I was born in 1992, a stone's throw from
Swansea Bay, in the labyrinth of terraced houses that blanket
the hill behind St Helen's cricket ground. My parents, city dogs
through and through, were good honest hard working Jack Russells
who were delighted when the Bowen family arrived to lift me from
my cardboard box home and take me to the countryside, where I
was to be responsible for "barking loudly at any strange
noises" in addition to my natural role as an all-round family
entertainer.
Within a few days, I was named Holly
[after a character in the TV comedy Red Dwarf apparently] and
given a small room by the front door of what is now Ty
Cerbyd holiday cottage. I expect this was a reward for my
good work. They particularly liked it when I pretended to bury
a pasta twirl in the corner of the living room. How they laughed
as I used my nose to push imaginary soil over the pasta, as I
filled the huge imaginary hole I had dug in the carpet. My new
room was great. There was even a small rectangular hole in the
font door for me to keep track of the smells outside. Much to
my annoyance, the postman kept trying to block it with pieces
of paper. It took me a while to assert my authority with the other
animals at the farm. I remember quite a large cat called Pepper
who used to sit a few feet away from me and stare at me as if
I was his next meal. Luckily I was well protected by the family
until I got big enough to look after myself. He eventually started
to respect me and we became firm friends. He was in charge of
scaring away mice, and I was in charge of scaring away foxes and
any other animal bigger than a badger. He didn't interfere in
my affairs and I didn't interfere in his. And that's the way we
liked it. We occasionally shared intelligence but only on a need
to meow basis.
There followed many happy days at Plas
Farm. I would carry out an early morning patrol of the courtyard
area and farm drive - check for any foxy messages, reply with
interest and then head out into the fields to chase, I mean check,
the cattle and sheep. By 1996,
my family had decided to stop milking
and start looking after holiday makers. The old sheds got converted
to holiday cottages over the next few years and my role at Plas
Farm became even more important. So important in fact, that I
needed extra help with all the entertainment. There is only so
many amusing behavioural habits that one Jack Russell can get
through in a day and so in 1995, I was mated with a handsome Jack
Russell called Dave from the Gower. I was mortified to begin with
- imagine the embarrassment - I arrived back in the farmyard after
a short training exercise down the river bank with Pepper, only
to find I had been set up on a blind date. I wasn't even wearing
perfume! Not that it mattered. He was ever such a handsome Jack
Russell - a gigolo it transpired who advertised his services in
the South Wales Evening Post. Obviously, had I known this at the
time, I would not have gone near him. Anyway, £30 worth
of his services later, and I was pregnant with Bertie and two
other pups.
Bertie was born in December of 1995 and
lived at Plas Farm for three years until he mysteriously disappeared
one stormy day in October of 1998. We never did find out what
became of him. I think he may have left for love. He always was
the adventurous type. Nevertheless, he helped me to get through
those early transitional years of entertaining holiday makers.
Since 1999 I have coped on my own, although
things have been very busy. I have appeared on television, been
photographed for a book - I just don't know where to turn next.
I have hardly taken a day off. In fact, the only time off I have
had was when I broke my leg trying to scare off a car. I don't
care what anyone says, I think I taught it a lesson it won't forget.
And what of the future? Well I hope to carry on welcoming guests
to the holiday cottages at Plas Farm and I doubt that I will ever
retire. I am having too much of a good time! And besides, I would
find it hard to give up the perks. Having one's tummy stroked
so regularly is a heavenly. I should go now - I have got things
to do. I hope to meet you one day and remember to bring your pets
too!
Woof Woof!
Holly Bowen
Bwthyn Y Saer and Ty
Cerbyd are both pet-friendly holiday cottages.
