Dog Friendly Devon

Dog Friendly Devon Holiday

We’re Off to Dog Friendly Devon!

I’m in a reminiscent mood furiends. This time last year me was off on me holibobs. 3 whole weeks in dog friendly Devon.

Devon is many, many, many miles away from London. The car was full to the brim. Apparently travelling with me involves taking lots of stuff. Toys. Food. More food. Even more food. Not forgetting all of mummy’s stuff too – clothes (far too many in my opinion), photography equipment, exercise equipment.

Anyways, managed to squeeze me big bum onto the back seat. Proper squashed in I was, surrounded by stuff. I’d prefer to sit in the front seat but mummy don’t trust me. Worries I’ll activate the handbrake as we’re zooming down the motorway.

Dog Friendly Devon
Are we there yet?

The drive is 5 long, long hours. Hours and hours of mummy trying to sing along to the radio. Shut up will you? You sound awful and me ears are hurting. Quick toilet break and a chance to steal a bit of mummy’s sandwich and then off we go again.

Finally we gets there. Mummy has booked a holiday cottage with not many people around (given me don’t likes people). It’s called Tillislow Barn near Launceston, one of many dog friendly Devon holiday cottages. We had our own big garden for me to sniff around in, have zoomies around, and play ball in. One day mummy threw the ball for hours and hours but me still wasn’t tired. How can you ever get tired of chasing ball?

Dog Friendly Devon
Big garden, blue skies, beautiful view

Sometimes there were big moo cows next to the garden so I had to stay inside otherwise I barked and barked at them, scary fings they were.

Dog friendly Devon
Scary moo cows

Top 6 Favourite Fings

I’ll recap my top 6 favourite fings from the holiday.

  • THE BOG. So furiends, this was the funniest fing EVER. We was walking on Dartmoor. Just me and mummy. No one else around for miles. Except stinky sheeps. Mummy was following some map she’d found online. We crossed a little stream. Except it turned out not to be a stream. It was a bog! For those of my furiends who don’t know what a bog is, here is a definition me found online: an area of wet muddy ground that is too soft to support a heavy body. And indeed it WAS too soft to support mummy’s heavy body…. Whilst I could swim easily through the cold, muddy water, and was quite enjoying meself, mummy was sinking lower and lower until she was up to her knees in it. I was chuckling to meself. She was busy texting our friend Rita who is from Devon. Like me, Rita thought this was hilarious. Seems the only one who didn’t was mummy who was saying lots of very rude words and shrieking like a mad woman. Rita thought she might have to call mountain rescue to come get us. After what seemed like hours, we finally made it out of the bog and back to dry ground. Mummy looked a right state, shoes full of muddy water, mud up her legs. She decided not to continue with the route and we trudged back to the car. She was also not amused about us having to get in her fancy car covered in mud. I was sniggering from the back seat as she drove us straight back to the cottage. I ended up in the bath. All her clothes and shoes went in the washing machine. One of the best days ever furiends! Me and Rita still laugh about it now.
  • Ice creams. This was very nearly number 1, but the bog story was just too funny… Who doesn’t love ice creams? I absolutely loves it. And cos we was on holibobs, me and mummy had several ice creams. Me always got vanilla, mummy tried some different flavours. Me fave brand was Kelly’s of Cornwall, super yummy. Slurp, slurp, slurp. All gone, save for the bits dripping off me beard. Me long tongue soon saw to that. Mummy’s barely started hers so I just sits and stares at her, salivating, hoping she drops some. No such luck.
Slurp slurp
Dog Friendly Devon
Ice cream beard
  • Embarrassing mummy. Our friend Rita lives in London now (she only friends with mummy so she can see me….) but she grew up in Devon. Rita’s mummy still lives in Devon so she invited us over for lunch. Mummy was rather worried about how I’d behave in a stranger’s house. I did my usual barking, just to show who’s boss. Got tied up in the living room whilst they were eating lunch. Outrageous! I barked some more to show my annoyance, so for dessert (chocolate cake, ice creams, and peaches), I was allowed to sit by mummy. I waited, and waited, and waited. And finally, I saw that split second when mummy’s concentration lapsed and up I went. Opened me mouth as wide as I could, like a shark, and hoovered up as much of mummy’s bowl as I could. Well, the aftermath was hilarious. Mummy was absolutely mortified, holding her hands under me mouth as I chomped away, so she could catch everything I dropped before it fell onto the carpet. Rita’s mummy rushed to get napkins. I know what you might be finking furiends – chocolate cake isn’t good for us doggos – don’t worry, it didn’t have a high chocolate content so me was fine. I was allowed to eat the rest of the contents of the bowl – no way mummy was going to finish it after I’d drooled all over it. She got a second bowl, had me beady eyes on that one too, but I was banished back to the living room. Rita’s mummy thought the whole thing was hilarious…
  • Swimming. I never used to be much of a water dog. But this holiday opened me eyes up to it and I have perfected the doggy paddle to a tee. Every time I saw it, I desperately pulled mummy along so that I could go swimming. In a river. In a lake. And my most favourite, the sea. I would have swum and swum for hours if mummy would have let me. Once, me refused to come out the sea, swimming round and round in circles. Mummy pretended to get food out of her backpack so out I came. Couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to eat food. But she tricked me! Cheeky mummy. Put me on my lead before I could run off.
My first swimming experience, and I loved it!
I could have swum for hours and hours
  • Walking. Because mummy didn’t have access to her bike, or the gym, her main form of exercise was walking. So of course I tagged along. We walked a lot. And I mean lots. Every day we went somewhere different. We walked part of the Tarka Trail, and did walks around Lynmouth, Dartmoor, Exmoor, Bude, Totnes, Teignmouth, Fingle Woods and Lydford Gorge, to name but a few. If it was sunny we’d drive to the starting point with the roof down, I likes feeling the wind in me hairs. Some days we did 25km, up and down hills, through fields, along country lanes. I was on a long lead so I could roam around and sniff all the new, and exciting smells. Except when we were near farm animals, like big horses, and moo cows, and stinky sheeps. Then mummy kept me close by cos me was scared of these strange creatures and wanted to bark at them. Sometimes we came across things called styes. They took some navigating. Mummy only had one hand free, with me lead in the other. And I had a tendency of pulling her when she was straddling the stye. So she’d shriek and yell at me to stand still. Imagine if she fell off, into a cowpat. It would be almost as funny as the bog incident.
  • Pub lunches. This was more for mummy’s benefit than mine. A happy mummy = a happy life. She’d get her Ploughman’s lunch, me would steal some bread and cheese, and a shandy, didn’t steal that yucky stuff, and all would be good with the world. We’d sit outside, soaking up the sun. Bliss. Might even be followed by another ice creams. Think me put on a bit of weight on this holiday. Ah well, that’s what holidays are for. I’ll give a shout out to a couple of the pubs we visited. The Union Inn in Moretonhampstead. And the Maltsters Arms in Tuckenhay.

One other exciting fing that happened – I got my first tick. Mummy didn’t know what to do, and flapped around. Then drove us to a vet to buy some plastic fing and the nice nurse showed her how to use it and get the fing out of me. How dare it! Sucking on me blood. Get off me tick.

Before we knew it, the 3 weeks was over. And off we went back home to London. Me and mummy were both sad, we’d like to live in the countryside all the time. “One day,” said mummy, “One day.”

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