Fred waved towards the great, grey hound that now lay in the shade of his Land Rover. "He's only good for guarding her chickens."
"Was her last dog as big as that one?" Rupert tried to imagine something three or four times the size of a collie – at the very least – being able to round up a flock of sheep."
"He was indeed. That's her third deerhound over there: he's coming up for five now, so she'll probably be looking for a replacement to train up alongside him in a year or so."
"They don't live long?" Rupert was used to seeing aged spaniels lolling around at his friends' houses and he knew that collies and lurchers also lived well into their teens.
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