Back to Work

The first proper working day of the year.  Not the romantic version people imagine when they think about dog walking.  No gentle strolls through frosty fields while birds sing and well-behaved Labradors trot politely beside you.

No.

The day actually starts with coffee and technology.  Because before a single dog is walked, the real job begins.

Emails.

Messages.

Bookings.

Last-minute changes.

People who forgot to tell me they were going away.

People who suddenly need walks because their “very calm dog” ate the Christmas turkey and is now banned from visiting relatives.

Running a dog walking business means mornings are essentially administrative warfare.

The team can walk up to 100 dogs on a busy day, so the first day back after Christmas is a bit like reopening a small airport.

Who is flying today?

Who is delayed?

Who has mysteriously disappeared?

The priority is always today’s walks.

Later in the week can wait.

Today cannot.

Texts go out to the team.

Dogs are allocated.

Routes are checked.

Keys located.

And somewhere in the middle of it all I realise something slightly sad.

There has been no further sign of the missing cockerpoo puppy.

Since the possible potato-related sighting yesterday… nothing.

No tracks.

No sightings.

No tiny fluffy potato thief emerging from the woods.

The mystery continues.

Eventually the walking side of the job begins.

Andy is not joining us today.  Unlike the rest of us he has returned to real employment, which means landscaping, mud, and talking to plants in a professional capacity.

However, Ben and Gabe are still off school, which means they come out with me.  This is helpful, not necessarily in a practical sense, but in a morale support while several dogs attempt to dismantle civilisation sense.

One thing about running a team is that I don’t always walk the same dogs as everyone else.

Generally I take:

• the difficult dogs

• the big dogs

• the dogs that require extra handling

• the dogs that are slightly out of the way for everyone else

• or I cover for team members when they are off

Which means my groups are rarely the calm, gentle variety.  They are usually the canine equivalent of a high-energy rock band with behavioural opinions.

Today’s walk involves a collection of dogs who clearly spent Christmas eating too much turkey and now believe the correct way to start the year is full sprint madness.

Leads on.

Gate open.

And we head out.

Within seconds one dog is attempting to chase a bird with the intensity of a police pursuit, another has found a smell that apparently dates back to the Tudor period, a third is trying to convince Ben that he is, in fact, a horse and should therefore be ridden across the field.  Gabe attempts to help by calling the dogs, unfortunately, his recall voice still contains the subtle authority of someone asking if anyone would like to come back, rather than issuing a command.  The dogs consider this politely.  Then continue doing whatever they were already doing.  Meanwhile I am performing the professional dog walker dance.  Leads untangling. Dogs redirecting.  Scanning the horizon for rogue Labradors, cyclists, or unexpected wildlife.  And every now and then I glance towards the woods across the road.  Just in case a tiny potato-powered cockerpoo suddenly appears, but the woods remain quiet.  No fluffy survivor.  No dramatic reunion.  Just winter trees and the occasional suspicious-looking pheasant.  Eventually the walk ends.

Dogs cleaned and returned.

Leads cleaned.

Mud everywhere.

Back home, the cats greet us with their usual enthusiasm.

Which is to say none whatsoever.

Ursie watches from the stairs like a very large, judgemental gargoyle.

Mortimer inspects my boots for interesting smells.

Blossom blinks slowly, clearly satisfied that the entire outdoor chaos situation did not involve her.

The boys collapse.

The dogs sleep.

And I finally sit down with another cup of coffee.

First working day of the year complete.

No disasters.

No missing dogs.

No sticks embedded in my skull.

Which, in the world of professional dog walking, counts as a remarkably successful start to the year.

There is something else I notice while checking through the bookings, and it leaves me with a slightly strange feeling.

Not one of the XL Bullies on our books has been booked in for a walk.

Not one.

After everything that has happened over the last few months, all the conversations, the uncertainty, the approaching legislation and the endless discussions about these dogs, I find myself staring at the diary and wondering whether their owners are nervous about taking them out, unsure what they are allowed to do, or simply deciding to keep them close to home for now.

I immediately check my insurance.

Then check it again.

Because I am not taking any chances.

Fortunately, we're covered.

Our insurance allows us to continue walking XL Bullies, and there is something oddly reassuring about seeing that written down in black and white. These dogs have been on our books, have been part of our extended TLC family and, as far as I am concerned, they are still dogs who need walking, enrichment, fresh air and a bit of normality.

The fact that a piece of legislation has changed does not suddenly mean they have stopped being dogs.

They still need to sniff hedges.

They still need exercise.

They still need to get muddy.

They still need somebody to throw the occasional ball badly enough for them to judge.

So I make a mental note to keep an eye on things.

Perhaps their owners are still getting their heads around everything.

Perhaps they are worried.

Perhaps they simply haven't needed a walk yet.

But I hope that, when they are ready, they know we are still here.

And that feels important to me.

Because after everything surrounding XL Bullies over the last few months, I don't want any of the dogs already in our care to suddenly feel as though the world has closed its doors on them.

Not while we can still open ours.