YOU have to admire the optimism of dogs.

My hound has never caught a squirrel. She has never got close to a rabbit and I doubt she even knows what a fox looks like. Cats saunter away from her knowing that the trees are their friend, and even my mum’s tortoise is no threat. As a lurcher she is quick, and relatively agile for an eight year old, but never gets near anything she chases.

And yet, every time she sees a new furry thing running around, she sets off as if it is a no brainer who will win. The very moment we walk into Vivary her ears stand up, her nose switches and she has the focussed attention of a Strictly judge looking for a poor top line. The second she sees the squirrel family she is pulling and straining at her harness begging me to release her so she can rid our lovely county town of the pestilence of climbing vermin (her words, not mine).

Cats, on the other hand, are opportunistic. We’ve all been there. You feed them. Then 5 minutes later your partner turns up and the feline protestations begin as if she hasn’t eaten in weeks. She slithers and smarms around their ankles in an attempts to procure a second dinner. It never happens – well rarely – but they never give up. Doing exactly the same thing yet expecting a different result… its anti Darwininian isn’t it? But they survive.

I sort of envy the hound. The irrepressible confidence that she will, this time, in spite of all of her experience and history, succeed.

Optimism is life changing. It’s the feeling every Taunton Town FC fan gets just before kick off on the first Saturday of the new season. It’s the confidence Somerset CC fans will feel when Peter Siddle arrives at the top of his run up and turns. It’s the feeling all amateur golfers get on the first tee.

Often our confidence is misplaced. Let’s be honest in two of the three examples I’ve given it’s highly likely to be wildly misplaced. But what a nice feeling while it lasts.

So I don’t often take inspiration from my hound but maybe I should. Perhaps a new career in motivational speaking – or at least barking – awaits.

Written by columnist Mark Wall.