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ANIMAL CRACKERS!
FROM A BRAVE CARRIER PIGEON TO A VERY FASHIONABLE GIRAFFE AND HER OWN TIBETAN TERRIER, CLARE BALDING CELEBRATES THE WORLD’S MOST EXTRAORDINARY ANIMALS IN HER NEW BOOK
From giraffes to pigeons, enjoy our magical extract from Clare Balding’s new book, which celebrates 100 animal heroes
Our pets look after us, as much as we look after them. That’s certainly proved true in my life – by their countless acts of love, encouragement and kindness, I have been shaped more by animals than by people.
Whether it was Candy the boxer, who was my early protector, Frank the ‘Heinz 57’ pony who was my first real love or Archie the Tibetan terrier with a homing instinct for bread, I owe everything to the animals in my life.
I was not quite born in a stable, but near enough. I grew up at my father Ian’s racing stables in Kingsclere, Hampshire, surrounded by dogs, ponies and horses. They were way above me (and my brother) in the pecking order of family importance and I was perfectly happy to accept that. Every family photo has at least one animal at the centre of it and I was so obsessed with animals that I even went through a stage of thinking I was a dog. But then again, dogs have got it sussed when it comes to priorities in life: food, exercise, sleep and love. That’s all that matters. I always think that if we humans stuck to these four essentials, we might have more chance of finding the key to eternal happiness. So it wasn’t until I went to school that I realised not everyone lived like this.
Animals bring out the best of us as human beings. If we are kind and consistent, patient and clear, they will respond by helping us as best they can. If we are cruel and impatient, they have every right to bite or kick us.
In my new book, I wanted to find a way of celebrating all sorts of animals, from giraffes and rhinos to cats and dogs. Heroic Animals is a tribute to their intelligence, loyalty, bravery, kindness and beauty. They’re all my heroes.
For her hero, my mum Emma would probably pick Candy, her first boxer, who was so attached to me and my brother that she threw herself out of a top-floor window to rescue us when she thought we were being kidnapped. We weren’t – Mum was just wearing a new coat and Candy didn’t recognise her from the back – but my word, it was an impressive act of protection.
So I had high expectations when Archie the Tibetan terrier arrived in our house. I was convinced that his ancestral roots in guarding Buddhist temples would give him a certain zen calm. It turns out that a lump of rock had more zen than Archie. He was only interested in one thing: food. If bread was an illegal substance, he would have been the best detective dog in the business. There are dogs who can predict the onset of an epileptic fit or sniff out explosives. Archie could smell a dropped crisp at 50ft. But, as writing this book has brought home to me, perhaps it was simply that he was never put in the position where he had to step up in the way that, say, Crommie, a muchloved but ordinary family pet, did in World War II, comforting terrified secret agents who were preparing for
‘Animals bring out the best of us humans’
the drop into enemy territory. Archie was a part of our family for more than 15 years until his death a few months ago, always taking the best position on the sofa or the bed. He made us smile every day. Now he’s gone, there is a gaping, dog-shaped hole in our lives and all we have are the photos (he was a very photogenic dog) and the memories. If dogs taught me how to love,
‘I’d tell my favourite pony Frank all my problems’
ponies taught me how to behave. Valkyrie was a funny little ball of fur who had seen the upper end of life as a Shetland pony. She had belonged to Her Majesty the Queen and was given to my parents when I was born, because my father was one of the royal racehorse trainers. Valkyrie expected certain standards. She did not take kindly to a toddler throwing a tantrum. She had a way of looking at me with disapproval if I behaved badly and, on occasion, would gently but persistently back me into the corner of the stable, refusing to let me out until I got my temper under control.
My favourite pony, Frank, really understood me. In my eyes, Frank was a beauty because he was so original. His coat was mucky grey with brown and black splodges in random places. His ears were brown, the pink skin around his eyes and nose was liable to burn in the sun, and his mane was constantly rubbed into a spiky mess. He had a tendency to charge out of the stable and once broke my foot by treading on me as he made his escape. He was not an easy ride. He had a mouth about as sensitive as a block of wood so steering was an issue, but I loved him. He was my Frank and I’d ride for hours telling him all about my problems, worrying about how I didn’t fit in and working through issues that bothered me.
Frank listened. He really did. His brown ears flickered back and forth and I felt better talking about things out loud. I looked at him and admired his confidence, his refusal to be defined by conventional descriptions of what a pony should look like, his enjoyment of life. I decided that Frank knew that it was OK to be different. He celebrated the fact that he didn’t look or behave like other ponies. He would always stand out and I loved him even more for that.
Here’s to Frank, Candy, Archie, Valkyrie and all the heroic animals in our lives. Particularly this year of all years, we owe them so much.
Adapted from Heroic Animals: 100 Amazing Creatures Great And Small, by Clare Balding, published by Hodder, £20. © Clare Balding 2020. To order a copy for £17.60 go to mailshop.co.uk/books or call 020 3308 9193. Free UK delivery on orders over £15. Offer price valid until 24/10/2020.