January is a long month, right? Especially when you’re a carer. In the UK, it is relentlessly dark, rainy, and generally miserable. I’m constantly working and caring, and have been feeling very ‘off’- an even more tired and fed up version of my usual tired and fed up self.

I’ve not managed to go hiking recently because of all this; but I decided I needed to do the one thing that is guaranteed to make me feel better. I texted my friend to arrange a Sunday morning hike – I get up early and after having sorted grandma out – I walk up to her house on the moors and we take her two giants dog round the reservoirs. Grandma enjoys these walks vicariously through me and insists on a detailed breakdown of events once I’m back while I’m cooking lunch.

My friend and I chat about anything and everything and our time together has become very precious to me. It might be difficult to understand, but when you’re a carer, you crave ‘adult conversations’ that don’t involve repeating yourself or talking about events that have nothing to do with medical appointments, or relating to the chores we have to do on a daily basis. I like hearing about what is going on in her life, talking about world events, and sharing a joke or two.

One thing to know about me, dear reader, is that I’m a dog person. I have nothing against cats, they’re perfectly cute, but dogs are my soul animals. In my experience, having a cat is a lot like being an unpaid carer to a 98-year-old: minimal gratitude for the constant and considerate care you provide and harsh judgement for any perceived mistakes. Horses are a close second but they’re more difficult to interact with on a regular basis. Thankfully, dogs seem to like me too (something that is not guaranteed with cats) and my friend’s two Bullmastiffs are no exception. I love them and they love me back.

Another thing to note about me, and most carers I’d venture to guess, is that I’m pretty starved of love. As carers, all we do is show and give love. We show it in everything we do and the sacrifices we make day in, day out. That love is rarely recognised or reciprocated so your ‘love’ levels are always on empty. I’m also as single as it is possible to be, isolated, and can’t get a hug to save my life.

Well… that’s not quite true. I can’t get a human hug but I get a Bullmastiff hug quite regularly.

They’re glorious. Yes, you get slobber everywhere and you have to watch out for giant paws getting dangerously close to your face, but it is a small price to pay for the sheer happiness and pure joy I get from them. Like most huge dogs, they think they’re lap dogs and want to get as close as possible to you, on your lap and just generally on top of you. They both individually weigh more than me so them sitting on my lap is physically impossible. The loving mauling I get from them makes my heart sing, and I love the weight of them on me, like a *very* heavy blanket, I can literally feel their love. I’m lovingly squashed and I’m as happy as can be.

I leave my friend’s house feeling loved and like a person again. I hike back down from the moors with a little spring step, grateful for my friendship, and usually in need of a shower to get the slobber out of my hair.

I’m already planning when I will next be able to walk and talk with my friend and get a colossal canine cuddle.