Walkies!
After eight weeks house-bound with a dog who can't walk, I've realised just how important those daily outings are for me too
Personal, long-form, story-style posts like this one are usually just for my paid subscribers but I wanted to give you a taste of what’s on the other side of just £1 a week. Enjoy!
Something my therapist and I worked on was saying ‘I get to do x’ rather than ‘I have to do x’, and I know I won’t be alone in occasionally moaning about having to take the dog out for a walk. Again. The same thing every morning, and every evening, no matter the weather or his level of excitement/gratefulness/reactivity and my lack of sleep/good mood/reactivity. Mostly, that’s not the case - Hughie and walking Hughie are up there with my greatest joys, so it’s not difficult to pinpoint the few times I resented taking him out, which has made the last two months of wishing I did have to head out in the fresh air with my best friend a smidge less woeful. Thankfully, after eight weeks of bed rest post a possible spine twinge/hip slip (him not me, but I am approaching my mid-30s), we’ve been cleared to start building back up to our normal walks. I’m so relieved.
For Hughie, mostly. A dog who can’t feel foreign soil under his paws or sniff butts on the regular is barely a dog. His life is a great one, inside and out, so it’s not been terrible roaming the house, having a designated human to watch him, cuddle him and carry him up and down stairs for two months. But it’s fair to say, at points, he’s been thoroughly confused and bored out of his brain. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly held prisoner, shouted at for ragging toys and made to wee *whisper it* in the GARDEN. Plus, as a young-ish, usually very active pup, he had endless energy that needed to be burned. The only semi-decent minimal-movement energy-burning tool we found was this, which got him using his nose and noggin’ - though a short, sharp chase of Timmy the whippet around the meadow would have been preferable.
I’m also relieved for me. Turns out, that going outside and moving are essential for our brains and bodies to feel nice. Who’d have thunk it? It’s easy to convince yourself the daily dog walk is for your four-legged family member, but I’ll bet you get just as much out of it. When I’m in a bit of a funk or worried, I know I need to go outside and walk it off. A change of scenery, fresh air, pushing myself to go faster, getting a bit of a sweat on, and shifting my focus away from myself and my inner monologue’s incessant yapping all help. Being fully absorbed in what Hugh is doing - what he might eat, getting sticky buds out of his fur, this dog he wants to chat to, the stuffed horse someone left on the pavement that he’s terrified of, navigating us back to the path when his nosey nature has led us AWOL - is the perfect route to staying in the moment.
Exercise-wise, because Hugh’s needed someone to ensure he doesn’t throw himself off the sofa, jump up, get excited and zoom, chase flies etc. and Alex spends his life in meetings, I haven’t left the house much or really the living room to get my steps, pedalling or stretching in. I’m far from a gym girlie or a very active at-all girlie but being so sedentary for two months made me realise I’m a lot more into ‘exercise’ than I thought. It’s surprising how fit just walking for two or three hours a day makes you - and indeed, how unfit not doing so leaves you. And how the less you do, the less you do. Without that usual foundation of two daily walks, I wasn’t motivated to unroll my yoga mat like I would every Monday and Thursday or suffer a spin class via my previously beloved Peloton, which I told myself was tricky to do owing to Hughie but was actually the perfect solution when I was relegated to these four walls. No wonder I’ve felt lethargic and slow and mentally bleugh. My friend joked that Hughie would be doing the dog equivalent of couch to 5k after so little activity… he won’t be the only one!
This is going to sound a bit woo-woo but being disconnected with nature and the season has also been odd. I’ve felt quite weird not knowing what Mother Earth is doing… a bit out of sync. Sure, I can look out the window or go into the garden and confirm that it’s been a rather cold, wet, shit summer. But it’s not the same as having to dress for it, walking in it, battling and embracing it. Not to mention talking about it with every dog walker you meet. Seeing our neighbouring sheep switching fields, the crops rising up, drying out, being chopped down, the river levels teetering, leaves changing colours, the general outside smell (don’t even pretend the air doesn’t smell different as September creeps in because you know it does). Even when we lived in south London, I felt better for charting the muddiness of the Common throughout the year - here in the countryside, there’s even more to miss. Nature is obvious here. And very beautiful. Okay, that’s enough of that. Promise not to hug a tree when I’m back out there this week… probably.
A last thought I’ve had during my confinement: how nice is it to spend a chunk of your time doing the thing someone you love, loves? Sure, it sounds selfless, but selfishly, it’s rewarding. It’s kind and positive and it’s an excellent foundation for bonding. With a pooch or an actual person, ha. Whilst Hugh and I have still been together for almost every waking moment throughout his convalescence, it’s not been the same as when we’re in our routine. The dynamic has been a little less fun and equal, more needs-based. If he’s been hungry or thirsty, I’d bring food and water to him. Because he couldn’t hop up on the sofa or bed, or climb the stairs, I’d pick him up and carry him. On our traditional walks, he’s free (well as free as this hearing-challenged on-lead terrier has ever known) and he gets to be himself, following his instincts, and loving life. He can go at his own speed, and choose what to sniff, engage with or growl at. He can get as far from me as possible and he can run back to me because he chooses to - he’s less dependent on me, so our interactions are based on affection rather than survival (or entrapment). We navigate slippery paths together, cross roads, and decide where to turn, and where to pop in or take a break. It’s a mini adventure twice daily and if it wasn’t obvious, I’ve missed everything about it and will almost never moan about getting to face rain and wind and his distaste for any dog that dares to have a scrunchy face to walk with him ever again.
If you don’t have a dog or a weekday routine that revolves around a Big Walk, this probably all seems a bit dramatic, silly and navel-gazing. Reading it back I half agree! But it’s my truth, as they say. Over the last couple of years, with the help of that clever therapist, I’ve made a conscious effort to make my life ‘smaller’ and today, joy comes from less flashy, impressive sources. Having a tighter circle of pals, living in a quieter place, making rather than spending (ish, I haven’t gone full Buddhist monk yet) and putting one foot in front of the other with my fluffy companion are what life’s all about.
Boring? Perhaps? All mine? Yep.