A walk back in time

I’m still recuperating in the Shire and am in that horrible paradoxical state where I am climbing the walls with frustration but cannot actually do that much about it. The ongoing infected site is gradually healing but it’s not progress at a speed that I’m happy with.

The need for speed is perhaps one of the reasons why our society is the way that it is. We all want everything now, faster, better, easier and our corresponding gadgets and techno toys feed into this need. Want to buy a book? Download with a kindle instantly. Want to find out the weather in Mongolia? Google it. Wondered what ever happened to the kid you fancied at primary school? Try Facebook. Fancy pizza for dinner? Order and pay for your meal with a phone app before you get to the restaurant. Travelling on clogged roads or in crowded skies? Save time checking in online. Set the sat nav to reroute around traffic snarl ups. It’s just endless.

The problem is with doing things faster and smarter means that you miss out on the finer detail, the small quirky stuff that makes life interesting and fires our sense of curiosity and imagination. Yesterday was a proof in point. Mrs Bitey and I walked one of the local cycle tracks. The tracks are old disused railway lines, left over from Dr Beeching’s butchery. For many years, they lay dormant and overgrown, the playscape of kids seeking adventure in building dens and clambering over decaying rail infrastructure (an old rusting girder bridge was a personal favourite of mine for climbing), and a place of solitude for assorted tramps and drunks. Then in the 1980s, the Manpower Commission, a sort of Thatcherite forced labour job ‘creation’ scheme set to work clearing the old lines, removing the more dangerous bits (although the girder bridge managed a reprieve for a few more years), adding a few cast iron Victorian style signs and a few boards with maps on and hey presto the transformation from wilderness to cycle track was complete.

There’s always been a space in my heart for these places. The house that I grew up in had a garden that backed onto one of the tracks and I spent many hours of misspent youth playing down there. They are also usually peaceful havens from the hustle and bustle of the main roads but run parallel to them, ensuring direct but quieter travel. Being mainly on the flat they have been ideal walking ground for me since the op- much less strain on the wound and easy enough to get up a good pace.

They are a running off and squirrel hunting haven for Mrs Bitey so she has to be on the extendable lead on these excursions. This does not go down especially well with her as clearly her interests lie in doing the things that I’d rather she didn’t, but the extendable lead is a kind of compromise, along with the fact that the walk is a lot longer because of the flat terrain.

Yesterday we did a couple of miles and it was oddly calming and stimulating at the same time. Calming because the pace was slower and we were able to meander along without holding anyone up. Stimulating because it was familiar territory with an extra bonus- that of being able to see the familiar from different angles and aspects. I could and did nose into the gardens of houses that I normally drive past without a second glance. One old house was clearly a station that had been converted and yet I’d never noticed it from the road. Little evidence of the railway exist now, other than some very dark coloured bricks that were used to build bridges and shore up embankments.

I let my imagination run a bit further. What would it have been like to travel along here in a train? I know that it was a little branch line used mainly by a steam rail car, but did it also bring goods for the villages along the way? What was it like to drive a train along here? Did the drivers love the line’s quiet pottering nature or get frustrated by the slow stop start trundle? At the house that used to be a station, did the stationmaster brew up mugs of tea for the train crew going up the line, knowing that the mugs would be dropped back off on the return journey? Where were the signals, the points, the water towers, the sidings? As we walked past a building that has once been a factory that made pianos. (I can remember the ‘piano works’ when I was a kid) it got me thinking, what happened to all the pianos made here? Were they concert hall standard or cheap things for schools and beginners? Do any still exist or have they all surrendered to woodworm and firewood? Has famous music been composed upon them? Were they the status symbol of their heyday, lovingly polished and boasted about in the dining rooms and parlours of the middle classes? So many questions.

All of these ideas and questions that popped up as I walked along had never once entered my head during the thousands of times I’d driven the adjoining road and I guess that’s the beauty of going slow and walking for you.

Mrs B learnt that rewards can materialise when most unexpected. The layby we’d parked up in has a very good fry up van and at the end of our walk, I stopped to refuel with a drink. Mrs B flashed her eyes and did the whole ‘I’m cute’ routine with the chef – and was given a huge piece of black pudding for her efforts.

She was delighted and scoffed the lot.

Result for both of us then.

Little legs, big personality

Jack Russells get a bad press. Snappy and yappy are the usual words to describe them. Any terrier that has got a bit of white and tan marking on it is immediately called a Jack Russell and so they come in all shapes and sizes.

Jack Russells are also a bit like Marmite- you either love them or hate them. They permanently shed hair, they need lots of stimulation or they will devise their own, usually deviant, activities and amusements. They are resistant to training and extremely stubborn and strong-willed. They are vocal little animals too, you cannot fail to notice one unless it is slinking off to do something it shouldn’t, such as dismembering a beloved soft toy or eating the contents of your handbag.

So what it is about Mrs Bitey and her tribe that make them so irresistible? Probably the sheer size of their personalities. They know what they want from life and how to get it. Yes they are very stubborn but this stems from an inbuilt determination to dominate and command. They are super naughty but this naughtiness, however infuriating, comes from a huge amount of intelligence and intolerance to boredom. They are quick and bright, speedy and agile on their paws and have an unending sense of curiosity and nosiness. Trying to unpack the groceries or make the bed with an inquisitive Jack Russell ‘helping’ is maddening when you are in a hurry and hilarious when you are not. They like their creature comforts and can effortlessly bag the best seat in the house, hog the duvet (and most of the bed) and take over the prime position in front of the fire. Blankets, duvets or even an old t-shirt are perfect burrowing material and after lots of scrabbling of paws, a nest that surrounds and covers the whole body is easily constructed.

Mrs B and friends also are sociable souls. They like to be the star of any show and are the most fearless, unconditional, loyal and lovable dogs around. They love in the same way that they do everything else, i.e. with great energy and whole heartedly. They have a sensitive, cuddly caring side but will do their utmost to keep this side hidden unless it is with the ones that they love. And yes, they sense who likes, loves and dislikes them very quickly. They are precocious – today I saw several JRs trotting about in a bossy, proud, busy little manner, with ears cocked and beady eyes everywhere just trying to ensure that nothing was overlooked or missed.

As you can tell, Mrs Bitey is my diminutive dynamo that keeps life unpredictable and fun. I love her an incredible amount and she never fails to amuse, delight, infuriate and charm me every moment of every day. Plus she is very good at keeping the bed warm in the winter.

True to my word

I did it. 2012 started with walkies with Mrs B.

When staying en famille in the Shire, a walk on one of the numerous commons is essential. Rodborough Common is the most popular, the biggest, and in my humble opinion, the best. Where else could there be great open walking, spectacular views, a 17th folly masquerading as a fort and even a small colony of huts housing Winstons, the world’s greatest ice cream factory? It is literally dog walking heaven on earth.

Only drawback is that it’s a ten minute drive away and I’m not supposed to drive for 14 days post operatively. Did that deter me? Did it fuck. Today is D+ 9 and I decided to just do it. It hurt. A lot. And the churning nausea every time the road got bumpy was verging on the stop and hurl variety.

It was also 8.30am on New Year’s Day, an unearthly hour that I am never awake for on 1st January other than when woken by an insistant on call pager or back in the times that I worked nights. It was spotting with rain and a bitter wind was whipping up against the car windows. It was also very muddy, slippery and I clung to my walking pole trying to ignore the sharp pull of surgical staples, stay upright and walk.

However, a lung full of the clean crisp air and the sight of Mrs B charging off like a hare made every moment of the walk pure joy. It was probably one of the best walks I’ve done with Mrs B because it was the most overdue one. It has been the longest nine days on record since I’ve been able to be out with her and bloody hell, I’ve missed it so much.

Mrs B veered between flat out and fuck all. In flat out mode she was sprinting and looking so sleek and streamlined, her ears pinned flat against her skull to squeeze an extra bit speed by aerodynamic styling, back legs flying in parallel behind her and this beautiful motion of muscle and bone working seamlessly in harmony. Fuck all meant a lot of sniffing and poking about catching up on the new smells and lingering worryingly near to horse poo debating whether to roll in it (she didn’t thankfully).

At one point, she looked over her shoulder at me and I swear she winked at me and smiled as if to say welcome back.

A magical start to what I hope will be a magical year. Happy 2012.

The wisdom of Bitey

The blog was abandoned yesterday as my mobile broadband dongle, bought especially for the prolonged hi fi free trip to the Shire, spectacularly failed to connect at a speed capable of loading google let alone here. So it’s dongle no 2 with a different provider, which, thanks to the really nice bloke in Carphone Warehouse, works pretty well so far.

An internet free day (access via my iPhone doesn’t count as can you imagine typing a blog with one finger on that tiny keypad?) made me think about things. Nothing particularly deep and meaningful you’ll no doubt be relieved to hear, but enough to make me look at Mrs Bitey’s philosophy on life in enough detail to see the sense in it.

I’m rereading Naomi Klein’s No Logo and recently finished the Spirit Level. Essentially both tomes tell of an all too familiar story of global greed, massive inequalities between rich and poor (especially in western countries where the gap between the richest and poorest is about 9 times difference. Interestingly if you live in a universally poor country your health and happiness is higher). Above all the scary message is that our endless and fruitless quest for happiness via materialistic baubles just makes us more miserable, isolated and skint.

Not so our canine friends and maybe we need to pay a bit more attention to them. Mrs Bitey neither knows nor cares about technology, luxury goods, designer labels and the must have paraphenalia that we endlessly buy, hoarde, disgard and renew. Life gets faster and faster, our expectations higher and yet we forget that these ways are not the answer to fulfillment.

Mrs Bitey on the other hand, worries about seeing the vet when she gets to the door of the surgery and not again until another trip. She doesn’t care or judge others (apart from a quick on the spot risk assessment of other dogs), loves unconditionally, does not hold grudges or worry about being late, forgetting something trivial or not having a broadband connection. Bitey simply accepts life as it comes and doesn’t give a fig about what she, I or anyone else in the world is wearing, driving, posing with or coveting.

She does however crave the love and attention of others, is pleased to see people and shows it. She loves to cuddle up at times, hog the duvet, fart, beg for food, chase a ball, play with her toys and be the star turn at any event. She treasures her favourite humans and always shows then how much she loves them. All of these things give her great undiluted joy which she spreads and shares without exception.

Maybe if we humans were as willing to share our happiness and be content with our lot, accepting that shit happens from time to time, life is unpredictable and that happiness cannot come as a free gift with all luxury purchases, then we too would start to enjoy the small stuff again.

(Tell me why) I don’t like Tuesdays

Actually, I normally don’t mind Tuesdays, a bland beige sort of day as the week has started but the weekend is nowhere in sight.

However, this morning I am not liking Tuesday at all. The lashing wind and rain outside probably has something to do with it.

Dog walking in such weather is not fun. I don’t mind the cold or the wind but it’s the thought of me and Mrs Bitey getting soaked to the skin before retreating stinking and steaming to the car and then onto work with cold damp clothes which will dry out just in time for going back out again for a second soaking.

The only silver lining is that the Dog Park will be quiet. The Clones don’t like getting their expensive clothes and crafted hair dos wet and the Frat will probably turn over in bed and go back to sleep hoping it will be better weather by the end of the Jeremy Kyle show.

Time to face it now, this post has been a delaying tactic but alas the weather is not improving but time is advancing. Have a nice day y’all

the story so far

The arrival of Mrs Bitey into my life last year was, unsurprisingly, a big change. I’d gone from being a totally free agent to having a small but demanding terrier to walk, care for and generally factor into all of my plans.

Being accident prone and a tad hypomanic, Mrs B has had an eventful year with me. If the local vet ran an airmiles promotion, we’d be half way around the world by now. My dwindling finances have, well, dwindled. My car is coated in paw prints and white fur. My bed periodically has chewy bones dumped in it. My preferred fashion items are walking boots, woolly hats and a waterproof coat. The only labels I wear these days are drip dry. I now own a torch, a national trust membership and a walking pole. My clothes have dog hairs on them and I smell vaguely of dog.

In short, I have turned into a mad dogwoman.

However, the investments, compromises and dustings of dog hairs have reaped rewards beyond my wildest imagination. Having Mrs Bitey has opened my eyes to the world around me and for the first time in ages, I feel content and complete. If there are more heartwarming sights than a mad terrier charging around loving every nanosecond of life, then I’ve yet to see it. The early morning walks when the rest of London is only just waking up to scratch its arse. The cold crisp mornings when the air is so cold that it’s like breathing in razor blades but is so oddly reviving and restorative. Seeing familiar places through new eyes and enjoying the small stuff that I used to take for granted.

Watching a small furry thing who’s world centres around chasing after a ball, eating, sleeping and cuddling really is a great leveller.