As a child, I really detested Sundays. I think it was the quiet: there was something unsettling about the silence. This was the days before all day television and we didn't even have a video recorder. I hated Sunday evenings the most, probably because school loomed that bit closer and the fun of the weekend seemed to have evaporated and was yet to be replaced by the energy of Monday morning. It occurs to me today that we are about to have 21 days of Sunday, all in a row.
We take the dogs for what could be their last walk for three weeks. We have a 3 acre garden and for some people, walking the perimeter would be exercise enough, but this is not true of Rolo and Tallulah. Dog walking is not a popular activity in Zimbabwe. I think we are part of a very small group who exercise their dogs regularly. I know many a dog who has never left the confines of their garden. The problem comes when someone suddenly decides to take their dog for a walk and then finds that they are not socialised at all and they are very aggressive.
Walking dogs for me is one of life's great pleasures and it's funny how the walk itself is very different when you go on your own. It's as though you have left something of importance behind, like your shoes. One of the reasons I was desperate to get a dog was because having one gave me a reason to walk. My mum loved taking the dogs for a walk and on Sundays we would go with her. Perhaps it is a very British thing to do, along with drinking tea and gardening. It's probably part of my genetic make up.
There is a bitter-sweet feel to the walk and suddenly the reality of the situation hits me: three weeks at home with the dogs, my dad, Sian, Ellie and John. Three acres is definitely not big enough for us all!
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