When we moved from Canada to Denmark in 2016, we brought our Shih Tzu/poodle cross with us. Sofie was small, but not tiny, and very poofy. She was far more chill on the transatlantic flight than either of her people and quickly adapted to walking on cobblestones, dipping her paws into the Øresund Straight, enjoying leverpostej (Danish liver pâté) as a treat, and having her vaccines marked in a pet passport (a brilliant idea that Canada really should adopt).
While Sofie thrived during her three-year stint in Copenhagen, she never fully embraced the wind. Being from Canada’s West Coast (also known as the ‘Wet Coast’), Sofie was well-accustomed to rainy weather. Her poofiness shrank substantially when she was we, and she begrudgingly consented to coats in bad weather and thorough towel-dryings when coming indoors. But she was unprepared for the power of the Danish air.
I remember walking Sofie on what felt like a typical winter day our first December here. A gust came up just as we came around a corner and the strength of the wind lifted our little dog from the sidewalk. Not very far, and not for long, but enough for us to take the squalls that roll off the North Sea seriously.
We would rein Sofie in whenever she got really close to the edge of a pier, lest a sudden draft lift her into the water. Occasionally, it felt as though Sofie’s leash was more like a kite string as headwinds would push her little body backwards (although I don’t remember her being lifted from the ground by a gust again.) She would dig her paws in, somehow growing heavier than her 7.5kg, and we’d scoop her up, carrying her home.
Sometimes, though, Sofie enjoyed pointing her face into the wind, revelling in it blowing the hair back from her face. I imagine she was delighted with smells being delivered straight to her nose, with no effort on her part. Sofie was 14 when we moved away from Denmark and starting to move a little slower and the wind brought her all of the scents.
I understand that joy of facing into the wind. The sense of cobwebs being cleared from my brain. Of change and new potential rushing towards me. There’s a freedom that comes with being buffeted by nature, knowing that there are forces far more powerful than ourselves.
Beyond my personal experience of blowing in literal breaths of fresh air, breezes bring the potential for sustainable power and make Denmark a leader in renewable energy. They also disperse seeds, stimulate plant growth and shift weather patterns.
I’m not saying I’m immune to complaining when it feels like there’s a constant headwind as I’m cycling or moaning about getting caught in the rain when storm clouds suddenly appear. I’ve been known to curse as my hair blows about and I realize I don’t have a hair tie.
It feels strange to say, but I believe I missed the Danish wind in our six years away — although the gales on the Channel-side beaches near Brighton, England, did their best to match its force. A Danish friend who’s working outside of the country for a few months told me that it was windy for the first time where she is and that she’d missed feeling on her face. I knew exactly what she meant.
In Denmark, where the wind is as inevitable as death and taxes, I’ve come to appreciate it. There’s a dance that comes with the gusts and I’ve learned to look forward to whatever steps (or scents!) they blow in next.
