James O'Donnell is not an unknown. With a following of over 60,000 and over 1.5 million monthly views on his combined social media platforms, he is an influencer of all that is good in this world, connecting good with good everywhere he goes.

He'd say he owes it all to Iggy, his beloved border collie. 

James has been photo-journaling his travels throughout Ireland for a number of years. He publishes the popular 'Iggy & Frida's World Tour of Ireland' calendar and shares his work through his dedicated website, shipping calendars and prints around the world.

One day on Facebook, he casually mentioned it was time to take 'one final trip' – for Iggy, anyway – to France. He had decided to come to Normandy for a housesit and extend Iggy & Frida's World Tour from Ireland to France. It began as a sentimental journey, for it seemed Iggy's time was short.

Under sponsorship from Brittany Ferries and The Shamrock Lodge in Falcarragh, County Donegal, James and his two border collies sailed across the pond – prochaine arrêt – France.

All eyes, all followers, joined in for the journey.

Who knew we'd sit down together for a full continental breakfast in our tiny, très tranquil village in Saint James - we being Iggy, Frida, James (of course), hosts Martin and Marie Carr, (ChateaudeChambres.com), et moi.

Who knew these people were all from County Donegal?

Once discovered, did the doors open? Indeed they did. Widely.

Who knew sweet Frida was bred in Malinbeg, Donegal, and the working-dog breeders, FJ & his wife Meghan, as well as his brother James, just happened to be neighbors and friends of the Carrs?

Nobody! Until we all met.

Who knew that trip to France would not be the final trip?!

Nobody! Until now.

There is magic afoot here.

I first met Iggy, Frida & James last April when they arrived in Normandy. So charmed, I posted a blog about what was supposed to be 'The Final French Roadtrip', with coverage in the Donegal Daily.

It isn't that they got in the car and took a road trip and 'wasn't that great;' it's that their life together is a chosen lifestyle chronicled and shared. They're not tourists. They travel to immerse, to connect. It's a lifestyle.

And, he doesn't do this alone. He couldn't.

Iggy has been his North Star.

They've captured the hearts of thousands around the world and woven each and every one of us into the adventure itself; the travel, the cultural immersion, the ups, the downs, the worries, the wonder – all of it – becomes part of a community fabric we all endlessly enjoy. When they returned, they went from Paris ... to the iconic Mont St Michel ... from the D-Day Beaches to the medieval towns of Normandy and ancient Celtic lands of Brittany.

Their World Tour of Ireland — now photo-journaled, stamped and posting around the world as this is being written — the tour that began in their beloved homeland — had them ON BOARD for sailing back to France on Brittany Ferries.

What was supposed to be 'The Final Roadtrip' to France, has opened into the fields of Normandy where James, Iggy & Frida share more as the adventure continues. And, in their next chapter, he can write his book, without distraction.

But … let's pause for a moment … as it all started with an electrocution. When James & I sat down, and he told his story, he was completely transparent; an open book.

James was a tunnelling miner in London. The crew would move to different sites, put in new connects from sewage to the mains on the road — underground work. They'd go in, disrupt the traffic, find the pipes, and connect them.

On 12 August, 2005, while digging a trench in east London, navigating around electrical cables, his jackhammer hit one of them — and attached. His muscles constricted, the grasp was solid. He couldn't peel his hand off the machine.

11,000 volts coursed through his body. (500 volts is considered high risk.)

Screaming for help, his workmate and friend jumped out of the trench shouting, 'Get out! Get out!' But when he tried to jump out, his hand was locked onto the machine. Next, a sizzle. Then a ball of smoke. Then the largest sounding thump, like a huge champagne cork.

He couldn't jump out.

In that moment, the smoke parted, and flames roared in. He knew he was in trouble.

Time didn't matter; the brain sped up and instantly analyzed it all. It was fight or flight mode. All options flew through his head and with no delay, it was survive or die. Completely calm and controlled, he accepted death.

With his hand still attached to the machine, he leapt back to avoid the flames, thinking — and hoping — his heart would go out first.

But his flailing left hand found ground in the dirt trench. The volts found earth, and his right hand suddenly released from the machine.

As he leapt out of the trench, standing vacuously, people started gathering around him, telling him to sit down. He sat.

Come to find, the Millwall Fire Station was half a kilometer from the site. He passed it every morning going to work.

James heard the sirens coming … getting louder & louder … and then … they drove right past him!

The gang of people helping him, took off running after the fire engines.

Geographically, this is on the north bank of the River Thames, in the London Borough, Isle of Dogs. The south bank has access into a foot tunnel and on his side was an elevator. Apparently when he cut the cable, there were people in the elevator, now trapped.

When they pressed the 'rescue' button, by law, the fire service had to go to first callers. That wasn't him, although when they drove past, they couldn't miss the upheaval.

People disembarking at the Island Gardens DLR Station, were everywhere. It could not have been busier. But soon back, the paramedics, ambulance, two police cars, and a helicopter on standby arrived. Off James went.

He closed this part of his story with:

'That was the start of it. The worst but best day of my life.'

From 11,000 volts, to smoke to flames, to burns, to the hospital and living through it, he was in recovery for six-and-a-half weeks. And, his accident was four weeks after the 7/7 London bombings, 07 July 2005. He was in the same hospital, the same room, as the bombing victims.

With his bed pushed to the corner of the room, three beds on each side, he looked toward his feet to see the man next to him. He'd lost a foot and both arms from the shoulders, and had just had a tracheotomy.

In a split second of sobriety, James knew he'd get over this.

It took more than a couple of years to work with what he had gone through.

Actually, it took 11,000 volts, great personal loss, a numb emptiness enough to call it quits — and finally — five years later, in 2010, he got online to search for a pup. Seven months of swiping left. Requirements were few but distinct; not for profit, or abused.

One evening, his eye caught sight of a litter of pups … especially a black one. But the next day, that pup was gone. In its place was a tri-colored border collie. Immediately, he heard, 'Stop looking. You've found me.'

These pups were not 'for sale'. Perfect. The price asked was simply to cover the cost of vaccines and food. He rang up and had a very long chat with the breeder, Geraldine. He didn't realize until after, she wasn't just chatting; she was sizing him up, wanting a good home for her lovelies.

When she told him someone was coming over from Dublin the next day, his heart sank … but he called back to discover the guy didn't show up.

'The pup is yours.'

The weekend coming up was Auntie Maura's 80th birthday there in Falcarragh.

James let Geraldine know his brother & wife, Joseph & Siobhán, were coming home for the event, and would pass through Dublin to pick up the pup.

The next night, as James, his cousin and friends were all sitting at the back of The Shamrock having a pint, he got a call from Joseph.

'I've got your pup, James.'

His gang of friends, without a word, all put down their glasses, put on their jackets, and left. Even Joyce, the barmaid, said 'The hell with that,' closed up and went straight over.

Pup Iggy was in overwhelm. James stepped in. And there it began.

A few months prior to finding the pup, James' uncle had just returned to Ireland after a lifetime away; Reverend Sean O'Donnell. But soon after settling back home, he fell ill. James became his caretaker; his right hand man. Sadly, he entered hospice and passed in February 2011.

This was a huge loss— both for him — he'd spent all his life away, and was looking forward to being home, and for James.

In remembrance of him, James pondered his uncle's name for the pup. He couldn't call him Sean … but his middle name was Ignatius.

'I'm of the mind that if you bring a pup for a pet into your life, who could live up to 18 years, they're part of the family, and you've got to give them an interesting name. So it was name first, and nicknames would follow.'

James hadn't yet realized the pup was female. It was simply a pup. But no; she was indeed a girl — and he wasn't changing her name for anything.

Ignatius became Iggy.

Within weeks he realized he was living his life through her. His confidence came back. His self-esteem returned.

Determined to go his own route, to take his time, he found it all happened naturally.

James and Iggy started taking hikes together. His plan was to take her out publicly, once she was a year old. And, by then, she was very well trained. They were completely bonded.

He recalled one day, when he was at the front bar of The Shamrock on his own, with no one around, he approached Maggie, the co-owner.

'Maggie, you know I have a pup … would it be okay to bring her in for a Guinness?'

She turned and said, 'Yeah, yeah, James. Bring her in and see how it goes.'

'I always remember that line. Always. It was a big moment for me.'

Her answer was a very positive beginning for the rest of his life; another fragile step forward because Iggy became popular in the bar, and became a role model for other dog owners.

It was the strength he needed to go elsewhere — other bars and restaurants — and ask for entry. Iggy was a perfect candidate.

As for The Shamrock? It's been dog-friendly ever since.

When she was about a year-and-a-half old, when out on a hike, James knew he had his life back.

He'd recently been given an old iPhone, and started taking photos.

He'd go into The Shamrock on a Friday, show folks where they were hiking, and conversations led into 'You gotta sell these …'

This was during the recession in Ireland. Peoples' mental health was suffering; they were going through so much.

'My thought was if we can distract people for just a few seconds, where they might find a smile or a laugh — to let people think about something else just for a moment – that'd be really powerful.´

One night in 2012, at home with family, his sister-in-law was on her phone.

James vaguely knew there were all these apps … and asked her what she was doing. 'I'm on Instagram.'

'I looked into it; it was quite anonymous. Simple. Hashtags.'

Iggy didn't appear the first couple of months in his photography. It hadn't even dawned on James. But when he did? People started picking up on the dog. ´Yeah; this dog follows me. It's Iggy; my dog.´

Then it turned out he couldn't leave her OUT of the photograph!

Within about 5 months, his posts grew more and more popular, so he kept going with it. Everything took off.

It has skyrocketed to 1.5 million views/month.

From the start, in his life with Iggy, James kept a photographic diary.

Calling himself 'the accidental photographer,' it is Iggy who helped him develop into who he is today in his life.

James says, honestly, he had no plans like this. He'd simply brought a pup into his life carte blanche. He had promised himself he'd give as much as they deserved. It became symbiotic.

Little did he know at the outset, Iggy held the key.

And now with sharing it all? It's what he was after; giving back. Helping others in the simplest ways, the simplest moments.

Some people would pick up painting or photography or start to travel … Some people would have just a single moment in their day with Iggy that carries them forward … Some people can now go to dog-friendly restaurants!

In the middle of all this, James' recovery included PTSD. In the early days, if he heard a bang, or a Harley Davidson, or even a pop bottle opening; it got him.

'But you have to learn to live with it.'

Dreams were exhausting.

Though not of the actual accident itself, they were similar — construction scenes – maybe the tunnel was going to crash, or the wall was going to fall in.

Waking himself up shouting, he'd tell friends if staying over, not to worry.

Three or so years ago he noticed the PTSD ceased to be about him. There were life and death scenes, but the dreams were about Iggy.

She'd be crossing the road - but she couldn't hear his commands as she'd gone deaf with age. He'd be shouting out.

He discovered his fear was for Iggy, and his total love of her.

Like a gatekeeper, she has helped him meet thousands of people. Through her, he found his art and has become a top-class photographer.

Iggy is now retired. James knows without a doubt, it is Iggy who brought his health back.

But that's not the end.

It's the beginning.

And though we're not done with Chapter One, another is not far behind.

Here comes Frida; same heart, same bundle of everything good, all wrapped in an everlasting tongue-wagging smile.

She learned everything she is from her bestie.

And James too, of course.

Stay tuned for Chapter Two, with James O'Donnell of Falcarragh, Donegal, Ireland.

jamesandiggy.com

https://www.facebook.com/JamesODonnellPhotography

https://www.facebook.com/james.odonnell.1042

@james_odonnell_photography