“You should get a dog.”
On first arriving in our village, I mostly encountered dog walkers. I learned the names of dogs before I knew the names of neighbours. I noticed habits and schedules, and can now identify who is approaching from the far side of a field by the combined gait of these human-canine units. The amble of a retriever and village elder; the bullet-like sprint of the dachshund evading its owner; the group jaunts, collies fanning out and returning on a whistle. I think I was – am – considered slightly odd to be out without a dog. Although I’m not the only one here, a walker with no companion is unusual enough to be a curiosity. I feel like a character from Philip Pulman’s ‘His Dark Materials’ series, in the world but lacking a daemon.
“You should get a dog. You’re always out walking.”
I like dogs. I am enchanted by the way our human brains accept the ridiculous variety of them, so that a Chihuahua and a Great Dane somehow fall into the same category without question. I enjoy rubbing their ears and throwing balls for them. I admire their unquestioning enthusiasm for life, which is, on the whole, a state of mind I aim for. I even find pleasure in taking them for strolls sometimes. But I like walking without them, going at my own pace in the quiet of a late-April morning, not having to stop for a poodle to dig or a terrier to sniff. I like being my own master.
“You should get a dog. It gives you company and a reason to get out.”
On my walk this morning, I looked up and listened to those skylarks in the back field. I greeted the Ruby Reds and their pretty calves. I was accompanied by the cough of a woodpecker and a whoosh of geese flying overhead. There are tiny snails on the long grasses and the sound of sparrow chicks being fed coming from every hedgerow. I never need an excuse to go outside and I’m never alone.
Out of my window now I see a neighbour out with her two spaniels, one of them carrying a stick longer than its body with the kind of pride and resolution I find especially compelling in dogs. Never say never (unless you are talking with my cats).
I also walk dogless and have often encountered the dog walker’s surprise (with a hint of incomprehension) you describe. It’s always a little disconcerting, but amusing, to watch them scanning the empty air for the expected hound!
Lovely. Having lived with dogs (the term 'owning' seems too enslaving!) for nearly 30 years, these comments echo with my experience.