Do you ever have one of those early-in-the-New-Year days when Christmas is over; the house is empty and in that state of untidiness that lies somewhere between chaos and happily messy; there are leftovers filling the fridge, and new books to read, but despite all these things, nothing quite goes according to whatever plan you might have tentatively planned for the day?
- one of those short January days, when you are uncomfortably aware of a list beginning to evolve inside your head which promises (!) to be The List of the year - The One that will unlock your creative potential, super-charge your motivation and place you on a wobbly and barbed pedestal entirely of your own making. A list that, based on previous form, you'll have shredded into a hundred-thousand tiny pieces before you even reach the middle of January. Hmm ... yes, the kind of day perhaps, from which you'd quite like to escape?
- the kind of day filled from an hour before first light - owing to the canine alarm clocks going off early - with a feeling that something not entirely pleasant is going to happen. But as you have no inkling of what that something may be, you tip-toe around beneath a cloud of foreboding, allowing whatever it is to creep closer and send shivers up your spine. It makes you restless. And you start to panic doing all the things that will not be on The List. You eat too much breakfast and over-fuel on coffee.
Then maybe you notice that it's dry outside. And there are patches of blue waving at you from between the gathering clouds. And you* decide, on this inauspicious day, to take Four-Legged-Friend and Bertie Baggins for a walk.
*I seem to have got a bit stuck on 'you' - you having a bad day, you knowing how it feels - when really, I mean me. But you know that and anyway ...
Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins were delighted.
The day was looking up ...?
We trotted along quite happily, avoiding the road and the need for leads. There were deer in the distance. Dog biscuits in my pocket. I was wearing new socks. Maybe, I'd been wrong about the day? Then, we got to the Big Smell. Or rather, I walked past it and on up the hill. But the boys stopped. This for them was no ordinary sniff-as-we-pass smell. It was a full-on tail wagging, heads down and devour the undergrowth smell - which by the time I reached them, was reduced to a pile of leaves (oak) and a muddy puddle.
We - me cross, them still licking their lips - continued with our walk. And I reflected how far in evolutionary terms humans have diverged from dogs, as there is absolutely nothing in this (see below) - Nothing! - that makes me think 'Ooh, a yummy snack!' -
The Big Smell was behind us - for the time being. And the walk was going well.
Walking, I find, is a time when words often disentangle themselves. Or other words spring to mind. I was reminded of the poem 'Warning', by Jenny Joseph (I hope I can mention it here - because I just have.) It's brilliantly funny and all about behaving badly when we are old. Which is what Four-legged-friend did next on this day that just kept on giving: he found a twelve-year-old labrador sized hole in the hedge and disappeared through it. Bertie Baggins, who is not brave, would not follow and I couldn't fit through a dog-sized hole. So, for the next half an hour, I shouted myself hoarse. Then Four-legged-friend appeared ...
... he's a small dot in that picture somewhere. He looked briefly in our direction. Before plunging back through the hedge!
Later - me very mud splattered, out of breath and resolving to add 'get more exercise' to The List and Bertie Baggins ... well, just looking like his slightly perplexed self and also splattered with mud - caught up with Four-legged-friend, who looked completely unbothered by his adventure, but quite bothered in a hang-dog-expression way that he had to complete the rest of the walk on all the leads.
He sulked especially when his nephew found some puddles ... puddles that I refused to walk through.
So far - I imagine you're thinking - this wasn't a particularly bad day. Was it? Just the Big Smell and the wandering old man?
Hmm ... that was before the Big Smell reappeared all over the utility room floor ... and the walking boots and the wellies and a pair of new running shoes (not mine).
But ... but ... but - despite dog vomit being one of the nastiest things on earth, there was something strangely calming in finally knowing what it was that had been creeping up on me all day. And also a comforting warmth like wrapping the blanket, you'd shrugged off earlier, back round your shoulders, that the Big List had been very effectively postponed until the bad day's tomorrow.
*****
Dogs are a joy, even when they're not. This blog wouldn't exist without them. I am astonished that my last post was over five months ago. I joke that The Big List will defeat me again this year like it does every year. But if you think about it Resolutions are just re-solutions: looking at the things you already know the answers to and deciding whether they warrant tweaking. If they don't, leave them well alone. So ... and apologies if I get a bit corny here ... writing, blogging, playing with words is what I do - it makes me happy. And the only tweak needed is to find the time to do more. The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding - or in this case, in how soon I post my next blog.
In the meantime, I hope Jenny Joseph will forgive me - this is inspired by her poem and is for my old friend and his nephew, Mr Pukey:
'When I am an old dog, I shall wear my coat flecked with grey
And slowly plod through muddy puddles, and sleep.
And I shall spend my days in digging holes and unearthing plants
That aren't weeds.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired, or go exploring
And pretend to be deaf.
And I shall gobble up crumbs dropped on the floor
And fart; loudly.
I shall refuse to go out in the rain and in the snow
And if there is any wind at all,
And moan and moan and moan when my nephew steals my bed.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am really, very old ...'
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