Scylla’s view
It’s not new anymore. The smells change every few days, some interesting, some frankly disappointing, but the rhythm of it all is starting to feel like my rhythm.
My take on travelling?
Transit days are my favourite secret pleasure — I curl up between my mum and dad, engine rumbling beneath me, and drift in and out of sleep.The moment the engine starts, I take my position. No fuss, no hiding under the table and no reminders. I used to spring up every time the van slowed down — “Are we there? Are we there?” — but I’ve grown out of that. Now I wait for the official announcement. Life’s easier that way.
French dogs?
A bit odd. Not unfriendly, just… unschooled. Many of their humans keep them well away from me, which is polite enough but not much fun. One dog in Bordeaux had a go at me. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but I’ve not given it a second thought since. No point carrying baggage. I have to be on my lead a lot more in France. Walking in towns make sense and is OK, but in the fields and on beaches, not so much fun.
Exercise and activity?
Not as much beach time as I’d like — apparently there are rules — and more human sightseeing than a Labrador strictly needs. But they always find me a park, a stretch of grass, a riverbank if I’m lucky. Two proper walks a day, non-negotiable. They pick places with me in mind and I notice. I’m not daft.
Verdict this month?
I’m loving life.
The human bit
Scylla’s a star. She’s adapted to nomad life faster than we have. We keep her routines steady and give her choices wherever we can — she’s an equal partner in this Third Life, not a furry accessory to be dragged around.
Yes, that means we “miss out” sometimes. Public transport in France is famously dog-unfriendly, so rather than leave her behind, we walk. Or we change plans. Or we try something different.
But that’s the point. She shapes the journey as much as we do. And watching her navigate all these new places — calmly, curiously, in her thoughtful way — is part of the joy of this adventure.
