AVERAGE WHITE BAND

It was only ever a matter of time before I'd crack out Let's Go Round Again by Average White Band. It's a great tune from a great band, yet more evidence that the 80s were awesome and completely appropriate for today's run. Yesterday I did my 20km local loop. Yes, I ran a little bit on firetrail yesterday whereas today I took the road and not the firetrail, but it's the same run. So fire up the funk.

Brother and sister-in-law and their kids were over last night. I had a bit more beer and wine than is sensible if you're planning a morning run. With no dog to walk I didn't get up at silly o clock. H came in and woke me, as usual, but instead of getting up and heading out I staggered into the girls' room, slid onto the bottom bunk bed and fell back asleep until after 8am. AFTER 8AM. I don't think I've slept that late for 6years. By the time I got up everyone else was up and breakfast was being prepared. I asked if there were any plans for the morning and there weren't, so my breakfast was a pint of water with a Berocca before pulling on some running gear and heading out.

I was a little slower than yesterday, but if felt quite laboured. Given last night's extra beer and the get-up-and-go-ness of the morning, and the 19hour gap between the two 20km runs I'm not going to beat myself up too much about my pace. It was another stunning winter morning and by the time I got home there had not been a lot of change in the motivation and activity level of the rest of the household.

So about the departure of my dog...

Rowlf is an Irish Water Spaniel and we've had him since he was a pup. They're a relatively rare breed but ticked all the boxes we'd setup to be ticked. A large, character-filled, hairy dog, fit, lover of water. I'd first met one in Richmond in the UK and got in touch with a breeder (and now friend) before we got back to Australia. We met his dogs and made our mind up even before we got back to Australia; we were going to have an IWS. The breeder is a wonderful, passionate and dedicated Victorian. We were vetted to make sure we looked like decent owners had to wait a while until he came along but that is all good. You can take it as read that I'm not a fan of puppy farms and pet shops in retail malls.

I'll not bore you with the details of his life with us. He was part of the family. He grew into a stunning looking thing who could walk and swim all day. Smart and stubborn (somewhat like his owners.) I am obviously biased but I do challenge you to find a better looking dog outside of the pampered poochery world of show dogs. And boy can he swim.  Not one for swimming for fun he can retrieve from water all day.

He once escaped from our old house. The home backing onto ours was being renovated and the shared fence dividing our properties was damaged. The builder managed to catch our Cocker, Rumpole, but not Rowlf. Rowlf was sitting in the carport whe Sal got home. He knew were he lived and brought himself home. It was a one off walkabout...although given a chance he would bolt to our neighbours house, shoot out onto their deck and tuck into their dogs food. So, with hindsight, maybe the clues to his eventual downfall - as a resident member of our family - were there to see.

When we moved house (our family got larger before our old house could, so we moved to a bigger one rather than extend the old one) he escaped a couple of times and we put this down to the move. After all, he is a dog and probably took a little longer to realise that our new house was his new home. But we all settled in pretty quickly. He'd happily sleep outside; in fact he preferred sleeping outside to inside.

And then, about a year ago, something changed and he contracted wanderlust. Sporadic to begin with, but he would jump the back gate (no mean feat, it is a reasonable sized gate) and wander off. It was all about his head; there were times when someone - a tradesman, a deliveryman - would leave the gate open and he'd go nowhere. But he knew he could take himself off.

Last week or maybe the week before Facebook did that thing where it posts a picture that you posted a year ago. Mine was a picture of Rowlf sleeping and my caption was to the effect that he was sleeping off a long walk and I had no idea where he had walked to. I'd got a call from H's daycare, where he had turned up. Presumably fed up of being alone in the garden, he'd decided to track down the nearest pack-member. I was retelling the story in the bakery the following morning, Friday, when a local council ranger I know told me that Rowlf had been to the bakery on Wednesday. No, I said, you must mean Thursday; he escaped on Thursday. No, definitely Wednesday. Ah, so he took himself for a walk two days running. Bugger.

The next few months were unpredictable. Some days he was fine, others he might try and escape. The fine days massively outnumbered the escape days. But there a problem creeping up on us. In response to him escaping we would feel we had to keep him in the house some days. If it looked like he was in an escaping mood (like you can tell!) he would be left inside. While the thought of him getting hit by a car was awful the thought of him causing an accident where people got hurt was even worse. Could we make our gates higher? Maybe, I don't know. And even if we did, he'd find another place or opportunity to get out. If he could get his paws on top of a fence he could scramble up and over it. He's fit and he's smart.

Sally had the situation sussed months before I did. My head was in the clouds and I thought we'd simply need to hang on until we got our carport built and we could add more dog-proofing. I stonewalled every attempt to talk sense into the situation. "He's a dog, he's predictable, things will get better and I REFUSE to let him go because no one can look after him as well as I do!" Silly me. He was a pain in the arse, but he was my pain in the arse!

I still cannot pin down what changed for us or him, but his escaping did get worse. I could walk and swim him, come home and the girls might play with him in the garden, he'd have a feed, he'd be happy and all tail-wagging content. Then you'd take your eye off of him and he'd be up and over the back gate. And to add to the mix, despite being well fed and spot-on his correct weight, he is food obsessed. On a few occasions he would get out, knock over a neighbour's bin and work his way through the contents. We're lucky he didn't do himself any damage, but the following day would not be pleasant behind him with the poo-bag.

You can't leave a dog in the house day after day. It's not right. And it will serve only to increase the likelihood of him jumping as soon as gets outside. We had a positive feedback loop. While I'll absorb shite forever in a state of self-imposed ignorance, Sally is far more pragmatic. We were becoming constrained in what we could do as a family because we could not "trust" the dog. Sal did not want the dog in the house all the time and most importantly, it was bad for him. Or rather it was not as good for him as it could be. He is, after all, a dog; he was getting food and shelter and was certainly not unhappy. But still...not great.

I finally agreed that Rowlf needed to go, but I refused to make any arrangements myself. I was convinced that no-one could look after him as well as I do. But Sal did something really fucking simple. She called Kathy, the breeder we had got him from.

And Kathy took him back.

He is reunited with his brother.

He will be worked properly.

He will have a great life.

I was in floods of tears yesterday when I dropped him at the airport. It was horrible. I'm welling up a bit now.

But it's all good.

It was the right thing to do and that is what matters, not my temporary feeling of grief for a future I'll not have with Rowlf. I was lucky to have the past I did with him. Kathy has sent a ton of reassuring messages. The most reassuring was that Rowlf was eating as soon as he arrived. That was an immense relief, and probably why I managed to sleep until after 8am this morning.