… and a very warm welcome to my dog blog. I’m so pleased that you’ve found me. I do hope you will enjoy reading about the trials and tribulations of my great adventure. I would love it if you joined in the saga by dropping me a line in the comments box. As you will see I’m going to need all the support I can get.
This my v. v. v big tail!
I started my blog in 2015, as a young orphan puppy from West Cumbria in the United Kingdom. It will record my big walking adventure – climbing the 282 Scottish Mountains over 3,000 feet. Me, an agile young collie and my person – a creaky aging thing (called B) – aim to complete the task by the time I am 10 and she is 70. We are to spend many hours in some of the most wonderful and remote parts of the UK: walking, camping, eating, drinking, writing and growing ever closer and closer. My primary purpose is to attract people who would like to follow me and see if I achieve my goal. I aim to raise £32,000 for two v. v. v good causes. I have promised not to use any of the dosh for even a tiny morsel of a treat, how hard is that?
The money we raise will be spilt between a charity for search and rescue dogs, and Canine Partners, which trains assistance dogs to support disabled people. These dogs are sooooooo clever. This is Bumble and Sandra’s story. I am in love with Bumble.
There are film clips of the clever canines at work below. If after watching them you think what amazing creatures we dogs really are, and you wanted to support their work, you could always drop me a penny or two for my fundraising, just here :
(For anyone new to my blog a very big welcome; I’m Ben, a young Border Collie. You can find out all about my big adventure here Ben’s Blog but, this particular post is my second record of such v. v. v extraordinary times)
This Coronavirus epoch that I seem to be living through is, for Ben, good and bad in parts. I must say I like having David and B hanging around all the time and, on balance, I’d say there’s a bit more activity in the treats department. Of course, all the extra calories, alongside a drastic reduction in the walkies outings, will have to be paid for with a one heck of an exercise regime later, in the freer peri coronavirus days to come; I’m up for that.
Even then, it seems like I’m going to be banged up close to home for sometime and I’m sooooo missing my pals in the forest; that’s the bad part. I haven’t had a run out in my car for so long and the Munro project has ground to a halt. I do get walks but they are so much shorter and, what’s more, there isn’t a ball to be seen, as far as the horizon.
Admittedly, Shieldhill never was a mecca of night life (more’s the pity) but this is just plain weird. All around us nature has sprung into life as normal, which means: our daffs were blown to smithereens, the tulips had their one, and only, day of standing tall, and David has the lawnmower on it’s back, trying to coax the rotary blade into action. Elsewhere, lambs joyfully bounded and my kinsfolk tried their best to bring them into some sort of order, while quad bikes stationed nearby, were ready to take these canines home for a spot of dinner, after their day of hard labour.
In fact, those four wheeled drovers represent the full extent of motorised traffic populating our lane. Someone has pressed the pause button and all is silence. Every now and again something in a vivid shade of lycra passes, propelled by the human personification of science – where a meeting of bio mechanics and physics – accounts for the brief and repeated moments of levitation that appear above my hedge, punctuated by pounding feet on tarmac. Then, as if this wasn’t enough excitement for one day, my ears resound to a cylindrical whoosh as the Bradley Wiggins gang, out in force, give our lanes the once over.
Now though, at last – horrah – there seems to be talk of some relaxation and all is confusion. I’m not good on change myself, as anyone regularly reading my blog knows, and the butterflies have grown to their full maturity in my tummy, making for a very unsettled Ben. Apparently, I now have to adjust again, from what had become my temporary new normal, to – navigating the pace of change carefully – a medium-term new normal, and all that might – or might not – involve. The wings of those flapping butterflies are creating havoc deep inside, in these winds of change. I’ve heard tell of a vaccination and I’m not big on needles either, so that isn’t helping matters one iota. However, I’m practicing my mindfulness and finding solace in the natural world around us.
Gold Finche nesting in our privet
A bird on the wire
A very proud boy
Nearly Ben’s bed time
While waiting for the latest news I try to keep abreast of word from the dog on the street, not that there are many of them about these days. Different opinions rebound amid all the speculation, and what the response of the human species might be. Serious concerns have been barked about any slackening of lockdown. One commentator suggests that, once they are let out there will be great difficulty getting them back in again. Clearly, we are fearful of a nation of wild hooligans running amok with their new freedoms. Quite on the contrary, a number of studies – by clever people – paint the reverse picture, suggesting that everyone is now too frightened to go out at all. Having scared them witless, with endless healines about the very worst of the virus, our people have been successfully imprisoned in their homes. Where will it all end?
Time will tell, but I hope you like the lockdown pictures I added in, and now for my very favourite photo of this time.
Friends, collies and all companion animals, stepping up to the mark.
(For those new to my blog I’m Ben, a young Border Collie on a big adventure, you can find out about it all here: Ben’s blog )
“Well I never, actually none of us ever… what uncharted seas we are tossing about in (that word, unprecedented, is getting me down a bit). Uncertainty isn’t one of my strong points and circumstances here are very strange. I haven’t had a clue what is going on. This is not good news for the butterflies in my tummy which, now it is spring, are just about to hatch.
The first thing to happen was that my person, B, stopped going out in the morning. Now she sits at our table all day long – with MY laptop – tapping away, or else putting that speaker thing to her ear, having totally meaningless conversations because they never include words like walk, or ball.
The next thing was that, at 5.00pm on a Saturday night, David, my male person, was still stroking me. Now this was a momentous change, all “changed utterly”. Lovely and scary at the same time. David always, ALWAYS, goes out for an hour or so on a Saturday, when we are at our caravan (as well as a Friday and a Sunday too) and, it has to be said, comes back really quite jolly. Oh my goodness me, what was going on.
Now, I’m normally a pretty level headed sort of canine and I do try to keep a sense of proportion but, when I heard about all this panic buying, and no one was making a move to top up my food store, it was the last straw; all those butterflies went in for a bit of premature birthing and started flapping about uncontrollably in my tummy. Apparently, we’ve got someone called Covid 19 coming for a visit. At first, I thought we were putting up our defences in case an unruly teenager was putting in an appearance but, apparently, I’d got the wrong end of the lead. It turns out that the unwelcome guest is a horrible little infectious disease, a real carbuncle on our lives. But, v. v. v big BUT, I’m not at risk at all. Oh, great relief for Ben.
However, I’m not off the hook that easily. It seems I still have a big part to play and I’ve got to be with my people through thick and thin to help them out. Suddenly, all that responsibility seems a bit scary. I don’t even know how to turn the oven on yet and I’m more than a bit concerned about something called stock rotation, it sounds very complicated and David is a real whizz at it. Still I’m going to step up to the mark and do my best… tomorrow.
So, 2020 has arrived and I’m now living in a new decade, which sounds awfully exciting; I’ve not done that one before. Apparently the chips are down on the chances of my seeing another one, but I don’t want to think about that just now. Instead, let me take you on the grand tour of Ben’s life in 2019.
Right at the end of last year’s review David had just got back into a little bit of walking. That was after the horrid, awful, terrible (do I make myself clear?) three months, following the big fall and broken pelvis which, in itself, came fast on the heels of saying goodbye to the old girl. The worst part of being on a mountain, with an incapacitated David, was the whirligig thing that hurt my ears and stole my person from the mountain.
However, I’m so happy to report that right from the beginning of 2019 it has been back to business as usual, by which I mean the rightful reinstatement of my morning routine, consisting of: a lovely early morning drive to Mabie Forest; meeting up with the gang to discuss the weighty issues of the day and then – oh, what unconfined joy – playing ball and lots of it, my absolute – incontrovertible – favourite thing, apart from a spot of dinner, of course. In celebration of this return to normality, I’ve developed an ebullient little song and dance piece, that I perform on the back seat of the car, as soon as we hit the drive that takes us deep into the forest.
During the winter afternoons that follow this morning ritual, I’d while away the time with vivid dog dreams about “… gold lama baskets and choice cuts of meat …” 1 until woken from my slumbers by the sound of Wainwright biscuits hitting porcelain bowl. Reality tore me from luxurious fantasies but, the familiarity of home wasn’t half bad. About this time of day, B’s smell – round and about the house – has faded to the level at which I knew she was about to arrive home (oh dear, I’m so sorry my fellow canines. I’ve just given away the mystery of how we know when our people are coming back. Incase anyone didn’t know, dogs do it with noses ). So, after tucking into a nutritionally balanced – fat free – meal, I’m up at the window waiting for B to drive in. In my excitement I throw myself into her arms, the same v. v. v big welcome home every night. I’m not altogether sure that my exuberance is fully appreciated. Bags seem to go everywhere and sometimes we find ourselves in a confused heap on the floor. She particularly doesn’t like it when one of my paws slides down her face, leaving a big red scar for days on end. I like to think of it as a term of endearment.
Leaving the worst of the winter behind us heralds the start of the caravan season, when we return to our mobile home (that doesn’t move), in The Lake District. I’ve done it every year of my life, the same pattern, with gleeful anticipation of the spring, summer and autumn that lie ahead. This year I was robbed of such happiness. As soon as I crossed the threshold I could smell her. It hit me like an incense bomb and was everywhere – the unforgettable scent of our old girl, Maisie. I curled up in my cushion and got all depressed. Eventually, a little bit of dinner brought me out of myself and, a game of ball on Moor Divock the next day wonders but… every time I got back to the caravan the black dog, instead of our old girl, was my companion.
It took a lot of hard work but I had to pull myself together, because me and B had work to do and helping others is always such a tonic. We needed to get David confident on the hills again, after the big fall, and – even though I say so myself – we done good. Thus, on 30th March 2019 – exactly six months after the accident – me, B and David, did a return to Place Fell and, on this occassion, actually got to the top.
March also held another red letter day and gosh, all fiddlesticks – my tummy still gets excited remembering. It was a case of out with the old, in with the new. Though in this case it was just a bit newer. On 11th March 2019 we crossed a line. No more sleeping cramped on the floor of an unreliable VW Caddy van. Now me and B were going up in the world. The future heralded not only a more dependable car but also, one we were going to convert with a micro camper kit.
Nevertheless, despite the excess of comfort, it was with a tear in my eye that I said goodbye to my faithful – if unpredictable – friend of three years. The ally that had got me and B going on the Munros and witnessed my first 47 climbs, and 52 of B’s.
Perhaps you can imagine how eager I was to go Munro bagging again and try out the soft furnishings in our new Munro mobile. Sadly, I had to exercise something called patience, which is soOOO hard for me to do.
April of 2019 brought in yet another big, BIG event, in our small lives, and it had to be marked. David had one of those birthdays with an 0 at the end of it. I’m not meant to tell you which one, so I’ll put it in v. v. v small numerals and you can pretend you never saw it. (70, hee, hee). For Dog’s sake, HOW MANY DECADES IS THAT? It seems we were heading east to celebrate and I had to test out a whole new suite of soft furnishings. Home comforts aside, I’m not a great fan of sudden change and definitely at my best when running on well oiled lines, with a bouncing spherical object to cement my happiness. Therefore, when we set out on roads I had never, ever been on before, the lava from last year’s butterflies started to hatch in my tummy, giving me a very strange sensation indeed and, not at all to my liking. Of course, all’s well that ends well, and the very first thing to happen, when we arrived, was that I had a lovely big dinner. After that, secure in the knowledge that my food had travelled with us, I set about testing out the buoyancy of the soft furnishings, in this home from home.
For the next week we ranged far and wide across somewhere called The North York Moors. The landscape was gynormous, with vistas stretching into space across bracken and heather hillsides, broken only by deep sided valleys that had – in the geological mists of time – been scooped out of the very earth we might have stood on. These vales took some considerable effort to tumble down and then climb back up so that, by the end of our walk, we needed to stop for refreshment. I would have my dinner beside the car and then B and David would warm their paws, and the cockles of their hearts, in a pub called The Lion Inn, at Blakey Rigg. Unfortunately, I couldn’t join them because of my propensity to take objection to the frightening smell, accompanying the odd human, which brings on a defensive nipping of ankles and makes me canine non grata. Instead, I was left to ponder on the whereabouts of this lion, how fail-safe the locks on our car were, and just why the windows had been left so open. On their return, D & B’s happy disposition met my relief and made for lovely companionable evenings.
Once home, from the birthday celebration, my enthusiasm to get Munroing became a bone of contention, so to bark. First of all the weather was against us but, even when it wasn’t, I was excluded. Apparently, B just happened to be working in Glasgow and it made sense for her (and not me ), to take off north from there. Unbelievably, inexcusably, it was July before I put paw to Munro. However, over that weekend, and another in August, we put another 10 summits in v. v. v heavy bag, which stamped it with the impressive number of 84; me and B had done 57 of these together. The fiery sun played hide and seek behind Cumulonimbus clouds, and then danced on the shimmering waters of high mountain lochans which – in sequestered corries – were protected by cliffs that rose in awe-inspiring towers that beguiled and terrified, These were blissful times together and, on the highest Caledonian hills, we soaked up panoramas that brought the heart, and soul, of a young dog alive. Gasps for breath, from the bi-ped beside me, suggested the heart wasn’t quite up to the job; as for the soul – well, that’s anyone’s guess.
Lots of photos on my special slide show. It’s a bit on the slow side but you can use the arrows to move forward
Of course, as mentioned in so many of my blogs before, being away with B is never a totally easy experience and nothing had changed in the last year, unfortunately. On the first day of our July weekend – luckily after we had bagged Bynack More – I was brought down to earth, literally, by the exploding tyre beneath me.
And then, the very next day, I was met with a compromising situation in the safety department as our navigational aids – that provide my security – were made redundant, in a catalogue of neglect. The straw that broke the collies back was when our map – the very foundation of our whereabouts – blow off in the wind. Somehow, I survived to tell the tale.
B went bagging again briefly, in both September and October but, by this time, I was having something they call divided loyalties, which is a very nasty condition. With the old girl gone back to ashes, I couldn’t bare to think of David – home alone, when I was away with B. On the other paw, when I kept David company, the thought of B on the mountains, without the protection of her Munro buddy, sent me into a tumult of guilt and anxiety. This unconditional love business isn’t always easy. I felt like I was becoming a tug of love dog.
After October, it was better – lovelier – we were all together, all the time. We had such companionable walks in the Lake District, me with my ball, B & David with that incessant chatter thing that humans do. Then alas, it was the interregnum (from the caravan site) and we were banned from the Lake District till March. The season of mellow fruitfulness had given way to winter and I took to the indoor life, disporting myself around the soft furnishings, while catching up on a spot of reading.
It has to be said that, my absolute best read of 2019 is a little tomb called, ‘The Enlightened Spaniel’. I need to qualify that sentence in a couple of ways. The book is in no way little. In fact, IT IS MEGA. It has changed my whole outlook on life. And then, of course, there is the issue with the breed (not my favourite, since an unfortunate little altercation, regarding the property rights of a certain spherical object, a couple of years ago). Clearly, the book should have been pawed by a noble Border Collie but, it seems, the floppy ears got in first. That said, I think this way of being may have something to offer.
For instance, you are – apparently – meant to live in the moment. Well, let’s face it, that’s easy peasy for me. That moment could be blissful, with one of my bestest humans throwing my ball over an arch of sky, or it might be some scary instance requiring the nipping of ankles; either way, when it’s done it’s done – nothing of the past remains and, as for the future, it’s a foreign county; anything could happen. Another facet of this world view is about unconditional love and – say no more – that’s what we go in for, big style. I might even have to let the Spaniels in on that one – reluctantly.
According to Buddhist philosophy, which is big on this enlightenment stuff, we get born and born again – ever improving – on a path to somewhere called Navana, which is the bees knees. Did you know that bees have knees? Nivana is the best place imaginable and you have to be v. v. v well behaved, caring lots about other creatures, to get there. Honestly, I really was doing my best but then along comes Christmas and well, let’s face it, we all indulge ourselves a bit – or a big bit. All those presents, eating too much, loafing about and, of course, the excess of dog beer – it may have set Nivana back a bit.
Nevertheless, just a few more incarnations and I fully expect to be there. The first Border Collie ball dog at Wimbledon… perhaps next year.
In the meantime, more dog dreams.
1 Carroll, D H (2013); Dog Dreams. This England, Vol 46, No 2, Thompson Publishing, London.
Finally, I can spill all the beans about the biggest competition yet this year.
Wow, gosh and Shiver me Timbers. I thought it was only Border Collies that were clever. What brilliant responses I’ve had to my photo caption competition. Me and B have loved reading them all, what laughs. Thank you very much to everyone who entered.
Like I have said, it has been sooooo hard to choose but in the end I’ve had to divide my prize into a first and three runners up.
Lynda gets the first prize for spotting what was going on. She recognised that locked gaze as a game me and B play, when we are looking at each other; it’s called ‘First One To Blink Forfeits.
Lynda thought I was saying, “Whoever blinks first carries the rations. But I think the eyes say it all. Love you Mum.”
Of course she also caught that look of unconditional love that I’m so famous for.
However, it wasn’t totally correct because – although food would usually come into all of my communication, in one way or another – on this occasion I had just had a nice big dinner and therefore, settling down for some lovely zzzs was top of my agenda. Those of you who spotted me willing B to blink first, so I could have a lovely comfy bed are the runners up.
Denis said, “Remember it’s my turn in the bed tonight”
Liz was of a similar mind, “I wanna sleep in the big bed Bea! Xx”
And, Evelyn suggested I had v. v. v elevated aspirations ” Have we booked into a 5***** tonight, B?”
AND, so to the prizes
First prize is a delightful little book I’ve been reading and one of my very special, limited edition, Mucky Boots and Flawless Paws pens. There will only ever be 120 of these in the whole wide world. They may even become a collectors item .
Two dogs go on a quest to find out all about
why their person disappears for something called meditation every night, and then they try to follow a path towards enlightenment. I thought that was going to be a breeze and sailed through the unconditional love and living in the moment parts, but then I got stuck on the bit about patience.
The runners up prizes consist of one of my very special pens and a pack of Wainwright treats for their best pal (s). Or, if they don’t have a best canine pal (can such things really be?), the best pal of one of your best pals – ummm, well I know what I mean.
I’m going to drop everyone a reply to their guess on the original post (Ben’s New Year Competition) but, before then, I’ll need lots of zzzzs.
The bad news is – as ever – technology, the bane of a canine’s life. I was meant to have a new laptop for my blogging and, it turns out, B isn’t up to the job on her mobile phone with it’s small keypad -probably an age thing.
What I can tell you is that Lynda is the winner but it was sooooo hard to choose and there are three runners up.
The good news is that I get my new computer tomorrow and can spill all the beans then and tell you about the 4 prizes 😀
In the meantime, you can see everyone’s responses here, in one place.
Oh my goodness me how time flies. This is the very last day of my competition and I’ve go so many responses to choose from already but, if you want a chance to win one of Ben’s very special prizes there’s still time and remember, you can have as many goes as you like.
(If you have just come across this blog post, and are new to Mucky Boots and Flawless Paws, let me – Ben, a young Border Collie – say a huge welcome. You can find out all about me and my blog through this link https://benonthebeinnsblog.wordpress.com/ )
A v. v. v Happy New Year to one and all. I do hope you had a wonderful festive season and are now getting ready for the next one.
Anyway, without more ado, here is my New Year competition and it’s a picture one. What I want you to do is write a caption for this picture. What do you think I could be saying to B here. The photo was kitaken while we were away Munro bagging earlier this year and it features my new Munro mobile. You can reply in the comments box below. The funniest response will get one of Ben’s famous prizes.
(If you have just come across this blog post, and are new to Mucky Boots and Flawless Paws, let me – Ben, a young Border Collie – say a huge welcome. You can find out all about me and my blog through this link https://benonthebeinnsblog.wordpress.com/ )
I am truly v. v. v sorry for my long absence. I haven’t been very well and, to be honest, rather down in the mouth lately. You see I split open one of my carpel pad’s and it’s taking such a long time to heal. The carpel pads are the ones part way up my front legs. I used them often when I am chasing my ball too fast and have to do a sudden brake. I didn’t get to see Andy, to tell him all about it, but the other Mr Vet said stiches and staples would be no good. Apparently, this has something to do with me not being able to sit still and wait for recovery. I would, as sure as eggs are eggs, split it open again. So, the long and the short of it all is that… I’ve been on reduced walking rations for absolutely ages. AND… what a BIG AND, I’m not allowed to play with my ball AT ALL. Now you will understand how my whole world has collapsed. I just mope about all day and I don’t get super excited – with lots of singing – when we go out for our walks.
Anyway, though typing does hurts my paw, I didn’t want you to think I had forgotten you and though Christmas has crept up, without Ben’s Christmas competition going live, I have decided to brighten up your New year by delaying it until then. So here’s the heads up… you’ll need to get your thinking hats on.
Apparently healing needs lots of sleep and I’m not complaining about that.
and thank you for coming to read my post. I don’t often reblog my own posts – being a modest sort of dog – but here’s a pertinent one from 16th July 2018 when I was climbing my Munros (Ben’s challenge)
“… musing over the fate of my cousins on the continent, as Brexit negotiations nudged toward something not very conclusive at all…”,
So, what’s new? I do worry a lot about every doggie’s papers being in order so we can all live harmoniously together.
Morning broke over the mountains with a choral symphony of birds serenading the new day.
Or so we presumed!
Me, and the person breathing next to me, were deep into zzzs, making up for the long hours of twisting and turning during our first night away in my van this year. Though the hour of 5.30am had been witnessed, through a clink in an eyelid, it was quickly obliterated by just one flicker. Thoughts of an early start to beat the pulsating sun, took a back seat in favour of – in my case – more dog dreams.
Finally, an hour later, we prised ourselves from slumber and, at 7am, were confidently able to predict a return of no earlier than 3pm; my person always being at the upper limit of the estimated walking times for any route. Of course, I could have done a quick run around…