Week 38: Total Recall

“Milo. Come!”

His handsome little face appears from behind a bush. Gin (so called due to her sterling work to make it the National Drink of the UK) and I are out walking on the downs with Milo (the nearly 5 month old Cocker Spaniel puppy), and today we’ve been brave and let him off the lead. I’m like a coiled spring, ready to lollop after him if he bolts. We’ve walked a couple of miles, through a park and open downland fields, along hedgerows and paths. He has been brilliant, re-appearing when we‘ve called when he's vanished into the undergrowth. This is a Huge step forward for the pup. Training him to walk on the lead “nicely” is a massive pain; he’s so inquisitive and excitable, keeping him walking next to you with the lead loose is like trying to tether a sun-burned bull to a red-hot post. We’ve been out for 55 minutes and are dropping down the hill from the fields into the main recreation ground when Milo spots Mr Jim and his Outdoor Gym session; 20 or so younger people, all stretching and bending. And with lots of Interesting Looking Things for a pup to investigate. He stops. He stares. He leaps. And he’s off, hurtling down the hill towards them.

I know it’s hopeless, but you have to try.

“Milo. Come!”

He is kicking up mud as he sprints on.

”MILO! COME!”.

Nope. Oh God. Deja Vu and all that, but this time there isn’t one spectator, there are 20.

Reluctantly I start running after him. By this time, Milo has reached Jim’s Gym class. He’s licked 3 water bottle tops, knocked over two more, tried to nick some energy bars, and all but taken Jim out by hurtling into his legs. The class is in disarray; some valiantly trying to hold the “Splayed Moose” position, whilst others are rolling about laughing. I arrive, out of breath and excuses, full of apologies. Jim is laughing (turns out he has a dog) as I clamp the lead onto the errant hound and scarper off in the direction of the car park. Funny, I don’t recall a chapter on this in the ”How To Train The Perfect Puppy” book.

All this dog walking has though given me an insight into the extent to which the lockdown rules are being followed, or more to the point not. I’m pretty sure that attending Mr Jim’s Gym sessions outdoors, along with 20 others, isn’t allowed. And yet ... 2 metres apart out in the fresh air .... its hard to imagine that is really generating that much risk. The attendees are in more danger from errant dogs and over-stretched muscles it would seem. The same can‘t be said for the stream of visitors popping in and out of Covid Cathy’s house over the road (Lockdown-1 habits spilling over into Lockdown-2). Ah well, the rumour has it that we may be allowed some sort of limited Christmas gatherings, so we hang on to that hope.

So, week 38. Thirty-eight weeks. Three-eight. Crikey, doesn’t time fly when you are dollying around at home? Well, yes and no. I can’t quite believe I’m now closer to a year out of work than to when I was last in it. How did that happen? And yet I have enormous empathy for stay-at-home Mums and Dads looking after their offspring, feeling trapped by the routine of it all, sat inside the same set of walls each day. I can see why those post-natal coffee groups are so important for managing those potentially errant marbles. Of course we aren’t allowed into coffee shops at the moment, which probably explains the sheer number of people out walking. Coffee shops though ... who am I kidding? Taking the hound anywhere near a coffee shop would be as sensible as releasing an angry kangaroo in Messrs Smash ‘n Grab Fine Glass And China Emporium.

Where are you going with this Mr H? Answer: round the houses. It was a rather quiet week in truth, brief Jim Gym sessions aside. Oh yes, the poor cat (Rafi) had an abscess which GT (Girl Teenager) discovered, burst (Oh My God) and treated. She was so calm and level-headed about it and did such a good job that the (emergency) vet visit was essentially unnecessary. Still charged us £38 for the pleasure of confirming nothing needed doing, but you know .... nothing needed doing.

And then there was the short and highly panicked incident when Milo got out the front door and ran off in a flat-out sprint, followed by yours truly in my best “Slippers Dad” slippers. He clobbered around the corner (the house is on a corner plot) down to the lower drive (it’s not as grand as it sounds), turned round and sprinted straight back. Who says he can’t do recall? Actually, Mr Jim says.

BT (Boy Teenager) has turned into a proper teenager this week, really not wanting to get out of bed in the morning. This has caused some Friction in the “Boy’s Team” as one of the main reasons for acquiring the dog was because BT wanted to walk him every day. How quickly that has fallen away. Granted that until Milo is trained, walking him is like trying to manage Stevie Wonder with his foot jammed on the accelerator in an F1 car, so I understand some of the reluctance. Consequently, there have been A Few Words exchanged once again, with Gin threatening to kick out both of us and the dog. Consistent with previous moments, BT has stepped up in other ways, allowing peace to return and the three of us to remain resident in Coulsdon.

And that was that. On to week 39 which I have a feeling may prove more eventful.

Take care chums.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

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