Winter in the Glens

There’s a certain kind of winter’s day in the Glens that refuses to commit to anything. You wake to a sky the colour of slate, then ten minutes later the sun bursts out as if it’s July. By lunchtime, there’s sleet coming in sideways, and by the time you’re home, the air is strangely warm again, carrying that damp, earthy smell usually reserved for spring.

Still, by the time Shadow and I headed out, the weather had decided to be surprisingly reasonable. In fact, it was properly sunny, one of those crisp winter bursts where the sky turns a bright, improbable blue and the light makes everything look cleaner than it really is.

The forest trail glittered with leftover rain, but the sun warmed the edges just enough to bring out that fresh, warm, earthy smell. Shadow trotted ahead with purpose, stopping only to consider whether each stick we passed was the stick. None were, but he inspected them all anyway.

For a while, it felt like we’d managed to slip into a private pocket of good weather. The kind you don’t question, in case you scare it off. The hills were lit in that low golden way you only get in winter, and every breath came out like a faint ghost in the air.

We couldn’t bring our elderly girl with us this time. As much as she’d love the outing in theory, the cold isn’t kind to her these days. Her joints stiffen quickly, and her eyesight has faded to the point where unfamiliar ground becomes more stress than enjoyment. She spent the morning tucked up in her favourite warm spot at home, content enough to supervise the world from a safe, soft distance. I missed having her padding along beside us, but some adventures are kinder when kept short and simple, and today wasn’t that kind.

Shadow’s grown a lot these past few months, not just in the obvious “no longer tripping over his own paws” way, but in that quiet, steady way dogs do when they start figuring out the world. He used to charge headfirst into every puddle, ditch, and suspicious-looking bush with zero strategy. Now he pauses, thinks, and then still charges in… but with intent. It counts as progress.

Watching him on the trail, moving with that mix of confidence and curiosity, I realised he’s turning into a genuinely good dog. Not perfect, he still believes all snacks are communal property, and his recall has good and bad days, but he’s settled into himself. There’s a calmness in him now, like he knows this place is his home and these walks are part of his job description.