The Bridestones in winter

As spring has arrived, with its soggy load of pissing rain (rain! How much I haven’t missed thee), let’s take a look back to last week when we had a fleeting taste of proper cold in this, the mildest winter on record. I love snow, and have been most disappointed by the last couple of years, but hey, that’s climate change for you.

On Saturday Benny, Magnus and I went up to the tops to our favourite place, The Bridestones, whose magnificent, wind sculpted formations have appeared here before. The snow fell on Friday. It didn’t last in the valley, but as usual, the moors were practically arctic. Very cold, and dazzling bright in the intermittent sun. Up there, there was around 25 centimetres of snow, or thereabouts. We did a bit of sledging, with Magnus doing a little pulling.

The Bridestones are amazingly beautiful whatever the season. I recommend you visit them, should you get the chance.

A view down the Calder Valley.

My lad Benny, giving the thumbs up before he got wet and cold.

Looking out Todmorden way.

The majestic Magnus in his natural environment. He’s on his lead because, you know, sheep.

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I ride a flying dog

I put this picture on Twitter and Facebook recently, but I’m so in love with it I’ve decided to put it up on here too. Taken by my friend Jan-Erik Posth (a nice German man married to a Swedish lady. He and I spend a good deal of time arguing about his belief in the imminent collapse of Western Civilisation), it shows me and my Malamute Magnus leaping over a puddle after yet another round of surface flooding a few weeks back. We’ve had rain floods all year in the UK. Magnus and I come home caked in mud every damn day, and the poor hound has to put up with the indignity of a good hosing before he can come into the house.

Looking at this image made me realise what a pleasure it is to have such a fine dog. Sure, he’s a massive pain sometimes, but the picture made me reflect on how much he’s changed these last two years, and how much more growing he has to do before he’s fully mature. Mentally, I add, at 48 kilos he’s as big as he’ll get physically, being neither particularly large nor particularly small for a British-born Mal.

The daily walk I have with Magnus is invaluable. It gets me my exercise and gets me out of the house for an hour,  where I tend to meet other human beings. Without him I’d be home alone for six hours, and with little adult company all day. He also does a fine job of pulling things along, including me on my bike, which is very exciting. So here’s to Doctor Magnus, without him I’d be a sight crazier.