5. Walking The Dogs

There is a peculiar post-breakfast ritual at Oakdene; walking the dogs with Havard and Ruddock.

Miss Havard is the Headmistress, on the left in the photo. She is tall and broad and matronly with watery grey-green eyes and lips that meet in a straight line. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile yet. Miss Ruddock, probably ten years her senior, is the Deputy Headmistress. She’s short and barrel-like with thinning dyed, reddish hair that sticks to her head in a pudding basin cut. Her feet look puffy and swollen, bulging out of her tight court shoes as she shuffles around the school, permanently clutching a half-filled glass of water between her thumb and forefinger and screeching admonitions about anything she finds fault with. She’s more funny than scary and we mock her behind her back. Havard is far from ridiculous, she has the power to make our lives scary and she uses it. We are all terrified of her.

Every morning, one girl has the privilege of 'walking the dogs’ bestowed upon her. The dogs are Havard’s young, energetic golden retriever called Gronnie and Ruddock’s horrid, yappy corgi called Suki.

I hear about walking the dogs from the chosen girls. I haven’t been asked yet. Walking the dogs consists of walking one lap around the playing fields with both Havard and Ruddock and of course, the dogs. I so want to be invited but I’m also slightly relieved not to be.

“What do you talk about? Do they ask you questions? Why do they want you there?” We ask the girls who know.

It’s a mystery. They don’t seem to have much to say about their experience. Sometimes Havard asks about their families or whether they have dogs at home. They throw a ball for Gronnie and scuttle away from Suki as she snaps at their heels. That’s about the long and short of it as far as I can tell. I long to be invited, not because I enjoy walking dogs but because I want to be one of the chosen ones, I want to feel special. I’ll have to wait almost two years until it’s finally my turn, and on the big day, it's a proper anti-climax.

We walk around the field once. We barely speak. Havard comments that it must be nice to live in Paris, I murmur something inane in response, Ruddock shrieks when she steps in a puddle, we come full circle to the side door, I change from my outdoor shoes to my indoor shoes and go back to my dorm. To this day I still don’t understand what all the fuss was about. But finally, I am one of the special ones who was chosen to walk the dogs, and I relish the kudos.

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It’s funny that even as an adult I have often experienced not being chosen, really wanting to be part of someting and either not being invited or worrying about not being invited. Sometimes I find it very difficult and in my mind the choosers have a lot of power. I feel sad and scared that there is something about me thay makes people not want to choose me. And maybe that's true. Often I have no idea why I am not chosen and the fear of not being chosen is painful. I think that’s why I have stepped into leadership in so many circumstances in my life. If I choose myself, if I take the lead and become the chooser, I cannot be left unchosen. A good enough strategy, except that always leading is tiring and lonely. And being the chooser is tricky and comes with its own set of challenges. I am looking forward to allowing more places in my life where I can wait to be chosen and can accept when I am not. Maybe it won’t feel so bad anymore. Or maybe it will and that will be ok too.