What do I know about mules really? I’ve never had one about me, never tried to take one on an evening walk uphill in Donegal.
Not that Donegal is a problem, you understand. I love it. Emptiness and beaches. Hills and wild flowers. Watching enormous hares potter about the caravan site, or the sheep trotting across the bottom path in the evening. Our very own spot in the west.
Being in Donegal means lots of walking, exploring. Jake loves a dander, a good sniff, and in Donegal there are plenty of opportunities. It is even possible that there may be too many opportunities.
Now, no dog minds being on the beach, but if the tide is in and it’s after tea time? That mad woman may decide that a little chap with tiny legs and arthritis has to walk part of the way back to the caravan. Uphill. In the middle of nowhere. No amount of longing looks downhill or heel digging in works. An already low centre of gravity can be lowered another bit, but still she insists.
A 10 minute walk took at least half an hour. Spurs Fan was about to despatch a search party. Jake and I were caught in a battle of wills that only I was going to win, despite him turning to go downhill at every opportunity. Downhill away from his bed, his food, his sofa. Away from the uphill walk.
Stubborn as a westie? Stubborn as a speccy? You decide.