What are the opening hours?

Monday 9am - 5pm Tuesday 9am - 5pm Wednesday 9am - 5pm Thursday 9am - 5pm Friday 9am - 5pm Saturday 9am - 1pm

http://www.houndhousehydro.com/

Hound House Hydro, The Old Dairy, New Wharf Farm, Horsebridge Common, Ashurst, Steyning (2026)

13/09/2026

ONE WEEK TO GO. 😳🎓

Holy f***balls.

This time next week I should be sitting in my hotel, probably contemplating heading downstairs for a roast dinner, because the following morning I will actually be starting my MSc in Veterinary Physiotherapy & Clinical Rehabilitation.

After deferring for a year, that feels completely mental.

This weekend has therefore involved OPERATION PPE and, despite the slightly ridiculous short notice, I have officially secured the lot. ✅
Two sets of scrubs — my first ever — in dark khaki and grey. Boiler suit. Proper safety yard boots. Riding hat and gloves already sorted.

And obviously, because nothing says serious postgraduate veterinary education quite like them, fur-lined teal Crocs for canine practical days. 😂

All the gear, no idea.

Although hopefully slightly more idea than that suggests.

Because amongst all the excitement today, something also made me stop and think about who I want to be at the end of these three years.
I read something from another professional whose work I had respected for quite some time, and I came away genuinely disappointed.

I'm deliberately not saying who or what, because this isn't about publicly criticising another professional. It was the principle that stayed with me.

Qualifications, experience and “the research” should never be used as trump cards to shut down somebody who asks a reasonable question.

If anything, I think the more qualified we become — and the greater the influence our professional voice carries — the greater our responsibility becomes too.

If I tell somebody “the evidence says…”, I should be prepared to show them the evidence. And if somebody respectfully challenges my interpretation of it, meaningful debate should be welcomed.

That's how we learn. That's how science evolves.
Science isn't static or definitive. Research is questioned, replicated, strengthened, contradicted and sometimes overturned. Questioning isn't the enemy of science. It's fundamental to it.

And I feel equally strongly about the veterinary and paraprofessional team. Different qualifications, disciplines and experiences should give us more voices around the table, not create a hierarchy determining whose voice matters.

I am under absolutely no illusion that I know everything. Quite the opposite.

I've always had strong opinions and a fairly strong belief system — I appreciate I am not everyone's cup of tea. 😂

But I'm genuinely looking forward to having some of those beliefs challenged.

If three years of further education compounds something I've learned through seven years of clinical practice, fantastic.

If good evidence makes me change my mind about something?

Also fantastic.

Because my loyalty shouldn't be to being right. It should be to doing the best I can for the animal in front of me.

I'm not particularly interested in being anti something or pro something simply because I've picked a camp. I am interested in giving people enough good, balanced information to understand the potential benefits, risks, limitations and alternatives — and empowering them to make careful, informed decisions about the welfare of their animals.

Sometimes that means saying “I don't know.”
Sometimes it means changing my mind.
And sometimes two good professionals can look at the same evidence, reach different conclusions and have a bloody interesting conversation about why.

That's okay.

I have a huge amount to learn over the next three years. That's precisely why I'm going.

But I'm also bringing some things with me that I hope university never manages to teach out of me: my integrity, curiosity, willingness to question myself, respect for other people's knowledge and my slightly irritating tendency to ask “but why?”

My personality they'll probably struggle to teach out of me anyway. Godspeed to anyone attempting that particular module. 😂

I want this Master's to make me more knowledgeable, not more entitled to be right.
And if anybody catches me in three years' time waving my qualifications around as evidence that I must automatically know best, you have my full permission to tell me to pipe the hell down.

Anyway...

ONE FING WEEK.* 😳🎓🐶🐴

All the gear. Hopefully some idea.

And furry teal Crocs.
Obviously. 😂😂😂😂😂😂 xx

10/09/2026

Let’s talk about Oscar. 🐾💙

Oscar is now around 12 or 13 years old, and he first came to me several years ago with severe hip dysplasia.

At the time, his owner had been advised by the veterinary team that he was likely looking at bilateral hip replacement surgery.

Instead, Oscar started hydrotherapy with me.

He swam. He worked. We built strength, supported his joints, improved his muscle mass and helped his body function as well as it possibly could.

And Oscar never went on to need those hip replacements. ❤️

I haven’t treated him for a few years now — life and various circumstances got in the way — but his lovely owner has become a very good friend of mine over the years, and this week Oscar came back.

This video is his very first session back.

He’s obviously an older gentleman now, and the goal isn’t to turn back the clock. It’s to support the dog standing in front of me today: rebuild some strength, improve his mobility and conditioning, and help keep him as comfortable, capable and independent as possible through his senior years.

But seeing him back in the water really did remind me why Oscar remains one of the cases I’m proudest of.

Years ago, we were looking at a dog with severe bilateral hip dysplasia and the prospect of major surgery.

Instead, hydrotherapy became part of a conservative management approach that helped keep him functioning well enough that surgery ultimately wasn’t required.

That is the power of good rehabilitation. 💙

It doesn’t mean hydrotherapy can replace surgery in every dog — of course it can’t. But with the right patient, the right veterinary input, consistency and an individual rehabilitation programme, sometimes we can achieve rather extraordinary things.

Welcome back, Oscar. I’ve missed you. 🥹🐾

And, entirely coincidentally, his mum still arrives bearing a sausage roll from the bakery.

So really, everybody wins. 😂

Oscar gets his hydrotherapy.

I get Oscar.

And I get a sausage roll.

Winner, winner. 🐾💙 xx

08/09/2026

A little bit of reality from behind the scenes… 🫣❤️

This is probably one of the biggest things I’ve ever shared on my professional page, and I’m genuinely quite terrified to press POST.

So first: please don’t pity me. I don’t want sympathy, sad faces or anyone lowering their expectations of me. That is precisely why I’ve kept this private for more than 30 years.

But today has absolutely fried my nervous system, and perhaps it’s finally time to explain a little bit about why.

My day started at 4.40am.

Misty pi**ed and shat on my bed. 💩🤦🏼‍♀️
Woody threw up.

I eventually managed to get a tiny bit more sleep, only for 13½-year-old Misty to get out of her cuddle chair completely non-weight-bearing on her left hind, struggling to stand and dropping back to the floor.

As a therapist with an elderly dog, my brain immediately produced the entire differential diagnosis list from hell. Neurological? Orthopaedic? Cruciate? Something sinister? Do I need the vet today? At her age, what investigations would I actually put her through?

I was absolutely cacking myself.

Then I opened some Giant Wotsits.

Misty apparently heard the packet and decided she had made a miraculous recovery.
Up she gets.

FULLY WEIGHT-BEARING. 😳

Apparently Giant Wotsits are the rehabilitation modality we've all been overlooking. Clinical trial pending. 🧀🤣

Then came my Occupational Health appointment for university, which I'd been ridiculously anxious about.

And…
I'M CLEARED! 🎉🎓🐴🐶

Fit to start my MSc in Veterinary Physiotherapy & Clinical Rehabilitation.

That should have been the point at which today became lovely.

Unfortunately, I start in less than two weeks and, until today, I still didn't know exactly which days I was required to attend.

I live nearly 300 miles away. I run two businesses. I have clients to organise. Dogs to organise. Accommodation to book. I can't really turn up in Lancashire and work the rest out on vibes. 🤣
After another phone call today, I finally know I'm definitely required on the Monday and it appears I'm also required Tuesday and Wednesday.

Unfortunately, my full timetable still can't be released until my Occupational Health clearance has worked its way through the system, which should happen within 48 hours.

Nobody I've spoken to has been unpleasant or deliberately unhelpful. In fact, people have been lovely.

It's simply been one of those administrative situations where all the individual cogs are presumably doing exactly what they're supposed to do while the human standing underneath the machine is quietly losing her bloody mind. 🫠🤣
I'd booked a lovely hotel two days ago, based on the information I had.

Two nights. Dinner. Breakfast. Spa. Lovely. 🥰

Except now I potentially need four nights.

The same room isn't available.

I can change rooms halfway through. I can upgrade. I can book different rates. My new corporate discount appears to work on one search and disappear on another. Prices seem to change every time I blink.

And, critically, WHY CAN NOBODY GUARANTEE ME A BLOODY BATH? 🛁🤣

At some point this evening I just sat here and cried.

And that brings me to the thing I've never really talked about publicly.

I have ADD.

There.

I've said it. 😳❤️

I was diagnosed at 17, more than 30 years ago, at a time when ADD was far less widely recognised or understood.

My mum, bless her heart, knew something wasn't adding up and took me to Harley Street to see one of the relatively few doctors specialising in it at the time.

My assessment score was exceptionally high. In fact, he told us it was the highest he'd ever seen and was rather amazed I'd made it to 17 without everything going spectacularly wrong.

Apparently I've always enjoyed exceeding expectations. 🤣

And then I largely hid it for the next 31 years.

I learnt to mask it.

I developed my own coping mechanisms.
I found ways around the things I struggled with.
And most people probably just concluded that I'm slightly quirky, eccentric, intense, occasionally chaotic and spectacularly good at disappearing down rabbit holes.

Well… now you know why. 😂

I was diagnosed with ADD, and that's still the terminology I use for myself. Today it falls under the ADHD umbrella, but diagnostic terminology changes over time.

I haven't.

I also struggle with some of the labels we now use.

Neurodivergent.

Disabled.

I'm just me.

This is the only brain I've ever known. My normal feels normal to me because it is my normal.
Today, Student Support asked me a completely routine question:

“Did you disclose your disability when you applied?”

And that word hit me like a tonne of bricks.

No, I hadn't.

Because when I applied and was asked whether I considered myself disabled, I didn't tick the box.
I don't personally consider myself disabled.

And I want to be really careful here, because I feel an enormous responsibility in saying that publicly.

That is my experience, not a judgement on anybody else's.

Another person with ADD/ADHD may absolutely experience it as a disability. Someone may need considerably more support than I do. Someone may have been diagnosed at 8 or at 58 after spending decades wondering why certain things were so bloody difficult.

Their experience is every bit as legitimate as mine.

I would never use what I've achieved to write somebody else off.

Because I am extremely capable.

I run two businesses.

I manage complicated clinical cases.

I study complicated subjects.

And at 48, I'm about to start a bloody Masters degree.

I am so far from stupid.

But give my brain uncertainty, contradictory information, moving goalposts and multiple things that I cannot bring to a conclusion?

Eventually it goes:
NOPE. CAPACITY REACHED. EVERYBODY OUT. 🧠🫠🤣

That's what today has looked like.

And perhaps one of the hardest parts of starting university isn't actually going to be the MSc.

It's going to be learning, at 48 years old, to say:
“Actually, I need some help with this.”

I don't do that.

I'm usually the person people come to for help.

So having Occupational Health encourage me to put a Student Support Plan in place — even if I barely use it — feels much bigger to me than it probably sounds.

And perhaps there's an irony here.

If being placed administratively under a label of disability means that, more than 30 years after my diagnosis, I can finally access some of the educational support I didn't receive during my core education, then perhaps I can learn to live with the label on the paperwork.

I don't have to make it my identity.

I'm still just me.

There are other things about my health and my life that most people don't know. Some fairly significant things, actually. Perhaps I'll talk about those another day...

But fundamentally, I consider myself an incredibly lucky, happy and healthy person.

Today, ADD is the relevant bit.

Because I've been awake since 4.40am.

My elderly dogs have collectively tried to destroy both my nervous system and my bedding. 🤣

I've been officially cleared to start my Masters. 🎓

I've chased university logistics.

I've dealt with Student Support.

I've spent several hours apparently attempting a postgraduate qualification in Best Western Hotel Pricing & Advanced Bathtub Procurement. 🛁
My duvet is FINALLY in the washing machine.
And tonight my nervous system has simply said enough.

So yes, I've cried.

But please don't feel sorry for me.

This isn't a pity post.

For me, telling you this is actually an enormous act of courage.

I've spent more than 30 years making sure most people didn't know.

Perhaps I don't need to hide it quite so fiercely anymore.

The capable bits, the eccentric bits, the ridiculously determined bits, the chaotic bits and the bits that occasionally become completely overwhelmed?

They've always been the same person.

Now you just know a little more about why. ❤️

Right.

If someone could now please provide me with a timetable and a hotel room with a bloody bath, I'd be eternally grateful. 🛁🤣🎓❤️ xx

01/09/2026

🚨🐾 THINGS YOU’LL NEVER HEAR YOUR HYDROTHERAPIST SAY — PART 3 🐾🚨

It’s been a while…

Not because there hasn’t been material.

There has been PLENTY of material. 😂

I just haven’t got round to documenting it.

So here you go.

You’re welcome. Enjoy.

And no doubt there’ll be a Part 4 because…

👀 THERE IS ALWAYS MORE.

🤮 Your dog’s been vomiting for the last 24 hours and nobody knows why?

YES! Bring them in!

Potential infection?
E. coli?
Contagious?
Possibly even zoonotic?

🦠 FABULOUS.

Nothing I’d like more than a game of infectious-disease roulette in a rehabilitation centre full of elderly, vulnerable and medically compromised dogs.

COME ON DOWN!

☀️ He’s gained loads of weight because it’s been too hot for his normal walks?

Completely unavoidable.

Less exercise = less energy used.

So at NO point should anybody think…

🍗 “Perhaps we should reduce the amount of energy going INTO the dog?”

Absolutely not.

Keep feeding exactly the same amount.

Then we can all stand around looking baffled about where the extra kilograms came from.

🧐 A MEDICAL MYSTERY.

🩺 Veterinary referral?

God, no.

✨ WE WORK ON VIBES HERE. ✨

You said your dog is “fine”.

What more could I possibly need?

Medical history?
Diagnosis?
Medication?
Contraindications?
Veterinary consent?

Pfffft.

Nothing says professionalism quite like contravening the conditions of your practice because…

👍 DAVE’S MUM SAID HE’S FINE.

💷 Your insurance only covers six sessions?

PERFECT.

Apparently somebody in Accounts has established that…

🙏 SIX IS THE DIVINE NUMBER OF REHABILITATION.

Not five.

Not seven.

SIX.

I’ll amend the clinical treatment plan immediately.

And inform your dog’s tissues that whatever they’re doing…

⏰ THEY’D BETTER BE FINISHED BY SESSION SIX.

🦴 PETE IN ACCOUNTS HAS SPOKEN.

🦮 “He normally walks beautifully on the lead. He’s just excited here.”

Oh, that’s fine then.

Please allow the currently lame, completely feral dog to continue…

🌪️ TOWING YOU ACROSS MY CAR PARK

…on the limb we are literally trying to rehabilitate.

You’ve assured me he’s normally beautifully behaved.

And obviously I treat the hypothetical dog who exists at home…

👍 NOT THE FERAL LIMPING GOBLIN STANDING IN FRONT OF ME.

⚠️ Reactive dog that you’re struggling to physically control?

No worries!

Why bother following my arrival instructions?

It’s not as though they exist because I’m trying to manage risk and protect every dog coming into my centre.

Nah.

Just get him out.

🐕💥 EVERYONE FOR THEMSELVES.

🦴 You thought you’d wait a few weeks after surgery before starting rehabilitation?

Excellent.

No rush.

Let’s give the muscle wastage a chance to really establish itself.

Maybe get a few compensatory movement patterns nicely bedded in too.

👌 THEN we’ll start.

Wouldn’t want to make rehabilitation too easy.

🏊 My prices seem expensive and you’ve found a fun splash pool for less?

Absolutely!

They have a pool.

I have a pool.

🤷‍♀️ BASICALLY THE SAME THING.

Qualifications?
Years of clinical experience?
Anatomy and physiology?
Pathology?
Biomechanics?
Clinical reasoning?
Rehabilitation planning?
Thousands of hours of study?

Pfffft.

🌊 THERE’S WATER.

Chuck him in.

👍 WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?

😂🐾 And there we have it.

Things you will NEVER hear your hydrotherapist say.

There is, of course, a serious point lurking underneath every single one of these.

But if my face has ever accidentally communicated the version occurring inside my head…

👀 MIND YOUR BUSINESS.

Until Part 4.

Because there is always more. 😂

31/08/2026

Ladies and gentlemen… I appear to have lost my ever-loving mind. 😂

I’ve done something fairly unprecedented.

I’ve booked a holiday. 🥳🥂

A real one.

Not a course. Not a practical. Not CPD. Not travelling somewhere and pretending that because I slept in a different postcode it constituted a break.

An actual, bona fide HOLIDAY.

I think it may genuinely be the best part of a decade since I last had one.

And that means I’m doing something else fairly unprecedented this year:

I’m closing earlier for Christmas.

And I’m not going to apologise for it.

Because if I’m being completely truthful, I am currently somewhere in the general vicinity of the end of my tether. 😂

There’s that lovely saying that you can’t pour from an empty cup.

Well, I’ve poured.

And poured.

And poured some more.

At this point, if you shake the f***ing cup, there’s a distinct lack of sloshing. 😂

I love my job. I love Hound House. I love the dogs I work with and I remain ridiculously passionate about what I do.

But none of that changes the fact that sometimes you need to stop.

And apparently it has taken me approximately ten years to work that out.

So I have bought myself a birthday/Christmas present.

On 18th December, I am packing up Misty and Woody and taking my two elderly, disabled greyhounds on a five-night pre-Christmas adventure to the Isle of Wight. 🐕🐕🚗🚢🎄🌊

Misty is 13½.

Woody will be 13 in January and has never been on holiday in his life. 😭❤️

The logistics of taking these two away on my own are already becoming increasingly ridiculous.

I am currently trying to source some sort of collapsible greyhound transportation vehicle, because apparently there is a surprising gap in the market for a pushchair capable of accommodating approximately 55kg of elderly sighthound. 😂

There may be Christmas pyjamas.

There WILL be tiny suitcases. 🧳🧳

There will almost certainly be an unreasonable amount of food.

And I am already slightly emotional at the thought of Woody getting on his first ferry and discovering that:

MUMMY. THE FLOOR IS MOVING. AND THERE IS SEA. EVERYWHERE. LOOK MUMMY. LOOOOOOK. 😂😭❤️

I genuinely cannot bloody wait.

And actually, I think this is going to be part of something slightly bigger.

The next few months of my life are going to be bonkers.

Somehow, at the age of 48, I appear to have decided that running my businesses wasn't keeping me sufficiently occupied.

So there will be university updates. 🎓

Veterinary physiotherapy and rehabilitation adventures. 🐕📚

Riding lesson updates. 🐴

Equestrian training and the inevitable collection of moments where I discover yet another thing about horses that everybody else apparently learned when they were nine. 😂

There will be Hound House.

There will be Misty and Woody.

There will undoubtedly be successes, disasters, exhaustion, excitement and quite possibly the occasional:

“WHAT THE F* HAVE I DONE?”**

And then, at the end of my first term...

we f* off to an island.** 🚢😂

I already share quite a lot of my life on here, but I think I’m going to make a conscious effort to share more of the real stuff over the coming months.

Not some beautifully curated version where everything works perfectly.

The learning.

The mistakes.

The ridiculous bits.

The bits I’m proud of.

The bits where I’m absolutely winging it.

The moments where I'm exhausted and wondering why on earth I thought any of this was a good idea.

And hopefully quite a lot of moments where I think:

Bloody hell. Look what I’m doing. ❤️

Partly because I hope you enjoy coming along for the ride.

But also because one day I want to be able to look back at it all and remember it.

This is going to be a pretty extraordinary chapter of my life, and I don't want to be so busy living it that I forget to record it.

So that's the plan.

More honesty. More behind the scenes. More learning. More horses. More dogs. More adventures. Probably more swearing. 😂

And occasionally remembering that the person doing all of it needs looking after too.

Hence...

🔥 Cosy cottage
🏊‍♀️ Swimming pool
🐾 Two paddocks
🌊 Isle of Wight
🐕🐕 Two ancient greyhounds
🧳 Two tiny suitcases
🎄 Christmas pyjamas
🍫 Industrial quantities of chocolate
🍷 W**e
🚢 And one extremely excited Woody on a ferry.

The Chase Greyhound Christmas Expedition is officially booked.

Future Jessica is going to be very f***ing grateful that present Jessica finally realised she needed a holiday.

And present Jessica?

She is absolutely bloody buzzing. 🥳🥂❤️ xx

26/08/2026

It's late but apparently international dogs day... Be still my beating heart 💓 xx

24/08/2026

⚠️😂 PEARL CLUTCHERS: PLEASE SECURE YOUR PEARLS BEFORE PROCEEDING. 😂⚠️

There may be some colourful language ahead. I've deployed asterisks in the interests of maintaining at least a thin veneer of professionalism. 😇

Also — sorry, this is a long one. Stay with me, because hopefully the mental image will give you even half as much amusement as it has given me today. I have genuinely spent about half an hour belly laughing to the point of tears. 😂😭

Apparently my nervous system has fried.

I am a woman on the edge.

And apparently this is how I cope. 🤷‍♀️😂

Because after spending the last TWO MONTHS wondering whether the university had actually forgotten I f***ing existed after deferring my place for a year…

TODAY, THIS S* GOT REAL.** 😳🎓

I finally had an email land in my inbox with actual information.

I am officially starting my MSc in Veterinary Physiotherapy & Clinical Rehabilitation at the University of Lancashire in Preston NEXT MONTH. 🎓🐾🐴

Welcome Week starts 21st September.

LESS THAN A MONTH AWAY. 😳

And I think today was the day that the enormity and magnitude of what I'm actually about to do finally penetrated my skull.

Because I live in Sussex.

The university is in PRESTON.

I run two businesses.

There will also be teaching at Myerscough.

I need to organise travel, accommodation, parking, timetables, equipment, waterproofs, food, enough snacks to survive a minor siege and approximately 400 other things I haven't thought of yet.

And some of the dates still aren't confirmed.

Excellent.

Absolutely f***ing excellent. 😂

So my nervous system has spent today alternating between:

😍 OH MY GOD, I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO UNIVERSITY!

and

😳 OH S*. I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO UNIVERSITY.**

Before this story deteriorates completely, I should probably introduce another important character for anyone who hasn't been following my latest adventures.

🐴 Meet Amber.

Amber is a beautiful 16.2hh Irish Sport Horse who has now officially become my loan horse. ❤️

She is also currently one of my greatest teachers.

Because despite spending my professional life working with dogs, until a couple of months ago my experience with horses could essentially be summarised as:

Horse = enormous. Has legs. Probably don't stand behind it.

I'd never ridden.

I'd barely even been around horses.

But knowing I'm heading into Veterinary Physiotherapy, I wanted to start properly immersing myself in the equine world.

So I've been spending time at yards, learning to handle horses, watching, listening and generally trying to absorb everything I possibly can.

And I've started learning to ride.

At this point I have ridden a horse a grand total of…

🥁🥁🥁

THREE TIMES.

And had precisely…

TWO RIDING LESSONS.

So naturally, I am now basically Charlotte Dujardin. 🙄😂

Anyway.

Back to today's nervous breakdown.

While trying to comprehend the logistics of repeatedly getting myself from Sussex to Preston, somebody suggested that perhaps the easiest solution would simply be to…

ride Amber to university.

And that was it.

I absolutely f***ing lost it. 😂😭

Because suddenly I could see the entire thing.

Perfectly.

🐴🐾🐾🎓🧳

The night before departure, everybody's bags are packed.

I've got my riding hat, waterproofs, gloves, hair nets, university kit, enough food to survive the apocalypse and industrial quantities of hand sanitiser.

Amber is outside, fully tacked up with saddlebags.

Woody and Misty have their own tiny little rolly suitcases. 🧳🧳

I stand at the front door:

“RIGHT KIDS. HAS EVERYBODY BEEN FOR A WEE? GOT EVERYTHING? PRESTON. LET'S GO.”

Obviously the greyhounds can't walk 270-odd miles.

They're old.

We're not monsters.

So naturally we've acquired a little sidecar for Amber to tow.

Woody and Misty are sitting in it.

Obviously wearing DOGGLES. 🥽🐾🐾

And off we go.

Me — a woman who has ridden a horse THREE TIMES IN HER ENTIRE FING LIFE* — setting off from Sussex for Preston on a 16.2hh Irish Sport Horse.

🐴 Amber fully loaded with saddlebags.

🐾 Woody and Misty in their sidecar.

🥽 Doggles firmly in place.

🧳 Tiny rolly suitcases strapped aboard.

🎓 University supplies packed.

🍫 Emergency snacks secured.

Greyhound ears majestically flapping in the breeze.

Clip clop.
Clip clop.
Clip clop.

Just a small Victorian expedition heading north in pursuit of postgraduate education.

😂😂😂

By Birmingham, Woody is asking if we're nearly there.

By Manchester, Amber has joined a union.

Misty has slept through most of the Midlands.

I've eaten all the emergency snacks.

Several days later, this absolute travelling circus finally processes triumphantly onto the University of Lancashire campus.

🎓🐴🐾🐾

Everyone else has arrived with a backpack and perhaps a nervous parent.

I arrive on horseback towing two elderly greyhounds in a sidecar wearing protective eyewear and carrying luggage.

I dismount.

Walk into reception.

“Hello. Veterinary Physiotherapy & Clinical Rehabilitation?”

The receptionist looks past me.

At Amber.

At the sidecar.

At the doggles.

At the luggage.

Back at me.

“…yes?”

“Brilliant. Where do I park the horse?”

🐴 Amber gets tied to the bike rack.

💩 Woody s***s in the corridor.

😴 Misty goes to sleep across a fire exit.

I eventually stagger into the lecture theatre, several days older, mildly traumatised and walking like John f***ing Wayne.

My lovely course leader smiles warmly.

“Welcome, Jessica. It's lovely to finally meet you.”

Then:

“As I mentioned in my email, you won't actually be riding on the course. We provide helmets.”

Silence.

I slowly turn around.

Look through the window.

🐴 Amber is still tied to the bike rack.

🐾🐾 Woody and Misty are still sitting in their sidecar wearing doggles.

🧳 Everyone's luggage is piled beside them.

I turn back.

“For f*'s sake.”**

😭😂😭😂😭😂😭😂

And THAT is apparently how my nervous system has chosen to process what landed in my inbox today.

I genuinely howled.

And actually, I think I needed to.

Because beneath all the ridiculousness, after everything it took to get here, after deferring for a year, and after two months of wondering whether anybody remembered I actually existed…

I'm really doing it. ❤️

Next month I become a postgraduate Veterinary Physiotherapy student. 🎓🐾🐴

I'm excited.

I'm nervous.

I'm slightly overwhelmed.

I'm going to continue running my businesses while studying.

I'm going to keep learning from every dog I have the privilege of working with.

And I'm going to keep learning everything I possibly can from Amber and the horses around me.

I've got an enormous amount still to learn.

And I genuinely cannot wait. ❤️

So if my slightly frazzled nervous system needs to process the enormity of all this by imagining me, Amber, Woody and Misty undertaking The Great Northern Expedition…

I'm letting it. 😂

Although looking at the calendar, we should probably start packing.

Actually…

Given that I've only ridden three times and we've got 270-odd miles to cover…

I probably need to tack Amber up tomorrow if we're going to make Welcome Week. 🐴🧳🐾🐾🎓😂

PRESTON OR BUST. 🚀

Wish us luck.

And if anyone sees a 16.2hh Irish Sport Horse heading north towing two greyhounds in doggles…

give us a fing wave.* 👋😂 xx

19/08/2026

I haven’t posted for a little while, but this week I’ve had to say goodbye to two of my hydrotherapy girls. 💔🐾

Two completely different dogs. Two different ages. Two very different circumstances. But, devastatingly, both involved cancer.

For one, the change was frighteningly rapid — a deterioration over little more than a week, with suspected osteosarcoma.

The other went into veterinary care for what should have been a relatively routine procedure. Afterwards, she suffered her first ever seizure and investigations revealed significant masses that nobody had known were there.

In both cases, their owners made the incredibly difficult decision to let them go before their conditions progressed to suffering that could no longer be controlled. 🌈

There is an expression I have always believed in:

“Better a day too soon than a day too late.” ❤️

That doesn't mean there is a universal point at which euthanasia becomes "right". There isn't. Every dog, every disease and every family is different.

But it has made me think again about something we perhaps don't talk about enough: quality of life. 🐾

I work in rehabilitation. Disability doesn't frighten me. I also share my life with two disabled senior dogs, aged 12 and 13, whose mobility is certainly not what it once was. There are accidents. There are accommodations. There are things I do for them now that I didn't need to do when they were younger.

None of those things, by themselves, mean that their lives aren't worth living.

They can get themselves up. They can walk. They can eat and drink independently. They engage with the world around them. They still have lives that belong to them. ❤️

And I think that distinction matters.

I sometimes see discussions online where an extremely elderly dog can no longer walk, stand independently, eat or drink without assistance, is incontinent and is reaching the end of their natural life — yet an owner considering euthanasia is told they are "giving up" because the dog can technically still be kept alive.

Keeping an animal alive and giving an animal a good life are not necessarily the same thing.

Equally, disability is not automatically suffering.

There is an enormous grey area between those two statements, and none of us can assess somebody else's animal properly from a photograph or a paragraph on social media.

Our dogs cannot make these decisions for themselves. They trust us to advocate for them — including, eventually, making the decision none of us ever wants to make. 🐾❤️

For me personally, when the time comes with my own dogs, I don't want their final day to arrive only after every remaining piece of independence, comfort and dignity has disappeared.

I would rather carry the pain of wondering whether I could have had another day than know that I asked them to endure one day too many because I wasn't ready. 💔

That is my line. It doesn't have to be everybody else's.

But I do think we owe our animals one question throughout their lives, and particularly towards the end:

Are we making this decision for them, or for us?

And because this is an incredibly emotive subject, one final thing: respectful discussion is always welcome. Kindness and compassion are welcome. ❤️

Judgement, cruelty or attacking somebody for making an agonising decision for an animal they love is not.

If you can't contribute to this conversation with compassion, please don't contribute at all. 🐾

To the two beautiful girls I lost from my hydro family this week — run free. 🌈🐾

You were both very loved, you were both a privilege to work with, and you have each been part of my journey.

You will be very, very missed. ❤️ xx

Hound House Hydro

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