Stupidly dogmatic

A few false starts and we're off – en route to a fresh challenge and another adventure and a steep learning curve. There's not been a puppy in the family for eight years or more now – and, strangely, I miss this.

On a journey home from Portugal this summer, I spend a helluva lot of hard-earned English £££s on data-roaming fees searching online for 'the ultimate dog'. I look at Bolognese and we drive through driving rain and storms to meet one in Norfolk (too prissy and way too high maintenance). I've never liked small dogs but consider having one. I never looked to adopt at the RSPCA but, suddenly, we are spending many weekends at the local dog rescue centre. Dogmatic in my search, I mentally assess every hound that passes by, every pooch encountered on my walks with our Lab, and clock up many hours surfing the net like a lovelorn singleton, seeking 'the one'. But, after hours that turn into days, I eventually give up my hapless search, reaching a cul-de-sac in my dog searching. I turn tail and then... And then...

The first week of October 2014: I am a devout follower of the 'things happen for a reason' school of thought, without doubt. A leaflet, pasted to many lamp-posts in the fishing village of Salema, catches my eye:

Now, ain't Google Translate just the best thing ever? I am ashamed to admit that my linguistic skills are sadly lacking. For someone hell bent on spending more and more time in this most beautiful, heavenly slice of south west Europe, my Portuguese is limited to only the necessary niceties.

Anyway, what I can do is research online and research is what I do to discover that Portuguese Water Dogs are the smarties that truly do have the answer.
For the uninitiated... these hounds were once the best friends of Portuguese fishermen, driving fish into nets, retrieving lost tackle and swimming messages from boat to boat. They have webbed feet and waterproof coats. They thrive with activity, especially if it's water based. And their heritage stretches way back to the 8th century when the Moors arrived in Portugal, bringing these water dogs with them.

We immediately find a Portuguese Water Dog that really isn't a Portuguese Water Dog or a Cão de Água Português as is their proper native handle. In our enthusiasm, we fail to see what is staring us squarely in the face – a con artist with a clever line in faux innocence and mock indignation when we challenge her with the rumours that she runs a puppy farm and is a fraudulent breeder. We remain a deposit down to this day, and there's a very different deposit we'd love to leave on the doorstep of said puppy farm, but some things are best left – well, left.

Meanwhile, at the water trials on our doorstep – Salema beach – we watch from afar one Rodrigo Pinto, a man so in tune with these hounds, it's poetic. He can bark instructions that send his charges scurrying all points of the compass across the sandy beach, focusing them directly into their crate – within seconds. The beautiful hounds shoe horn themselves into said crate and await his next command, ready to spring into action – and waiting on him. Solely.

To cut a long story short, we fall for this man and his hounds and his passion and his knowledge. We talk on the phone long-distance from the UK – lots – and eventually meet him at his kennels/hotel for dogs – Casa da Buba in Lagos. He does not disappoint. Needless to say, this man has a story to tell.

So, we suddenly have Única in our lives. Black, curly haired and feisty – and so, so exciting. And, just as exciting is the story Rodrigo and his son, Goncalo, have to share. They have a history – and a future and there's a whole world out there with whom they need to share it. President Obama, are you listening?...

Walking – I'm running with it

Exercise. It’s always been about the heart-pumping, sweat-pouring, oxygen-demanding kind. That pinnacle of endeavours; that aim to become ever faster; fitness activity with that feelgood-but-bad factor – in running shoes, in water or, of late, on a bike.

The more the body aches post-workout, the fitter the beast. I have taken Herbert Spencer’s Darwin-esque theory of the survival of the fittest and I’ve run with it, interpreting it as I see fit. If I’m not standing still, I cannot catch anything, right? I know that’s a contradiction, but allow me that. As I hurtle towards 50, I want to enjoy life in a half-decent physical state and enjoy it before it all goes horribly wrong, if you get my drift...

Feel the burn

I’m a typical 20something of the 1980s. Back then, younger readers, it was all about throwing our bodies around in high energy, high impact aerobic classes. It was an era of Jane Fonda ‘feeling the burn’ (in the first ever exercise video of our time) and that was many years before Davina’s tame efforts – and only a year before Miss McCall turned sweet 16. It was a time when your conscience barked silently at you that ‘no pain no gain’ adage over and over and over until, muscles wrecked, the body grew bored of the same old routine and the mind was dulled by the same old music tracks.

But now, even that iconic workout video of Jane’s has grown up – 32 earlier this year – and with it, I feel I have, too. For I have discovered walking. Not the baby steps discovery of some 48 years ago, but proper ‘Salomon walking boot’ walking. Hiking, if you will. And to those who scorn and scoff and are under the age of 30, take heed. Footwear doesn’t just have to be about pounding the streets of London’s West End in physically disabling high heels. I’m now just as happy hotfooting it around the west end of Europe in comfortable boots.

Walking is cool. You don't feel a burn, you merely grow a little warmer and you simply see more ‘stuff’ than you do when running or, even, cycling. I would go so far as to say, it’s the new cycling – once the preserve of a generation far beyond my own, I am now extolling the virtues of an exercise I was once only curious about, mostly prompted by the hoards of ramblers who traipsed the canal paths and tramped the fields near where I lived when I wasn’t dancing in fluorescent leggings and leotards to electro pop at the YMCA gym in a small underground studio off Tottenham Court Road.

Communities lay undiscovered

I suggest to those of you under the age of 30 to factor it in to your fitness portfolio now. It complements all that aerobic exercise and is a revelation, too. Whole communities lay undiscovered out there that may only be enjoyed at walking pace – flora and fauna, all creatures – great and small, and people, so many people. And, if you haven’t some beautiful countryside to explore, take an amble through the city and remember to look up, discover more about your neighbourhood, its buildings and get fit into the bargain.

Turning point

Spanish families have mastered the art of city walks. Visit any of the major cities and you will see large groups of them out enjoying themselves as they ‘walk the promenade’ in the early evening, just before sunset.

DOG FOR SALE – LOVES WALKING.

Charities raise funds utilising this most simple and most accessible of exercise. Signing up for a sponsored walk may prove the turning point you need in this pursuit for a slo-mo, steadier-paced exercise to complement the rest of it. And if you need further inspiration, you can always buy a dog.