Robin shares his beautiful story with Solo, a truly remarkable Irish Terrier . . .

I first discovered Irish Terriers when I was working solo (!), remotely in a forest, and was surprised by a flash of fox-red fur in the undergrowth.  Thinking the fox hadn’t seen me, I stood still so as not to disturb its happy frolicking and enjoy it while I could.  But it wasn’t a fox that exploded out of the bushes.  It was a busy and boisterous IT, having great fun while its owner was probably beside herself wondering where he was. 

After some time playing tug of war with him, the lady eventually turned up and sadly re-claimed him!  I’d never seen an IT before, and was impressed with his height, leg length, agility and ability to negotiate the cluttered and tangled woodland with ease.  I was hooked.

Fast forward two years, to the arrival of my best boy, Solo. Now four years old, he is a complete pro in the forest, and accompanies us on all expeditions, camping and, importantly, while we run our eQe Wilderness Therapy training and qualifications. These training weeks take place mainly in the forest, and engage all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds, many of whom come with their own ongoing mental health issues and baggage. Because they have a heart for others who may have similar issues to themselves, they want to train professionally to work therapeutically with others.

Enter Solo into this therapy equation. He has proven himself to be a key member of our wilderness therapy training “tribes”. Despite his giddiness, playfulness, and occasional over-the-top boisterous enthusiasm generally culminating in his full 20kgs hurtling full speed three feet off the ground and front-paw-slamming whoever his latest victim is, he has nonetheless shown us all the other surprising side of his coin – we regularly witness an incredibly sensitive and caring creature, dare I say more human than many other humans I encounter.

Solo just knows. He knows when someone in the group is “not okay”. Struggling. Wrestling with their own demons. And he looks at them. Stares. Just like my brother’s military police sniffer dog, it’s as if he is “indicating” some important thing that he has found – a soul that needs a pal for a little while. He’ll slowly and carefully wander over, and edge closely alongside. Then Solo sits, very mindfully and gently, often on top of whatever part of that person he can get onto, usually a foot or a leg. And he’ll stay. For as long as the person stays.

Importantly, it brings individuals to our attention too, when we see Solo doing this, as often it’s well before we mere humans have perceived the bubbling need in that individual. This is crucial in a group therapeutic setting, to be able to get early indications in the case where someone’s anxiety is perhaps escalating under the radar – and critically needs de-escalating asap. And oft times, it is Solo that will provide that de-escalation as well. Dogs don’t talk, but they do communicate very well indeed. Solo just knows. And he cares, without judgement or any hollow advice. He’s just right there, where and when he knows he should be.

This behaviour – “sitting on” or “planting a paw firmly on top of” – is usually a protective behaviour that Solo performs with whoever is “indicated” as needing to be on the receiving end. It’s as if he is commanding them to “Sit. Stay.” Guarding them, until whatever shadow has manifested itself has passed.

A lot of our students are veterans, wishing to work therapeutically with other veterans. It struck me at the last Remembrance Day parade (Solo parades with the local Scouts and his big human brother!) that there is a sense of circularity in this. In the wars, our ITs were brave and valuable allies indeed. Trench dogs, companion dogs, vermin dogs, messenger dogs, fighting dogs. The Red Devils. 

And here is Solo, still doing his bit for our veterans today. One minute letting off steam together with them, hurtling full speed into them with jaws open ready for robust play fighting. The next, getting most gently and quietly alongside them. I do wonder if in the wars our Red Devils also played like this with their soldiers, lifting spirits and letting off steam. And I wonder also about the other thing. In fact, I can imagine it quite clearly… Commanding their soldiers, “Sit. Stay. It will pass.”