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Stuck in the mud

It was not so much the stinging nettles that were uncomfortable I was wearing thick socks as treading on or tripping over the brambles. No, Jester was not Lassie. Lesson learned: we both wore the oldest, holiest, shabbiest gardening clothes we had.

I was wearing welly boots. Quite an episode Alasdair and one Christmas Day that will likely be remembered for many a wrong reason.

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Eventually it emerged from the mud with a whooshing, gurgling noise. So it was that on Christmas Day in the morning, with the sun shining… well, at least visible at times… I took out the family dog, Jester, a cocker spaniel, for a festive walk around the fields.

And also, in getting my wife out of the mud, one of my own boots had now sunk irretrievably into the mud. Rabbits do not have wings, but have the advantage of speed, so Jester gets lots of exercise chasing them. Why is the discomfort of others so entertaining?

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A sturdy stick can also be a help but may not have aided your situation, except perhaps as a tester for the soggy ground ahead. Comments Quite an episode Alasdair and one Christmas Day that will likely be remembered for many a wrong reason. The next day Storm Bella came calling, so the sunken boots were left to sink a little further.

The back of the trousers were mud coloured and thickly mud coated. Compared to that, my own muddy experiences seem rather less dramatic. It was the day after that we summoned up enough courage to the fray. Unfortunately she lost her balance as the boot came out, and she fell over backwards into the mud.

Welly getting stuck in the mud stories!! share yours

It was a shame that she was wearing festive red trousers. Yes, it was muddy, but it was muddy everywhere. This time, however, as we gingerly inched our way from tussock to tussock, we were able to extricate the boots without either falling in or leaving another boot behind. As I struggled to free one boot, I put my weight on the other foot and so sank deeper into the mud on that side. This time I did not wear wellies, but a pair of hiking boots which are usually very much under-employed so that if I did get stuck in the mud, there was less chance of leaving a boot behind.

No problem…. I pulled her up and out, but one of her own boots was now stuck and could not be retrieved.

Slowly and with a certain amount of discomfort, I hobbled home. The original pair of boots were retrieved. So far, I have been lucky, but when the time comes I hope it will help rescue me, or others, from misfortune.

I tugged at the boots but they were firmly stuck in the mud. It was not so much a muddy patch, as a miniature bog. Trying to keep our feet on slightly firmer ground, we reached out to pull and lever the stuck boots out of their muddy embrace. Thanks for sharing the story and best of good wishes for a mud-free Alasdair, you made us laugh including Monty!

Nothing sophisticated. We returned home in triumph for serious boot washing and then into the warmth and comfort of indoors.

Best wishes for a safe and mud-free The big black furry monster So we were having a lovely walk with lots of pheasants and rabbits to chase, and, as it was Christmas Day, I extended it by walking through a patch of a field not so often visited. Many thanks, Alasdair, for a delightful of your adventures in the mud. I sensed that the general opinion was that I had been stuck in the mud for years — what was new about this time? Jester is very fond of these walks because of the prevalence of rabbits and pheasants in the undergrowth and hedgerows. He returned to see why I was impeding the progress of the walk, saw nothing of much interest and so nosed off up the hedgerow looking for more rabbits.

So more baths, showers, and filling up the washing machine to capacity with muddy clothes ensued. A practical tip. As long as the protagonist comes through with a light-hearted. Thanks for sharing and hope you will do lo more of these stories although hopefully not loose any more boots….

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He enjoys startling pheasants, which rise in front of his nose making a noise like an alarm clock. So we were having a lovely walk with lots of pheasants and rabbits to chase, and, as it was Christmas Day, I extended it by walking through a patch of a field not so often visited.

Also, her red trousers were now only red in the front. Even on a short adventure I always carry a mobile phone.

Could I lay the table, fix the cocktails, decant the wine, light the fire….? We are very fortunate that directly behind our home are fields, most of which are empty of any crop; the land owners have no objection to us walking our dog over their land. I told my story. Within a couple of paces my boots were stuck in it and I was having a certain sinking feeling.

ANYONE who has ventured away from tarmac or pavements over the Christmas and New Year period will have noticed how waterlogged and muddy the countryside has become. It took the combined resources of 12 sapeurs-pompiers, seven gendarmes and a rescue helicopter to extricate her. Once inside, I met my wife who was in the throes of preparing Christmas dinner.

In the end there was nothing for it but to remove legs from boots and so, weighing lighter, I was able to remove myself from the bog. I was getting nowhere, except for sinking deeper and deeper into the mud. The dog, we learned, was unharmed. We reached the spot and saw the top end of both boots sunk deeply down.

Later — bathed, warm, changed into clean clothes, fed and lubricated — we selected more boots from the tangle by the back door and set off again, armed with a garden fork and laughing at the mud. No problem… …I was wrong. My wife grasped hold of one boot and pulled it as hard as she could, while I got the prongs of the fork underneath it.

Meanwhile, my son, helpfully, took some photos of them on his phone.