The Dogs Who Need a Little More

Over the years we’ve walked a lot of dogs. Every one different, every one their own particular character, every one leaving a mark. But some of them asked a little more of us than the average walk. More attention. More watching. More patience, and more understanding.

When people hear “special needs,” they usually picture a dog that’s ill or disabled. The truth is broader than that. Sometimes it’s old age. Sometimes it’s failing eyes or ears. And sometimes it’s just the specific, particular needs of one specific, particular dog. Which is really the whole point: there are no two dogs alike.

Everyone gets old differently

With older dogs, the most important thing is watching. Knowing the day a walk should be shorter, or calmer, or the day a dog simply needs to rest instead.

This is where the owners come in. We see things a quick walk around the block won’t show. How a dog moves in the group, how they handle the effort, whether they tire faster than they used to, whether something in their behaviour is quietly starting to shift. Since 2007 we’ve learned that those small changes are the ones that matter, and they’re easy to miss if you’re not looking for them.

The best examples are Sunny and Barney.

Sunny is 13, and in his lovely head he’s still about two. He wants to run, to muck about, to be boss of the group, to be involved in everything. He still has his moments of total nonsense, when he suddenly takes off and clowns around like a puppy. The problem is that his body doesn’t always share his brain’s enthusiasm. So our job is to make sure that after all the chaos, he’s still got the legs to get home. Sometimes we have to be the one to say “that’s enough,” because Sunny never would.

He’s also lost almost all his hearing. It makes things harder, for him and for us, but it hasn’t taken an ounce of joy out of him. He still loves every walk, every adventure, every single day.

We’re also lucky that he lives close to the park. Because we don’t use vans and collect every dog on foot, we can pick him up last and drop him home first, which saves his energy for the thing he loves most: time in the park.

Barney is also 13, and a completely different story. Honestly, sometimes we can’t quite believe his age. He’s holding up brilliantly, body and mind, no trouble with the walk to the park and back, still having a wonderful time once he’s there. Barney is an individualist with an enormous character, the kind of dog who walks his own paths and isn’t especially interested in your opinion on the matter.

And that’s exactly where the trap is. Because age is age. Even when a dog looks fantastic, you keep watching, because with older dogs things can change fast. Barney’s whole personality, all that confidence and self-possession, is the very thing that could lull you into not looking closely enough. So we look closely anyway. Which is really why knowing each dog, properly, and building a real relationship with them, matters as much as it does.

When the eyes stop seeing

If we’re talking about dogs who need a little more, we can’t not talk about Frank.

Frank is only 6, and almost completely blind. He’ll soon have surgery on one eye. The other, sadly, can’t be saved. For now he can barely see, and he needs us.

The remarkable thing is that Frank is still entirely Frank. Independent, fearless, full of life. He still walks off-lead, plays with the other dogs, runs around with sticks, explores the world through his nose. Watching him, you could forget he’s blind.

Right up until the moment he suddenly stops.

He stands there for a second, and listens. Trying to hear where we are.

A dog like Frank needs you present the whole time. Enough space to be himself, and at the same time the steady sense that he’s safe. So with Frank, we talk to him almost constantly. Our voices are more than communication. They’re a signpost. A map. An invisible lead. The best part is that when he hears us, it looks for all the world like he’s walking straight along our words, right back to us.

Because Frank is Frank. An independent lunatic who, every so often, suddenly realises he has no idea where his group has got to, and comes running toward the sound of our voices. And we just have to be there.

It’s never only walks

People often tell us that dog walking is sunshine, fresh air and a nice relaxing stroll. And sometimes, yes, that’s exactly what it is.

But there’s another side to the job. It’s responsibility. It’s watching, constantly. It’s making the call. It’s noticing the changes nobody else has spotted yet. It’s building a bond so steady that the dog starts telling you things without a single word. And that’s when the best moments arrive: Sunny, who can’t hear you behind him, lighting up the instant he feels you’re there. Or Frank, landing straight in your arms, having climbed the invisible ladder of your voice all the way home.

Mind you, Frank’s brakes packed in a while ago and still haven’t been fixed.

Because in the end, that’s what all of it comes down to. Being whatever they happen to need that day. Present. Watching. Listening. Catching the small changes nobody else sees. The dogs are talking to us every single day. You just have to learn how to listen.