make the most of a lovable but very ordinary dog.

When I finally acquired "Lucky" (Whitehouse Happy-Go Lucky), the equivalent of fifty pence would buy you a membership of a local society and entry to two classes; and two third prizes would cover the entry fee; so if the show was within walking distance it was possible to enjoy a day's outing with a mediocre dog and still break even!

Dear old Lucky, my first Kerry with many faults but a heart of gold, taught me far more than subsequent show dogs. When showing him I had to conceal the fact that his front foot turned in, that his foreface was weak, that his neck could be longer, etc... and the day he won Best Terrier at Northfield I was over the moon with excitement, even though the thrill was slightly marred by the ringside comment "Is it a dog or a bitch?" Well, I suppose seventeen inches at the shoulder was a trifle small, wasn't it. Kerries have given us many amusing and embarrassing moments. When Lucky was a puppy I was calling him to come along the beach when a lady came up to me and asked "Tell me, why do you call your little dog Mucky?"

On Sunday we were in Evesham with Lucky, when he dashed into the "Ladies" in the High Street. Mother had to put a penny in the turnstile to fetch him out, only to have him dash straight back in; another penny, another chase, and back he went. After four wasted pence, we managed to grab him. "I say, lady", shouted a man working on the road, "E's gone into the wrong one!"

When some years later I returned from abroad and bought Katie, aged 11 weeks, I was living in spotless digs owned by a rather stiff and unapproachable German widow. The white paint and powder blue carpets were so daunting that Kate travelled up and down stairs in my arms. Whenever I had a bath, she would bark non-stop, shut in my bedroom. At last came a night when she let me have my bath in peace, so I enjoyed a good soak. On returning to my room, I found her reclining on her tummy on the shell pink bed cover on my bed, a Mars bar between her front paws, neatly unwrapped and fast disappearing.

On one occasion, my distant landlady made a great effort to be affable: "I am so glat you got a pootle," she said, "They are suck lovely docks."

Over the years there have been many other cases of mistaken identity: "I've got one of those but mine is apricot", "Ours has a pom-pom on his tail", "Mine's just like that but its miniature. Did you know they are a German breed?", "That's a funny coloured Airedale", "Our Bedlington has a long tail", and so on. But the comment of a Birmingham tram conductor as Lucky and I climbed the stairs beats them all: "That dog's got a bit of Kerry Blue in it, hasn't it?"

Susan was another Kerry that shared digs with me, with a rather twee landlady who fed me on parsley sandwiches as a main meal and cherished every plant in her rather impoverished garden. The piece-deresistance was a hop trained over a rustic arch. When she was angry she always spoke of the dog in the first person plural. My heart sank into my boots the day I was met with the following: "Do you know what we've done today? We've dug up Auntie's hop, and Auntie is very cross!"

Of all the strange encounters attracted by Kerries, the most touching occurred when a homesick young Irishman sprang from a trench in the road crying, "Is that a Kerry Blue dog? Is he a bonny fighter? Oh, let me touch him for luck". I hope Lucky brought him luck.

Last Update: 12/11/05, 23:54:08  Terms of Use and Disclaimer.