The Dog and Castle

I don't like being stuck indoors and do my best thinking when walking or cycling. It feels like there are two main reasons for this. The first is that when you're on the move all the other things that might need doing simply can't get done (Though I could hardly fail to have noticed that its not unusual to keep up a constant flow of cyber-chat. But I have an old fashioned attitude and just use it to talk about something in particular and not as a way of constantly announcing my continued existence like a sheep bleating in a field.) The second is that they're both rhythmic activities and out of this rhythm thoughts just seem to flow. Unless, of course, the rhythm gets disrupted and this week it's been disrupted by a wounded dog.

A dog's world is a world of smells. There's acute interest in which other dogs have passed by or in what traces of an abandoned sausage roll might still be stuck to the pavement. This means that a dog's journey through the world is one of fits and starts. But, unless my dog is in season and, paradoxically, we become street walkers because that's the best way to avoid other dogs, she spends most of her time off the lead. That way I can wander at my own pace while she can sniff to her hearts content;.and then put on a brief spurt to either catch up or hurtle ahead.

This week, however, she's been injured. Not that you'd know it from her demeanor, but you would from the two wounds bound by stitches. We won't go into the circumstances, because that would only embarrass another dog, but it does mean that she's not allowed to run until they've had time to heal. And, because one of them is near her collar and I can't risk pulling too hard, this means meekly following where she sniffs. Sometimes we go forwards, but often we go back. Sometimes she stops a while and I stop too, and stare, only to look down and find her waiting for me to move again.  We're both frustrated. She can't run and my train of thought has been disrupted.

Eventually, having made our disjointed way down through Peasholm Glen to the North Bay, I gave in and let her off on the beach. There weren't many other dogs around and I'd made sure that I'd left the ball at home. Much sniffing later she made her way up to a patch of grass in front of the beach huts and lay down to gnaw on a stalk of sea weed.

The Dog and Castle

Shortly after the picture was taken her ears pricked up and she stared off to the left. In the distance, coming down a slip way, was Patch a fellow whippet. Since she looked ready to hurtle, it was back on with the lead and off out of sight round the corner.