Today’s walk was… moist. The kind of slushy, icy, ankle‑deep nonsense that makes you question why you ever leave the house, but Bob? Oh, Bob was living his best life.
He spent the first half of the walk pretending he wasn’t with me — classic “I don’t know her” energy — only breaking character when he needed to refuel with treats. Suddenly I existed again. Funny how that works.
Then he decided he was going full rogue. Trail walking? No. Trail zoomies. Meanwhile, I stuck to the sensible paths like a normal human who doesn’t want to face‑plant into a puddle.
Clifton, on the other hand, stayed home. His chariot has officially arrived but remains unopened because life admin waits for no one. Next on the list is a raincoat for him — unlike Bob, who is far too cool for such things. A raincoat would apparently destroy his street cred. He prefers the “drowned rat chic” aesthetic and sprints through icy puddles like he’s auditioning for a shampoo advert filmed in the Arctic.
Despite the chaos, we clocked just under five and a half miles, which I’m counting as a win. Now I just need to dig out the OS maps and plan some hilly weekend adventures. Preferably ones involving less slush and fewer dramatic dog decisions.
