Little Nelson was our short-legged Jack Russell terrier. It’s been over ten years now since he snuffled off to the great kennel in the sky. But his memory lives on as fresh as the day we first met him at the rescue centre. We have had another Jack Russell since then, A long legged dog that we named Nelson Two in memory of Little Nelson and he was a great character but in an entirely different way.

We had only had Little Nelson for a few days and he was incredibly lively and full of fun so we decided to take him into the Derbyshire Dales for a good long walk, to try and slow him down a bit, but we got more than we expected and it nearly cost him his life.

He was good as gold in the car journey and must have known he was in for an exciting time. We parked up and as we walked along the canal towpath we thought he could be let off the lead.

That was mistake number one. He wandered along, taking in all the strange new scents, but always kept looking back to make sure my wife and I were still within hailing distance, (this appealing habit never left him.) It was a very bright sunny day in the height of summer and every inch of the canal water was covered in a floating weed that grows into a thick green carpet, reminiscent of water buttercup.

Deep in a valley we were busily admiring the spectacular scenery of the hillsides on both sides and Nelson had stopped behind us, totally absorbed in a patch of foliage that had probably been rubbed by a fox or a rabbit or some nocturnal animal. We weren’t concerned though, as there was a short footbridge over the canal just a few hundred yards in front of us, where we would cross over to the other side and retrace our steps. It would be no trouble for Nelson to do the same. Wrong!

Once over the other side we called to nelson as we drew abreast of him. He still had not moved and was sniffing all around the bush in a very animated fashion.

I called out to him and he immediately turned his head our way. He had a very panicky expression and suddenly took a great leap to join us. There was a tremendous splash as he mistook the water for solid ground. They say that all dogs can swim instinctively but we realised that our little dog had never been in water in his short life, as he sunk and the waterweed closed in again.

It was now my turn to panic and I dashed pell-mell back over the footbridge to stand breathless at the point where he had leapt in. There was no sign of him and I was convinced that my carelessness had cost him his life. I scanned the weed but there was no sign of him.

He had gone to a watery grave! I walked back shaking my head sadly, to rejoin my wife across the bridge and then I noticed a small outlet, virtually hidden, well beneath the bank side, where the canal water rushed out to join the fast flowing river Derwent

(which ran parallel.)

A bit of old wooden branch was stretched across the entrance and there, shivering like a drowned rat and clinging bravely to the flimsy perch, was Little Nelson. He had somehow survived, to travel underwater and grasp this last chance of survival, before he was snatched into the river and dashed on the rocks to his death. We took him home and introduced him to a warm drink of tea in his bowl. He took to it greatly and after that, whenever he heard the words “Tea Nelson?” he would sit bolt upright on his hind legs, wave his paws madly and howl for his own drink, and he had to have his very own mug of tea. End.