The Dogwalker.

It is probably only on this street, in this neighbourhood, in this particular city, that a girl wearing headphones and ill-conceived shoes whilst walking a giant Labrador could be a recipe for disaster.

Yes, I think it’s only here, in this park, under these trees that people could see a shuffling figure in the distance, trying to walk while a large dog bounces around her in a tight circle slobbering “Ball, Ball, BALLL!!!!”, and practically scream for someone to stop them, stop them before they come any closer.

When I can’t think, I’m angry, sad, hung over, elated, confused, bored, procrastinating, tired, asleep, or even perhaps just feel like exercising, I take my dog for a walk. It doesn’t really matter when, how or what I’m wearing when I walk out of the house with the intention of taking Baloo for a walk, he knows it, like he feels it in the air, and before I’ve even grabbed the lead he’s gone stir-friggin-crazy.

He must sit at the gate though, or we won’t go. I have rules you see, and I’m in charge. But after he’s sat still for almost a whole second while I clip the lead on and open the gate, it’s all go again and as soon as the gate is open far enough for him to fit his fat head through, he leaps down the stairs like a horse over a jump and I lurch out after his wagging tail, every damn time.

First stop upon arrival at the park is to pee on this stump tree, and then this particular fence post, at which point he starts kicking up the dirt behind him, proudly proclaiming his presence in the park. Baloo loves the park. Whether the park loves him or not, is undecided. In the park there are friendly dogs with grumpy owners, mean dogs with apologetic owners, ugly dogs with kooky owners, ladies with matching dogs, dogs with tennis balls, owners with poopy-bags and the odd dogless walker or kid playing footy. And then there is Baloo, who I think, considers himself the welcoming party. Because Baloo is a happy dog, a non stop tail-wagging, infinite source of bounding energy that dashes across the park in a heartbeat to say hello, sniff-sniff, wanna play?

Which frankly, not everyone appreciates. Sadly, not everyone see’s the beautiful side of a gigantic Labrador sprinting at them, their toddler or worse still, their football. This is about when they scream stop, don’t come any closer.

But there’s no stopping the love, folks.

Except when daddy’s at home. Because sometimes, on very rare occasions, I decide I want to go for a walk and Baloo doesn’t actually agree, because Dad’s at home and Dad’s not coming. Not being one to take that kind of rejection, I insist we go anyway, and drag the strangely unenthusiastic Baloo out the gate. It doesn’t work out to be much fun for me, but the other people in the park must breathe a sigh of relief, because when they see that crazy kid and her big dog arrive at the park, and she lets the dog off the leash and turns around to change the song on her mp3 player... he sprints back home.

That poor crazy kid, the last they saw of her she was sprinting through the park, headphones bouncing around her neck, in pursuit of a golden Labrador, that menace, nightmare, child-licker, cutie, pretty boy, beautiful big, poo eater.