It’s been a year now since, with all best intentions, I opened this blog. A year of procrastination and I finally write my first post (if that’s the right terminology). It’s a shame it isn’t more upbeat.
This morning’s walk was probably one of the most upsetting Tess and I have had in a long while; her behaviour wasn’t particularly challenging. It was how she looked and the cause for the behaviour that was distressing.
We didn’t see anyone. Directly, anyway. From the outset Tess was agitated and pulling on the lead, which isn’t out of the ordinary. She calmed when on the field. Sniffing settled her and further too once she’d had her morning poo! All good for 10 minutes or so.
It was the sound of the first soldier’s voice that made her ears prick up, to stand erect and engage high-alert. They were at least 200 metres away. Sniffing resumed. Though not relaxed; with stiffness, anxiety and an incredible awareness of every sight, sound and scent.
A little closer now, more voices from behind the trees and shrubs. Soaring anxiety. Freeze. Uber-high alert. Though I can’t smell anything, from Tess’s point of view, I’m sure the odour of sweaty troops was as good as having them stood right in front of us. And although she can’t see them, she runs in their direction till the lead pulls tight (about 5 metres). Stand still. Air scenting. Stand on hind legs leaning into the lead. Frenetic sniffing. To me then back to the end of the 5 metre lead. Poised. The voices die away and we walk in the opposite direction.
Through the trees Tess spies movement of more troops, running, 300 metres away and freezes. Poised. A little encouragement brings her back to me and away from the view she was transfixed by. Despite the obvious anxiety the presence of the soldiers cause, she stands there awaiting their arrival. My departure is enough for her to turn and follow my direction away. Homeward.
All calmness is over. It will take the rest of the day now for this coiled spring to gently unwind. I hope that we meet nothing and no one for the short walk home.
Through the woods we meander slowly and quietly; the first part of the calming process, though slow and steady just seems to be generating more anxiety. Tess just wants to be home.
Now, I don’t know whether it was the smell of more training troops or a sound that was inaudible to me. It certainly wasn’t anything visible. But Tess went ballistic. Pulling to the end of the 14 metre line and standing on her hind legs. This time it was combined with a deep, fearful, warning bark, mouth darwn forward. Tail stiff and curled up over her back; spine-like hackles; body tense; movement frenzied. I stay calm (remarkably, considering) and continue walking, careful not to catch her eye. A minute or so later and it’s all over. Back trotting, pulling for home.
A meeting with a ball-chasing collie is thankfully averted, but Tess had already spotted her and was making a bee line to join in but the alternate path soon distracted her. I’m convinced, by now she can’t think straight. She’s too worked-up.
Just a passing van to negotiate and we’re home. That was 2 hours ago and Tess hasn’t moved. Crashed out in one of her favourite resting places. Recovering.
Me? I felt compelled to write about it.
