Hank the dog’s owner left him with her parents while she wrestled with her addiction. Lost and anxious at first, Hank found joy running the Fells with his new carers, while they found joy in him. A beautiful essay reflecting on how simple things can provide an anchor in rough seas.
Over the months, Hank and I built gentle three-mile jaunts in the Fells into rugged five-mile loops and eventually technical eight-mile circuits. The sound of my feet scraping across hardened dirt, the clinking of Hank’s tags, and the breath filling my ears, soon grew into a chorus that began, little by little, to drown out the cacophony of guilt, rage, and failure that kept me company.