Adventures In Dog Walking

Hello dear readers!

Reduce your stress levels, they said.

This was back in July, when I received my diagnosis of MS and it’s what led to the decision to stop working for a little while in order to assess just how well (or not) I’m going to be in the long term.

Of course lowering stress hasn’t always been quite as simple as just avoiding the 9 to 5. The claim for ESA (now thankfully accepted at basic rate, whilst in the assessment phase) was a saga in it’s own right. A mighty quest that might not have been out of place in the works of Tolkien. The subsequent lack of money caused by it’s dragging on was also somewhat trying.

And then there was Friday.

The House Husband
Now, don’t worry. This isn’t yet another MS related post, not in it’s entirety anyway. In fact the events I’m about to regale you with are more a celebration of my own stupidity rather than anything to do with my latest medical misadventure.

To shed a little context on matters I have indulged in the odd sporadic burst of housework since becoming an aimless, jobless, drifter. The cooking duties have fallen pretty squarely into my lap, which suits me fine if I’m honest, as I really don’t mind messing about with a hot pan, a spice rack, and a somewhat experimental mindset. To date the results have been pretty edible and an ambulance has not been needed for either the cook or the diners. I call this a win.

I’ve also, since the instalment of the brand spanking new ramp, managed to get the odd load of washing from the house to the garage based washing machine and, after the obligatory small pause to work things out, turn it on. I have even managed to get some detergent in there. Although if I’m brutally honest that might not have been on the first attempt.

Taking The Lead

Of course this is not to say that I have taken over house duties completely. My erstwhile other half, Tina still picks up her fair share (two thirds is fair, yeah?) and these days we tend to take turns on a lot of jobs. Dog walking is one of these, and that is where the crux of our tale lies.

It was, as I mentioned, just two days ago, that after dropping Tina at work and spending an hour with a cup of tea and a game of Destiny 2, I gave Bonnie (the aforementioned dog) a nudge to wake her from her slumber and dared to say the W word to her. She of course responded in her usual way, putting her head to one side in an endearingly stupid fashion, but refusing to move even a single inch until I brought her lead to her.

Being a Springador (half Spring Spaniel, half Labrador) she is an unfeasibly strong girl. This means that we have found the use of a head collar to be useful, if only to prevent the spectacle of a dog dragging a formerly seated person out of his wheelchair and into oncoming traffic. She is far more controllable with it on, but she doesn’t really care for it all that much and getting it around her mush can be just a touch challenging. It was a full ten minutes and one chase around the living room, that we finally set off.

Lock And Key
I attached the other end of the lead around my waist, securing the hound to me and maneuvered her out of the house and down the new ramp, locking the door behind me. This turned out to be a mistake. It wouldn’t have been, it really wouldn’t. If only the keys hadn’t slipped out of my coat pocket at some point in our otherwise tranquil and sedate procession around the estate then everything would have been just hunky-dory.

Sadly, upon returning home I found said pocket empty. I immediately frisked myself a few times, swore rather profusely, and retraced my steps back around the walking route (twice), scouring the ground for any metallic glints.

There was nothing. Apparently the keys had been picked up in the intervening twenty minutes or so since my first passing. They hadn’t been handed into the pub I pass, they hadn’t been handed in to the shop I pass. In short I was up a well known creek without the necessary means of propulsion.

The Road Most Traveled
Still, Tina was at work. Surely she had the spare set? I could pop in to see her at work, pick them up and be home for tea. Great idea! After packing the dog into the car (Bonnie’s really not keen on travelling), I set off on the fifteen minute drive to Tina’s workplace. It was not a productive trip.

By this time my stress levels were climbing steadily. If it were a cartoon there would possibly have been generous plumes of smoke erupting from my ears along with suitable sound effects. I’m pretty sure my face had already turned Yosemite Sam red. None of this was helped in the slightest by the dog taking the car door opening on my arrival as an invitation to make a break for freedom.

In a scene that would not have been out of place in a Keystone Cops film, it took myself and two of Tina’s workmates to capture and, um, persuade her, to get back into the car. I may have shouted once or twice, raging to the heavens as my frustrations boiled over. Frustrations that were not helped when Tina told me she had no keys. Queue forlorn trip back to my very securely locked home.

Here Endeth The Lesson
In the end, after trying to get through the garage and round to the back door (locked), and spending an hour at my mother-in-law’s for an emergency cup of tea (I am after all, British) I took the only option left to me and phoned a locksmith. An hour, a new lock, and a hundred pound bill we can hardly afford later, and myself and Bonnie were back in the house (just in time to drive back to pick up Tina from work). The whole ordeal had lasted some four hours, but looking on the bright side, at least it wasn’t a cold and dark November evening (oh, wait).

I suppose it’s a lesson. An expensive, exasperating, stressful lesson, but a lesson nonetheless. I need to make sure that the last thing I do before setting off on my travels, is to make sure that my pockets are fastened or that any valuables, and especially any keys, are tucked away in an inside pocket from whence they cannot fall. If it means avoiding the kind of afternoon I experienced on Friday I can do no other.


Until next time…