Walking the dog

It's been a bit of a struggle over recent weeks to post a blog, ever since son David broke his leg. One of the consequences has been a commitment to walk his two year old Jack Russell terrier, Jazz (or Jasmine as I've nicknamed him), twice a day. Bang goes up to two hours a day of valuable creative time.

I'm not a fan of slobbering hairy beings... not since the sons left home and even then only at arms length. So I viewed taking on the commitment with some distaste. But there was no other alternative and I couldn't bear to think of the dog being enclosed indoors all day with David... I wouldn't wish that on anything (only joking Dave ~:0). Neither did I want David to risk his leg healing by trying to exercise Jazz.

I guess Jazz wasn't too sure about me either when we started. Our first attempts didn't get any further than about 100 metres, with Jazz stopping every few inches to turn and look at the point where David would appear if he had just got delayed and would be with us any minute. It would take us half an hour to get that far, 5 seconds to get back.

In spite of my reticence I've gradually warmed to the task. There are still a few low points. I'm finding myself reporting Jasmine's bowel movements to David after every trip, and tending towards the Eastern way of eating with one hand only... the other's currently reserved for the operation of the poop bag. I did think I'd cracked it by using the latest technology, a plastic scoop handle that you put inside the bag to gather the offending items. Unfortunately it looks like Jazz's pooing habit wasn't part of the field trials.

He will insist on hopping in a circle as he makes his deposits so they're never one scoop or next to each other. Since the accompanying bags are quite small there were a number of technical hiccoughs with the first attempts which have caused me to go back to the dog bag equivalent of the stone axe. Oh, and one of the early things I learned when using supermarket plastic bags... make sure there are no holes in the bottom of the bag!

He seems to have a bottomless pit bladder wise, directing a stream of pee at every single lamp post and tree... It doesn't even have to be a tree at times, a small twig in the ground is sufficient for him to get the hose pipe going.

The other major low point is Jasmine's insistence on going for any dog within a mile radius of him, the bigger the better. As soon as he sees another canine he goes into a frenzy, teeth bared, throat snarling and using every ounce of his strength to get at his opponent. David says Jazz is fine with other dogs and 'may just give them a bit of a nip'. Maybe he knows another meaning of 'a nip', something like 'to grab by the throat and savage to death'. Either way I'm not keen to find out in practice.

So I've got into the habit of peering around corners to ensure a rotweiller isn't approaching. And I've got to know St Ives much better as, seeing a dog in the distance coming our way, I head up the nearest alternative route. I am trying to train Jazz out of the habit and can hold his attention with a treat long enough for the other dog to pass by unnoticed. Helps if there's a bus in between. It is a bit of a puzzle since a tiny tiny dog ran up behind without him knowing and when it touched his bum he jumped a mile. Maybe he's just nervous of other dogs.

But the old tune 'I've grown accustomed to his face' comes to mind (though since most of the time he's in front of me straining at the leash its not actually his face that's visible) as over the weeks I've got used to all the good points of walking a dog. Slavish devotion, the enjoyment he gets from me chasing him, how at times it seems his nose is permanently stuck to the ground, the way one of his hind legs will give a skip when he's happy. And just how uproariously, mindblowingly, ecstatically happy he is to see me.

One more major benefit... Jazz has helped grandson Sammy overcome his fear of dogs. Up to recently he was petrified of them and would scrabble up your leg until sitting atop your head at the first hint of a mutt. It was partly because any decent sized dog came eyeball to eyeball with him, but probably the depths were plumbed when a dog stole his sausage.

It's a bit of an understatement to say Sammy loves his sausages. When he understands about reincarnation I'll lay money on it Sammy will hope to come back as a pork banger. I always thought it a bit ironic that one of the most popular types of his favourite food was called after his biggest fear... hot dog. But one day, when he was sitting in a park with the object of his culinary love placed firmly in his hand, a huge dog came up blindside and wolfed his banger down. You can imagine his reaction when he turned round to see what the wet feeling was, only to be confronted by a hugh set of teeth wrapped around his sausage. It's a wonder he didn't need therapy.

But he's really warmed to Jasmine and they're now an item on the morning walk down to school. On holiday last week Sammy was patting everything in sight. For that alone the commitment has been worthwhile.

Saving David from risking the healing process to his leg has been a bit of a laugh, considering he's been biking it down to the pub some distance away and cycling Jazz put for occasional exercise across country. Still, I suppose I'd be driven mental too if I had to spend six weeks in a cast. It's coming off in just over a week... I hope!

More photos and video clips of Jasmine below.

Jazz dutifully waits for me to arrive about 18:00 each day...

Suddenly hears a noise outside & thinks I've arrived...

Stops for a rest mid walk...

Sometimes I get the feeling he's taking me for a walk...

Though this is the more frequent view I get as Jazz ponders life, the universe and everything...

Waiting for his best friend Sammy...

His tail's lost it's spring! Jazz definitely doesn't like the sound of the hosepipe...