A dog's life

A Dogs' Life

Any moment now, Lycra clad, he will bounce down the stairs and burst in through the kitchen doors. It's Sunday. Of course, I sit up bright eyed and bushy tailed anticipating the run through the local wooded park - it's always enjoyable. (He never assumes I may not want to go, for him it's a like washing the dishes or shopping-part of the routine of you do 'that then and this later) Naturally, I enjoy my time out meeting his odd friends and fellow joggers as well as my fellow canine friends most of whom are friendly. While musing about today’s adventure I watch him vanish into the utility room and start rummaging through a cupboard looking for my leash. Other things tumble out of the over subscribed cubby hole but eventually he succeeds in finding what we both need-my leash. I'm well used to the routine of control and care before we get to the woods where life is more relaxed - but care about the busy roads and other over enthusiastic hounds, some of whom can come bounding across roads and pavements to say 'Hi,' is a necessity.

He attaches the leash (one of those extending ones that he sometimes forgets to reign in when passing other wood runners going in the opposite direction) to my collar and shouts, 'I'm off.' to his wife, who is upstairs grateful that he's out the door and at least making some effort to stay trim and fit. He opens the front door, I go first, him next. And we are on our way.

I'm Hector, a mixed breed dog with a thick dark brown shaggy coat and my Sunday morning runs are about forty minutes punctuated with, 'Hello John, all okay?' or other variations of, ‘Hello, how ya doin'?' from other dog walkers, joggers and foragers. John is the name of my owner. There's a regular army of dog walkers and others who are part of the Sunday armada heading for the woods. And sometimes there is a brave soul who is exercising three or four dogs at the same time. Keeping those to heel is quite a sight especially as we all get nearer the wood, then they all start straining at their leashes with the brave dog walker hanging on for dear life.

I'm lucky getting this regular run out. Not all my fellow canines are so lucky. Bess, a King Charles Spaniel, lives next door and she complains to me about her lack of exercise. She is really part of the family going everywhere with them but not in a manner she would expect or prefer. Like, most mornings she joins the children in a child bike trailer: The Croozer! Three kids, school satchels and herself are loaded into the Croozer ebike. The mornings' always frantic due to the kids not being ready or not able to find the classwork project that has been worked on for hours. She explodes with frustration as she explains to me, ‘There and back, I sit in that Croozer to-and-from ... school. I have four legs,' she says, 'that should give them a clue! My four legs are for running. Not for being bussed about in some Croozer.'

'I agree', I said, 'but you have to get the kids to school somehow.'

'Anything with four legs is designed to run fast,' said Bess. (The thought of coming back at her with Hedgehogs as an exception to the rule was tempting - but when she's on a roll about her lack of exercise it’s best to let some things pass)

But my treat is when I get to the open field nearby and let loose to run about like a lunatic, barking and whelping and rolling round in the grass. And the freedom to choose my place - and time! - to pee or just sniff out who’s been there recently. During this time when I get free rein several other dogs are unleashed as well. Sometimes we play tag-it’s like an equivalent of touch rugby, and we just go flat out. It' all in good spirits and there is very rarely any bother between us. John tends to link up with some of the regulars (that take their charges to the 'dog pen') with the leash hung round his neck and chat away.

Bess told me, last week in town, there was a dog being carried round in a baby wrap sling!! There was another hound with just its head peeping out from the covers. 'It’s a dog ... not a baby,' she exclaimed. And then, equally bizarre, a dog in a child’s pushchair passed by her and entered the supermarket. I did suggest to Bess that it’s some fashion thing that will pass and she should not get so wound up.

Anyway, the Sunday run was great, though I'm concerned about the conversation John had with Derek halfway round the wood trail. Derek said the '5K' local run was coming up and would he like to join? John said, 'yes'. Well, I'm no whippet! and not keen on being dragged around five kilometres. Bess said, 'Don't be daft, he'll not be taking you with him.' I said,' Quite right ,I will definitely not be going with him.' ... and I notice he has, now and again, talked about a half marathon. I said to Bess, 'He can forget that!'

I'm quite thirsty after the Sunday jaunt and John has made sure my drinking bowl is full of lovely cool water. Eats will come later so till then I lie down in a languid state by the lit gas fire in the lounge and dream.

It is strange though, don't you think? That they increasingly carry us dogs around - or push us around - when we're more than happy to run or walk. We don't want to put weight on! And I'm just hoping the fashion for winter woollies and coats ends soon. I mean, we have furry coverings -they even stroke it sometimes. Fur, like legs, are there for a purpose - I think John gets that.