You know when your dog tries to drag you down the road, attempts to dismantle your sanity, and makes you question every life decision that led you to owning him…
…and then five minutes later looks at you like this?
Like he’s never done a single wrong thing in his entire life.
This wasn’t even a peaceful field walk either.
This was a round-the-block situation.
You’d think that would be easier.
No.
Apparently not.
When I got him, I thought it would be nice, peaceful walks around the country park.
No.
That is not how this turned out.
It actually ends up with me dreading the walks, feeling like I need to hit the wellness section in the supermarket for a bottle of Kalms.
There I am, holding him in, my arm taking the strain, while he’s scanning the environment like it’s his full-time job to locate chaos.
And if I didn’t keep hold of him?
He’d absolutely try and launch into full zoomies mode at the worst possible moment… straight towards whatever’s moving.
Cars included.
Lovely.
Now I can already hear people thinking,
“Why are you even walking him round the pavement then?”
Good question.
Catch-22.
Because if I do—
he’s got cars going past, and he’s movement triggered so anything that moves is apparently his responsibility. Brilliant.
But if I don’t—
he never learns how to deal with it, and the one time he does end up near a car without me properly managing it? Disaster waiting to happen.
And then there are the claws.
If I don’t walk him on harder ground, they grow like he’s preparing for some kind of medieval battle, and he ends up walking funny.
But can I just take him to a normal groomer?
No.
Because he thinks every human being exists purely to be launched at with the highest enthusiasm
Which, apparently, groomers don’t appreciate.
So… here we are.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
And let’s not even start on the “say hello to everyone” phase.
Other people out on their walks, minding their own business—or worse, the ones who actually want to say hello to a Border Collie/Welsh Sheepdog.
He would, if given the chance, lick them all over and probably go home with them.
But you see… we’ve been here before.
One time he was so scatty he literally wrapped a woman’s legs in the long lead.
A stranger.
I don’t think she’ll be wanting to say hello again.
One inch of slack on that lead, and suddenly he’s like,
“Perfect. Freedom. Time to behave like an absolute lunatic.”
Then we get home.
I think, “Right, safe space, back garden—we’ll calm down.”
Do we calm down?
No.
Because the second that lead loosens slightly, he decides he’s basically off-lead and goes full rampage mode, like he’s auditioning for a wildlife documentary.
Zoomies. Chaos. Limbs everywhere.
At one point he got a bit carried away with himself…
So I rein it back in, get him settled, give him his little… whatever that thing is.
Hoof. Foot. Claw. Who knows.
Slight tuggy.
And then—
Just like that—
He settles.
Lies down.
Soft eyes.
Angel.
Aren’t you, baby?
Yes, you are.
Well…some of the time.
Because let’s be honest—
sometimes he looks at me with that little sideways glance like,
“Yeah… I’ve got you wrapped round my paw.”
You little menace.
And the worst part?
It works.
Because one look at that face…
…and I still absolutely love him.
