Under The Worm Farm Lid.

Letter From The Other Side; from Cynthia.

Last week my dog was taking me for our regular walk through his favourite haunts. He has been invaluable to me during my recovery and has become not just a companion but a major part in my therapy.

He was the reason I began to take short walks and is still the reason I will move from my chair on days when I would rather be resting than take myself outside.   It has been truly amazing during these last few months how he has been aware of my inability to move about as I once did. When, after nearly twelve months I first attempted a walk with him, he matched his pace with mine and seemed to know if I was hesitating on a slope or a step and would stop and lean into my leg lightly but comfortingly as though saying ‘I’m here, It’s O.K.’

We are now back to the full two mile stroll we always took.

So many of us walk each day, some going from place to place with only the goal in mind, others amble along with a friend or lover enjoying the company and paying little heed to what may be surrounding them. The ones I feel sympathy for are the joggers and power walkers. They look so unhappy and sour as they drip sweat profusely while pounding past me, often starring fixedly at where the next footfall should be without raising their eyes in any sort of greeting. Most are plugged into a type of electronic device with wires protruding from their ears. They often wear a look of grumpy determination. For me, a walk should be something pleasurable, a good exercise to help lower the blood pressure, sooth the mind and remind us the world is not always the dreadful place the news broadcasts would have us believe. I fail to see how exercising so hard during such hot weather and in a mind-set that is not happy, can be good for anyone.

 Perhaps it is the thought of the glass of wine they will enjoy when next they are talking to friends and are in a situation to throw in the line, ‘When I was out jogging the other day,’ compensates for the pain they put their bodies through. Bodies that will probably need premature knee and hip replacements if they keep stressing the joints for too long, encouraging the body’s ‘use by dates’ to come along much sooner than it should.

My favourite walk is with Walter. I think until you walk with a dog it is easy to miss so many of the sensory pleasures of human and animal contact that a dog will help you make and enjoy.

            Walter is a jet black cocker spaniel and of course has the appealing, heart melting eyes of his breed and uses them to great advantage. He adores the route we take through the main shopping street because it is busy, full of interesting sounds and smells issuing from restaurants, clothing shops, busy service stations and fragrant hardware shops wafting the odour of manures and sweet smelling timber through their doors.

As we turn a corner and walk past a boutique brewery; he always checks the shrubs and grasses to see if there have been any changes or new dogs since we were last passing by. The garrulous terrier which lives around the corner often follows the same path and I’m sure our stop there is to cover up his scent. They don’t like one another very much.

 He isn’t keen when a truck hisses the airbrakes. He replies to the insolent barking of a superior looking Blue Heeler hanging over the tray of a farmer’s Ute and lifts his head in appreciation of the rural smell issuing as another truck carrying cattle into the markets passes by.

The clothes hanging on racks outside apparel stores provide enormous pleasure as do the people sorting through them. His nose twitches with appreciation as he checks the air to sniff the scrumptious smells of the coffee shops and pub lunches and sometimes after using those ever appealing eyes, receives a small snack from some soft hearted person sitting at a table outdoors.

As we walk, his tail keeps up a constant wag of pleasure and tourists missing the pets they have left behind at home ask if they may give him a pat. He sits obligingly in front of them. It happens so often he is quite miffed if a group walk by and there isn’t at least one of them pause to pat. Last week a group of three stopped but only two of them patted. He moved and deliberately sat in front of the person who had ignored him and stared until the gentleman’s hand reluctantly moved to fastidiously touch the glossy black head. Satisfied he may have improved the gentleman’s attitude towards canines, we moved on.

Children hold out sticky hands as they pass by in strollers and every now and then I have a parent tell me their child doesn’t have a pet and it is rare for them to enjoy the opportunity of stroking a dog. To me, when I think back to my whole lifetime surrounded by animals of all kinds, I feel saddened for them that they will grow up with a void in their lives which prevented them from learning to love and care for another creature.

We move on from the street and turn down a road that leads to the park. He likes this road because there is a low brick fence he can jump onto and walk along it to demonstrate his balance and tight walking skills. We then go down the slope under the giant plane trees and across the grass toward the river where he is delighted if he can disturb the ducks from the group preening session they had been enjoying in the shade.

The river is different every day. When the level in low the children shift the smooth stones making them into pretend dams or walls or whatever their imaginations have created. These shapes change constantly with each different group of visitors. During winter the mood of the waters can change into stunning ferocity, sometimes raging and frothing and carrying trees and debris. We both stand and watch it because that is what everyone does. It seems to demand a moment of contemplation and is impossible to walk past without stopping and staring as it relentlessly moves along.

Here under the trees, the grass is long and thick. Often the council men have cut it and Walter smells the rich odours that come floating up from the ground. It must be a mix of cut grass, duck droppings, spilt food, people’s scents, decaying leaves, dropped cigarette butts…... So much he could tell me. Then he may enjoy startling a bird or watch the children at the swings or be attracted by the seductive smell of fish and chips that picnickers are spreading out across a table.

 A little further along, past one of the scary swing bridges that neither of us likes, is another low stone wall with a flat top. Here he jumps up and thumps his bottom down firmly. I am not allowed to move or be distracted until he has been petted and we have had a discussion about something. I don’t care if the people sitting at the tables under the trees of the restaurant behind us think I am balmy, he needs his chat. This is our small part of the day together. There are things he could tell me about some of those folk which they would prefer others didn’t know such as do they carry sweets, do they smoke, do they take drugs, are they friendly…or not, are they sad, do they have an illness? Dogs know these things and more.

 Sometimes we watch people swimming or canoeists paddling about and occasionally falling out into the water which has not long left the mountains and is still extremely cold. They emerge all pink and covered in Goosebumps.

Further along, the path is close to bushy scrub. It is used daily by dozens of people. This year summer has been long and hot and sometimes if the path has been quiet for a while we will come across a lizard sunning itself.

On a walk one day early in the season Walter kept bumping my legs and walking in front of me, eventually I stopped and asked ‘what’s wrong’? He was clearly not happy and stood stock still staring, his eyes fixed ahead. There I saw what had been upsetting him. On a low rock sunning itself was a young Tiger snake. It was only about three feet long but quite big enough to kill anything it struck. We would have passed within a foot of it had Walter allowed me to go on. Snakes kill a lot of dogs during summer particularly Fox terriers and the type that like to chase rabbits down holes. They have also killed quite a few people if medical attention isn’t found soon enough. I bent and picked up a small rock and threw it at the snake. He didn’t like being disturbed at all, flicked his tongue in disgust and slithered down off the rock into the dry grass. Once I was sure he was gone and Walter said it was safe, we went on our way.

Tourists from the city wander along this path oblivious to the wildlife that may be around and we locals don’t enlighten them very often because the wild things have more sense  than to stay around and mostly do less harm to the tourists than the tourists do to them.  

From that spot we slowly make our way up a slope past the elms and the Woolamai Pine tree and take small steps down another slope to the car.

Sometimes a small white dog, with a nasty attitude and an unrealistic, concept of its size will try and start an argument. Walter very wisely waits until he is in the security of the car before he lets fly with a deep and very loud reply. Once he is satisfied he has preserved his honour with the obnoxious little squirt he lies down.

I think any walk I take now is enriched by the things he has taught me to appreciate and a companionship that is not possible to explain to anyone who does not have an affinity with animals.

If you are lonely, get a dog. You will not only have a loyal companion you will have a friend who will help you meet new people, see new things. See some things in a different way and never complain about where you take him.

Happy walkies,

Cynthia.