Chariots Inspire

When we moved in September 2002 to our present home in Morden, my route from home to work changed completely. Whereas previously I would amble out of Ashtead village, drive along a few winding country lanes and then across Epsom Downs with it’s spectacular views, now it’s stop-start traffic all the way and the journey takes the same amount of time as it did before (between 45-mins and an hour) even though it’s almost half the distance.

Anyway, on one particular morning after I’d been making the journey via the new route for a couple of weeks, I noticed a middle aged man walking his dog along the pavement. I only really noticed him because this point of my journey is one of the many stop-start sections, so I was able to take in what was going on around me rather than the cursory glance usually afforded to the passing scenery. The owner of the dog was a typical middle aged man, in fact so normal that I can’t recall anything specific about him at all. The dog was a mongrel, of terrier origins I think, and quite small and old but very sweet looking. However, what really made me stop and stare was the fact that the dog had its back legs lashed up in a little chariot-like affair, so was only walking with his front legs and thus wheeling himself along (I’m going to be terribly non-PC and assume it was a dog rather than a bitch – hey, I wasn’t staring that much to be able to tell the difference). I nudged the car along the road as the traffic moved very slowly forward, and I continued to watch this poor little dog half dragging himself along, but was heartened to see that aside from his obvious disablement he was acting just as any fit and healthy dog out for a walk would do, i.e. sniffing around the grass, wagging his tail and generally enjoying himself, and I was so taken with this little scene that it stuck in my head for a few days afterwards.

I saw the man with his dog in the same spot a few more times over the following few weeks. I had assumed that, as with dogs that have bandaged legs or those big white collars on which prevent them from scratching wounds on their faces or ears, that this little dog’s chariot was a temporary affair whilst his legs healed, but I saw them several times after that and again this morning, 18 months later, and the dog still has his chariot, so I can only assume that the his disability is permanent. I still marvel at the nonchalant way he wheels himself along, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he not fully functioning, and he seems determined to make the most of his walk, no matter how long it takes him.

I came across a similar situation a few years ago when I lived in a house-share, also in Morden. The guy who owned the house had a dog called Sally, who was also a mongrel but of different origins, and she only had one front leg. I can’t recall why the other leg had been amputated, but again she was as happy as anything regardless of her missing limb. I can still recall when I used to arrive home from work each evening and she would come bounding down the hallway with her perfected run/hop combo and greet me with boundless enthusiasm. I used to take her across to the park sometimes and loved to watch her enjoying herself ‘running’ up and down chasing sticks and the like.

I’m not sure if there’s anything profound to be gleaned from this tale. I’m sure we’re all aware of the fact that disabled animals, regardless of what they are, seem to adapt to their situations with the minimum of fuss and bother.

It’s just another one of those things that made me stop and think, and I just thought I’d mention it.

24th February 2004