A post should appear every Sunday

Monday March 4th 2024

So what went wrong?

The day begins well. Lazy Human hasn’t groomed Isis for two days. She needs to be groomed every day – yes you do, Isis – so after a late breakfast, I begin. There is dried mud in the hairs of her bottom jaw, and two tangles on her chest. These I snip off.

For some reason, she always insists on moving her head from side to side when I try to brush her chest. Ideally, I need to dig a little inspection pit into the rug , and slide under her on a car mechanic’s  flat bed trolley.

We manage, however. She is very good. Even when I discover urine stains around her private parts, and have to do some intricate scissor work, the poor little dog trembles, but doesn’t growl.

When we leave for her walk, she looks even more beautiful than usual.

Lovely. Tum-dee-tum, tra-la-la.

On the way, I call at the pharmacist’s to ask them to recycle a collection of blister packs. I am told that no, they don’t do that. Since they’ve always taken them previously, I am somewhat taken aback. I explain this but they’re adamant.

Annoying, but ‘it is what it is’, as my friend Chris would say; however, my forbearance is tested to its limits when a young assistant helpfully informs me, “You can throw them in your bin, you know.”

Really, who would ever have guessed it. It had never occurred to me that I could throw rubbish into my own bin. How enlightening.

I refrain from saying this, just repeat through gritted teeth that I do not wish to pollute the environment, I want to recycle them.

The pharmacist tells her quietly that they can be recycled at Boots. She relays this information to me, and I leave.

For some reason, I’m really peed off, and instead of dismissing the matter, become more and more incensed.

Foolishly, I decide we’ll go to Holder’s Lane for a change. Isis hasn’t been there for a while, and will enjoy the new scents. And it’s not rained for two days, so surely it won’t be that muddy.

No, but it’s rained for two nights.

Soon after stopping to pick up after Isis, I realise that one of my gloves is missing. This is not a rare phenomenon, but irritating, nevertheless. I drop Hairy’s lead over her back and  retrace my footsteps, scanning the path. We’ve only walked a little way, so it should be easy to find.

It isn’t.

I traipse up and down, peering into the undergrowth and among the dead leaves.

It’s nowhere to be found. Dear little Isis, as always, stands exactly where I left her. I proceed, even more irritated, with one cold hand stuffed into a pocket.

Then I make another stupid decision, and set off down the indesribably muddy track which runs alongside the allotments. We slither and slide our way forward. Isis isn’t sniffing as much as usual. She doesn’t appear to be enjoying it any more than I am. As soon as we can, we cut across the wood. Even here it is squelchilly foul underfoot.

We exit the woods by the willow tunnel, and Isis makes it clear that she intends to return to the car. I block her off and we continue along the path towards the bridge. I am fed up with Isis and Isis is fed up with me.

She would transfmogrify into a very happy dog if I would allow her to walk along the slippery ribbon of track alongside the river Rea, but I explain that it’s not safe to go that way today. She’s not in the least mollified by my explanation, and has to be persuaded every inch of the way to walk over the bridge.

Once over, she perks up. I release her from her lead, and her tail lifts. She likes this path; unfortunately though, the waterways people are creating a flood plain on part of the big field she likes to run on. She is convinced that I could open the gate and let her through if I weren’t such a miserable git.

Once we’ve passed the fence, I encourage her onto the field. Now, of course, she’s changed her mind. She’d prefer to stay on the path. I give her a shove, and she trots happily onto the grass and begins to follow interesting trails.

Thank Dog for that. When she’s finished all her scenting, we walk over the last bridge and onto the field. It must be drier here than it was last week.

No, of course it isn’t. There’s a quagmire to the left of us, and a quagmire to the right. We stumble and splodge along the field’s edge. But everyone else has done the same thing, and the sticky mess is now up to our ankles. The track which we would usually take at the bottom end of the field is now a miniature pond, so we scrabble up a steep track and into Holder’s woods.

Here, the nightmare continues: every track is submerged in murkey, fetid rainwater. In order to circumnavigate these new born ditches, I have to walk through patches of bramble, which I have to flatten for Isis to walk over. I wobble precariously, but fortunately manage to stay upright.

Eventually, we reach one of the main tracks. Here, it’s less filthy underfoot, but the track we usually take down to the beginning of the car park, looks as though herds of cattle have been driven through it, so we walk on until we are level with the car.

By the car is my ‘lost’ glove, obviously dropped when I closed the boot.

Hairy One’s little feet are so clogged with mud that there’s only enough water to wash three of them, and the fourth has to be washed in her jug when we arrive home.

Well, at least recording this tale of woe has finally dispelled Human’s irritation.

Poor Isis is exhausted and sleeps on the daybed like a hairy log.

I think we’ll steer clear of Hoders Lane until August.

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.