The Day Alice Was Not Having It

The Day Alice Was Not Having It

Coffee in hand, I brace myself for another day of dog-walking chaos. But today, something is… off.

Alice. My usually indestructible black mongrel, full of fire and puddle-related enthusiasm. Today, she is very much not herself.

I prepare for the morning walk, leads in hand. Nicolas wiggles with excitement at the prospect of the outside world. Shiva sits calmly, as always, waiting to guide and rescue when required. Alice lies on the sofa, blinking slowly, clearly calculating whether exerting even a fraction of effort is worth the risk.

Attempts to persuade her fail spectacularly.

Coaxing: ignored.

Treats: sniffed, rejected.

Slightly dramatic sigh: she flops dramatically onto the floor in protest.

Eventually, we set off without her. The client dogs and my other two follow, a little puzzled but mostly obedient. Shiva takes the lead, guiding the group with her usual poise. Nicolas barks at every leaf, puddle, and suspicious twig. The field is muddy, cold, and grey—but today, the chaos feels smaller without Alice leading the charge.

By mid-morning, it’s clear that Alice is deteriorating. She refuses walks entirely, barely eats, and spends long stretches resting. Shiva sits beside her, offering silent support in the way only a German Shepherd can. Nicolas occasionally glances over, worried but largely confused by this sudden lack of excitement.

Emails and bookings pile up, and I realise that running the business and managing client expectations feels heavier when one of my own is unwell. Coffee, of course, is essential, and I take frequent breaks to sit quietly, watching Alice breathe softly and shake off the occasional shiver.

By the evening, Alice remains subdued. She tolerates gentle fussing, but there is no bounce in her step, no glint in her eye. Shiva maintains vigil, calm and reassuring. Nicolas curls up nearby, as close as a small cavalier can get without disturbing anyone.