There’s something idyllic about taking your dog camping for the first time — birdsong, fresh air, the gentle flicker of a fire, and the comforting thought that you’ll all sleep peacefully under the stars.

Unless, of course, your dog is Nala — a sable German Shepherd with the curiosity of a toddler and the stealth of a ninja.

We’d spent the day adventuring, and by nightfall, Nala was snuggled in the tent, seemingly content. I drifted off to sleep thinking, this is the life.

At 2am, I heard a tent zip.

Half-asleep, I assumed it was a fellow camper nipping off for a wee. Then came a second zip. That one sounded rather… local.

Cue the horrible realisation: Nala had unzipped the tent and legged it.

I shot upright, wide-eyed, adrenaline coursing through me. I was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and knickers. No time for modesty. I leapt out into the pitch-black, rain-soaked campsite, barefoot and frantic.

The darkness was biblical. I couldn’t see a thing — not the ground, not the trees, certainly not a German Shepherd on a midnight jolly. The mud squelched between my toes as I whisper-yelled like a deranged foghorn:
“Nala… NALA!”

You’ve not known true panic until you’re half-naked, soaking wet, and whisper-screaming into the void at 2am, praying your dog hasn’t joined a badger sett or decided to move in with another family.

Then, out of the inky blackness — WHAM. I was completely wiped out by a fur-covered missile. Nala came bounding out of a bush at full tilt and took me clean off my feet.

I landed squarely on my bare backside in cold, wet mud, as she proceeded to lick my face with the joy of someone who had zero regrets and absolutely no understanding of the drama she’d caused.

—

Top Tip for Camping with Dogs:
Always keep both tent zips at the highest point. A nose can’t wedge open what it can’t reach. Trust me.

So, if any footage exists of a wild-haired woman, caked in mud, whisper-yelling in her smalls through a darkened field — yes, that was me. Do let me know. I’d love a copy for the Christmas cards.

Nala? She slept like a baby.
Me? I needed a strong coffee and a new pair of knickers.

Thanks for reading — if you’ve ever been caught in a similar soggy situation, I’d love to hear about it in the comments. Misery loves company… especially muddy misery.