Today arrived grey, damp, and ready to remind me why I do not need enemies when I have dogs.

The plan: a routine walk. Client dogs, plus Alice, Nicolas, and Shiva. Avoid puddles. Keep myself relatively clean. Do not die. Simple.

The reality: a live-action circus.

Alice immediately found a muddy patch she decided was personally offensive. She rolled in it with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for Olympic athletes. Nicolas, already suspicious of mud after yesterday’s disaster, barked, lunged, and then retreated dramatically behind me, muttering under his breath about human incompetence. Shiva, ever dignified, attempted to herd everyone into a vaguely straight line, which in practice looked like her gently nudging chaos away from complete disaster.

Then it happened: the Great Ball Incident of 2024.

One of the client dogs had found a bright orange ball. Alice immediately claimed it. Nicolas barked at it. Shiva wisely stayed out of the fray. Within seconds, four dogs were tangling like furry pretzels over the ball. Leads became twisted. Paws, tails, and teeth moved in ways that defied physics. I was holding three leads and attempting to disentangle the mess, Ben was trying not to be dragged into the chaos, and somewhere in the background a pigeon judged us all silently.

And of course… the ball disappeared.

Somewhere, in a muddy patch I had carefully avoided five minutes ago, the bright orange ball had vanished. Dogs were now howling in protest, Alice barked at Nicolas, and Nicolas barked back like a tiny canine general issuing commands. Shiva sighed audibly.

I spent the next ten minutes locating the ball in a puddle, cursing the laws of canine gravity, and bribing everyone with biscuits to please, for the love of everything, just walk in the same direction.

The walk ended with wet paws, mud splattered on every human within a ten-foot radius, and Alice carrying the ball triumphantly as if to say, I survived chaos, therefore I own everything.

Back home, the cats were unimpressed. Blossom blinked slowly. Mortimer sidestepped muddy paw prints with disdain. Ursie sat on the stairs judging everyone for their lack of foresight.

I made coffee. Shiva flopped dramatically onto the sofa. Alice promptly shook herself across the rug. Nicolas buried his snout in my lap and refused to move.

Diary note: dog walking is a sport. Not a gentle stroll. Not a relaxing activity. A sport. And no matter how hard you try, the universe will ensure mud, chaos, and missing balls are always included in the package.