My perspective
It’s been a few moons since I last put paw to page, but here I am — back on the road, back in the motorhome, and finally back in my element (mostly).
After our Scotland adventure, I’ll admit, being home again was odd. The smells were familiar — river, fields, damp grass — but somehow smaller. I met up with my bestie, Bella, the black lab from down the road. She’s as bouncy as ever, and too fast for me to catch in our chases. We did our usual 3 km circuit around the river Soar and the fields, but something had changed. Once upon a time I’d have called it my favourite walk. After beaches, forests, and all that wild Scottish air, though, it felt… a bit tame. Flat. Predictable. Even the Swans didn’t seem to take me seriously anymore.
Then came the crossing. They called it “the sea ferry,” but to me it was an alien world — metal decks, strange noises, and nowhere to sniff properly. Worst of all, I had to go to the toilet on the metal floor. No grass, no leaves, no dignity.
And don’t get me started on the muzzle. I understand why (apparently “rules”), but honestly — it’s like being told you can’t wag your tail. I gave it my best effort to remove it, though my human daddy wasn’t letting me. Still, once we were in our little cabin — my “kennel with benefits” — things were better. I curled up with him, listened to the hum of the ship, and pretended we were back in the motorhome. That’s when I finally drifted off.
Speaking of the motorhome — it’s growing on me. I’ve never been a huge fan of travelling, truth be told. Too many bumps and gear changes. But now, I’ve learned the rhythm of it. I know when we’re stopping, when it’s time to get out, when my human mummy’s about to reach for the snacks (a critical moment for me). I’ve even got my favourite spot — close enough to my humans to keep an eye on them, but with a clear view of the door, just in case there’s an opportunity.
And now we’re in France. It’s funny — it smells a lot like home in some ways, but then every so often I catch something completely new. A hint of salt, a whiff of something baking, maybe I’ll meet dogs that only speak French. I don’t always understand it, but I intend to keep sniffing until I do.
My first thoughts? It feels strangely familiar. The same routine, the same people, the same games. I’ve already played my favourite — drop the ball in the river, then jump in after it. Same game, different river. I like that. I like to have things as I have them. It makes new places feel like they already know me.
So yes — I’m back on the road. A bit older, wiser, still very suspicious of ferries, but ready to explore. If there’s room on the bed at night and a decent stick to chew in the morning, I’m all in.
For now, the French fields await — and I’ve heard rumours of beaches, too. I’ll report back soon.
Until next time — woof and wander.
– Scylla 🐾
The human perspective
One of the quiet joys of being back on the road is watching Scylla re-establish her routines. She’s a creature of observation and calm certainty, and through her we see how travel really works: new places layered on familiar habits.
She measures the world not in miles or borders, but in smells, games, and the presence of her pack. The more things change around us, the more we need to keep as much the same as we can. Travelling with our dog is not a minor undertaking, but the rewards so outweigh the effort.
