A Visit to the Folkloric Dog Kennel

“Oh hello there. You’re the one who’s come to meet the dogs, are you? Well don’t just stand there on the doorstep, come in. It’s freezing out!

Welcome to the Folkloric Dog Kennel, where we look after some of the most famous hounds in English folklore. Some stay with us permanently, others come and go as they please. We’ve long since learnt not to ask too many questions about where they’ve been.

We’re always glad to see them. And visitors, too. Though I should warn you, some of the dogs are more welcoming than others.

Come along before they burst through the doors. They know you’re here.

A dog lover, then? Most people are, are they not? Perhaps that’s why folklore has so many of them. Ah – here they come now. You see these big black ones padding over? These are your classic Black Dogs, enormous figures in British folklore. You’ll find them all over the country, though they go by different names depending on where you are. Around here, we simply call them Black Dogs. Some are helpful creatures. Others… less so. Katharine Briggs once described them as large, shaggy beasts with fiery eyes, roughly the size of a calf. If you ask me, I’d say some of this lot are quite a bit bigger!

Take this fellow here – the one sitting and watching us with those great red eyes. Yes, him. He’s from the New Forest, and he’s said to have appeared shortly before the death of King William II – William Rufus – in the year 1100. In the days before the king’s fatal hunt, locals reported seeing a great Black Dog roaming around. Some even claimed that monks had visions of the king being dragged to hell upon the creature’s back. The king ignored the warnings and went hunting anyway. As you know, it didn’t end well. You know the story, don’t you? Rufus was killed by an arrow and his body was carried to Winchester in a cart, leaving a trail of blood along the road.

These days, they say this very dog still walks that route – as Black Dogs often do, accompanying the dead. Some have even claimed to see the old king riding through the forest atop a great black hound. Like I said, we don’t ask too many questions.

Which one, sorry? Ah yes, the one with the glowing green eyes. He’s from Collingbourne Kingston, in Wiltshire and he’s a different sort of Black Dog. An avenger, this one. The kind that hunts down wrongdoers and drags them to justice. The story goes that an elderly couple were once robbed and murdered in their cottage. The crime shocked the village, and the locals, as horrified as you are looking now, banded together to hunt the robbers down. But they had some help, didn’t they, old boy? After three exhausting nights of running and hiding, the robbers had no choice but to venture into Everleigh Woods, where no one dares go at night. There, in the darkness, they saw two burning green lights.

Yep. Those eyes there. The dog chased and hounded them clean out of the woods and back into the path of the angry villagers, who hauled them off to Devizes to be tried and hanged. And so the tale goes that anyone with a guilty conscience ought not to travel the road to Collingbourne after dark. Though I think you’re safe enough. He seems to like you. Give him a little scratch under the chin, he likes that.

Now this one that’s come to sniff your boot is the Gurt Dog of Somerset. He’s a gentler sort than the others. Rather than an omen of death, he’s said to be a protector of the moorlands. Parents would leave their children playing on the Quantock Hills, confident that the Gurt Dog would watch over them. He’s also known to guide lost travellers safely home. A very good boy, this one. Go on, give him that treat.

Ah, and these two lumbering over? Don’t worry, they’re just after the biscuits. Yes, they’re mastiffs. Big old things, aren’t they? But as loyal as the day is long. That one licking your hand is Grim. The other is Holdfast. They belonged to Sir Maurice de Berkeley, the New Forest knight who famously fought the Bisterne Dragon. These two fought alongside him. What happened afterwards is… somewhat uncertain.

Some say Holdfast, true to his name, clamped onto the dragon’s jaw and was carried high into the air, over the New Forest trees, before the beast came crashing down and crushed him. Grim, they say, ran the length of what is now called Grim’s Ditch, leaping to his companion’s rescue, only to meet the same fate.

Others claim the dragon’s blood drove the dogs mad, forcing their master to put them down himself. They say he buried them atop Bolton’s Bench, where the dragon also lies, and that the great yew trees grew from their graves. Have a look, next time you’re there.

Ghosts? I suppose they could be, yes. Perhaps. Or perhaps they never died at all. Either way, they’re welcome here. A real pleasure to have in the kennels – ghosts or not.

No, we don’t only have boys here. There’s one girl. Or at least… we think she’s a girl.

Lassie! LAAAASSSIEEEEE.

Here she comes. See that lovely collie bounding over? That’s Lassie. Yes – like the film. Though we like to think this old girl might be the original Lassie, the very one who inspired the Hollywood version.

She’s from Lyme Regis in Dorset, and her story is quite remarkable. Honestly, you’ll barely believe it. On New Year’s Eve in 1914, a Royal Navy ship was struck by a German torpedo as it steamed across Lyme Bay. It sank almost immediately. Survivors were brought ashore and any that were dead or dying were carried into the Pilot Boat pub, where Lassie lived.

You won’t believe what she did – oh, careful, she’s after something in your pocket – have you got food in there? As I was saying, just when all the sailors were taken for dead and the doctor had left, they found her licking and sniffing the hand of one of the corpses. She wouldn’t leave him alone, they say. Well, guess what? He was breathing. Breathing and alive. So they called that doctor back down quick and he brought that man back to life. His name was John Cowan and Lassie here saved his life. She went on to live with him in the end. Which seems only fair, really.

Well then, that’s the kennel tour. It’s been lovely having you, but it’s getting dark and the hounds will be settling down soon… or heading out. You’re welcome back any time, of course. The dogs are always pleased to have visitors, especially ones who bring treats.

Now, off you go before they follow you home. The Black Dogs especially are terrible for that.

Come along, folk, this way.”

A note from me:

Wherever you are in the UK, you’ll find a Black Dog or a Spectral Dog story nearby. They have so many names: Barghest, Gytrash, Padfoot, Moddey Dhoo, Black Shuck, Old Shuck, Yeth, Whist Hound, Gwyllgi, and more.

I should mention the Pilot Boat is still in Lyme Regis, I peered into the windows myself not too long ago. I hadn’t heard Lassie’s tale then. Next time I’m there, I’ll be sure to go in and picture the tale.

This is dedicated to my very own black dog, absolutely nothing like the ones described here and would cower between my legs if she were ever to meet them. Significantly smaller than a calf.