Weeks 52 & 53: Stand & Deliver!

“I’ve said to BT (Boy Teenager) that now he is 15, if he wants his clothes washed, he needs to put them in the washing basket. And I’ll leave the clean ones in a nice pile in his room for him to hang up. Know what he said? “I don‘t know which clothes go in which basket”. I mean honestly! If it’s dark, it goes in the one marked Dark. And if its white or light grey, it goes in the one marked Light”.

Cheryl (not her real name) and I are walking our respective hounds around Gatton Park and woods. I’m in reflective mood, it being a year ago this week that I stopped work and started House-Husbandry and Caring. Or at least, that’s what I thought I was doing. It’s turned into “Dogging, Caring and House-Husbandry“ in that order.

If you’d have said to me in December 2019 I would be walking our pup in the woods talking about the challenges of getting teenagers to Put Their Washing In The Right Basket I would have said you were mad. But actually I think this last year has probably saved me from going mad. Having said that, the hound has a good go at tipping us over the edge, doing his best impressions of Tigger when you want him to sleep, and Usain Bolt at the sight of a running infant.

We’re strolling in the lane between fields, Milo (our Spaniel) ranging off-lead (as there are no toddlers to chase) and Cheryl’s pup, Kebo (not his real name and also 8 months old) on the lead as he is a collie-cocker cross and the Herding Instinct is strong. So strong that on several occasions he has bolted into fields with sheep or cows and got them all neatly arranged in a corner. He goes strangely deaf to cries of “Come!” and “Leave!” when it comes to livestock. Put him and Milo in a park with toddlers and a petting zoo, the carnage would be reported on the 6 o’clock news. I digress, we clear a little hill and as there are no sheep in sight, Cheryl let’s Kebo off the lead. We stroll on, our two dogs doing that puppy wrestling/biting/bouncing thing that they do. As we near the end of the fields, the track drops down to the left and a fork takes our path up into the woods. Cheryl suddenly says “Oh shit, we are near the stables!” She gets the bag of treats out and shouts for her hound to return. He has stopped and is staring down the track. He starts edging down the hill slowly, slinking towards an enclosure with three horses in it, ignoring the bag of treats and instructions of his owner. I feel her pain. This is territory that is way too familiar.

“Oh My God” says Cheryl, “If he gets in there I don’t like to think what will happen”. Me neither, but I have a feeling the dog could get kicked, which my Canine First Aid training (30% complete) tells me would probably be Bad.

It so happens that alongside the Doggy First Aid diploma, I’ve also been reading a book on Recall (because Milo’s is crap). As our errant herder slinks further down the track, the words in Chapter Two come to me: if your dog isn‘t responding to your call, do something to attract him. Jump about. Make noise. Or run away, calling him enthusiastically. All dogs love to chase.

Ah well, I best try it.

And this is how a slightly over-weight 55 year old man was seen by several venerable lady hikers to be running in wellies, shouting and wheezing, whilst being chased by two dogs. They probably thought I’d nicked something from the stables.

If it isn‘t abundantly clear from the recent entries in this blog, puppy ownership gets you into scrapes you could never have dreamed of. Anyhow, no harm done and we completed the rest of the walk without a hitch.

God, a whole year has passed by and so much has changed. BT is much better, so much so that he said he can be left on his own at home with Milo if needs be. The genesis for this conversation was me being approached by a head-hunter (BT though this meant a local gang had a contract out on me) to a Non-Exec Director role. BT feels stronger, I am in a much better place; I convinced myself this was a Good Idea. Spent a few days thinking through my CV and all that and then had The Chat. Suffice it to say that within a few minutes I’d remembered the reasons (BT aside) that I’d got out of that game, and by the end of the conversation, was determined never to entertain such a foolish idea again. The brain is a funny thing, but mine does not want to return to the City or Corporate Life. So be it.

The other thing that happened in the last fortnight is that both BT and GT (Girl Teenager) have had their birthdays. GT turned 17, which had all the drivers in the local area worried, but has decided that learning to drive isn’t for her at the moment. A Levels are coming first (and she is doing fantastically well. Has her mother’s brains fortunately for her). Obviously we couldn’t go out to celebrate, so I cooked Palestinian Spicy Pasta Bake for GT and authentic Tex-Mex steak, Bar-be-qued corn (ever tried to do that when it is dark and two degrees? Don’t), and seasoned peppers and onions. Gin (so called because ... ah come on, you know why after a year of this nonsense) put candles in a Sausage Roll of Disappointment for GT (she doesn’t like birthday cake), whilst BT had two chocolate cakes (one from Grannie) at his request. All very satisfactory.

What else? Ah yes, the Hunt for the Highwayman! Over on a local Facebook local history group, there was a discussion about the sighting of a ghostly highwayman in Happy Valley and around Chaldon. A chap that often cycles the downs and the valley after dark reported seeing him and passing through a mysteriously cold (and freaky feeling) spot on the main path through the valley. Oooooh! Naturally some dismissed this, but others joined in reporting seeing also him over the years. Well, time for Ghost Hunting with Al and Milo. Not that we expected to find anything as we visited the two sites at 9.30am, on a lovely, sunny weekday. First spot, no one else about ... the only feeling I got was Milo bashing my legs with a stick. Second spot, on the main valley path? Well it felt as it always does (we’ve been there a lot). What was I expecting? As we loitered, the dogs from two lady walkers came hurtling over. Two of them ran around us, as dogs do, whilst the third and biggest one plonked himself in front of me. And barked. And barked. And barked.

Suddenly his owner yells “Stand and deliver!”

“What? What did you just say?”

”Stand and deliver! You know, like highwaymen used to”.

Yeah I know alright!

I tell her the story of why we are there and she tells me that we are on what was a highway back in the day, that the stage used to rattle down it and that some residents in the remains of the highway at the bottom of the valley swear that they sometimes hear the stage rattling by at night (which it isn’t of course).

Well I don‘t know. Never made my mind up about ghosts (it being a bit problematic with my lack of belief in Gods or Devils), but this was a strange little coincidence! I like this sort of synchronicity, its intriguing.

Talking of intriguing, what will weeks 54 and 55 bring? A trip to the optician and MOT for the Pigvan (as we call it). Well its a couple of trips out at least.

Love & elbow-grease,

Mr H

x

PS if you happen to see a highwayman, give him my regards. Or run away screaming. It’s up to you.