From Puppy to Guide Dog

I'm not going to attempt to tell you about the huge amount of work and dedication that is shown by a guide dog's trainers and puppy walkers -  I'm pretty sure you can imagine that well enough for yourselves.

I consider myself very fortunate to have been accepted as a guide dog owner and then to have been able to get in touch with Rusty's first puppy walker. I've learned that Rusty grew up in Wiltshire before being transferred to Big School at Leamington Spa. After that he went for final training in Bristol. He and I were matched after that.

I owe a great debt of thanks to Julie and her family who were Rusty's puppy walkers.

So, without more ado, for those of you who like cute puppy pictures, I've been given the all-clear to publish some shots of Rusty when he was considerably smaller than the 33kg bundle of wiggling energy that we know and love today. Here he is from only a few weeks of age through to a recent shot of him working with me on my commuting walk. Altogether now - awww....

A slightly serious bit: it's eye-wateringly expensive to raise, train and keep a guide dog and it's paid for entirely by charitable giving. If you are able to and want to - please click this link which will take you to the Guide Dogs Association website donations page. Thank you.

Please donate here.

If you think you might be able to or wish to make regular donations or perhaps sponsor a puppy please click here.

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photos all from Rusty's puppy walker, Julie, except the last one of Rusty and me (Mrs the Millbrooker). 

Thank you, Julie.

A New Ferry and off to Work

This week has been one of those everyday, ordinary, run-of-the-mill type weeks for Rusty and me. Although that doesn't mean that I can't concoct some sort of adventure story for these pages; after all when you can't see properly and you have an overgrown puppy of a guide dog, simply going to the shops to buy some teabags can turn into something of an adventure.

I'm quite fond of my weekday commute, a walk or ride to Cremyll to catch the ferry over the Hamoaze to England and then a gentle mile and half or so through Plymouth's backstreets to the station. I might not be quite so keen on the actual stuff I have to do when I get there, but I do quite enjoy the walk and the ferry ride.

Over recent months after the lovely and much lamented Northern Belle was holed by a Royal Marine landing craft, us regular Cremyll Ferry users have been lumped onto the Island Princess.

Here's the Northern Belle (built 1926 as The Armadillo at Mashford's Shipyard) back in the day.

And this is the Island Princess that saw us through the winter months. I did ask Chris the skipper to turn the heating on once as we crossed the water with a bitterly cold easterly blasting across the all-but open passenger deck. His response was "Don't ask for heating on this boat - the only heat is a cuddle from Max", Max being the deckhand. Nice fellow, don't want a cuddle from him, though.

And now, at long last, we have the Northern Belle's replacement - the Edgcumbe Belle, which Rusty and I happily waited for after a good old trek from Millbrook. (That's Max the heating engineer from the Island Princess on the prow in the second shot below).

The ferry is one of Rusty's favourite things - he gets a good old fussing from Max and Chris once his harness is off for the seven or eight minute crossing and he loves the smells that waft around from the river and open sea just beyond.

After we've sailed across the water, and after we've arrived at the office, it's just an ordinary day's work. But sometimes our fellow railway people find that their cash-handling and retail machinery looker-afterer has popped out of the office for a few moments. Perhaps he's had to go to the loo, leaving his companion to hold the fort for a while. Rusty is very good at the old "How may I help you?" routine from behind the security glass.

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photo credits

all photos by me except:

Island Princess shamelessly nicked from http://ptotpa.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/eyeing-up-island-princess.html

Edgcumbe Belle - from The Cremyll Ferry's facebook gallery.

Rusty in the Office - S Yeo.

A Trip to the Capital

Being about as cosmopolitan, metropolitan and metrosexual as it's possible to be - the evidence for which statement is everywhere within these very pages. It seemed like a good idea to allow our capital city a glimpse of Mrs The Millbrooker, Rusty and me.

Tell you what, I'll start again - perhaps with a tad more veracity. Being countryside loving overgrown hobbits from the Rame Peninsula, we decided it might be nice to spend an afternoon with Betty and MinorEarthQwake in their Truro stamping ground.

We began by hopping into the new (OK - second hand, but new to us) Rustymobile with Dozybean and Pooben safely ensconced in the back seats and Rusty in his cage bringing up the very rear.

Betty met us at Truro station after we'd voyaged on the iron horse from Liskeard through the wild west of old Kernow and she led us into to town in search of somewhere for lunch. This was a challenge for Rusty and me - an unfamiliar route with narrow pavements and lots of people and distractions. He coped pretty darned well in my 'umble. Indeed, it might appear as if he could do this with his eyes closed.

After rejecting several potential lunch venues due to large and loud TV screens purveying Six Nations rugby to large and loud men within, we eventually settled on our old favourite Try Dowr on Lemon Quay. Yes it's a Wetherspoon's, meaning it's pretty much the same as every other damned Wetherspoon's pub in the known universe, but at least you know the food's going to be reasonable and not too pricey. And the televised rugby was at a more manageable volume than elesewhere.

After a good old fill-up, generously sponsored by Betty - thank you, Betty - we made our way back through town to Betty and MinorEarthQwake's flat overlooking the River Truro. This is Rusty and me crossing the bridge over the river en-route.

There followed a very nice dozy post-prandial loll-around with a decent cup of coffee and plenty of chat.

Rusty has definitely taken on board the training I gave him regarding showing dignity at all times when in someone else's home.

After this wee bit of down time, we intrepid sextet (Mrs The Millbrooker, Betty, Dozybean, Pooben, Rusty and me) set off once again to have a good old fuddle in the World's Finest Fabric Shop (©millbrookrusty.blogspot.com.)

Truro Fabrics really is a place of wonder, assuming you like that sort of thing. Dozybean selected some rather delightful Roald Dahl print material for covering her chairs. No purchase made, but a decision was definitely reached and an order will be placed as soon as accurate measurements have been taken.

Rusty was well behaved in the shop and kindly pointed out to me, with an eyebrow appropriately raised, a product that I'd never heard of. But, perhaps I should think about getting a bottle - just for those unfortunate occasions, you know ....

Not long after we left Truro Fabrics, MinorEarthQwake arrived back into town after his day's work of throwing small children around and muttering "Aaaar, Jim lad." Yes, that really is a fair summation of what he does for a living.

MinorEarthQwake led us through the back lanes of central Truro to a small palace of delight. Angelato is the sort of place that you really shouldn't go into - it's going to expand your waistline dramatically. These guys are so good at what they do, though. Should you find yourself in Truro, I recommend you head there.

We managed a quick pint (of course we did) in the William IV before heading back to the station and homeward.

Betty and MinorEarthQwake were also travelling eastward to spend an evening of piratical debauchery in St Awful. We plonked ourselves comfortably in first class, it being a weekend and there being two railway employees among us - meaning that such luxuries are permitted.

And that pretty much took care of Saturday. The sun has shone brightly today as I write this drivel and Rusty has had a jolly nice free run, more of which anon....

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Photos by Mrs the Millbrooker or me except:

Truro Fabrics exterior shamelessly nicked from hotfrog.co.uk

Angelato ice cream counter shamelessly nicked from angelato-truro.co.uk

Of Geese and the Day Job

Don't be put off by the heading - I don't work with geese on a daily basis. Nor, indeed, do I force geese into working. The two things in the post title are all-but totally separate, conjoined merely at my own whim and the availability of new(ish) Rusty photos.

Firstly, some momentous news - Rusty and I passed our qualification walk on Friday just gone so I'm now allowed out on my own with Rusty in harness. This doesn't mean that Guide Dogs will just leave me to my own devices - oh no! I'll be getting frequent aftercare visits to make sure both Rusty and I are doing OK and to give me any support or extra training that might be needed. What a great service.

And so to some geese. Rusty, being a young dog, can be a bit excitable and might occasionally be prone to being distracted when he's supposed to be working: i.e. guiding me and making sure I don't walk into lamp posts, stray people or unexpected trees. One of the great novelties, as far as Rusty is concerned, of moving to Millbrook is the fascinating and greatly distracting amount of bird life on the lake. And I have to walk along the lakeside every day to get to work.

Just as illustration here's a shot of the lake as it was on Friday 27th March 2009 - the day of the famous "Handbags at Dawn" duel on the dam. Yes it was dawn, yes we did bash each other with handbags. The full story can be found by clicking the link "Handbags at Dawn".

Returning to the narrative, such as it is, Colin the Trainer hatched a plot to get Rusty a little less interested in the flappy things on the water. And so, Mrs the Millbrooker and I found ourselves sitting on a bench by the lakeside, ignoring his-four-legged-self and chatting between ourselves as he slowly worked out that the gaggle of Canada geese, the sole Egyptian goose and the myriad black-headed gulls are nothing to do with him and are quite-dull-if-you're-a-dog-really. Once he had worked that out he became far more interested in eating catkins, so that was time to head back home again.

At the time of this shot, the waterfowl were still considered quite exciting.

I've zoomed in here, so you can appreciate just how exciting. 

Control yourselves, now.

Moving swiftly on from a story concocted from almost nothing - Rusty and I have been attending my little office at the hours which are set by my employer. As always, I think it's a bloomin' cheek that they expect me to be at work during the hours that they pay me, but it seems that this is normal behaviour for employers and I just have to put up with it.

Rusty probably works harder in the office than I do on most days, but has less need to disguise his sleepy moments from the management.

Sometimes, though, I might be actually trying to achieve a little something vaguely productive only to be disturbed by an inquiring face wondering whether I might prefer to pay him some attention?

More Rusty news and Millbrook drivel soon......

Route Learning and Free Running

So, after yesterday's two story-ettes, I'm going to try and catch up properly with the week that was.

Last week was another week of training, but this time instead of being in Vegas-Super-Mare listening to evening entertainments - the likes of which are probably offered nowhere else on earth - at the Lauriston Hotel, I've been based back at home.

And instead of the lovely Emma, I've been being visited by the equally-lovely-but-in-a-different-way Colin. Colin has been taking me out with Rusty on route learning and training walks. Mostly from home to Cremyll, because that's pretty much my basic commuting walk. Here are we merry threesome just setting out on one of those relatively rare sunny mornings.

Just as in the first week, photos of these walks are non-existent. And for the same reasons (see post from Sunday 23rd Feb). So, just for the sake of having a bit of colour, here's another of Mrs The Millbrooker's snaps as Colin, Rusty and I set off (with our good neighbour Paul in the background).

So we've been trekking five and a half or so miles with a short coffee break at the Edgcumbe Arms almost daily; there was one exception when we drove to Cremyll, crossed on the ferry and did the route from Admiral's Hard to the railway station (the second part of my commute). And back again - so just the three miles that day.

Rusty is very happy receiving visitors and he got a visit from the only adult(ish) immediate family members who were yet to meet him when MinorEarthQwake and Betty Slob arrived for a couple of hours from their abode in the nation's capital. No that's not London.

The Cornish metropolitan couple came along complete with presents for Rusty. He very much enjoyed playing at raggy-raggy with his new white duck.

After our training-cum-route-learning trog to Cremyll on Friday it was time to do Rusty's favourite thing in the whole world. Free running. That's when he gets the chance to just "be a dog" - off the lead, sniffing and running and going utterly doolally. Especially if there are other dogs about.

The chosen venue was the Minadhu at Kingsand where we met up with our old friend Frankenkeith, he of uncountable acts of derring do. Frankenkeith has been dog sitting Lily the black Labrador and he brought her along so the two canines could run about together. And they certainly did.

Mrs The Millbrooker managed to grab a spot of video of our golden haired hero giving it welly with his new friend Lily and her looker-afterer Frankenkeith- oh, he can move when he's free running.



There we go then, I reckon that's Rusty well and truly chronicled and up to date. Time to take him out into the traditional Cornish weather (waterproofs on, then) for a good old leg stretch. Stayed tuned, more soon.

Rusty and the Ostrich

When Rusty and I met at the hotel in Weston Super Mare, his generous foster family who had been looking after him sent along not only his bed and a spare cover but also his favourite toys. Among other playthings, he has a floppy green frog which he loves. He has a ragging rope (one of those short pieces of thick cord with a knot at either end for pulling games), we have lots of fun with that.

When we did a short round of visiting some of the Millbrook glitterati at their palatial abodes, Auntie Margaret (AKA The Village Vamp) got first visiting rights and we duly invaded her living room with a large Labrador-Retriever cross.

Auntie Margaret had got a new toy for Rusty - the spoilt boy that he is - and, at first, it seemed that perhaps it wasn't quite his cup of tea. He sniffed it and largely ignored it whilst trying to avoid the attentions of Princess and Dylan, two of the VIllage Vamp's cats.

You'll have noticed that it's a soft toy ostrich. Or is it an emu? Truth be told none of us was quite certain, but we've settled on ostrich because, frankly, Rusty couldn't care less what it's supposed to represent. The simple fact of the matter is that it's become his "go to" toy of choice for almost every occasion that might call for dropping a slobbered-upon floppy fluffy thing on an unsuspecting sofa occupant. Or Mrs the Millbrooker. Or me. 

Rusty definitely loves his ostrich. Thank you Auntie Margaret.

Dog Humour

Rusty has been with us in Millbrook for a week now and we're getting to know him (and he us) pretty well.

It was Mrs The Millbrooker who found his funny-bone. Needless to say his sense of humour isn't sophisticated. 

In fact while we were out taking the air close to Maker church and Rusty and I stopped for a photo op, she only said " How do you know it's been raining cats and dogs? When you step in a poodle...." and he was away. Snigger snigger snigger.....