The Dog Walker

I know where I am in the pecking order of the family dogs.  I am the dog walker.  None of them look anxious that they are going to be left behind when I put on my coat.  They all wag their tails and look at me expectantly.   A walk.  Great.  We are ready.

So off we go, down the road to the woods, and no leads needed either.   They, like all the other dogs in the woods, love the freedom.  

I have lived here for twenty two years and have always walked in the woods, or been horse riding on the bridle paths.  The woods are beautiful at all times of the year; the starkness of winter, the fresh growth in spring, the dappled green of summer and the brown and gold of autumn.   But now that I have been walking Poppy, Bobbi and Jezzie in there, the woods take on a whole new meaning.

I now meet and talk to other dog walkers, and discuss dogs, and interestingly, travel, as they often ask about my accent.  The dogs spend the time running around and having a good sniff, while I talk.  

I have started to recognise the different owners; the keen and very muddy runner with two greyhounds and a small dog, the woman with eight dogs running everywhere, the woman wearing earpbones while supervising four big barking dogs, the very fit retiree running along and throwing a ball to an equally fit dog, and so the list goes on.   I have only once met the man calling for his two lost dogs.  I hope he found them.

I am amazed at the number of people who own three or four dogs.  Houses around here are not overly large.   How do they keep their houses clean?  I bet they do not have cream carpets. 

Poppy, Bobbi and Jezzie having a good sniff.   Great smells in this spot. The three of them run around together very happily, although Bobbi and Jezzie do not follow Poppy into the water.   They are not the type of dogs who like getting their feet wet or muddy, let alone jumping into a ditch full of muddy cold water.

The gorse beginning to flower.   A sure sign of spring.   As I have been walking in the woods every day for the past four weeks, I have been able to observe the changes as spring approaches.

The two wooden Saxon figures, in the distance, ready to stop the Vikings from entering Kent.  I must admit I find this part of the woods a little erie. The figures look very realistic from a distance.   I quickly walk past this spot, even with the dogs.

Finally we arrive back home.  Wash time.  Two buckets of warm water, cloths and towels.  But not always appreciated by the three dogs.  Sorry girls, but we have a cream carpet, and mud does not look good on it.

Now all three are sound asleep, happily dreaming of their next walk.  All I can hear as I am writing this, are contented snores.