Okay, I’ve got it. I think. Little one on the left and the big one on the right, otherwise they both get confused and wind round my legs until I'm a human maypole.
In this wind Maple the stout black Labrador is quite handy, she’s my portable wind guard, at least for my legs, which I shelter behind her as we pad along the side of the road towards the park. The park! Even a whisper of the word sends Maple streaking ahead. She is straining at the lead to get cross the road once a glimpse of green is within doggy distance. But let’s not forget her bosom buddy and fellow pack member Poppy, a small and compact terrier, whose mournful eyes are made to break your heart - the more casual half of this double act. Where Maple leaps, Poppy saunters, and where Maple dashes, Poppy meanders. Not put off by Maple’s pulse-racing pace, Poppy walks along oblivious, a few paw lengths behind.
As we walk across the road, it occurs to me we must look an amusing threesome, as car drivers crane their necks to grin at our mismatched walk, me walking scarecrow-like, one arm stretched forwards the other way behind me.
Once we are in the park it all calms down, and I can almost hear their sighs of relief. We have arrived! Maple immediately makes for the largest puddle she can find, and is delighted to discover one neck-deep, leaping in with an almighty splash. More like a temporary lake than a collection of leftover undrained raindrops, this puddle is so deep Maple contrives to have a little swim, then as if to show off just how skilled she is in finding water - gets out – without shaking, and bounds towards me at full pelt. One hasty sidestep later and muddy Maple has missed her mark, so she doubles back and is last seen heading for the next brown patch on the otherwise green horizon.
I skirt carefully around the pools of brown sludge on desperately sinking grass – obviously I forgot my wellies on the windiest and rainiest day of the year. Poppy politely follows in my footsteps. Clearly she knows I don’t want to get too mud-splattered, and realises she will have her paws washed if she is, which she hates. But this is all going to end in hosing - mini dog showers all round, from the waist down of course - 'tis only decent. Because these once hairy, now mud-wet balls of fur and bark don't really match the pristine cream carpet...
As we walk across the road, it occurs to me we must look an amusing threesome, as car drivers crane their necks to grin at our mismatched walk, me walking scarecrow-like, one arm stretched forwards the other way behind me.
Once we are in the park it all calms down, and I can almost hear their sighs of relief. We have arrived! Maple immediately makes for the largest puddle she can find, and is delighted to discover one neck-deep, leaping in with an almighty splash. More like a temporary lake than a collection of leftover undrained raindrops, this puddle is so deep Maple contrives to have a little swim, then as if to show off just how skilled she is in finding water - gets out – without shaking, and bounds towards me at full pelt. One hasty sidestep later and muddy Maple has missed her mark, so she doubles back and is last seen heading for the next brown patch on the otherwise green horizon.
I skirt carefully around the pools of brown sludge on desperately sinking grass – obviously I forgot my wellies on the windiest and rainiest day of the year. Poppy politely follows in my footsteps. Clearly she knows I don’t want to get too mud-splattered, and realises she will have her paws washed if she is, which she hates. But this is all going to end in hosing - mini dog showers all round, from the waist down of course - 'tis only decent. Because these once hairy, now mud-wet balls of fur and bark don't really match the pristine cream carpet...
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