It's not black & white

Today I went for walks with the two dogs in my life.
In the low morning sun I wandered out of the new gate in the back wall with the most beautiful white dog in the world, Pushka Queen of Ellersyde. Much like me she now has good and bad days, but on a day like this, even now in her twilight, it's a thing of beauty to walk beside her, to see her leap, snuffle and stalk (I don't see the slips, stumbles & falls), to listen to her howl the song of her kind, a sound of pure joy.
We didn't go far, but we went far enough. Up to the big fallen tree, slowly, at a pace to suit, but together and grinning. We're doing our very best to make these last days the very best of days.

Then, with Pushka happily asleep in her bed I packed a bag and set off to find a big hill. It's been seven months since my ankle operation and it still hurts, it aches, it complains. Some days, most days, I wonder if. Just if.
He wasn't invited, he's never invited, but I knew the black dog would come along for the ride. He'd want to be there if I stumbled, he'd want to push me if I slipped, to laugh when I fell. He'd want to tell me he was right all along.

Parked in Grisedale I made my way in glorious light up onto the fellside - the long steady climb to the Hole-in-the-Wall my aim. Dollywaggon & Nethermost glowered gloriously with their cloud shrouded tops in front of me, urging me ever onwards, reminding me of how I fell in love with the high places - why I'm not ready to let them go.

The black dog, as I suspected, stayed hidden just out of sight, a low growl in the background, just enough to let me know he was there. 


He's a cowardly dog, never appears when other people are there, prefers the long lonely hours of the night to the bright lights of day, doesn't really want to share me, wants to have all of my attention. He's the dog that slinks up unseen, nips you, nudges you, bites you. The song of his kind isn't one of joy - it's the long drawn out howl of what might be, the short sharp snap of what's lost. He's not an honest dog either; his version of events always veers towards the abyss, always sounds far worse than it should, promises a bite that'll hurt more than you can bear. But he is persistent. My is he persistent. And if you listen to his song long enough, it takes hold, draws you in, holds you down. The dog wants you to question yourself, second guess your choices, to give up without one more try.
But I've learnt this truth; he's a lazy dog. He's not made for the long walks, he doesn't like the high places. This may well hurt me, but there's a good chance it'll hurt him more. As I make my way across Grisedale Brow, even now still faster than Naismith, the dog falters. The ankle feels good for now, and I know that saps the dog's strength. When pain stabs at me I can hear him bark with glee, urge me to stop, tell me to quit. But I can pause, centre, regroup. I have to master this pain, I have to make it mine, maybe not ever a good thing, but maybe my thing. The winning of this will be in knowing the pain is only a part of the whole, not the all of me. If I know that, really know, then it, and the damned dog, won't have dominion over me, I'll be free.

Here, with Helvellyn now looming I'm the one in control and the dog looks scared. I like that, its been too long. Far too long. The Hole-in-the-Wall slips past, I'm on the edge now, and I'm all alone. The cloud swirls, but this isn't a place where black dogs linger, this is my place. Today its all mine. Today that's enough.