Determined to claw back some miles after spending most of the week feeling after feeling all week like a phone running permanently on 2% battery, I grabbed my boots, after the usual harness‑putting‑on fiasco, where Bob becomes temporarily boneless and uncatchable, and set off down the trails. Clifton watched us leave with the heartbreak of a man who has just seen his favourite biscuit taken away. I’ve promised he’ll be included soon —once I know he’ll behave himself and stay securely seated in his little chariot instead of launching a mid‑walk protest.
Bob, meanwhile, continued his usual routine of pretending he’s not with me. He trotted ahead like a lone adventurer, only returning when snacks were involved. What he didn’t know was that I’d been breaking his treats in half. The deception. The scandal. The calorie‑controlled conspiracy. Please don’t tell him — I’m not ready for the emotional consequences.
Given the last few days of feeling unwell, I played it safe and headed for Poolsbrook Country Park. It’s flat, familiar, and perfect for letting Bob live out his off‑lead woodland‑goblin fantasies. The trail was muddy, puddly, and basically Bob’s version of an all‑inclusive holiday. He kept disappearing into hedgerows, presumably hunting squirrels or auditioning for a wildlife documentary, before reappearing like nothing happened.
We crossed the canal, which has had a makeover since I last visited — new bridge, new works, same old me wondering how mud has reached places mud should never reach.
At Poolsbrook we took a five‑minute bench break, where I produced chicken hoisin skewers — minus the skewers, because walking with pointy sticks is how people end up on the evening news. Once the snack‑based bribery was complete, we turned back. For reasons known only to the universe, the path from Poolsbrook to Staveley is always twice as long on the return. I don’t make the rules.
Bob, of course, maintained the energy of a toddler who’s had three Capri Suns. Eleven miles later he burst into the garden and immediately did several victory laps, zoomies‑style, just to prove he still had fuel in the tank. I’m hoping he’ll lend me some of that energy for July’s 100‑mile challenge — though knowing him, he’ll charge interest.
He was less impressed with the post‑walk shampoo and blow‑dry. The look he gave me said, “I survived mud, puddles, and hedgerows, and THIS is my reward?”
But hey — another training walk done, another chunk of miles banked for Rotherham Hospice, and another reminder that if I can survive Bob’s chaos, 100 miles might actually be the easy part.
If you’d like to support my 100‑mile challenge (and help justify the number of snacks I’m bribing Bob with), my fundraising page is here: 👉 https://www.justgiving.com/page/laura-stones-10
