Chat with Milly

We tend to chat when out walking, Milly and me. Its a habit I established very early on with CoCo originally, leading to “do you realise that you’re talking to your dog Alan, and people are looking at you funny?” over a pint one evening.

Needless to say, that has not stopped me being a minor Dolittle. In Milly’s case, the silences are worthwhile, as many of her comments are so pithy or wise, sometimes very humorous.

Yesterday’s walk provided a perfect example. We chatted as we walked along Tinwell Road. She investigated a few potential sticks, none were to her liking though, until we crossed the road to the path for South View Farm and the Tinwell Pumping Station. Off the lead here, she wandered, quietly sending an acknowledgement on the breeze and over her shoulder which seemed to be a “thanks”.

She wandered, never far from me, sniffed and investigated, then we turned left on the path towards the Long Furlong allotments, continued past these and down to the old canal path. I had put her lead on for a short while as we navigated a truck and some cars. On the canal path seemed a safe place to let her off again. She had been keen on the second meadow; I explained it was wet and very dirty down there, and heard an almost inaudible “that’s why I like it” whispered on the breeze. Milly doesnt do muttering.

On the pathway we meandered, as we often do, and I took in the emerging Spring wet and green across the meadows. Turning to check where she was, all of me sunk – she was in the filthy stagnant canal!

Climbing out at my earnest entreaty, the no longer inaudible speech bubble was unmistakable: “Well, its river time now, as you wont want me going home like this”. Gently, cheekily, with her usual friendly smile and understated knowingness. Yes, that’s where we headed.

More mud and muck was inevitable, I realised and counselled myself. Getting her back to the first meadow in a cleaner state then wandering home for a shower now represented success, as a river bath could do as much as a hosing down in the garden.

Helpfully, Milly found a big stick which she liked, and brought it along in the meadow as I sought out a river spot where she could enter safely and where the current seemed less challenging. Two throws, two Milly-dunks and swims later, and she looks like herself again. The filthy muddy silt was gone, replaced by cleaner silt from the Welland Valley. She felt as if there was sand in her coat.

She smiled, danced on the bank a little, and murmured: “you should have come here with me first time”. I nodded, and accepted, graciously. Needing to get Milly in a shower later, I was keen to keep her happy and stay on her good side.

During the rest of our walk, less eventful yet contenting, Milly spoke of her comparisons between her world and that of “you folk” as she thinks of us.

“Its like being an older person in many ways, especially an older bloke who lives here in Stamford.”

“Like me, I ask?”

“Well, yes. You and many of your friends who I meet.”

“Ok. Can you explain a little to me?”

“You folks seem to have a few core principles which everyone obeys.

Number one, never pass a place where you can have a pee without using it.

Number two, now is always a good time to fall asleep, except when having a pee.

Number three, now is also a good time to have a pint and not talk bollox.”

I took these three core principles on board, and considered how many people I know that they apply to. Then I smiled.

“Milly. One more question, please?”

“Sure, I can live with one.”

“Are these good or bad principles in your mind?”

“I think they’re great.” she smiled. “So many walks end up in a pub or two, usually with a decent conversation, and being a doggy – peeing and sleeping lots – fits so well with them.”

It is truly a dog’s life, living in Stamford.