Help, the dog's stuck in the tarn
On Bella the 13 year old labrador getting stuck (and rescued) from the water, calling out the fire brigade and sticking to my writing streak.
Dear reader,
I’m not sure what I planned to write for you this week but I’m pretty certain it’s not this. I usually start pulling ideas and thoughts together on a Monday morning, stopping to tap them into Notes on my phone as I walk down the hill to HiT.
I gently pull on those thoughts over the next few days, mulling them over as I put the kettle on, often finding that the best words and thoughts appear when I’m washing my hair. Thoughts that are are pretty much guaranteed to disappear the moment I step out of the shower.
It’s not usual either to get to Thursday and think, nope, that’s not it. That’s not what I want to write about at all this week because something else has presented itself. Then there are weeks where I know exactly what I want to write about and it’s simply a question of writing it out, as happened the other week with ‘My next home will have dark green shutters’.
I had thought I’d write about names and identity this week on the back of a conversation with a friend who’s decided to revert back to her family name - at work at least. She explained that she’d been a ‘Jones’ longer than she’d been a ‘Smith’ and wanted to reclaim her identity. This got me thinking about my own decision to shuck off my family name ‘Brodrick’ and adopt my husband’s family name ‘Mason’ when I married Andy in 2002.
But then I drove over to Hebden Bridge on Tuesday to meet
for a chat about where I am now with my writing and where I’m heading (subtext - what to do with the memoir and how do I build on this ten week writing streak). A glorious drive passing Haworth and Oxenhope moor under a stunning October sky and a fabulous chat that sparked all sorts of ideas, but then this morning happened.
Bring the long pole, a flask of tea and call the fire brigade
Stepping out of the bathroom with dripping hair after my morning shower, I spotted a missed call and a few texts from my husband, which is unusual. He’d only left half an hour earlier to walk Bella.
‘I’m at the tarn. Bella’s fallen down an outflow pipe. Can you bring the long pole we use to open the Velux windows?’
Yep, Ilkley tarn, that peaceful expanse of water ( as seen above and below) nestled in the lower reaches of Ilkley Moor, a few minutes walk from our front door and where we walk Bella - our 13 1/2 yellow labrador - daily before heading up onto the moor.
Bella had taken her usual daily dip but had slipped on the rocks as she tried to get out, sliding into the mouth of an outflow pipe that runs from the tarn and under the footpath before coming out in amongst dense ferns and heather further down the moorland.
She’d slipped around ten foot and was stuck somewhere under our feet. She wasn’t barking or whimpering and I think that was the hardest bit, knowing she was underground and not being able to see or hear her.
By the time I got there with a long pole in the vain hope that we could use it to hook her out by her collar we realised we needed specialist help.
Cue phone calls to our local animal rescue specialist and the fire brigade while Andy donned his dry suit and stepped into the chill water of the tarn, lying down on the rocks to look into the pipe see if he could see and reassure her.
He could see her but she was just out of his reach.
Alls well that ends well
In brief, a few phone calls, more than two hours, two fire engines and I don’t know how many firemen - in and out of the water - later, Bella somehow slid backwards down the pipe where it opens into the moorland and into the arms of a waiting fireman who was scrambling through the brambles and up the tunnel to find her.
She seemed completely unfazed, loving the attention from the firemen (and posing for photos too with us and the rescue party, although frankly, if I’d known I was going to have my photo taken with two truckloads load of firemen this morning I’d have found time to dry my hair and put a little make up on, but this isn’t about me!) and was given the all clear by the vet. We, on the other hand, are left dazed and not a little jittery.
Bella joined us as a puppy and she moved with us from Bath to Bournemouth and now Ilkley. She loves the water, loves her walks. She loves her food - our food- any food and loves being around us. And we love being around her, but maybe not when she decides to go bog diving and comes out half black lab, half yellow.
She is elderly though and we’re facing the reality of her ageing body, even if her spirit is still willing. Her walks have shortened and she struggles with all the steps and stairs in our home although recently prescribed anti-inflammatories have given her mojo back. We weren’t expecting her ever needing to be rescued by the fire service though, but I guess no one ever expects to have to call the fire service to rescue their pet.
I guess I’ve also been reminded this morning - if I needed it - that there are in this world exceptionally kind people.
Yes, the fire service and our local animal lost and found specialist who all turned up with smiles of reassurance and competency, calmly dealing with us and the situation that greeted them. But also the kindness of passing dog walkers who stopped to talk and reassure us, bringing blankets and genuine offers of help.
Then there’s our 15-year-old who, on the first day of half term when she could legitimately have expected to have a lie in, was woken by me phoning her and asking her to bring two flasks of tea to the tarn. She stayed throughout, using ‘What Three Words’ to give the fire service our precise location while I was toing and froing waiting for fire engines and grabbing Andy’s dry suit.
And as for Bella? Who knows what she was thinking then or now she’s home. We might be a bit jittery but she’s had an extra breakfast and is snoozing whilst keeping an eye on us from her usual vantage point on the landing outside the kitchen.
Keeping the writing streak and momentum going
I could have written off this week’s post given the events of this morning, but ten weeks ago I set myself a challenge to write a post for seven weeks in a row - prompted by the 7-day writing sprints that
and run with their writing community.I wanted to see if I could write consistently in a way that I’d seen others do but had never managed to do myself.
I’m now at week 10 though and I think I’ve got to the point where I’ve almost freed myself from the crippling anxiety I used to feel when my posting was more sporadic. When it felt like I was expecting so much from these words. Now I feel lighter knowing that whatever happens with this post, another one will be coming down the line in a week’s time.
I feel like I’ve created a flow. There’s momentum to sharing my words and crucially, connections are being made through your comments and responses - thank you. As Bec said on Tuesday, that’s progress worth celebrating.
And honestly I’m not working in the shop today and given the drama of this morning where else would I want to be other than sitting on the sofa in the kitchen, Bella in my eye line, with a cup of tea typing away to you all.
With all of that though, I’ll say good bye and thank you for reading. I’ll be back next week after a few days away in Cardiff and in the meantime, please feel free to dive into Gently Does It. Have a root around and see if anything resonates, I’m always happy to chat in the comments or simply hit reply with a message.
Thanks for reading, Harriet
From outflows to flows! What a post - quite the adventure and much to celebrate, here’s to dry dogs and firemen, long drives and chats and an ongoing streak.
I'm very happy your pup was able to make it out of her adventure without any harm. I used to work in animal rescue, and you wouldn't imagine the fixes some of these pups, and cats, get themselves into.