Hotdog!

Oh for the cool of a vestibule

Somewhat depressed by the state of the World this morning (but inspired by the weather) I took our three Norfolk terriers up to a forest area close by in order to give them a walk that wouldn’t involve expiry in the heat. This is the heat that has appeared a week after the Met Office told us that the cold snap would last for a month.

As the sharp light pierced the mint green, late Spring foliage, I smelt the odours of dankness and new growth – and thought it entirely possible that I’d died and gone to Heaven. I was halfway through the walk before I finally got a steer on why this experience had lifted my spirits after the fashion of a Kryptonite-armed Superman rescuing the Golden Gate Bridge. It was partly the sense of a German forest in high Summer – the heat and bright dappling I remember from Glienickerwald back in 1965 –  with its fond memories of being young and wide-eyed with innocence. But it was also the cultural ideal of the Greenwood, and Robin Hood’s merry men in their Lincoln Green. It was all rather Alan A’dale, and Errol Flynn stumbling across Friar Tuck. Hollywood or not, it’s still a quintessentially English fantasy.

The dogs, of course, loved it. The cool respite from a boiling day gave them the energy to tear about in every possible direction, drink from the last remaining boggy pools of water brought down from earlier monsoons, and – in Coco’s case – lie flat out on the mud in a state of bliss. I’d love to record that her owner felt equally tranquil about her approach to controlling body temperature, but plucking her from this mudbath only reminded me that we would be struggling together later as I showered her, and she objected. She looked for all the world like a chocolate eclair.

The other great joy was having this vast area of woodland entirely to myself. That, and the quiet broken only by twittering birdlife. At the edges of the forest were fields with sheep and maturing lambs. On the horizon was that light-brown haze one sometimes gets at this time of year. Is it pollution? I don’t know…but either way it was reassuringly normal.

Dogs are an endless source of amusement, mystery, devilment and fascination. You meet the odd human with dog(s) on a walk, and the shared experience of these small enigmas can establish the sort of brief bond from which real communities are made. Why, for instance, do apparently fearless and independent dogs (like Tiggy) suddenly become needy and neurotic because of an unexplained noise? What drives puppies (like Coco) to perfect a form of kleptomania that results in almost everything – from a screwdriver to a sock – disappearing? And how do foodcentric dogs (like Foxie) always know when it’s 5.10 pm and time for dinner?

We’re getting perilously close here to the meaning of life and what is it all for. And yet, the pleasure of all this is so elemental, so simple, that introspection only clouds the enjoyment of it. At some point around 3000 years ago, wild canines discerned that life could be easier and much better fed if they were willing to be cute and get under the human skin. Sod the analysis of why and how, just enjoy it.

Spot the Dog