MIDNIGHT DIPPER

an invasion onto private properties and, despite the local authority’s responsibility for public safety, one is confronted with negativity.

A local disabled pensioner was prompted to seek the assistance of the RSPCA having witnessed an adder slithering into her garden. The charity was not in the least interested, and suggested she ask a neighbour to help. Had that neighbour gone to assist and, in so doing, killed the adder out of fear, there would no doubt have soon been a knock on the door and she would have been confronted by an inspector, perhaps threatening her with prosecution.

Is it any wonder that this organisation, which was so politically involved in the antihunting campaign, has now graduated to the farcical notion that species of fish should be treated on a par with other animals in its firm belief that they experience pain and emotions in their complex social lives.

Yet these people could not bother to offer assistance in the simple task of removing an adder from a disabled person’s garden. So my message is clear: in future, do not ‘rattle’ your collection tin in front of my face as you will certainly not like my adjectival response.

C Jones-evans, Pwllheli

Who would have thought that bringing a paddling pool into a small London garden could create such unwanted attention? Having grown up in rural Northeast England, it was rare that on a summer’s day I could be found anywhere other than half submerged, enjoying a cool off.

Of course, there are foxes aplenty in that part of the world but with effective management, worrying about them enjoying a ‘domestic’ evening dip isn’t a feature. And this is where the dilemma kicks in. Having moved to South London, we are lucky to enjoy a nice outside space, but with that comes the seemingly omniscient onslaught of urban foxes. It’s a lot hotter down here, and that evening cool off becomes even more appealing.

But bringing a body of water into the garden entices unintended guests that are keen to make the most of the opportunity. I don’t blame them. If I was a furry, night-dwelling beast then I would do the same.

That said, I’m not, and thus not keen to be sharing my afternoon lager in a less than hygienic watering hole. I reach out to anyone who might be able to help me battle this dilemma: how to keep the gatecrashers away whilst making the most of the summer’s finest weather?

E Nicholson, London loyal companion on the foreshore for many glorious seasons and performed admirably.

On one occasion, I had ventured out to the sea wall to try my luck with my son, Benjamin, who had just turned nine. Benjamin had his cap gun with him and proudly wore the little belt with all those plastic cartridges. I chose my 16-bore, which I have shot with ever since.

We waited in our favourite spot getting absolutely soaked with horizontal winter rain for two hours. A lone mallard then appeared high up and Benjamin and myself raised our guns together and fired – with Benjamin making ‘pew pew’ noises. I knew immediately that I had touched the bird as it veered suddenly into the depths of the marsh. I sent Flannel after it immediately, his big shape cutting through the reeds and plunging through sea water.

Ten minutes went by and I heard nor saw nothing. I tried calling but nothing happened. Another 20 minutes later, Flannel appeared holding the duck, both looking thoroughly dirty. It transpired that Flannel had found the bird and it had decided to take cover in a rabbit hole. He had dug 4ft into the ground to fetch it. God save the Chesapeake!

T Berkely, Norfolk