Hot on the heels of my emotional wobble, we had a really challenging walk.
We found a couple of quiet trails in a nearby forest. We always walk there with my wonderful friend and her dog. My friend is a great spotter, and the trail allows us to hide in the bush on the rare occasions we come across other people or dogs.
That morning, George had vomited some of his medication. Obviously, I couldn’t give him more, as I wasn’t sure what had been taken or absorbed.
We all went together in my car. George was definitely more watchful on the way there. He’s normally pretty good at settling down nowadays, as long as we’re moving.
The dogs had a paddle in a secluded stream, and for the first half an hour or so of the walk, everything was fine. We normally walk for a couple of hours (including hiding-in-the-bush time!).
The dogs were having another paddle in a stream. George was on the long line and a little further away from me than normal. He loves splashing around in the water, and as we hadn’t seen a single soul, I relaxed a bit.
That was my first mistake.
Suddenly, a cyclist flew around the corner and straight into the stream. My friend had to grab her dog out of the cyclist’s path.
George was within three feet of me — but he is fast. He was off after the cyclist, barking, and got close enough that the cyclist put a leg out to push him away.
Because of the unfortunate positioning of where we all were in the stream (and George’s speed), I couldn’t grab the long line fast enough.
The cyclist stopped once I got hold of George. I apologised, and he said it was fine.
I was bright red in the face (it was very humid, but also that’s quite a normal state for me!) and felt teary. I felt like such a bad dog owner for allowing that to happen. But I was also grateful the cyclist didn't seem to be upset or angry.
My lovely friend pointed out that there wasn’t much we could have done, given the speed at which the cyclist approached. But George was too far away from me for me to immediately control him in an emergency.
The whole thing shook me up. I felt sad that the tiny bits of freedom George gets — on a long line, on a quiet trail — might not be possible anymore. I also found myself getting a bit irritable with George, to my shame.
As we were recovering, I glanced behind me and saw a giant off-leash dog a few feet away. Very calm and non-threatening, but not ideal.
George was still very close to me, so I blocked his view (and access) as best I could while my friend went to explain to the owners.
They also had another dog, but they were all very gracious as I scrambled my way out of the creek holding a barking, lunging dog. It felt like it took a long time. I was terrified of falling and losing my grip on the lead although I was holding it so tightly it hurt.
We were at the furthest point from the car at this stage. We saw a few other dogs but managed to hide in the bush while my friend explained the situation.
We then had to get through one narrow part of the trail, which always makes me nervous. I didn’t hear anything, but happened to glance behind me and saw two cyclists right there.
I immediately stepped back and slipped into a small ditch, bringing poor George with me. They had to pass very close — and very slowly — as they kept getting stuck in the mud.
Poor George did very well not to react, although he was clearly very stressed.
One of the cyclists’ chains had come off, so they stopped just at the end of the narrow section to fix it. There was no room to get past, so we waited.
Then we began to hear the approach of barking dogs. There was nowhere to retreat or hide. My friend explained to the cyclists that we had an anxious dog and asked if they would mind giving us some space. They were very understanding, but the space was still very small.
In the end, I picked George up and ran through, singing “weeeeeee” in a cheery voice. One of the cyclists joined in with a cheery “weeeeeee,” which was very sweet.
Bright red, covered in mud, and sweating up a storm, I was incredibly grateful to get back to the car.
It was very stressful. And I felt sad that one of our very few “safe spaces” had been so difficult.
However, I am very grateful for my friend — both for the emotional support and the practical help. She is a fantastic advocate for both George and me.
I’m also grateful that every single person and dog we came across was understanding and patient. I know that’s not always the case, and I’m not sure my resilience is up to anything else at the moment.
We were very unlucky with the string of situations we found ourselves in, particularly on a normally very quiet trail. But I also feel lucky for the people and dogs we did meet, for being so understanding and accommodating of an anxious dog.
Onwards and upwards…