When Easter (the Diva) was quite a young dog in Plymouth, I used to take her Blackberry picking every autumn and after tasting the fruit for the first time she always expected me to pick some off for her.
One particular very hot day Easter decided on a bit of self service, so into the dense undergrowth she went. She came out to see me a couple of times, with a spreading purplish stained muzzle to confirm she had taken the plumpest fruit off to eat.
Suddenly there was a thrashing about in the brambles, accmpanied by ever ascending shrieks of terror coming from deep inside the thicket. There was nothing else for it, so in I went, saw a hip, grabbed hold of it and pulled it gently but firmly towards the path. I must have screamed myself when I saw her face, as it was covered in brambles, as were my arms and legs
I pulled out as many thorns as I thought were safe to touch, but there were just as many poking out of the area around her eyes, so I rushed her straight into the vet's, ringing on the way for them to expect us.
The waiting room was full. People were looking at Easter, so I told them what she had done. Ripples of laughter ran round and round the room. Then the receptionist arrived at her desk, took one look and ...... laughed her socks off. We went into the consulting room where we saw Easter's regular attendant vet. He had a quick look, as did the nurse. They looked at me, then at each other, and they too burst out laughing. Easter was hopping mad by then, glaring with indignation at all of us.
The vet carefully took the thorns out, explaining that his initial inspection had been confirmed in that no serious damage had been caused. I was advised to bathe the sore area in saline a few times and that was that as they say, except to say that for the rest of the time we lived in Plymouth, never, ever, would the otherwise tough as old boots girl Easter ever walk in that place again or touch one single Blackberry.