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A weekend of contrasts
28 09 09 - 15:30Introduction
True warm weather seems to have been something of a rarity these past few months. It was therefore with some determination that Vance and I set out on Saturday afternoon to enjoy what could turn out to be the final weekend of summer (albeit an "Indian Summer"). Taking the Red Jet to Cowes Vance showed once more what he was really made of - enthusiasm and courage combined with a good measure of work-ethic.
Sadly, a day later he also showed just how stubborn he can be. This really was a weekend of contrasts, but the highs, at least, were really high.
Journal Article
Since Vance and I were let off the Guide Dogs leash a few weeks back we haven't really done an awful lot out of the ordinary. Life has revolved around walks to work, back from work, and just to make things that little less tedious - walks to Waitrose as well. Yes, we did fit in a weekend visit to London, but that aside we haven't really been doing much.
So, with the sun beating down on Saturday morning, and with the blue sky quite cloudless (as far as I could see, anyway!) I felt quite determined that we had to make the most of things. After all this could be, I thought, the final cfement weekend of the year before the long slide into the deep dark days of late Autumn. In the past year, having taken up sailing iin the past fifteen months, I have visited the Isle of Wight on quite a number of occasions. They weren't all in order to get afloat, but those trips to the United Kingdom Sailing Academy (UKSA) really gave me a taste for what is an incredible friendly, hospitable corner of Southern England. An afternoon trip to Cowes therefore seemed the ideal way to make the most of warm sunshine.
I had accomplished the journey to Cowes on several occasions, independently, with just a cane for company - so felt quite confident attacking it with my new best friend. Vance had also visited Town Quay in Southampton, the departure point for the 25 minute catamaran crossing of the Solent, once before to enjoy a spot of dinner earlier in month. We found our way there, this time, without event. The route is reasonably straightforward, and certainly nothing beyond Vance's capabilities. Boarding the Red Jet itself wasn't an issue either. Vance had enjoyed a brief ride on a Thames Clipper service some weeks before, and truly takes these things all in his stride. Sitting near the front in a bay of facing seats he spent some time studying the passing scenery, as Netley and Hamble rushed past the window. I have now idea what he discerned from this, but he was certainly intrigued.
Cowes was absolutely thronged with people. I had visited a couple of months before for the the final Friday of Cowes Week - infact the weekend immediately prior to beginning my training with Vance. The streets then had clearly been packed with sightseers, sailors and others - however this sunny Saturday afternoon was by no means quiet. Barring that previous visit this had to be the busiest yet, and Vance had quite ajob steering a coherent path away from the Red Jet terminal and west towards the Promenade. Once there, however, he absolutely shot along - James Bond in his foldaway helicopter couldn't have caught us as we twisted and turned between groups of tourists. Actually, I exaggerate slightly - that may be how Vance would have liked it, but I was definitely driving the brakes on. So insistent was Vance on putting his foot firmly on the accellarater that I was compelled to use both the gentle leader and half-check to steady him as much as I could. He clearly was delighted to be by the sea, out in the sunshine, and somewhere knew all at once! I half expected at any moment that, when overtaking a sauntering couple, he would curve gently to the right, and instead of cornering smoothly back the other way having passed them, carry straight on into the sea. Thankfully I stayed dry!
I did feel, however, that I couldn't go all that way and not let Vance touch the water. Clearly this was a bit of a risk, since, when determined to get somewhere it is challenging to hold him back. I was however pleasantly surprised, when letting him wander on a long lead (the normal lead can be used at two lengths - short for working and long for spending). He did his usual spot of sniffing, then gingerly stuck his paws in the white surf at the furthest extremity reached by the larger waves. Getting more adventurous he moved a little further in, wetting his undercarriage a bit - and then he made to swim - and which point he felt a sharp tug on the lead and was disappointed to be called back to dry land. In more controlled circumstances I would love to give him a proper swim, but on this occasion, with no way of getting him back, no idea of which way the tide was going, or of how quickly the beach adjacent to Cowes Green shelved, there was no way I was going to risk it. But Vance seemed okay with that, and quite happily worked another half mile or so along the promenade before we sat for a while, recorded an audio diary piece, and turned for home.
I did, however, have one further hurdle to cross before heading back across the Solent. As somebody who likes a good pint of real ale it may come as something of a surprise to some that, until Saturday, I had never been in a pub on my own. I always felt somewhat self-conscious on my own with just a piece of plastic cane to protect me. I was worried about walking into people, or of inadvertently staring at people when attempting to gaze into space. Well, I finally made it. Buoyed with confidence, provided entirely by Vance, I paid a visit to the pub adjacent to Red Jet (sorry, can't remember the name) and ordered a drink. It was quite satisfying - perhaps a small, insignificant step to many, but an enormous leap in indepedence for me.
Returning to Southampton we were lucky enough to pass three cruise ships on their way out to sea. The Queen Mary II, Independence of the Seas and Aurora, in procession down Southampton Water. Though, to me, they were just sillouettes against the fading September sun, they were still an imposing sight and rounded off the day quite nicely.
Sunday dawned as yet another promising looking day, perfect, I thought, for Vance's first free-run in two weeks. Not since Abi, Ramona and Richard, along with Blies, Louie, and Bliss' puppy walkers, visited a fortnight back, has Vance had the opportunity to really let off steam and do what he does best - namely eating rabbit poo, and galloping about like a maniac. My only previous solo attempt at free-running hadn't gone brilliantly well. Having chosen a time late on a Sunday afternoon with every man, his wife, children and dog, out for a stroll or a kick-around I struggled to find any open space on which Vance could dash about without either scaring toddlers or disrupting football games. In all, in the course of two free-runs, he had about a minute of air-time - mainly as a result of me losing my nerve and calling him back the moment his bell disappeared from hearing.
I planned things a little better this time around, heading for the Common at 8:30 in the morning, when only the most hardy of dog walkers - generally the more accepting ones at that (ie: less likely to get upset about their pooch being mauled by my big, scary, German Shepherd!) - out and about. I was therefoe able to find a quiet patch pretty quickly, and Vance enjoyed a good half hour of dashing about, nose to the ground one moment, galloping at full tilt towards me the next. Calculating distance, speed and angle on the trot he frequently whizzed past me with inches to spare before turning some ten metres later and wandering back to say hello. On using the whistle to call him back, he was pretty responsive. One moment his little bell would be tingling away in the far distance - the next, the earth would be vibrating as he pounded in to collect his reward.
That was until the third call back. Having allowed him to roam some way off to one side of the Common I became somewhat nervous that the beel seemed somewhat less audible than it should otherwise have been. It was quite normal for him to stop and sniff, but thirty, forty, even fifty seconds without any signal of his whereabouts was starting to trouble me. So I blew my whistle, and blew, and blew and blew. Indeed a blew so long and so loud - and so shrill - that my ears began to ring - and still no Vance. I shouted too, and blew some more, and with the minutes passing by - eight, nine, ten - I began to wonder how I would ever retrieve him. I felt confident that he would return at some point, but I wanted him now, and he wasn't coming.
Eventually I heard a shout from some distance away. Somebody seemed to be calling me over. "Do you want to collect him?" they seemed to shout, though, between whistle blows, and with ringing ears, it was difficult to know. On getting closer I found a gentleman with what appeared to be a small, fluffy dog, and Vance - not too fussed to see me at all. Apparently he had been pmouthing and attempting to play with his new girlfriend for the past ten minutes, and had evidently seen this as a far more pressing need than returning when I called. The dog walker was very pleasant about it, and seemed quite at ease with Vance about. I, on the other hand, was most definitely not at ease. My dog had failed to return because he had found a friend - something which is unlikely to be a rare occurance in such circumstances. How could I ever trust him again?
It is fine for people who can see. They can watch their dog playing in the distance, and if they fail to return, simply walk over and collect them. If you rely on a bell to work out where the animal is, and a whistle to bring them back, you are quite helpless if they refuse to do so. What if the gentleman hadn't been so helpful - what if somebody had tried to steal Vance? Perhaps I'm being melodramatic - this was, afterall, the first time he had failed to return - only, if it was repeated at any time when I am alone, I may be lucky to get him back, and I really cannot afford to let that happen.
So it was in something of a subdued mood that we returned to base. He to lie on his bed, me to make brunch. He has, since, had opportunity to redeem himself - and he has done so in abundance by just being him - a wonderful, charismatic, friend - but that doesn't change the fact that he didn't come back.
So there we have it - a true weekend of contrasts. A brilliant afternoon by the sea on Saturday, followed by a slightly disconcerting free-run on Sunday. I had been told that this process wouldn't be a walk in the park, warned that there would be both highs and lows, and I try not to be naive about this. Sometimes, however, the individual issues can seem so big, so overwhelming, that it is difficult to see the way out - to find a resolution. But, we must find such a solution. Vance is the most important thing to me now, and I will do anything to ensure he has a happy, contented life, in return for his sterling work giving me my indepedence.