Small Steps with Paws and Hooves by Spud Talbot Ponsonby

It is sad that people are now afraid of journeys because they are afraid of the very people they should be trusting. The same applies to emotional journeys, which are inextricably woven into other people’s lives; every day we place or receive trust, every day we confide, we chat and we gossip. Often, one meeting leads to another and another. From time to time we meet a kindred spirit, or a friend of a friend, and claim such meetings as coincidence. We declare the world to be suddenly ‘small’. Yet is it small? Do coincidences exist? Or is that just the way the world works?

Small Steps is more than just a physical journey through the Scottish Highlands

Spud has just been told she’s pregnant. The father doesn’t want her to keep it and abandons her soon after the child’s conception. Flash forward almost a year. The child, Barnaby Benjamin, is four months old. Spud is adjusting to single-motherhood. Then her doctor finds a malignant growth on her cervix, and she is diagnosed with cancer. For someone who had just spent a year walking Britain’s coastline, the diagnosis is heart-wrenching. Spud finds herself suddenly confined to a hospital bed, unable to care for her newborn, unable to even walk to the bathroom. Her journey through the Scottish Highlands with her son, horse, and dog is part of her larger journey back towards good health and her normal way of life.

Meditative travelogue

The book, originally published in 1998, reads like a travelogue or, in more modern terms, a travel blog. Spud chronicles her very personal journey with her family (including for a short time her doctor-turned-boyfriend Rob as well as her close friend Sophie). She meditates on life’s big and small questions: why me? and how can I get on with it? The narrative is peppered with interesting facts about the Highland Cattle Drovers and interspersed with flashbacks to her pregnancy and subsequent cancer diagnosis.

A little slow in places

Because of its travelogue style, the story lagged in places. It was difficult to identify a dramatic arch in the present-day journey. There didn’t seem to be much at stake. There was no: “we must reach this place by this time” or “for my personal feeling of self-worth, I must achieve this.” Instead, there was the monotony of day-to-day life walking through the Highlands. And don’t get me wrong, much of the day-to-day was interesting to learn about: the names and histories of tiny Scottish towns, ghost stories born from the bloody histories of ramshackle castles, and, of course, the varying reactions they got from people who encountered them.

But for me, the most interesting sections were the flashbacks to the dramatic events of Spud’s past. Reading these passages, I can see why this book is a favorite among those recovering from or affected by cancer. Spud goes into detail about her emotional turmoil: from the initial shock and denial to a feeling of exclusion from support groups catering to only one type of cancer.

In the end, this is more a book about a woman’s recovery from cancer and less about her actual journey. But, in truth, Spud’s emotional journey paired with her journey to better health added another dimension to an otherwise somewhat bland travelogue.

“Everyone of us is journeying right now,” Spud says in Small Steps, “though often we can be blind to the scenery and fellow travellers.”

My Rating: 3.5/5 stars