A little military training for the boys
The Vet was too young to have fought in the Second World War, in fact he was not even born when it ended – but despite that he is something of an expert on the period. Having failed to become a soldier as a young man because of various medical conditions, he still found it was possible to join the Territorial Army and get a taste of the real thing.
As a result, he considered himself practically a member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces and having reached the dizzy rank of sergeant, he found it proper to discuss military tactics with anyone willing to listen – or unable to retreat from his onslaught of facts and figures.
We dogs do not believe in organised warfare, but over time I have organised the gang into what could loosely be termed as a military formation. I divided the lads into three platoons of five members each – that was in the heyday of larger membership than we have now – but reduced that to just two platoons to take into account our present numbers.
With myself as captain, I chose one sergeant and one corporal, Gus my number two and Spot the Cairn terrier who, as the pet of police inspector Frank Ash (retired) was used to a disciplined environment.
I suppose I had listened so many times to the Vet boasting about his exploits that a few of his more sensible suggestions on imposing military discipline rubbed off sufficiently to allow me to keep the lads occupied and amused.
In particular, field exercises which lasted from early morning until dusk he found to be beneficial for his troops, wearing them out for a few days and making them much more amenable to doing his bidding.
I have had the feeling for some time that my boys were getting a little restless in the ranks, as the Vet would say, and needed a diversion to get rid of their excess energy. He would take his Territorials on a 15-mile hike in full kit which, he claimed, did the trick every time. However, my boys are different.
For a start, that distance for us was a mere stroll, even at a trot, while carrying kit would be no more inconvenient than, say, having a stick in the mouth. It might be annoying but would hardly impair progress. Carrying anything heavier would be different matter, but being the softie I am, I could not burden them too much if I wanted to make sure my popularity remained intact.
So I decided on a 20-mile hike with rests every half hour, which I calculated by the church clock, with nothing to impair their steady progress and stops for water as required.
Your see, I had no intention of going on this hike myself and left it to my two NCOs to take the lead and make sure there were no slackers.
My excuse was that I was preparing a little home-coming for them, with bones and biscuits for all, which had to be collected while they were out enjoying themselves. As I toiled away scrounging the food from whatever sources I could, they were strolling in the woods with never a care in the world.
In fact, I had prepared this feast over the last few days in complete secrecy and the hoard was stashed away near the barn where we used to meet and where I had directed Gus and Spot to go when they came back.
All that was left for me was to have a long nap and wake up in time to greet the weary warriors with food and drink – there was a clean stream nearby – and receive the report on how things went.
As I suspected – and hoped – they were all completely worn out, some even too tired to partake of the food. Nor more stirrings in the ranks, I thought, I was safe in my position at the top of the heap, or as the Vet would say, in complete command.
