Dog Ownership, Belfast Style

Dogs are nothing new to me.  It is hard for me to remember a long period of time in my life when either my family or I didn’t have a dog.  Therefore, I thought that I knew at least one or two things about owning a dog.  I am learning, though, that owning a dog American-style and owning a dog North Irish-style are two different things indeed.  One of the first things I learned about dog ownership here is that it is the few dog owners who actually pick up after their dogs.  The city council recently enacted a new campaign to try and clean up dog poop by imposing a £80 ($125) fine on anyone caught not picking up after their canine companion.  Although this ordinance does not seem to be catching on, Dave and I are trying to be trend setters by picking up after Toby on walks (no one seems to be following our trend).  Leashes are another controversial contraption.  When we first visited our vet to get Toby up to date on his North Irish shots, the vet all but accused us of animal cruelty by utilizing a leash ("Let him run free!" we were told).  There is no leash law in the city (I found out after I emailed city council complaining about off leash dogs), but some parks have signs that say “Dogs Must Be Leashed” within the boundaries of the park.  However we seem to be the only dog owners who obey these signs.  We have actually seen more children on leashes than dogs – no joke.  Due to the high volume of dogs off leash, we find ourselves always a little on edge when we walk with Toby around other unleashed dogs whose owners seem oblivious to their actions.  Somehow we have managed to only have two negative experiences with off-leash dogs: one dog stole Toby’s toy and ran away with it while the owner sat talking on the phone, and another dog jumped on Toby and nipped him while the owner kept walking and turned a blind eye to the cruel behavior.  Although we are not as brave as some dog owners I have seen walking down the busy streets of Belfast’s City Centre with their four legged friend off leash and crossing busy streets, we have taken advantage of this unenforced park leash rule and had some fun times throwing Toby's toy for him in one of the open fields near our house.  It should come as no surprise to me that the North Irish dog culture would be just as different as so much else in this culture.  However, somehow it has managed to take me by surprise, and just when I thought I understood dog ownership, I moved here and had to learn it all over again.

Toby, looking very unimpressed with the jacket he has to wear on some of the colder walks.

The Old Man & The Garden

Dave and I live in what is called a Terraced House.  Picture a block with a long row of 100-year old red brick houses all connected to each other by the walls.  We live in the end terrace, so we not only get a nice view of the sunset and sunrise but also a (small) side yard.  All of the front “yards” (if you can call them yards…most people refer to them as gardens) are about 10 feet by 8 feet and are usually separated by four foot high brick walls.  Some people fill their spot with grass, others cement it over and put potted plants out, and still others place a large hydrangea or rose bush in the center to add some flair.  About half way down our terrace is an older man, I would presume to be in his 70’s, whose front garden is literally overflowing with blooming foliage.  He has somehow squeezed in three trees, a hedge with climbing flowers, and a plethora of potted flowers blooming throughout the seasons.  I love walking by his house as it is the most exciting one to walk past due to its variety of greenery.  He also tends to keep to himself, and whenever I do see him out and about he always has on his Gilligan’s Island style fishing hat, a non-descript tan jacket and carrying a partially full M&S shopping bag (M&S= Marks & Spencer’s, a large UK department store chain).  I have run into him early in the morning at St. George’s Market, late in the afternoons at the library, and walking by our house in the middle of day.  I always try to get his attention, to make eye contact with him at the very least.  Since we moved into our house on February 2^nd, I have been trying to get some sort of acknowledgement from our neighbor.  Just when I was starting to think that my attempts were all in vain, the heavens opened up and a miracle occurred.  One morning last week while Dave and I were walking by his house, he was walking into his front garden from the road and carrying to large bottles of water.  Not only did he nod his head at me, but he stopped and said, “I have some men coming to do work on my roof today and I thought I would leave them some water.”  I jumped at the opportunity to engage him in conversation, “Oh! How wonderful!” I said.  “By the way, we just love walking by your house - you have the loveliest garden.”  Instead of being able to take a compliment, he responded with “Eh, it’s overgrown and the vines shouldn’t be hanging into the sidewalk like they are.  And these flowers over here are droopy and need more water.”  I just smiled and said, “It all looks lovely.”  (I think he might have given me a partial smile as we walked away!)  Down the street, I said to Dave, “Okay.  I can now leave Northern Ireland, I got the old man to not only say hello but also participate in a conversation with me!”  I might not have formed a friendship for life with him (or even for the day) but I did find a small victory in that the old man who I had started to write off as not having a friendly bone in his body finally showed me otherwise.  This man gave me a refresher course in patience, reminding me that sometimes you have to wait, hard as that may be, for the desired reward.  

Exercising & Pregnant

Getting out the door to exercise is not necessarily the top priority on a pregnant lady’s to-do list.  I’m six months pregnant, my feet are starting to get swollen, I’m starting to waddle as I walk, and I’ve nearly given up on climbing anymore flights of stairs.  However, years ago I made up my mind that when I became pregnant I was going to train for the delivery like I trained for my triathlon.  And so, I find myself heading out the door to try and keep my body in good shape for this intense thing called labor and delivery.  I’ve actually been quite surprised at how much exercise I’ve been able to do, considering of course how big I keep getting.  Sure, I’ve had to slow down a bit (or two or three bits) here and shorten my distances a bit there, but on the whole my workouts have gone (surprisingly) pretty well.  I was feeling so good in the first trimester that I ran a 5K at 7 weeks, which made me think I could run the Belfast half marathon in September.  I talked it over with my GP, who also has a degree in sports medicine.  She told me (wisely) that I could continue to exercise while pregnant, but there would be more half marathons next year for which I could train.  In other words, my bubble was burst…I really wanted to be that super-woman of a pregnant lady who crossed the finish line with a shirt that read, “Baby’s First Half Marathon”.  My consolation prize, however, was to sign up for the Belfast Half Marathon Fun Run (a whopping 1 kilometer) that happens on the same day and on the same track as where Dave will finish running the Half Marathon.  I was thrilled when I found out that I would get to have my 33 weeks pregnant race, after all!  Now instead of training for the half marathon, I am finding other ways to give my baby its exercise in utero and train for that Fun Run race.  The baby has now had its first (and several subsequent) spin classes, several 5K runs (starting to become jogs, and not so much the 5K distance anymore) and several laps in the pool.  Dave has said he’s excited that our baby will come out of the womb already having experienced a runner’s high and wanting more of it.  I’ll just be happy if all this sweating I’m doing now pays off later in the delivery room.  So far the exercise seems to be boding well in everyday life, too, like whenever I find myself having to sprint to make the bus (that happened twice the other day) or when we have our uphill hike to church each week (and I’m trying to keep up with a husband who is in great shape with a very long stride).  However, when I’m having a day when I’m feeling like a ginormous whale of a pregnant lady, I let myself have my pity party and then I remind myself about the end-game and that this is temporary and before I know it I’ll be exercising without my own personal 15 pound kettle bell attached to my midsection.  Until then, though, I just keep putting one foot in front of the other so that when the November 10^th due date comes, I can leap across that finish line.