By Billy the Collie
When man first tamed wolf, he chose the best to guard his flocks. Millennia later, this produced me – a blue merle rough collie, an ever-vigilant watchman, or as Mummy puts it “a never-ending nervous breakdown that wags”.
The main cause is the “colliewobbles”, a condition caused by perceived threats that multiply daily. When these dangers manifest I have to woof and bounce around to warn my pack – that’s Mummy, and a small squealy thing called Ella who she brought home a few years ago – because they are virtually deaf.
Sometimes things are so scary I can only whimper – especially if we go in the car. BAD CAR.
But I was delighted when Mummy said she was taking me to my ancestral Scottish homeland, staying at Caravan and Motorhome Club certified campsites. She packed our house into a fourberth Bailey Alliance 76-4T, which she said was a Collie Lorry. The beds are comfy. Ella can sleep on the floor. Day 1: Home in Kent to Hatfield
House 74 miles, 2hrs
YE GODS IT MOVES! I clung to the floor and cried. We arrived at a big old house in the countryside, and walked around it while Mummy talked about someone called
Princess Elizabeth who was a prisoner here. She and Ella waved sticks and fought the Spanish Armada, but I could not find it no matter how many trees I looked behind. Afterwards I helped Ella practise her ball-throwing.
Teaching humans to throw balls, and then pick them up for you, is an important part of being a collie. Mummy said watching us play was the best 20 minutes of her life, but I think the wine she opened while sat on a deckchair may have helped. I slept on the floor. Day 2: To Sherwood Forest
127 miles, 2hrs 12mins
I panic-panted in the passenger footwell and gazed at Sherwood Forest, which looked a lot like the A1.
Mummy said there used to be 100,000 acres of widdle-spots, and this was once the Great North Road where a fox called Robin Hood stole biscuits from travellers.
When we arrived at the Sherwood Forest Visitor Centre people were watching Robin fight the Sheruff of Sniffingham. They were waving pointy bits of metal so I woofed to let them know it was dangerous.
Afterwards we walked to an old tree called the Major Oak. I was not allowed to wee on it. After tea, Ella was taught to empty the chemical toilet. I have shown them how to use trees, but they refuse to be toilet-trained.
Mummy put the dinner plates on the floor for me to lick, but I was so tired I told her to wash them herself. Day 3 – to Whitby Abbey
108 miles, 2hrs 15mins
I decided to stop whimpering and try stress-farting instead. My digestion was not aided by the Collie Lorry up-and-downing over the North