A FLURRY of urgent emails first alerted us to the fact that a little dog was missing in our area. While its owners, who were on holiday, had left it in the care of some dog sitters, the little chihuahua cross Jack Russell had taken off on an adventure into the wild.

The little dog set off into the unknown and it so happened must have been able to go across country and land up in a wood smack in the middle of land that we had farmed in the past.

The wood actually belongs to the local hunt, but there was always an agreement that John could shoot the wood. as long as he didn’t shoot any foxes. Which of course he never would. Even when they were feasting on his pheasants and partridges.

We were contacted as Max’s owners were under the misconception that we owned the wood, and they wanted to let us know that they had put some fox traps down in the wood.

“I think we ought to let the hunt know,” I said. “Even though you have no intention of catching foxes, I do not think they will take too kindly to you setting traps.”

As it turned out they were very understanding, but mentioned that the next day the wood was being shot by a local shoot and that might put Max in some danger.

As it turned out Max did not stick around long enough to face being peppered with shot, but instead must have decided to check out the nearest village, ours, for a quieter life. The first we knew was when John spotted him lurking in the big fold yard.

But not for long. Like a shot Max set off. “Quick,” John called to me. “We’ll head him off at the lane end.”

Well, for a little dog Max had an amazing turn of speed. Clearly he had no intention of being caught anytime soon. Careering alongside him on the grass verge we just about tipped the Land Rover on its side, but Max executed a swift about turn, headed off down a green lane and was out of sight.

For the next few days Max came back to the farm every night. Scoffed the milk and dog biscuits left out for him. Slept, I think, on the blankets I provided.

He totally refused to go in the fox trap his owners had brought to our farm from the wood. Hours were spent combing the countryside around us with no joy. Occasional sightings by John, but not a hope of getting near him.

Then two nights ago a relieved phone call. Max had called it a day and after a week of freedom he had turned back up on his home door step. Thinner, fitter, unrepentant and point made not to leave him when they went away, ever again.