Up Mountains with a Rescue Dog

Most people I’ve met with a rescue dog will happily tell of their pup’s many particular quirks. Rolo used to be scared of everything, from big bearded men to plastic bags floating in the wind. Nowadays he can contain his crazy about most things, but he’s still got a couple points for improvement.

He gets very overexcited by other dogs, as well as farm animals of all shapes and sizes; both things that the Great Outdoors doesn’t lack. So, it was with slight trepidation that we set off for a Lake District mountain trip with the good doggo.

Our first hike followed an overnight drive. After watching the early sun strike the tops of the peaks, we climbed up the valley below Yewbarrow in the shade. At this early stage we realised that dog on lead was essential. The Herdwicks on the fell sides seemed so much more confident than the fluffy cloud sheep Rolo is used to seeing on the Island. They stared at him and stirred desire in his collie blood.

From Dore Head we climbed steeply up Red Pike. The notorious British mountain weather was true to form, from bright sunshine to heavy cloud cover in a matter of minutes. The dog seemed unsure of the murk as we rested below the summit, taking his chance to curl up in one of the few patches of snow-free earth. He was happier down at Great Stoat Fell, where the snow had drifted behind a snaking dry stone wall. Our position allowed for good views in all directions, and with no sheep in sight, he was released from the lead to chase some snowballs.

Our second big hike took us from the shore of Buttermere up to another Red Pike, this time above Castle Crags. Near the top, a bit of Grade 1 scrambling was necessary. It was satisfying to see how well the dog attended to our commands. He could probably sense the urgency in our voices as we checked hand holds to avoid slipping off. We followed the natural line along to High Stile and High Crag before descending the steep slopes of Gamlin End to Scarth Gap, the dog again listening well to ensure nobody got dragged down in an enthusiastic tumble.

Coming from the relatively flat environment we have on the Isle of Wight, a trip to the mountains are pretty much a necessity. It was great to see how well Rolo adapted to the demands of proper hill walking. We were surprised how few good doggos we saw up high, but Instagram assures us that others take their furry friends into the high places. Best of all though, we managed a hotel stay without any drama. There’s no doubt this was aided by wearing him out every day up on those high peaks.

Daily Habits

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about daily habits. I wish I’d stuck to my daily yoga, and I kick myself for not spending more time cooking from scratch in the kitchen. Small things I surely should be able to fit in to my day. But, a few daily habits have managed to stick. Black coffee for starters (there was that one time I had a nutribullet instead but is was scary green and had no caffeine.)

With Rolo’s reproachful eyes, there’s no skipping the routine of a daily dog walk. The forest feels different every time. Even when it starts as a chore, once I’m standing under the sway of those tall trunks, navigating fallen branches and searching for badly thrown balls, it can’t fail to improve my mood.

I’ve also been sticking to a daily diet of at least 25 pages a day. I’ve taken to the habit easily, steadily consuming some great books. Reading Lolita in Tehran was a surprise find in Oxfam and an unexpectedly compelling read. Look out for it; seriously good. The Orenda was equal parts brutal and beautiful, one of those books that leaves you a little wrung out at the end.

Right now I’m reading See You Tomorrow, but cheating on it with the odd chapter of Rebecca (because this weather), The Zombie Survival Guide (essential reading, of course) and Children’s Speech Sound Disorders (for the day job).

In our days of speedy information, eyes flicking over the tl;dr summaries of endless useful articles, it feels an expansive luxury to spend time with a book, to listen to just one story. This year I’ve challenged my die-hard digital-age brother to read a real book. He often has to bear me harping on about the beauty of books. I think there’s something special about holding bound paper in hand, carrying it around with you everyday, spilling coffee on it, breaking its spine or bending a corner to save that thought.

Meanwhile, Brother has inadvertently set me the challenge of knitting with cobweb lace weight yarn, thanks to a beautiful silk bundle of the stuff he gifted at Christmas. I’ve found a pattern that suits itself to TV-watching attention levels so here’s hoping I can squeeze in another daily habit.

A is For: Always Show Kindness

We’re nearing the half-year point of living with Rolo, the rescue mutt. When I flippantly chose this ‘kindness’ phrase back in January, I had no idea of its pertinence. When Dog came along, inevitably acting like a lost abandoned pup, he was a bloody nightmare. And so many people suggested we be mean to him to fix it quick.

Whether bike, passerby, plastic bag or (God forbid) another dog, everything would send him in to apoplectic rage. I abandoned all previous pretensions of being a sweet, polite neighbour, as I wrestled my hell hound round the block. No wonder we retreated to the wild places.

I couldn’t believe one canine was causing such disruption. So I was happy to take advice, anything that might help us figure out our daily life together. I was surprised by the number of people who recommended choke chains, shock collars, or compressed air canisters. I can’t understand why any animal stressed enough to act inconveniently should be answered with fury.

There seems a portion of everyday dog talk that still suggests cruelty as par for the course. It’s unnecessary, but god, the human patience required to get there without being mean feels like a far greater challenge.

Over the months we’ve seen our persistence pay off. I’m glad we were able to find a kinder way, particularly for such a crazy mutt, with plenty of thanks to Ian Dunbar, John Bradshaw and Zak George. Apparently there really is no magic recipe or quick fix. If you volunteer to take in a dog that has been abandoned somewhere down the line, you’re volunteering to take on a mystery challenge.

It’s funny to welcome into your home someone whose history is completely unknowable. Likely not from a town and, judging by the scar on his head, hanging with a few tough canine associates. I’m sure he hadn’t experienced a lot of the things that he is now slowly, and sweetly, learning about. He’s become more puppyish as he settles in, letting down his guard and starting to trust that here with us is where he stays.

Now he’s sitting by my feet, only glancing as the school-run sound of scooter wheels and shouts drift up to our window. We’ve figured out how to celebrate our awesome ‘working-from-home’ days together. He’s a bad yoga buddy, but the best excuse for a midday run through the forest. I have appreciation for the effort he puts in. Now every time a van drives past without him lunging I silently whoop. He adds extra hilarity to every day and is never anything other than delighted to see us. The kindness is paying off. I think he’s a keeper.

First Thing in the Forest

All these years I’ve been living next to a beautiful old forest without ever exploring its depths. And I’ve always dismissed any hour before 6am as entirely inhumane. Yet now you’ll find me weaving between beautiful old trunks before the sun has even hit the canopy. As with most things these days, I blame the dog. Seeing him bound around the paths with the super-speedy enthusiasm of a hound released from his leash is always a cheery way to start the day.

I’ve never spent so much time paying attention to a forest waking up. Every day is different and the same. Some mornings the dew soaks my boots as we creep through a thick mist. We notice the spider webs hanging from the tips of grass blades, keeping their residents dry. At other times the pink light streams way out west to light up the Downs in the distance. We see a buzzard swoop directly over our heads, seemingly perturbed at such an early intrusion.

With the damp green smell and blossoming bird chorus I can pretend for a moment that I’ve emerged from canvas after a night in the wild, rather than having just hopped out of the car. The tall pines take me back to my Humboldt roots and I indulge in memories of backpacking adventures.

Beyond the odd buzzard, most of the wilderness stays well hidden. Good job too. Given Rolo’s predictable passion for sticks I’m all too glad that no squirrels have flashed a tail in our direction.

Early morning starts have become an unexpectedly delightful habit. These summer days are just made for it. I’m not too sure if I’ll still be tramping these trails at 6am in January, so for now I’m just enjoying the delights of the very earliest of summer starts.

Rainy Day Office Companions

Some days are just plain soggy. The rain has been hammering at the window for hours. Walking the dog has been a wet affair. I’ve spent much of the day at my desk with a pot of tea by my side.

I’ve heard that working from home can be lonely, perhaps particularly so when the damp keeps all our doors firmly shut. But, I’m pretty happy hibernating on a day like this. After all, it’s still a hive of activity in this little room..

I’ll admit some of us are busier than others. Mabel is a master in carrying her entire body weight in sunflower seeds across the length of the desk at high speed. Rolo offers a fine repertoire of creaky yawns, enormous sighs and full-body stretches. He’s certainly fitting more yoga into his day than I am.

I’m settling in to the routine of self-employed life, discovering the delights and challenges of being accountable to noone but myself. Early days have involved plenty of big-sketch planning, strong black coffee and fresh air. And why not? I’m pretty sure Mabel won’t bust my ass for taking a long lunch break.

PS – you can catch up on my recent SaLT by the Sea work over here.