Flossie has developed a new and rather irritating habit on one of our regular walks.
When I clip on her lead at a particular point so we can make our way back along the lane, she does an impressive hang-dog impression and pretends that she can only walk at the speed of an elderly snail.
Presumably this is because she would prefer to stay out in the countryside all day. However, I have things to do, I need to get home. A battle of wills ensues.
I attempt to continue at our regular pace with my arm and the lead at full stretch behind me, while Flossie dawdles unenthusiastically. Anyone driving past us at this stage will think us a curious pair.
I try various tactics to encourage her to move more quickly. These involve chatting in a jaunty voice as if the most exciting thing ever is ahead of us. She looks at me like I’m crazy.
I break into a jog which speeds things up temporarily but forces me to pant dramatically, particularly as we reach a steep section uphill. Stopping to catch my breath before I can carry on, I’m now sweating slightly and feeling increasingly frustrated.
Flossie looks glum. She saunters into reverse which is unhelpful and snatches at some grass on the verge before coming to a complete standstill.
I reach into my pocket for the treats and offer her one. She accepts it and several more, and we plod on like a couple of infirm tortoises. We’ve got a mile to go before reaching home. This is going to take a while.
As a last resort, I try the ‘Miranda-style’ giddy-up. I check that nobody’s around, make a clicking noise with my tongue and, aged 49, set off at a slow canter.
Bingo. Flossie is trotting willingly beside me. I am certain she’s laughing at me. I feel utterly ridiculous.
I hope that we make it home without meeting anyone.
As published in the Bath Chronicle, 30 January 2020
Suzy Pope is a certified copywriter and newspaper columnist specialising in pets, business and lifestyle. If you would like help with a writing project, please get in touch.
