Scenic stroll turns to canine chaos - Kevin Page

The Pages might be more suited to looking after goldfish instead of dog-sitting. Photo / John Stone

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Page has been a journalist for many years and has been writing a column since 2017.

OPINION

Hindsight is a wonderful thing as I’m sure you are aware, but I’m thinking I really should have known better.

That’s because I’ve just endured a rather unfortunate experience that has left me cold, wet, muddy and well, to be honest, rather cheesed off actually.

And there is little consolation in me saying to Mrs P “I told you so” but, actually, I did tell her so.

Right. Blood pressure lowered. Deep breaths continuing ... here’s what happened.

At present, we are house-sitting for friends and looking after their two dogs.

It has to be said the place is stunning, with a large expanse of lawn by the river with oodles of room for their two dogs and our George, their three-legged cousin, to run around in. Or hop in George’s case.

A relatively brief amble along a bush track will get you to a rather picturesque spot on the water and it is in that direction our story goes, courtesy very much of a landscape-smitten Mrs P.

It would, she said, be a wonderful place to take the canine trio for a little stroll.

Now, when she said this she was very much agog at the beauty of nature, standing as she was on the deck in the warm sun, morning cuppa in hand, with the sights, sounds and smells of paradise spread out before her.

I’m sure in her mind this stroll with the dogs would be like one of those perfect TV commercials you see.

I’m sure you know the ones I’m talking about.

The trim, taut and terrific dog owners are laughing and smiling their way through a country field in bright sunshine as their pooch – also trim, taut and terrific – is bounding along with untold glee because he knows the reward for his acting is a bowl of the latest “in” thing.

Unfortunately, the reality of our situation was somewhat less glamorous.

First, Mrs P is obviously trim taut and terrific but she does suffer with a bad back. And as for me, well, I’m pretty much a walking advertisement for anti-inflammatories these days and I have a bad hip which can, and does, decide to go on strike and not do its support job on occasions.

Our travelling trio is completed by George, our three-legged dog who does his best but is really better suited to even terrain and a bit of grass to walk/hop on. If the truth be known, George would probably prefer a couch in the sun to a walk in the bush.

So that’s us.

The two dogs we’re looking after are a bit of a different story.

Don’t get me wrong. Absolutely lovely dogs with character to match and a pleasure to spend time with but certainly a lot more boisterous than George.

And it was with that in mind I sounded a note of caution to Mrs P.

The dogs, which would be on their leads for the bush walk, would likely get very excited and could be a bit of a handful, I said. Perhaps it would be better if we just had an extra walk around the perimeter of the sizeable property on the flat ground as we’d already been doing.

Unfortunately, her mind was made up.

Nope. It would be fine, she said. We’d all enjoy a change of scenery.

At this point, I played my last card.

It had been raining a lot in recent days and the track would be muddy and slippery, I said, then we’d have to clean up all the dogs and ourselves before we could even think about going back inside the house.

At this point Mrs P decided I was a miserable old fart (rather than the practical old fart I thought I was being) and announced if I didn’t want to go she would take them herself.

Obviously, I wasn’t going to let her take the dogs by herself so I went off in a huff to get organised.

Collars and leads attached, off we went. Or rather she went. Not interested in my protestations, she’d taken off ahead of me with the dogs and I was racing to catch up.

Within 30 yards of the track starting, it became obvious this was going to be a difficult mission.

To say it was muddy would be an understatement.

Rain had obviously washed debris down from the top of the bank to the track below and what appeared to be a nice, settled carpet of forest floor was, in fact, more akin to quicksand.

Stupidly, in my haste to catch up to my beloved I’d gone for sandshoes rather than the gumboots, which were on the other side of the house, a bit further away.

Within a minute the mud had covered an entire shoe, the very tip of the left shoelace the only bit to survive unscathed.

Worse still, George had gone over on the slightly uneven ground as Mrs P struggled with the other two dogs and was still trying to regain his balance as I eventually caught up.

Thankfully, the mud hadn’t dulled all the shine on this knight’s armour and I was able to assist the three-legged member of the family by releasing him from his lead and Mrs P’s pulling this way and that.

Quickly summing up the slippery conundrum, George simply sat down flat in the mud and refused to move any further.

By this stage, the other dogs were getting excited and Mrs P had walked straight into the middle of the next mudpool without realising.

The look on her face told me all the bending and twisting required to control the dogs had not been well received by her dodgy spine and she was in some discomfort. Naturally, I took the reins to allow her some relief and she slopped back through the mud to assist George.

By now I’ve given up trying to tiptoe around the edges of the mud and am just content with keeping my balance as two happy dogs decide they want to race off in separate directions.

I failed in spectacular fashion.

As the more boisterous of the two pooches gave an almighty heave to the left, my dodgy hip gave up the ghost and down I went.

Long, muddy story short, it was a sorry-looking bunch that traipsed back down the track to the comparatively pristine mowed lawn of the house.

There was time for one more mini-drama as I let the muddy hounds loose and they tore off in the direction of home.

A shriek from Mrs P alerted me to the possibility I might have left the door open and the dogs were headed inside to wreak havoc.

It would be fair to say if the dodgy hip wasn’t giving me some jip at that stage, it was a few minutes later once I sprinted – as well as you can in my condition – back to the house to make sure the door was secure.

Luckily it was. And the two hounds in question were sitting patiently outside, covered in mud, and presumably wondering what all the fuss was about.

After what seemed an eternity Mrs P and I had the entire troupe cleaned up, fed and watered and back resting in the remaining sun while we took showers and avoided the “I told you so” debate.

In fact, the only discussion we did have was where we would go next after this house and dog-sitting job comes to an end.

We’ve had a couple of requests for dog-sitting but haven’t made a decision yet.

Besides, I’m thinking on our next one we might be better off looking after a goldfish or two instead.