New year, old mud
We got out at about 730am, which is late for us but early enough that nobody else was around after the New Year excitement. The park is still waterlogged so I spent much of the time placing my steps carefully through the mud while Halo trotted happily but without too much conviction, still scarred and scared of last night’s fireworks.
She had spent most of the evening hiding around the house, worried that the bangs she could hear from the skies over Farnham’s back gardens were in fact labrador-seeking bombs. We made her a small camp beside the bedside table, with hanging blankets to keep her safe, but this gave her cover but not reassurance.
In the end I took her out at 10pm during a brief cease fire. The park was empty but the night was bright, with a fairytale night fog hanging over the grass. We walked to the adventure playground and back again, and this got her out of her anxiety for 20 minutes at least. She seemed happier after this change of scenery.
But this morning the fog was gone and instead we were faced with a damp and uneventful meadow. On the way back it seemed as if every one of the park’s squirrels and pigeons had gathered together under the trees, as yet undisturbed by the morning’s dog walkers, so Halo’s efforts to chase them down was frenetic, there being more squirrels to chase than she could focus on. They zoomed and criss-crossed the path quickly as she delivered her performative sprint: they all found a tree; she felt as if she’d at least made her presence felt. And with that we slopped back to see what 2022 might deliver.