Separate Spaces, Shared Trust

I’m writing this from a sunlounger overlooking the sea with a cold beer beside me, which sounds far more relaxed than I probably deserve.

The weather is good. The sea is calm. There is very little to complain about.

Russ extending his leadership from a remote island off the coast of Africa... without lifting a finger.

Except I still catch myself wondering what Charlie and Elsie are doing.

People with dogs will understand that feeling. You can travel hundreds or thousands of miles away and still suddenly think, I wonder if they're asleep? I wonder if Charlie is snoring? I wonder if Elsie has convinced somebody she urgently requires extra attention?

Deep down, I would still take a staycation with the dogs over most holidays. Woodland cabins, beaches and muddy walks are more my thing than airports and sun cream.

But this year felt different.

Not because we suddenly stopped thinking about the dogs.

Actually, probably the opposite.

This year we thought about them more.

Charlie and Elsie are staying in separate kennel spaces.

A few years ago I probably would have looked at that decision and thought it felt wrong somehow. Like I had failed them, or that I should be trying harder to make everything feel exactly like home.

But home isn't really beds, blankets and routines.

Home is relationships.

Charlie and Elsie have improved massively over time. A year ago things felt very different.

There had been confusion, frustration and moments where responsibility drifted between them. We've worked through a lot together and life is calmer now.

But they are still Charlie and Elsie.

Elsie still occasionally decides she has ideas.

Sometimes if something catches their attention, if excitement builds or tension rises, Elsie will try to step forward and involve herself. Charlie still isn't entirely convinced that she should be taking charge of anything above him.

He has a way of looking at her that says:

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I don't remember asking for management support."

Normally at home we understand those little moments because we live alongside them every day.

Kennels are different.

Not wrong.

Just different.

There are more sounds, more movement, more dogs, more anticipation, more routines happening all around them. Staff have to safely care for lots of dogs with feeding, cleaning, exercise and day-to-day care all happening around them.

Home for our dogs is slower.

Home has pauses.

Home has less responsibility.

Our dogs have chill.

Our dogs have safety.

And if I am honest, Charlie and Elsie have had little moments in kennels before. Tiny spats where excitement, movement and environmental pressure probably made things feel bigger than they needed to be.

So this year we made a different choice.

Not because something was broken.

Not because the dogs had failed.

Because sometimes doing the best thing for your dogs isn't proving what they can cope with.

Sometimes it is reducing the things they need to cope with altogether.

I realised something while sitting here looking out at the sea.

Apparently this is how I extend my leadership from a remote island off the coast of Africa.

Without lifting a finger.

Not by controlling everything.

By noticing.

By planning.

By putting the right things in place before I left.

And strangely, that's exactly why I can sit here now and actually relax.

Although if I know Elsie, she is probably still trying to organise things.

Some responsibilities never really disappear.

Russ