"One day when I was walking my dog..."

I used to have this dog called Lucky. He was my best friend through my teenage years. In fact, I'm not sure I would have survived growing up without him. Now, I could tell you about the time he and I got caught in a sudden snowstorm, and the drifts were reaching my waist before we were halfway home. Or I could tell you about the holidays of which he was an important part, or all the interesting dog people I met while on walks or at competitions. But I've chosen I different story. I slightly funnier one, about a monstrous swan and a whole lot of water and mud.

We lived near the centre of town. A small town, known as Vamdrup, in southern Denmark. A river runs through there, know as Kongeaaen. This river used to form the border between Denmark and Germany, but not anymore.

We only had a small garden, mostly paved with flagstones. With a border collie, daily walks were a necessity. My dad and I both loved walking him. Every weekend we took him up to the local football stadium, where a dilapidated shed behind the clubhouse held everything our little agility club needed to build an obstacle course and practice agility. Until the footballers wanted their field back, and we neatly tidied our equipment back into the shed.

There were 4 directions one could go in when leaving our front door. North would take you up past the railway station, past the museum and all through the center of town. This wasn’t a much-used route for dog walking, as one would have to walk far before turning down the path along the river where Lucky could finally be safely unleashed. Further out that way a lake adorned the countryside. Not great for swimming, unless you’re a dog. Sometime there were people fishing, I don’t think they ever caught anything.

East would take you out through the industrial quarters, past factories and car dealerships, past the primary school and out into the countryside where the scouts had their old, derelict center. A relatively large building with loads of rooms, never used by anyone as the scouts were mostly outdoors all the time. Along the river, between the road and the scouts’ center, is where the unleashing happened.

South would take you out past the church and the allotments. Unleashing didn’t happen out here. Although the road was small and rarely used by cars, it was used by cars too often to risk a dog running around on it. If one continued out the southern road, one would end up in the tiny village of Jels. A place alive with wilderness and ancient memories of Vikings. A terrifying place. Around those parts, life was never leashed in the first place.

West was the way to the stables. Past the secondary school and along the main part of the river. The fields bordering the river here were wonderful…. For insects. And other wildlife. Such as swans.

The story I want to tell happened here.

It was early spring. The fields were flooded. My feet were wet. I didn’t care. If you don’t put a leash on a girl, a girl is going to get wet feet. And no one put a leash on me. Not then, not now. Though, many have tried.

We’d been running through the drenched fields, mud clinging to our legs and splattered across our faces. We did that often, Lucky and I. In the summer he would swim the rivers and the lakes. We might have been in trouble upon our return home, as mud was not welcome indoors there, but I can’t remember much of that. I can only remember getting muddy. Mud is not something one can plausibly avoid. Imagine the tightness of the leash you’d have to bind yourself with, the heaviness of the collar. One couldn’t possibly live like that. Out with the leash, in with the mud.

Lucky had run ahead of me, he liked jumping in and out of the water, sniffing out what interesting smells he could find at the water’s edge.

Suddenly, I heard him barking. My immediate thoughts were that another unleashed dog had approached him, and they were playing or squaring up to each other. But I didn’t hear another dog. Instead, I heard a nasal trumpet sort of sound. My dog was having a loud, animated argument with a huge swan.

I ran up to see my dog standing on a shallow part of the riverbed, barking viciously at the poor swan who was honking back, indignantly.

I called him, I tried do drive the swan away from him. Nothing worked. The two seemed adamant to continue their argument.

I had heard of swans breaking people’s arms, or even killing people, and panic took me. I wasn’t worried about the swan, it was bigger than him, he never hurt anyone. But what if this massive bird attacked?

There was nothing else I could do. Acutely aware of the vulnerability of my own limps, I slipped down the steep bank and wadded out into the river. Water seeped deep into my boots; my trousers billowed in the water’s current. The water reached to my thighs, before I reached the continuously barking dog, still facing the terrifying swan, who was making these eerie nasal honks, repeatedly.

I threw myself in between them, plunging part of my torso into the water in the process.

Lucky tried to get around me. The swan wasn’t backing off either.

So I threw my arms around the 30 kg of dog and heaved him up unto the bank. He would have jumped back in had I not lodged my hand trough his collar, an action which almost pulled me back into the river with him.

Frantically, I clipped the leash back on and scampered from the riverbank. Lucky followed, huffing and puffing, until we emerged back onto the path, where he shook the water from his fur. A very useful thing to be able to do, really. I wished I could do the same with my clothes.

We walked through a subway under the road, and then over a small bridge spanning the river. All the while, I could still hear the nasal cries of the swan. I shivered. Someone could have got hurt. I may be wet, but I’m unscathed, and so is Lucky.

The lonely looking cygnet swimming around under the bridge looked healthy, too. I could only hope he found his way back to his mother. I could only hope Lucky hadn’t destroyed the nest, potentially damaging other eggs which may have been yet unhatched.

Loads of people walk dogs in that area. The swan should have known better. There is no shortage of good nesting spaces along that river. Why pick one along the path?

I really hope that cygnet is alright, though. It can't have been much fun to have a dog unleashed upon your nest like that.

Sadly, Lucky no longer lives. What remains of him are so many precious memories full of life and love and madness.