Taking the dog out

Oh you know them... the owners that mirror their dogs; the smug lookers and bouncy walkers. They always walk with a kind of 'bounce' in their step. A bit like their dogs. Who, by the way, have never done anything to annoy anyone.

And that's because the Perfect Dog Parent (who from now on I shall label PDP), is perfect at training their boring dog.

Anyway, I was, as I do, just starting my run up and around the top of a hill when one of these dogs bounced past me shortly followed by one of these PDPs, bouncing behind.

Literally. In sync even. If I was them, I would have gone whole hog and popped some matching jogging shorts on the strapping body of the pure-bred. It seemed a shame not to since they'd definitely modelled their hairstyles on each other. Even the dog lead was 2-tone orange.

If I was being critical, however, I'd say they were both just a little on the clean side. I only remark on that because they looked relatively tidy for the environment of bramble hedgerows, rolling hills and extremely muddy pathways.

It was a shame they missed the experience of slipping around on trails in deep mud like Nutella on a warm surface. And they were coming down the hill, so I deduced they were at the end of their outing.

Anyway, for no apparent reason, they stopped in front of me. Annoying.

Given I'd never met them in my life before, it felt quite alarming when they did. But they did. They stopped me in the middle of my morning meditation; during my rhythmic uphill strides setting me up for a positive day; in the middle of 'Blinding Lights'.

I just managed to flick an air pod from my ear to hear:

"Your dog was lost the other day. Running around the path, anxious, lost and very agitated."

No effort at "I'm sorry to stop you". Even a "Hi!" would suffice.

A little surprised, a little confused, I replied, "Oh. But I didn't lose my dog yesterday, that was last week."

"Oh!" replied PDP, "It runs away a lot, does it?"

'A lot, does it?' repeated in my ears.

DAMN IT! My eyes rolled out loud.

"Well... ", PDP continued, "I found your dog the day before yesterday - very, VERY unhappy. I didn't know what to do with the poor little thing. Scared out of its wits. Oh and I couldn't find anything on the collar to help..."

And there it is, I muted to myself as I noted the shiny name-ring adorning their dog's leather collar. I had no energy to explain ours had been stolen by brambles. I sensed their dog didn't go through undergrowth. It opened a sub-section of further judgement I didn't welcome.

They continued, "And so I thought maybe I should tie the poor thing to a car. Or perhaps take it home. Look!" they say, as if they are genuinely helping me. "Look," they repeat. "That's our house, just over there. Behind the stables." I am speechless as they point through the hedgerow and across the fields.

Still speechless but unclear as to my feelings at this point in order to share them, I think I kind of nodded. Possibly giving away a little of twinge confusion in my expression, but taken as gratitude because, in their minds, they had done something good.

Oh... they had been very correct in their approach to an irresponsible dog owner with an untrained dog with no name tag; a dog owner with no whistle and no clue and definitely in need of their very ready help.

As with most of these kind of situations, at first point of processing, I felt I'd let myself down. Let myself and my dog down.

At the second point of processing, I felt a bit differently.

I spent s good few days running up the same hill hoping to find the PDP. I had it all planned out. Everything I needed to say in retribution. In defence of my dog and to defend my right to run with my dog as I please without their or anyone else's judgement.

It took a couple of weeks, before the unsuspecting PDP's dog bounced towards me. I composed myself. With the sound of adrenaline pumping through my ears, I stopped them.

"Hi!", I said confidently with manners, making it clear that they needed to stop. "Umm... I have been thinking about what you said the other week about helping me out with my dog." PDP clearly recollected the conversation as a smirk lingered on their lips.

"Yes," I went on, as I took a step closer just so I could be heard absolutely as clear as a dog whistle. "I've been thinking and this is what I thought: My dog knows where I am. My dog knows my call and my vocal whistle. My dog always finds me eventually because she knows the route. Please don't ever tie my dog up to a car and please never take my dog home with you. OK?"

The smirk subsided. A weight of pathetic confusion pulled on their bottom lip. But I hesitated, just long enough. And then I jogged on. I had done a wonderful thing for all dogs with character and curiosity as well as the owners of free will.