I originally started writing this post when I remembered an old dog I had called ‘Charlie’ (another story there) who was a lovely strong animal that I really loved. At the time I was married to my first wife, Fenella, who I called Nelly much to her family’s disgust..
Anyway, the occasion I was remembering was going for a walk with wife and our toddler, Matthew in his pushchair. We decided to walk along St Martin’s Road and up the mountain past the Watford, around through the forest and back to our home in Lansbury Park. It was a long way but we were young and fit (well Nelly wasn;’t as she had Type 1 diabetes… another story to come). We set off and all went well until we came to the upward stretch of the mountain, at which point the sheer weight of child and pushchair began to tell. We moved slower and slower until, by the time we reached the reservoir, it was almost impossible to go further.
Then inspiration struck and I tied the dogs lead to the front axle of the pushchair and let him go. Wow! He took off like a bullet. He’d always ‘pulled’ but now he was clearly enjoying the effort to the extent Nelly and I had to *trot* to keep up with his as he dragged us up the hill!! Sadly I was forced to give Charlie up when Nelly and I fell out. I have no idea what happened to him in the end but I still see his face in the back window of the car that took him away and the big floppy tongue waving as his questioning eyes looked back at me. Still miss him. 🙁