As a professional dog walker for over sixteen years, I’ve encountered wildlife every single day: on the country paths; in the fields; by the lochs; in the trees and in the skies. But if by ‘wild animals’ we’re talking of ‘dangerous’ animals, then I must concede my personal experience is sadly lacking.

You see, here in the west of Scotland, while there are many and varied animal species roaming our land, there are precious few to be fearful of. Certainly, a frisky young friesian bullock can be troublesome, and among an impressionable herd can be a nuisance and concerning – but I mean, it’s not in the same league as a bad-tempered water buffalo with a headache, is it?  

Daily I’ll see the likes of cows, horses, donkeys, ducks, geese, swans, squirrels, rabbits, grouse … but no wolves, Or crocodiles.

We do have a local fox who frequents our garden. I suppose I could count him as a ‘wild animal,’ – though he is quite friendly, if rather nervous, around humans.

A sparrowhawk occasionally dines out in our garden also, should its stunned prey fall in this direction.

And just a few miles from our house, by the loch where I take some dogs to walk, there are several nesting pairs of buzzards like the one at the top of this post.

Now they are wild. They certainly weren’t very happy in this encounter as detailed in my book ‘Damp Dogs & Rabbit Wee:’

Belle, a small brown and white springer spaniel, was only booked to walk with me for a week while her owner recuperated from a bout of ill health. So perhaps she felt there was no need to learn a new set of commands.

“I know these fields like the back of my paw – I walk up here every day with my proper master. I don’t need direction; I know what I’m doing. This new guy needn’t worry, I’ll head back to him just as soon as I’ve checked out this wild and interesting scent. What’s he so worried about? Chill, my friend. Chill. What could possibly go wrong?”

Belle raced up the hill to our right, a long, drag of a hill, extending some three hundred metres away from the loch at the bottom. It was late morning on a hot July day, but surprisingly, the local beauty spot was devoid of any other human life for as far as the eye could see.

My shouts for Belle to return fell on deaf ears and with the distance between us growing by the minute, it was apparent she was on a mission.

There was now no alternative. I gave in and began a rather undignified chase up the hill. A couple of minutes later and perspiring profusely, I was with her. But our troubles were just about to begin.

Springers are notoriously focused dogs, and Belle was so frantic in her search for the source of the scent that she hadn’t noticed, or even heard, the commotion that was now developing some ten metres above her head.

It suddenly dawned on me; we must have strayed into the territory of a pair of nesting buzzards. These not-so- little raptors are fiercely territorial, and with it being highly likely there were fledglings sitting in the nest, this adult was going to make sure we wandered no closer.

It targeted me first, swooping down to perhaps only two metres above my head. It made a few passes, screeching its threats and doing its level best to scare me away. A mew-like call came from the trees. The buzzard’s mate was still in the nest, and letting it be known that Belle had strayed closer and presented more of a danger. The attacker swiftly diverted its attention to the completely oblivious dog.

She wasn’t oblivious for long.

Perhaps feeling emboldened by Belle’s smaller stature, the bird plummeted to within two feet of her head. It took a couple of dives, but Belle eventually got the message. She firstly looked up in utter astonishment, and then glanced in my direction as if to ask what I was going to do about all this.

“I thought you were meant to be looking after me?”

She’d suddenly changed her tune. She wasn’t so cocky now.

“This way Belle,” I suggested. “Run.”

I whistled once and Belle was by my side, escorted from about three metres above by a victorious and no doubt gloating, buzzard. We raced back down the hill to the van, presumably all the time under the watchful eye of our determined aggressor.

We didn’t look back to check.

A valuable lesson was learnt that day: a bird of prey hovering above your head is not hanging around to hear your excuses or apologies.

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