Have had 2 dog poo related incidents this week. Shall I share? One is definitely more disgusting than the other. Still want me to share? OK.
The first was on a walk in the woods. We'd just arrived, moments behind another man with two beautiful Golden Retrievers, one white, the other golden, both long, lovely, CLEAN silky fur. It was apparent that they'd both just emptied their bowels, as the owner was trying to open a poo bag (if you've ever tried prising open those flimsy poo bags, you know how IRRITATINGLY annoying they are). Cue Brody's entrance. Another dog! Pant pant - excitement! Race over to play. The dog with the lovely WHITE fur also gets excited and starts to jump around with Brody, having a good play, edging ever closer to the big steaming smelly pile of poo. Woop! Up jumps Brody onto the other dog. Woop! Down goes the dog on her own pile of plop, and then has a good old roll around in it. "Oh no" emanates from both me and the other owner, and I quickly interject the playing to grab Brody by his collar before he too turns from golden to a lovely shade of brown. I apologise, and quicken our step to escape...
The other incident happened just this morning, so it is horrifyingly fresh in my mind. We were on a walk along a grassy hilltop, playing with the ball, when Brody has the poo urge and coopies down. Now, he has a lot of tummy trouble does our Brody, so I am often studying poo to note colour, consistency, etc. This one was passable, and I was just delving in with the poo bag when Brody started swinging his body around still in the squat position. Oh, still more to come then, I think. It is only on the second spin when he also squats to try to chew his bum that I see what is causing his anxiety. A poo joined on to long strands of grass which are still attached to his inner bottom. He clearly doesn't know what to do. I do. My doggy nurse poo assist skills sweep into action. With poo bag in hand, I quickly pull on the offending dangly poo/grass - yank! I expect a smooth slide, but instead the grass breaks off with a tearing noise, but Brody, after the initial shock of what has just happened, seems happy and wants to continue with the ball playing. I'm still grimacing now - after much hand scrubbing.
Friday, 14 June 2013
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Sunday May 26th
I've had an on/off friendship with Brody this week. Thursday was definitely an off day. It'd been going so well, up until the afternoon. I'd decided to take him out on grass instead of the beach, wanting to avoid families on holiday. On the stretch of grass where we walk, there are two shelters. I'd been throwing the ball for Brody and had just told him 'game over', which is usually the cue for him to stop prancing around our feet waiting for the ball, or to stop nudging our hand with the ball in his mouth. In this instance, it was his cue to go darting off toward one of the shelters. I could see 2 bicycles leaning against the wall, and could vaguely make out a couple of people inside. "This way Brody" I call, which usually makes him curve round and head back to me. But not this time. Straight into the shelter he went and jumped up on people inside. It was at this point that I ascertained two things : 1) the people inside had food; 2) from the high-pitched scream that emanated there was a small child there also. I ran towards the shelter calling Brody's name, watching the people inside stand up and try to push Brody away as he continued to jump up on them, trying to grab the sandwiches from their hands. When I got to the shelter I could see that the child was just a baby of about 10months propped up on the bench between her mum and dad, screaming hysterically. I managed to grab Brody and put his lead on, apologising profusely to the family and making sure the baby was ok. Lots of telling off for Brody and the silent treatment from me for him for the rest of the day. How to spoil the day for many people. Long lead on walks from now on I think.
Friday, 10 May 2013
This week we have been mostly....losing things. Last Sunday Steve had the complete misfortune of having his rucksack 'stolen'. He'd taken Brody for a walk, and was putting him back into the car. He put his rucksack on the floor to shut the boot, got distracted, then got in the car and drove off. On the way home, had sudden flashback to said rucksack on the floor, so u-turned and went back. In the 5 mins he was away, the rucksack had been taken. Now this was in a car park of an area well known for dog-walkers and lovers of beach air, surely the honest, well-meaning type? Perhaps not. In the rucksack was Steve's sunglasses, waterproof jacket, brand new dog lead, and ball thrower. A sign was put up and the police alerted, but nothing. On the Tuesday morning, I was driving along after school drop-off when in the opposite direction there comes a male cyclist wearing a rather familiar looking jacket and on his back a rather familiar rucksack. Now, I'm sure there's quite a few red jackets and silver rucksacks out there, but on the other hand...Well, I didn't about turn and race after him a la Starsky and Hutch mainly because that didn't really cross my mind at the time and I'm sure a bicycle tyre mark across the length of my body wouldn't have been a good look (not many people like to be falsely accused of theft).
Anyway, I was left with a frisbee and a tennis ball to entertain Brody on the beach. Off we go on our morning walk, down the steps onto the beach, oh I know, a few throws of the frisbee onto the rocks will be good for starters, Brody loves climbing over rocks. Off it goes up up into the air, down down behind some rocks, Brody bounding excitedly after it, leaping over the big rocks, disappearing out of sight. Just wait for him to reappear....just a few more seconds.....where is he? "Brody, fetch frisbee!" Nothing. "Brody, where are you?" Nothing. Slight panic. Start climbing over the rocks when a little head pops over the top of one - minus the frisbee. "Where is it, Brody?" I reach the spot where he is frantically pacing round, tail wagging furiously. It is the deepest rockpool in the world, and there at the bottom staring up at us frustratingly unattainable unless you're equipped with full diving gear, is the frisbee. Brody launches himself in with a huge splash, which I must admit I'm quite impressed by seeing as a) he hasn't always liked the water, and b) even though it is deep, this rockpool is not wide, so immediately upon entering, his nose smacks against the rock. He does this a couple of times, but I don't think dogs are able to nosedive about 6ft under are they? He just assumes by jumping in and swimming round in tiny circles that he'd be able to reach the frisbee. We have to leave it there. While walking away, Brody keeps looking at me expectantly - where's the frisbee mum, go and get it then. I start looking back over my shoulder to see if I can grab some poor unsuspecting surfer as he races down the steps and along the beach to get into the sea as quickly as possible (by the way, why do surfers always run on dry land? The waves will still be there in 2 mins time). Well, if they're going to get wet anyway and they're dressed for it, why can't they help me get the frisbee? However, I discard this idea and just try to get Brody to run around on his own for a bit.
The next morning (Wednesday), we go back to the same beach with a tennis ball. We start making our way down the many steps to the beach, Brody with the ball in his mouth, when he decides half-way down should be the place to drop the ball. It all happened in slow motion. Ball dropping from his mouth, bouncing a few times perilously close to the edge of the high steps with the drop of the rocks down to the beach below. Off it rolls....plop, over the edge onto a grassy shelf at the top of the rocks below. I look through the railings in despair and stare at the ball sat snuggled comfortably in the grass. Brody pops his head through the railings and stares at it too. Well, it is possible, we could climb up the rocks from the beach to reach it. So down we go, and start climbing up. Brody races up in a matter of seconds and stands in the grassy ledge with the ball in his mouth. "Good boy Brody", I say from below, balancing on a slippy mossy rock, "bring it here then!". Brody wags his tail, drops the ball back on the grass, and runs back down the rocks. "No Brody, go find the ball!" He looks at me questioningly, as if to say "You know where the ball is, you just saw me with it, it's just up there", and he points with his nose. Ok, I'll get it then. He follows me right at my heels, almost tripping me on my way up and back down. I also retrace our steps from the day before, and go back to the rock pool, but the frisbee is no longer there, and there's no sign of it being washed out further up the rocks by the tide. Oh well, that's that then. Need to purchase a new frisbee.
Anyway, I was left with a frisbee and a tennis ball to entertain Brody on the beach. Off we go on our morning walk, down the steps onto the beach, oh I know, a few throws of the frisbee onto the rocks will be good for starters, Brody loves climbing over rocks. Off it goes up up into the air, down down behind some rocks, Brody bounding excitedly after it, leaping over the big rocks, disappearing out of sight. Just wait for him to reappear....just a few more seconds.....where is he? "Brody, fetch frisbee!" Nothing. "Brody, where are you?" Nothing. Slight panic. Start climbing over the rocks when a little head pops over the top of one - minus the frisbee. "Where is it, Brody?" I reach the spot where he is frantically pacing round, tail wagging furiously. It is the deepest rockpool in the world, and there at the bottom staring up at us frustratingly unattainable unless you're equipped with full diving gear, is the frisbee. Brody launches himself in with a huge splash, which I must admit I'm quite impressed by seeing as a) he hasn't always liked the water, and b) even though it is deep, this rockpool is not wide, so immediately upon entering, his nose smacks against the rock. He does this a couple of times, but I don't think dogs are able to nosedive about 6ft under are they? He just assumes by jumping in and swimming round in tiny circles that he'd be able to reach the frisbee. We have to leave it there. While walking away, Brody keeps looking at me expectantly - where's the frisbee mum, go and get it then. I start looking back over my shoulder to see if I can grab some poor unsuspecting surfer as he races down the steps and along the beach to get into the sea as quickly as possible (by the way, why do surfers always run on dry land? The waves will still be there in 2 mins time). Well, if they're going to get wet anyway and they're dressed for it, why can't they help me get the frisbee? However, I discard this idea and just try to get Brody to run around on his own for a bit.
The next morning (Wednesday), we go back to the same beach with a tennis ball. We start making our way down the many steps to the beach, Brody with the ball in his mouth, when he decides half-way down should be the place to drop the ball. It all happened in slow motion. Ball dropping from his mouth, bouncing a few times perilously close to the edge of the high steps with the drop of the rocks down to the beach below. Off it rolls....plop, over the edge onto a grassy shelf at the top of the rocks below. I look through the railings in despair and stare at the ball sat snuggled comfortably in the grass. Brody pops his head through the railings and stares at it too. Well, it is possible, we could climb up the rocks from the beach to reach it. So down we go, and start climbing up. Brody races up in a matter of seconds and stands in the grassy ledge with the ball in his mouth. "Good boy Brody", I say from below, balancing on a slippy mossy rock, "bring it here then!". Brody wags his tail, drops the ball back on the grass, and runs back down the rocks. "No Brody, go find the ball!" He looks at me questioningly, as if to say "You know where the ball is, you just saw me with it, it's just up there", and he points with his nose. Ok, I'll get it then. He follows me right at my heels, almost tripping me on my way up and back down. I also retrace our steps from the day before, and go back to the rock pool, but the frisbee is no longer there, and there's no sign of it being washed out further up the rocks by the tide. Oh well, that's that then. Need to purchase a new frisbee.
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Thursday 25th April
It was really misty on the beach this week. On Tuesday, Brody and I reached the top of the sand dunes leading down to the beach, and you could hardly see the sea! Even Brody did a double take, and I half expected him to say - in Scooby Doo style - "Huh? Where's the sea gone?"
Brody had another first experience Tuesday evening. I'd just come back from the theatre (yes, I do get out about once a year), it was about 10pm, so dark and a bit damp outside. I opened the back door to let Brody out. About 10 seconds later I glanced out to see him stood still with his tail wagging frantically, head down looking at something on the patio. He nudged whatever it was with his nose, then the tail stopped wagging, and he froze for a good 15 seconds. Then he pranced around, barked a couple of times, wagged the tail, did the front part of the body on the ground but back legs straight stance, all the time looking at something on the ground. Time to investigate a) because it was late and he was barking and I didn't want the scene you always see in American movies - sash window lifted up (always that type of window, isn't it? Never a clean, double glazed, open with a handle type) head stuck out "Shut that dog up" "Keep the noise down" "Don't you know what time it is ?!"; and b) because whatever was exciting him was so miniscule I couldn't see it from 5 feet away, and how embarrassing to be the owner of a dog who is scared of a dot.
It was a snail. A very frightened snail. He had snuck back into his safe shell-home and was wishing for the nasty loud dog to disappear. But the nasty loud dog was very inquisitive as to how one minute a little creature was there, the next it'd gone. Anyway, I picked it up, then wondered what to do with it. Steve appeared and tried calling Brody over to distract him, so I quickly threw the poor snail towards the grass - not too close to my flower borders because even though tiny and frightened, it will quickly recover and eat all my nice juicy plants. However, I threw it a little too hard and a little too close to the fence. Clunk. Sorry snail.
Brody had another first experience Tuesday evening. I'd just come back from the theatre (yes, I do get out about once a year), it was about 10pm, so dark and a bit damp outside. I opened the back door to let Brody out. About 10 seconds later I glanced out to see him stood still with his tail wagging frantically, head down looking at something on the patio. He nudged whatever it was with his nose, then the tail stopped wagging, and he froze for a good 15 seconds. Then he pranced around, barked a couple of times, wagged the tail, did the front part of the body on the ground but back legs straight stance, all the time looking at something on the ground. Time to investigate a) because it was late and he was barking and I didn't want the scene you always see in American movies - sash window lifted up (always that type of window, isn't it? Never a clean, double glazed, open with a handle type) head stuck out "Shut that dog up" "Keep the noise down" "Don't you know what time it is ?!"; and b) because whatever was exciting him was so miniscule I couldn't see it from 5 feet away, and how embarrassing to be the owner of a dog who is scared of a dot.
It was a snail. A very frightened snail. He had snuck back into his safe shell-home and was wishing for the nasty loud dog to disappear. But the nasty loud dog was very inquisitive as to how one minute a little creature was there, the next it'd gone. Anyway, I picked it up, then wondered what to do with it. Steve appeared and tried calling Brody over to distract him, so I quickly threw the poor snail towards the grass - not too close to my flower borders because even though tiny and frightened, it will quickly recover and eat all my nice juicy plants. However, I threw it a little too hard and a little too close to the fence. Clunk. Sorry snail.
Monday, 22 April 2013
Monday 22nd April 2013
Got back from work, and within 5 minutes Brody had executed 2 huge no-no forms of behaviour. Number 1) Steve was preparing tea for us - he was going to have the left over roast chicken from yesterday, and I was to have the left over chilli. (You can see where this is going, can't you). Steve carefully arranged his left over roast chicken pieces on his plate, with the best white chicken breast pieces taking pride of place on the edge of the plate, and the slightly less scrumptious but still completely edible redder meat on the inside. He positioned the plate - rather thoughtlessly in hindsight - on his plate mat on the edge of the dinner table. If he knew that a pair of beady eyes and twitching nostrils were just inches away he would not have performed the next action. Steve TURNED AWAY WITH HIS BACK TO THE CHICKEN and continued to warm up my chilli. A slight scuffle and chair scrape was heard, followed by the ominous swallowing sound (no chewing involved obviously) and Steve swung back round to see a rather empty plate and Brody licking his lips with a satisfied gleam in his eye. Loud shouting ensued, followed by the back door slamming.
When Steve had got over this startlingly cheeky behaviour, he let Brody back in, only for Brody to execute big no-no number 2) He slunk into the living room, straight onto the settee and settled down quite cosily. More loud shouting ensued, followed by the back door slamming.
We've both decided that Brody will learn nothing from these episodes other than thinking to himself "I'm not touching that boiled chicken rubbish ever again - gimme roast every time."
When Steve had got over this startlingly cheeky behaviour, he let Brody back in, only for Brody to execute big no-no number 2) He slunk into the living room, straight onto the settee and settled down quite cosily. More loud shouting ensued, followed by the back door slamming.
We've both decided that Brody will learn nothing from these episodes other than thinking to himself "I'm not touching that boiled chicken rubbish ever again - gimme roast every time."
Sunday, 21 April 2013
Sunday 21st April 2013
Seeing as it was last November when I last wrote a diary entry, and it's now April, that's a whole lot of catching up to do. So I'll just try to precis in as few sentences as possible!
Brody is now 8mths old, he's had a few health issues - well, mainly one. He's got an enflamed stomach lining. He seems to be either allergic to certain types of food, or his stomach is unable to absorb certain types of food elements. This has meant many trips to the vet, blood tests, scans, changes of food and mainly lack of money. He's on hypersensitive food, and we can only give him small bits of plain boiled chicken now and then as extra. As a result, he's growing upwards but not outwards - his ribs are plain to see, and many a dog-walker can be seen staring at him (the half-shaved patchwork puppy effect doesn't help), wondering what on earth this breed is - a new Skelelab? Skinnylab? Ohmygodthey'restarvinghimtodeathlab?
The vet said we have to make sure he doesn't eat anything on his walks - as any dog owner will know, THAT'S NIGH ON IMPOSSIBLE! Just when you think he's wandered off to have an innocent sniff of a seemingly innocent blade of grass, gobble gobble yum yum, oh there goes a half-eaten KFC chicken leg, or off he trots towards another dog on the beach to have a lovely play, when there's a quick, sharp diversion to the left to snaffle up a half-rotten fish carcass.
Anyway, all this covert snaffling has today ended in a rather unfortunate but foreseeable incident - the endless vomiting. We are now aware of the signs (the first took place inside the home, on the lounge carpet, the other 3 times outside in the back garden) - looking sheepish, licking of lips, contortion of lips, then the heaving, then the gagging, then the bleuggggghhhh. Oh, and then the gobbling up of said vomit. Probably the reason for the remaining 3 sick-ups.
Other memorable moments over the past few months? Well, there was that time we met a young boy on the beach who is terrified of dogs, and boy did he let the whole beach know about it when he encountered Brody. What he didn't know was that Brody tries to comfort people who seem upset by circling them and licking them. The boy nearly died of fright - oh, and his mum fell over on the rocks when Brody pushed past her to get to said boy. What a lovely day that was. Then there was the time Brody was introduced to a badger - rather unexpectedly, not on purpose. They both froze, then the badger about turned and trundled away, followed by a rather inquisitive Brody trotting behind. Another near-heart attack moment for the other party. And of course who could forget the elderly man out for a walk with his dog, holding his camera in such a way that the long neck strap was dangling near the ground. Brody raced after the man's dog, managed to loop the camera strap round his (Brody's) own neck and carried on racing after the dog with the camera bumping and banging round his neck and across the ground. Oh the joys of dog ownership.
Anyway, I'll leave it for now. Megan has a friend over - they're baking cakes. Megan has just dropped a whole tube of silver ball cake toppings all over the floor, and Brody is trying to break the world record of how many silver ball toppings you can eat in 2 seconds. I think the record's his.
Brody is now 8mths old, he's had a few health issues - well, mainly one. He's got an enflamed stomach lining. He seems to be either allergic to certain types of food, or his stomach is unable to absorb certain types of food elements. This has meant many trips to the vet, blood tests, scans, changes of food and mainly lack of money. He's on hypersensitive food, and we can only give him small bits of plain boiled chicken now and then as extra. As a result, he's growing upwards but not outwards - his ribs are plain to see, and many a dog-walker can be seen staring at him (the half-shaved patchwork puppy effect doesn't help), wondering what on earth this breed is - a new Skelelab? Skinnylab? Ohmygodthey'restarvinghimtodeathlab?
The vet said we have to make sure he doesn't eat anything on his walks - as any dog owner will know, THAT'S NIGH ON IMPOSSIBLE! Just when you think he's wandered off to have an innocent sniff of a seemingly innocent blade of grass, gobble gobble yum yum, oh there goes a half-eaten KFC chicken leg, or off he trots towards another dog on the beach to have a lovely play, when there's a quick, sharp diversion to the left to snaffle up a half-rotten fish carcass.
Anyway, all this covert snaffling has today ended in a rather unfortunate but foreseeable incident - the endless vomiting. We are now aware of the signs (the first took place inside the home, on the lounge carpet, the other 3 times outside in the back garden) - looking sheepish, licking of lips, contortion of lips, then the heaving, then the gagging, then the bleuggggghhhh. Oh, and then the gobbling up of said vomit. Probably the reason for the remaining 3 sick-ups.
Other memorable moments over the past few months? Well, there was that time we met a young boy on the beach who is terrified of dogs, and boy did he let the whole beach know about it when he encountered Brody. What he didn't know was that Brody tries to comfort people who seem upset by circling them and licking them. The boy nearly died of fright - oh, and his mum fell over on the rocks when Brody pushed past her to get to said boy. What a lovely day that was. Then there was the time Brody was introduced to a badger - rather unexpectedly, not on purpose. They both froze, then the badger about turned and trundled away, followed by a rather inquisitive Brody trotting behind. Another near-heart attack moment for the other party. And of course who could forget the elderly man out for a walk with his dog, holding his camera in such a way that the long neck strap was dangling near the ground. Brody raced after the man's dog, managed to loop the camera strap round his (Brody's) own neck and carried on racing after the dog with the camera bumping and banging round his neck and across the ground. Oh the joys of dog ownership.
Anyway, I'll leave it for now. Megan has a friend over - they're baking cakes. Megan has just dropped a whole tube of silver ball cake toppings all over the floor, and Brody is trying to break the world record of how many silver ball toppings you can eat in 2 seconds. I think the record's his.
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Friday 16 November
Gosh, I haven't written anything for ages. So here's what I remember.
On about the Tuesday 6th November, Steve phoned the Devon vet (the one used by the breeder) about the jabs. Apparently, it's always the procedure that the pups have 2 single jabs the first time, then 2 weeks later booster jabs of those two and also single jabs of some other stuff. They can then go out a week after. Steve then phoned another vet in our area who said the same as our own vet - boosters of all jabs are needed, then a 10-day wait. Doesn't seem quite fair that if we lived in Devon Brody would be out and about, whereas we have to wait another 3 weeks. Anyway, this other local vet agreed that the window of opportunity for socialising Brody and getting him used to different surroundings is shrinking and said we could take him out places where we know lots of dogs aren't taken to limit the risk.
So on Monday Steve took Brody out early to the beach as the tide was going out and stayed on the newly wet sand. Brody was a bit nervous, but seemed to love it. He stayed on the lead and remained right by Steve's side. Steve took him out the next morning too, this time with Megan in tow, but it seemed it hadn't registered in Steve's mind after reading the tide table that it was a New Moon and the tide was at its highest. Therefore, not much room to manoevre especially when a big wave comes in - which it did. Not too bad if you're a grown man with wellies accompanied by a big dog. But here we have a grown man with walking shoes with a tiny pup off the lead. That plus big wave equals soaking wet trousers, shoes and socks, and a half-drowned puppy, now a nervous wreck and scared stiff of the sea.
When they get home, poor Brody was stinking. Straight in the shower - not keen. Tries to escape. Not that keen on being rubbed down with a towel either. Damp dog for next hour - not a good smell. He was starting to shiver, but I covered him with his blanket and he was as snug as a bug in a rug.
Steve took Brody for another social visit to Olly the spaniel. Another full-on play/fight session. But that evening, Brody can't stop licking and biting all his paws. I look it up on the internet (not always a good idea for ailments). Apparently it could either be a)he's stepped on stinging nettles; b) he's allergic to something in the friend's garden - grasses, plants, etc; c)stress; d)sore paws after playing. We keep an eye on him for the rest of the evening. It's really troubling him - he even whines when he's licking or biting which makes us think there's a cut there somewhere. But the next day he has improved considerably. Panic over.
His training is coming along well. He can 'say hello' by touching your hand with his nose, answer to 'paw' and doesn't jump up when we give him his dinner bowl. The two things we have to master are 'leave' and 'down' when jumping up at the table.
He had his third set of jabs, so we only have to wait now until next weekend. I hope it's not too late.
I took him to meet Poppy, a spaniel cross bitch, 2 years old. The meeting didn't go well. At first sight of Brody (in my arms), Poppy starts to growl, and when I put him down with Poppy's mum holding on to her collar she starts to sound even angrier, so we go into her kitchen for Brody to have a sniff around while Poppy remains shut outside with her nose to the glass back door, snarling and showing her teeth at Brody. Oh dear, not a good introduction to the female of the species for Brody!
Megan and I were getting into the car today with Brody on Megan's lap in the front passenger seat, ready to take Megan to school. Suddenly Brody did his manic excitable jump to the face with mouth open to Megan, causing tears, a split lip and a nose bleed. Luckily Steve was hanging around by the car, so he took Brody back into the house and got tissues to block the nosebleed. Poor Megan, not a good start to the school day. By the time we get to school she's calmed down (but a little quiet) and the bleeding has stopped. Of course, Brody doesn't realise he has done anything wrong, he's still only a jumpy puppy, and he won't understand that he's instilled a bit of sadness and wariness of him into Megan. I hope she understands. Steve and I decide it might be time to put him in the back of the car for journeys.
Today it was sensory overload for Brody. It was near lunchtime, I was preparing tonight's tea, while at the same time stripping a cooked chicken carcass for my sandwich, and also trying to make Brody's lunch. He was going mental yelping and barking and jumping at the table. I had to lure him outside and shut the door while I finished everything - I felt a bit bad as he was crying and pawing the back door, but needs must.
On about the Tuesday 6th November, Steve phoned the Devon vet (the one used by the breeder) about the jabs. Apparently, it's always the procedure that the pups have 2 single jabs the first time, then 2 weeks later booster jabs of those two and also single jabs of some other stuff. They can then go out a week after. Steve then phoned another vet in our area who said the same as our own vet - boosters of all jabs are needed, then a 10-day wait. Doesn't seem quite fair that if we lived in Devon Brody would be out and about, whereas we have to wait another 3 weeks. Anyway, this other local vet agreed that the window of opportunity for socialising Brody and getting him used to different surroundings is shrinking and said we could take him out places where we know lots of dogs aren't taken to limit the risk.
So on Monday Steve took Brody out early to the beach as the tide was going out and stayed on the newly wet sand. Brody was a bit nervous, but seemed to love it. He stayed on the lead and remained right by Steve's side. Steve took him out the next morning too, this time with Megan in tow, but it seemed it hadn't registered in Steve's mind after reading the tide table that it was a New Moon and the tide was at its highest. Therefore, not much room to manoevre especially when a big wave comes in - which it did. Not too bad if you're a grown man with wellies accompanied by a big dog. But here we have a grown man with walking shoes with a tiny pup off the lead. That plus big wave equals soaking wet trousers, shoes and socks, and a half-drowned puppy, now a nervous wreck and scared stiff of the sea.
When they get home, poor Brody was stinking. Straight in the shower - not keen. Tries to escape. Not that keen on being rubbed down with a towel either. Damp dog for next hour - not a good smell. He was starting to shiver, but I covered him with his blanket and he was as snug as a bug in a rug.
Steve took Brody for another social visit to Olly the spaniel. Another full-on play/fight session. But that evening, Brody can't stop licking and biting all his paws. I look it up on the internet (not always a good idea for ailments). Apparently it could either be a)he's stepped on stinging nettles; b) he's allergic to something in the friend's garden - grasses, plants, etc; c)stress; d)sore paws after playing. We keep an eye on him for the rest of the evening. It's really troubling him - he even whines when he's licking or biting which makes us think there's a cut there somewhere. But the next day he has improved considerably. Panic over.
His training is coming along well. He can 'say hello' by touching your hand with his nose, answer to 'paw' and doesn't jump up when we give him his dinner bowl. The two things we have to master are 'leave' and 'down' when jumping up at the table.
He had his third set of jabs, so we only have to wait now until next weekend. I hope it's not too late.
I took him to meet Poppy, a spaniel cross bitch, 2 years old. The meeting didn't go well. At first sight of Brody (in my arms), Poppy starts to growl, and when I put him down with Poppy's mum holding on to her collar she starts to sound even angrier, so we go into her kitchen for Brody to have a sniff around while Poppy remains shut outside with her nose to the glass back door, snarling and showing her teeth at Brody. Oh dear, not a good introduction to the female of the species for Brody!
Megan and I were getting into the car today with Brody on Megan's lap in the front passenger seat, ready to take Megan to school. Suddenly Brody did his manic excitable jump to the face with mouth open to Megan, causing tears, a split lip and a nose bleed. Luckily Steve was hanging around by the car, so he took Brody back into the house and got tissues to block the nosebleed. Poor Megan, not a good start to the school day. By the time we get to school she's calmed down (but a little quiet) and the bleeding has stopped. Of course, Brody doesn't realise he has done anything wrong, he's still only a jumpy puppy, and he won't understand that he's instilled a bit of sadness and wariness of him into Megan. I hope she understands. Steve and I decide it might be time to put him in the back of the car for journeys.
Today it was sensory overload for Brody. It was near lunchtime, I was preparing tonight's tea, while at the same time stripping a cooked chicken carcass for my sandwich, and also trying to make Brody's lunch. He was going mental yelping and barking and jumping at the table. I had to lure him outside and shut the door while I finished everything - I felt a bit bad as he was crying and pawing the back door, but needs must.
Monday 5th November
Me work, Steve home. Also, Bonfire Night. As it turns out, Brody is not bothered at all about the explosions, wheezings and fizzings and every other noise that erupts from the fireworks around us. The only time he seems to notice is when I take him out for a wee and he catches a glimpse of the lights in the sky of an exploded firework, and he halts, ears up, front paw frozen mid-air, head tilted to the side. Then he almost seems to shrug with a 'whatever' air and trots back into the house.
Steve has bought him one of those healthy treat chews, and has cut it up and put it in one of his Kongs. He loves it, and spends most of the evening chewing it, but then the rest of the evening is spent drinking gallons of water, and having two poos in the space of two hours. I take the chew away and put it out of sight. Perhaps not so healthy after all, just 100% salt it seems.
Steve has bought him one of those healthy treat chews, and has cut it up and put it in one of his Kongs. He loves it, and spends most of the evening chewing it, but then the rest of the evening is spent drinking gallons of water, and having two poos in the space of two hours. I take the chew away and put it out of sight. Perhaps not so healthy after all, just 100% salt it seems.
Sunday 4th November
We all get a lie-in. I wake at 7.45am and Brody is still in his bed! What a good boy! Our day is almost an exact repeat of last Sunday. Steve takes Megan swimming, and later we urge Megan to do her project homework (you know the sort of thing - "It doesn't have to be in for another 2 weeks", "Yes, but that doesn't mean you do it the night before. It has to look like it's taken you 2 weeks to do it, not 2 hours".)
The kitchen door has been open all morning in case of emergencies - we are now used to being open to the elements. Today it is wind and rain. I realise Brody hasn't had a wee for about one and a half hours, so I try to coax him outside. "Come on Brody, time for a wee." Where is he? I turn around and see him in the living room COCKING HIS LEG having a wee. "OH NO BRODY", I rush to him (avoiding the huge puddle of one and a half hours worth of stored up wee) and put him outside. I close the door while I mop up the mess. Such a shame, he has been so good this last week. Of course, when Steve gets back, he just sighs and says "What did you do to him? He's been fine with me." Yes I know those words come out so easily, apportioning blame on anyone apart from Brody who is the actual perpetrator here. Time to put the new Dog Spray into action. 'Stain and Odour Remover - organically removes urine, faeces and vomit, and neutralises odours'. Handy to have around the morning after one of Steve's nights out with the running club then. I seek out all the stains on our lovely used-to-be-cream carpet and give them a good old spray. Don't you hate those pump action spray nozzles? RSI here we come. When my hand feels like it's just about to drop off, I leave the patches. I'm not sure about neutralizing odours - the perfume of this spray is enough to knock out Mohammed Ali. I spend the rest of the day tasting flowers. Brody's not sure about it. Just sneezes a few times, and looks like he's going to wee on those exact spots.
Steve and Megan take him out for a 'carry' walk around the block. Brody's getting bigger and heavier, so a walk around the block for Megan holding Brody isn't always a pleasant experience. She gets back with her arms almost stuck in the same position of cradling Brody (but him not there), and her back aching. Brody enjoys his outings though.
We get to watch Homeland without any interruptions. He has slept so soundly though that at actual bedtime he is wide awake and runs around the bedroom grabbing whatever he knows he shouldn't and stashing it in his bed for a good old chew. We don't have carpet in our bedroom, just bare floorboards, so when he chooses to grab a belt with a great big buckle, and drags it across the floor to his bed, the noise that echoes around the room, the house, nay, the STREET, is unbearable. He eventually settles down.
The kitchen door has been open all morning in case of emergencies - we are now used to being open to the elements. Today it is wind and rain. I realise Brody hasn't had a wee for about one and a half hours, so I try to coax him outside. "Come on Brody, time for a wee." Where is he? I turn around and see him in the living room COCKING HIS LEG having a wee. "OH NO BRODY", I rush to him (avoiding the huge puddle of one and a half hours worth of stored up wee) and put him outside. I close the door while I mop up the mess. Such a shame, he has been so good this last week. Of course, when Steve gets back, he just sighs and says "What did you do to him? He's been fine with me." Yes I know those words come out so easily, apportioning blame on anyone apart from Brody who is the actual perpetrator here. Time to put the new Dog Spray into action. 'Stain and Odour Remover - organically removes urine, faeces and vomit, and neutralises odours'. Handy to have around the morning after one of Steve's nights out with the running club then. I seek out all the stains on our lovely used-to-be-cream carpet and give them a good old spray. Don't you hate those pump action spray nozzles? RSI here we come. When my hand feels like it's just about to drop off, I leave the patches. I'm not sure about neutralizing odours - the perfume of this spray is enough to knock out Mohammed Ali. I spend the rest of the day tasting flowers. Brody's not sure about it. Just sneezes a few times, and looks like he's going to wee on those exact spots.
Steve and Megan take him out for a 'carry' walk around the block. Brody's getting bigger and heavier, so a walk around the block for Megan holding Brody isn't always a pleasant experience. She gets back with her arms almost stuck in the same position of cradling Brody (but him not there), and her back aching. Brody enjoys his outings though.
We get to watch Homeland without any interruptions. He has slept so soundly though that at actual bedtime he is wide awake and runs around the bedroom grabbing whatever he knows he shouldn't and stashing it in his bed for a good old chew. We don't have carpet in our bedroom, just bare floorboards, so when he chooses to grab a belt with a great big buckle, and drags it across the floor to his bed, the noise that echoes around the room, the house, nay, the STREET, is unbearable. He eventually settles down.
Thursday 1st November
The day of Brody's jab, and the day Meg and I go to London. We walk to the station - it's a lovely day and I know we'll be sat on a train for 5 hours, so any exercise now is good.
When we're on the train and on our way, Megan texts Steve to see how the jab and microchip went. Good and bad news. The good news is that the presence of lots of treats meant he didn't feel a thing. The bad news is that his first jab with the breeder hadn't covered the main diseases, only a couple, so he has to have another one in 2 weeks, and then wait another week on top of that until he can go out for walks. Great.
We enjoy our London break immensely.
Megan buys herself a Kindle, we visit the Harry Potter Experience, we have a Travelodge experience, we spend hours in Paperchase (it had 3 floors!!), and we only have a couple of stressy moments. One was when we finally found the right bus stop for the right bus, with the bus approaching, I see a sign that says 'Buy your ticket before boarding the bus'. I spy the machine and frantically scrabble around looking for change (I even raid Megan's purse), only to find the machine has jammed midway taking my money - pressing cancel and eject a million times at high speed only results in half of the money coming back out. The bus drives off. I drag Megan into the nearest shop to buy the cheapest and most useful thing (water) to get change, then rush back. I stupidly think that my brief disappearance would have magically fixed the ticket machine, so I put in a £2 coin and what a surprise, that gets jammed too. Another bus arrives, and I ask the driver if I can pay cash on the bus and briefly describe the monetary disaster that has just befallen me. He must see the desperation in my eyes, and my near-to-tears look, as he lets us on. Thank you lovely London bus driver.
The second stressy moment is on the day of our return journey home. We need to make 2 tube changes to get to Paddington, but on the way there we read a big sign saying no access to Paddington station from some underground lines due to engineering work. How do those few words manage to excuse any transport company the misery and panic that ensues among the thousands of travellers? I resign myself to the fact that any trip to London will contain at least one transport mishap or headache. We finally arrive at Paddington - hot, exhausted, relieved, and I look at the departure board with my fingers crossed (and probably my eyes too at this point I'm so frazzled), and hope in my eyes. Megan chooses this moment to jokingly say "The train to Newquay has been cancelled". This is no time for jokes, and I think the look I give her says it all, but I see a smile on her face widen and know this is not the end of her hilarity. "The train to Newquay has been delayed". At this point, the train info on the board moves along one, and for the briefest of moments our train does in fact say 'cancelled' as the next train takes the place of ours. We both look at each other and make that weird noise that one only emits at moments when disaster has just been averted. "Phoo, phoo, whoo, whoo, whoo". A cookie and a cup of tea is quicky purchased as a calm-me-down.
We are picked up at the station by Steve and Brody. Brody is so excited his bum nearly falls off with the wagging and I'm surprised at how much I've missed him. Until of course later that night when he almost attacks me and goes for the jugular in one of his moments of mania. The teeth marks on my arm will take a while to disappear. He has also taken a liking to pulling on threads of our carpet with his tiny needle teeth, until he has a good long piece of thread and just pulls. I half expect the whole carpet to unravel before my eyes. "No!" and "leave!" as usual just seems to excite and encourage him further. Trying to jam one of his own toys in his mouth as a distraction also does not work. Picking him up and moving him (with him with mouth wide open, swinging his head side to side, trying to grab skin with his little razors) solves the problem for about 2 seconds. He then just starts chewing the carpet on the new spot he now finds himself. Ho hum, home sweet home.
When we're on the train and on our way, Megan texts Steve to see how the jab and microchip went. Good and bad news. The good news is that the presence of lots of treats meant he didn't feel a thing. The bad news is that his first jab with the breeder hadn't covered the main diseases, only a couple, so he has to have another one in 2 weeks, and then wait another week on top of that until he can go out for walks. Great.
We enjoy our London break immensely.
Megan buys herself a Kindle, we visit the Harry Potter Experience, we have a Travelodge experience, we spend hours in Paperchase (it had 3 floors!!), and we only have a couple of stressy moments. One was when we finally found the right bus stop for the right bus, with the bus approaching, I see a sign that says 'Buy your ticket before boarding the bus'. I spy the machine and frantically scrabble around looking for change (I even raid Megan's purse), only to find the machine has jammed midway taking my money - pressing cancel and eject a million times at high speed only results in half of the money coming back out. The bus drives off. I drag Megan into the nearest shop to buy the cheapest and most useful thing (water) to get change, then rush back. I stupidly think that my brief disappearance would have magically fixed the ticket machine, so I put in a £2 coin and what a surprise, that gets jammed too. Another bus arrives, and I ask the driver if I can pay cash on the bus and briefly describe the monetary disaster that has just befallen me. He must see the desperation in my eyes, and my near-to-tears look, as he lets us on. Thank you lovely London bus driver.
The second stressy moment is on the day of our return journey home. We need to make 2 tube changes to get to Paddington, but on the way there we read a big sign saying no access to Paddington station from some underground lines due to engineering work. How do those few words manage to excuse any transport company the misery and panic that ensues among the thousands of travellers? I resign myself to the fact that any trip to London will contain at least one transport mishap or headache. We finally arrive at Paddington - hot, exhausted, relieved, and I look at the departure board with my fingers crossed (and probably my eyes too at this point I'm so frazzled), and hope in my eyes. Megan chooses this moment to jokingly say "The train to Newquay has been cancelled". This is no time for jokes, and I think the look I give her says it all, but I see a smile on her face widen and know this is not the end of her hilarity. "The train to Newquay has been delayed". At this point, the train info on the board moves along one, and for the briefest of moments our train does in fact say 'cancelled' as the next train takes the place of ours. We both look at each other and make that weird noise that one only emits at moments when disaster has just been averted. "Phoo, phoo, whoo, whoo, whoo". A cookie and a cup of tea is quicky purchased as a calm-me-down.
We are picked up at the station by Steve and Brody. Brody is so excited his bum nearly falls off with the wagging and I'm surprised at how much I've missed him. Until of course later that night when he almost attacks me and goes for the jugular in one of his moments of mania. The teeth marks on my arm will take a while to disappear. He has also taken a liking to pulling on threads of our carpet with his tiny needle teeth, until he has a good long piece of thread and just pulls. I half expect the whole carpet to unravel before my eyes. "No!" and "leave!" as usual just seems to excite and encourage him further. Trying to jam one of his own toys in his mouth as a distraction also does not work. Picking him up and moving him (with him with mouth wide open, swinging his head side to side, trying to grab skin with his little razors) solves the problem for about 2 seconds. He then just starts chewing the carpet on the new spot he now finds himself. Ho hum, home sweet home.
Wednesday 31st October
I'm starting to feel a bit chirpier - I know that tomorrow Megan and I are off to London for a few days. It'll be a nice break for both of us though I know Megan will miss Brody hugely.
Megan is very excited - it's Halloween. She sticks up the skeletons, the spider's webs and spiders, and the ghost on the window. Sweets are emptied in a bowl, and the outfit is prepared. One downside - it's raining. Typical. Sunshine yesterday, rain today. I recall last year's outing trick or treating, also in pouring rain. I was decked out in coat, waterproof trousers and wellies, and a brolly. Looks like that'll be my Halloween outfit again this year. I have a sudden panic - what'll I do with Brody? This is answered when my friend rings later to say she will collect and drop off Megan so I can stay with pup. I then wonder what he'll be like when loads of scary looking kids knock on the door every 5 mins. Problem soon resolved - Steve is home in time to answer most of the door knocks. He also arrives home with the stairgate. We're both relieved the great escape route will be out of bounds. However, we soon discover that the stairgate does not fit our stairs. Groan, panic, despair. We temporarily prop it up against the stairs to form a slight barrier, until something more permanent can be arranged. Brody watches with firstly a look of slight inquisitiveness, which slowly turns into realisation as to what is occurring. He approaches the bottom of the stairs, attempts to push through the middle of the bars, then round the side of the bars, then under the bottom - all to no avail. But wait, he has another plan. He squeezes under the bottom stair from behind the staircase and attempts access from there - how clever (or cunning?) is he? I'm impressed! But plan thwarted clever clogs! He resorts to sitting and whining instead. Steve and I have a small gloat inside, until we realise our own access upstairs is now blocked, and the only way to get passed the gate is to step over it. No problem if you're Colin Jackson, but for me near groin strain and twist injury. The things we have to suffer.
Megan returns from trick or treating with her treat bag only a quarter full and a sad look on her face. "They went to hardly any houses, they missed out loads, even those with lights on and pumpkins outside." Another sad look. I stare outside - it's dark, cold and the rain is lashing down. I consider my options. I look at Meg's face. I sigh. "Would you like me to take you out to more houses?" "Yes please!" she replies without hesitation. So out we go. I always wonder why we have to go through this ritual. We have two bowls of sweets at home, yet we go out begging for them from strangers. And their sweets are nowhere near as nice as ours. Not a single Cadbury choc bar in her bag, just yucky chewy additive-filled goo.
The rest of the evening is spent packing for our trip to London. Very excited.
Megan is very excited - it's Halloween. She sticks up the skeletons, the spider's webs and spiders, and the ghost on the window. Sweets are emptied in a bowl, and the outfit is prepared. One downside - it's raining. Typical. Sunshine yesterday, rain today. I recall last year's outing trick or treating, also in pouring rain. I was decked out in coat, waterproof trousers and wellies, and a brolly. Looks like that'll be my Halloween outfit again this year. I have a sudden panic - what'll I do with Brody? This is answered when my friend rings later to say she will collect and drop off Megan so I can stay with pup. I then wonder what he'll be like when loads of scary looking kids knock on the door every 5 mins. Problem soon resolved - Steve is home in time to answer most of the door knocks. He also arrives home with the stairgate. We're both relieved the great escape route will be out of bounds. However, we soon discover that the stairgate does not fit our stairs. Groan, panic, despair. We temporarily prop it up against the stairs to form a slight barrier, until something more permanent can be arranged. Brody watches with firstly a look of slight inquisitiveness, which slowly turns into realisation as to what is occurring. He approaches the bottom of the stairs, attempts to push through the middle of the bars, then round the side of the bars, then under the bottom - all to no avail. But wait, he has another plan. He squeezes under the bottom stair from behind the staircase and attempts access from there - how clever (or cunning?) is he? I'm impressed! But plan thwarted clever clogs! He resorts to sitting and whining instead. Steve and I have a small gloat inside, until we realise our own access upstairs is now blocked, and the only way to get passed the gate is to step over it. No problem if you're Colin Jackson, but for me near groin strain and twist injury. The things we have to suffer.
Megan returns from trick or treating with her treat bag only a quarter full and a sad look on her face. "They went to hardly any houses, they missed out loads, even those with lights on and pumpkins outside." Another sad look. I stare outside - it's dark, cold and the rain is lashing down. I consider my options. I look at Meg's face. I sigh. "Would you like me to take you out to more houses?" "Yes please!" she replies without hesitation. So out we go. I always wonder why we have to go through this ritual. We have two bowls of sweets at home, yet we go out begging for them from strangers. And their sweets are nowhere near as nice as ours. Not a single Cadbury choc bar in her bag, just yucky chewy additive-filled goo.
The rest of the evening is spent packing for our trip to London. Very excited.
Tuesday 30th October
Halloween
tomorrow – Megan is keen on trick or treating but has no-one to go with yet, so
I phone a friend and leave a message. We wait all day and hear nothing, so
Megan asks the boy down the road. Just as she’s doing so, the friend calls back
and says “Of course she can come with us”. I break the news to Megan on her
return, and she has to go back to the boy down the road to cancel. It shouldn’t
be this hard should it?
Brody starts to get a bit peculiar after his lunch, restless and whining. Any behaviour of this sort calls for immediate action – straight outside. He rushes straight for the ‘plant-that-used-to-be-a-beautiful-clematis-but-is-now-chewed-to-bits-and-is-very-dead’. I glare at him hoping this will prevent further chewing, but start to hear frightening noises emanating from him, the kind displayed by a cat before coughing up a fur ball. In this case, a massive gloopy grey lumpy mess. Yeuch. As soon as it’s out, I foresee what will happen next, as Brody stares hungrily at what has just appeared before him. He makes no move away from the pile of vomit but actually voraciously devours it. I run towards him with my hand over my mouth resisting the urge to vomit myself. I try – and fail – to pull him away from the regurgitated mess. I see that the lumps in question are his undigested lunch fish pellets. DISGUSTING! I leave him to it, with the look on my face that says “You are no puppy of mine, you filthy animal.” The rest of the afternoon consists of him sleeping more than usual – poor thing. My plants obviously don’t agree with him.
When Steve gets home, Megan and I make a quick dash to the supermarket to buy sweets for tomorrow. She is mega-super-excited.
That evening, after dragging Brody away from the stairs for the millionth time (we have tried blocking it with various things but Brody treats it like a fun obstacle course and eventually gets to the bottom stair with a victorious look on his face), we reserve a stair gate to be picked up tomorrow. Can’t wait.
Brody starts to get a bit peculiar after his lunch, restless and whining. Any behaviour of this sort calls for immediate action – straight outside. He rushes straight for the ‘plant-that-used-to-be-a-beautiful-clematis-but-is-now-chewed-to-bits-and-is-very-dead’. I glare at him hoping this will prevent further chewing, but start to hear frightening noises emanating from him, the kind displayed by a cat before coughing up a fur ball. In this case, a massive gloopy grey lumpy mess. Yeuch. As soon as it’s out, I foresee what will happen next, as Brody stares hungrily at what has just appeared before him. He makes no move away from the pile of vomit but actually voraciously devours it. I run towards him with my hand over my mouth resisting the urge to vomit myself. I try – and fail – to pull him away from the regurgitated mess. I see that the lumps in question are his undigested lunch fish pellets. DISGUSTING! I leave him to it, with the look on my face that says “You are no puppy of mine, you filthy animal.” The rest of the afternoon consists of him sleeping more than usual – poor thing. My plants obviously don’t agree with him.
When Steve gets home, Megan and I make a quick dash to the supermarket to buy sweets for tomorrow. She is mega-super-excited.
That evening, after dragging Brody away from the stairs for the millionth time (we have tried blocking it with various things but Brody treats it like a fun obstacle course and eventually gets to the bottom stair with a victorious look on his face), we reserve a stair gate to be picked up tomorrow. Can’t wait.
Monday 29th October (Half Term week)
Normal
routine, but with Megan in the house now, so someone to help me but also to
bear the brunt of all the stressful moments of the day. The main one was to
happen quite soon. Brody is now quite frequently (i.e., nearly every few
minutes) trying to dash upstairs, so he needs constant monitoring. I have an
urgent need for the bathroom, so ask Megan to stand watch. I should’ve realised
by the fact that she is engrossed in her computer world that a) my request
hasn’t fully registered and b) her reactions to a surprise event might be a tad
slower.
As I head up the stairs and turn to look at Brody, he is sat at the bottom, ears up, with that “how come you’re allowed to go up there but I’m not” look on his face. “Stay”, I say firmly, with my hand out palm facing outwards, ‘How’ style. He does – surprisingly. I’m quite pleased with myself. In the middle of my bathroom business, I hear a whine, a howl, followed by a rather frightening yelp or two. I picture Brody halfway up the stairs, his neck stuck under a stair, his leg dangling at an unnatural angle. I shout out to Megan to ask what’s wrong. In response, I hear an agitated “Oh no Brody! Come here, come here!” I quickly abandon my bathroom break and rush downstairs to be faced with an unwanted pressie at the foot of the stairs (not the number one kind), and spy the tail end of Megan rushing out the back with Brody. As I run to the kitchen to get mop and bucket, I quickly sidestep surprise unwanted pressie number two (living up to its name) by the kitchen door. After clearing up those two monstrosities, I decide I should continue scanning the area for further mishaps, and I come across surprise unwanted pressie number three. This came with an extra surprise – and, I suspect, the reason for the yelp – a stick protruding from it. Ouch. Poor Brody. But it serves you right for eating and killing my plants! No, I really don’t mean that, pup. It’s just the stress talking.
When all three of us have recovered from this traumatic episode, we continue with the routines of the day – wee and poo watch, food, sleep (just Brody, though my eyelids are weighing heavy at this stage), stair watch, anti-biting and chewing training, and on top of all this, trying to make sure the start of half term is an enjoyable one for my daughter. So far, so not good.
In the afternoon, I have a visit from my friend J and her daughter L, so finally Megan can escape the prison of our four walls and play outside, while my poor friend J is introduced to Brody and has to listen to all my moans and my warnings of having a puppy. I also realised I should’ve warned her about wearing tights – razor sharp teeth and tiny sharp claws do not go with pretty thin tights. Luckily, I was quick to notice the wardrobe incompatibility and disaster was averted. I also think she got the idea of the puppy as a pet thing. She already has guinnea pigs – she’ll stick with them.
As I head up the stairs and turn to look at Brody, he is sat at the bottom, ears up, with that “how come you’re allowed to go up there but I’m not” look on his face. “Stay”, I say firmly, with my hand out palm facing outwards, ‘How’ style. He does – surprisingly. I’m quite pleased with myself. In the middle of my bathroom business, I hear a whine, a howl, followed by a rather frightening yelp or two. I picture Brody halfway up the stairs, his neck stuck under a stair, his leg dangling at an unnatural angle. I shout out to Megan to ask what’s wrong. In response, I hear an agitated “Oh no Brody! Come here, come here!” I quickly abandon my bathroom break and rush downstairs to be faced with an unwanted pressie at the foot of the stairs (not the number one kind), and spy the tail end of Megan rushing out the back with Brody. As I run to the kitchen to get mop and bucket, I quickly sidestep surprise unwanted pressie number two (living up to its name) by the kitchen door. After clearing up those two monstrosities, I decide I should continue scanning the area for further mishaps, and I come across surprise unwanted pressie number three. This came with an extra surprise – and, I suspect, the reason for the yelp – a stick protruding from it. Ouch. Poor Brody. But it serves you right for eating and killing my plants! No, I really don’t mean that, pup. It’s just the stress talking.
When all three of us have recovered from this traumatic episode, we continue with the routines of the day – wee and poo watch, food, sleep (just Brody, though my eyelids are weighing heavy at this stage), stair watch, anti-biting and chewing training, and on top of all this, trying to make sure the start of half term is an enjoyable one for my daughter. So far, so not good.
In the afternoon, I have a visit from my friend J and her daughter L, so finally Megan can escape the prison of our four walls and play outside, while my poor friend J is introduced to Brody and has to listen to all my moans and my warnings of having a puppy. I also realised I should’ve warned her about wearing tights – razor sharp teeth and tiny sharp claws do not go with pretty thin tights. Luckily, I was quick to notice the wardrobe incompatibility and disaster was averted. I also think she got the idea of the puppy as a pet thing. She already has guinnea pigs – she’ll stick with them.
Sunday 28th October
We
are all starting to show signs of nervous wreck behaviour. Dark circles under
eyes, twitchy limbs, snappy words, staring eyes. Brody carries on regardless,
feeding in delight off our exhaustion. He is getting more confident in the
house and with us. I urge Steve and Megan to go out for a swim to regain the
strength to continue, and to take on normal behaviour. I continue coughing and
wandering robot-like between the settee (now Brody’s home), the kitchen for
meals, and outside for toilet breaks. Attempts at ball throwing outside with
encouraging calls of “Fetch!” now met with looks of boredom and disdain. He
does however now like to play hide and seek in the garden. Indoors, another
favourite game is to put food in ‘kongs’ and then hide them for Brody to find.
Well, I say that Brody finds them – I lead
him directly to the kong and he tries to get the treat out.
I knew that eating the contents of the garden would eventually take its toll. Steve and I sit down like clockwork at 9pm to watch the brilliant ‘Homeland’. Steve starts to record it, for he has a feeling our pleasurable viewing will be interrupted. He was quite right. At about 9.15, Brody is at his usual post on the settee, half on my lap, half on the cushion, when I notice his breathing has become rather rapid, and not just due to a vigorous racing dream. When he wakes up, his rapid breathing remains. I must look rather alarmed as Steve tries to qualm my fears. That is, until Brody starts to wretch quite violently, whereupon Steve turns from calm mode to into-action-before-vomit mode, and grabs Brody and runs outside. All that happens outside is a wee – a normal happy night-time jaunt for Brody, but yet another moment of anxiety for us.
I knew that eating the contents of the garden would eventually take its toll. Steve and I sit down like clockwork at 9pm to watch the brilliant ‘Homeland’. Steve starts to record it, for he has a feeling our pleasurable viewing will be interrupted. He was quite right. At about 9.15, Brody is at his usual post on the settee, half on my lap, half on the cushion, when I notice his breathing has become rather rapid, and not just due to a vigorous racing dream. When he wakes up, his rapid breathing remains. I must look rather alarmed as Steve tries to qualm my fears. That is, until Brody starts to wretch quite violently, whereupon Steve turns from calm mode to into-action-before-vomit mode, and grabs Brody and runs outside. All that happens outside is a wee – a normal happy night-time jaunt for Brody, but yet another moment of anxiety for us.
Saturday 27th October
Back
at work for me. Judy Finnigan is signing her new fiction book. I decide to buy
a copy as a Christmas present for mum. I approach the table where she’s doing
the signing, and haven’t a clue what to say. I’d heard that she has recently
become a grandmother for the first time, so what comes out of my mouth (still
croaky) is “Congratulations, I hear there’s a new baby in the family. You must
come to visit our lovely childrens department!” Of course, she hadn’t
noticed my uniform, so she just thought
I was one of the barmy ones and gave me a fixed smile. But she is lovely
though. I then spotted Richard, her husband. Hmm, I wonder… “Excuse me, “ I croak,
“I know this sounds cheeky, but would you be able to sign Judy’s book for me?”
He’s very tall, but also very lovely and graciously signs the book – well,
actually, scrawls – I’m trying to hold the book in mid-air while he signs, and
as everybody knows, writing on anything but a solid surface is no good for
neatness.
I get home to find that Megan's friend, C, is staying for tea – in fact, she’s been here all afternoon. It turns out that there’d been a mix-up in communication between C’s mum and B’s mum, and C’s mum thought the party had been postponed when in fact it hadn’t, and it had gone ahead yesterday! Steve had turned up at B’s house with C, Megan and Brody, only to find that B and her mum had gone to London. “Is this is a wind-up?” says Steve. Sadly, no. How embarrassing, but how upsetting for the girls, they were really looking forward to it. I somehow feel to blame – had my wishful thinking actually come true? Megan didn’t get to surf in the freezing cold sea after all. Oh dear, I’m a witch.
Brody now has a pattern. Wakes up at 2.30am, Steve takes him out, back to sleep, wakes about 5.30, Steve takes him out. My alarm goes off 6.30 (if I’m not already awake from all this activity), I go downstairs to give Steve chance to have a shower (we can’ t leave Brody on his own – he’d go mental). We all have breakfast (not Brody). Brody barks all the way through our breakfast while jumping up on our chairs. After breakfast, he’s right next to your feet/behind you until you make his breakfast. Eat in 30 seconds. Out for wee. Back to sleep for hour or so – chance for us to do chores/work/general freedom. Wakes up and wants to play. Out for toilet break. Pulls clothes off drier stand, chews table, tries to eat wires, eats cobwebs and spiders, out in garden to eat all the plants, twigs, moss, dirt, slugs (very dangerous). I have lost hope in keeping my plants alive for another year. Sob.
Lunch – if we eat first he barks all the way through while jumping up; if he eats first, he finishes in 30 seconds and then barks all the way through ours while jumping up. Manic play follows as above, then sleep for hour or so, then tea. Repeat of super manic behaviour (worse after tea). There are repeated attempts at getting upstairs, even though there is nobody up there as we’re all downstairs, so this is an obvious attempt at a)escape, b)sabotage of everything in bedrooms, as he has now fulfilled his goal of sabotageing everything in the living room. Sleep for 3 hours, so then forced to wake up at about 10pm for forced play before bedtime at 11pm.
Oh, he had a major bump today apparently while I was at work. He was running around outside like a maniac after the ball, when either he didn’t see it or he couldn’t stop in time but he went smack bang into one of the big stone flower pots. Ouch. He was apparently very dazed and needed cuddles after. I hope he’s ok.
I get home to find that Megan's friend, C, is staying for tea – in fact, she’s been here all afternoon. It turns out that there’d been a mix-up in communication between C’s mum and B’s mum, and C’s mum thought the party had been postponed when in fact it hadn’t, and it had gone ahead yesterday! Steve had turned up at B’s house with C, Megan and Brody, only to find that B and her mum had gone to London. “Is this is a wind-up?” says Steve. Sadly, no. How embarrassing, but how upsetting for the girls, they were really looking forward to it. I somehow feel to blame – had my wishful thinking actually come true? Megan didn’t get to surf in the freezing cold sea after all. Oh dear, I’m a witch.
Brody now has a pattern. Wakes up at 2.30am, Steve takes him out, back to sleep, wakes about 5.30, Steve takes him out. My alarm goes off 6.30 (if I’m not already awake from all this activity), I go downstairs to give Steve chance to have a shower (we can’ t leave Brody on his own – he’d go mental). We all have breakfast (not Brody). Brody barks all the way through our breakfast while jumping up on our chairs. After breakfast, he’s right next to your feet/behind you until you make his breakfast. Eat in 30 seconds. Out for wee. Back to sleep for hour or so – chance for us to do chores/work/general freedom. Wakes up and wants to play. Out for toilet break. Pulls clothes off drier stand, chews table, tries to eat wires, eats cobwebs and spiders, out in garden to eat all the plants, twigs, moss, dirt, slugs (very dangerous). I have lost hope in keeping my plants alive for another year. Sob.
Lunch – if we eat first he barks all the way through while jumping up; if he eats first, he finishes in 30 seconds and then barks all the way through ours while jumping up. Manic play follows as above, then sleep for hour or so, then tea. Repeat of super manic behaviour (worse after tea). There are repeated attempts at getting upstairs, even though there is nobody up there as we’re all downstairs, so this is an obvious attempt at a)escape, b)sabotage of everything in bedrooms, as he has now fulfilled his goal of sabotageing everything in the living room. Sleep for 3 hours, so then forced to wake up at about 10pm for forced play before bedtime at 11pm.
Oh, he had a major bump today apparently while I was at work. He was running around outside like a maniac after the ball, when either he didn’t see it or he couldn’t stop in time but he went smack bang into one of the big stone flower pots. Ouch. He was apparently very dazed and needed cuddles after. I hope he’s ok.
Friday 26th October
Me
work, Steve home, Megan home (teacher training day – I never understand this
modern school phenomenon. It’s half term next week – you have 5 days to train
to be a teacher!) Megan’s been invited to a surfing party today. I haven’t been
too sure about this. I remember when Steve and I first moved to Cornwall, we
had a surfing lesson at this exact time of year, and the water was absolutely
freezing. When I came out the water, I couldn’t feel my feet. Drying my toes
was the weirdest feeling – it felt like drying someone else’s feet, as I felt
nothing. So in preparation for this day, Steve has already been out with Megan
and bought her some surf booties. We’ve also packed a bag full of jumpers,
towels, thick socks, blankets, hat, scarf, gloves – in fact everything you’d
need for an arctic expedition. And it looks like rain.
I still find it hard to talk, but that could work for me today – if anyone asks me questions about the Kindle, I could just point at my throat, shake my head, and then grab a nearest colleague who’s also cowering behind a bookshelf hoping not to be asked.
When I get home that evening, I find that the delivery of toys and spray was rejected because the spray bottle broke and the liquid spilled out all over the package and ruined its contents. So it was all sent back. I also found out that Megan's friend's surf party was postponed due to the weather. I’m very relieved – but only postponed, not cancelled? It’s now tomorrow instead. Megan spent the afternoon at another friend's instead (well, out shopping to be exact).
Steve has to do some after hours work, because as previously thought, he’s not getting much work done at home during the day.
I still find it hard to talk, but that could work for me today – if anyone asks me questions about the Kindle, I could just point at my throat, shake my head, and then grab a nearest colleague who’s also cowering behind a bookshelf hoping not to be asked.
When I get home that evening, I find that the delivery of toys and spray was rejected because the spray bottle broke and the liquid spilled out all over the package and ruined its contents. So it was all sent back. I also found out that Megan's friend's surf party was postponed due to the weather. I’m very relieved – but only postponed, not cancelled? It’s now tomorrow instead. Megan spent the afternoon at another friend's instead (well, out shopping to be exact).
Steve has to do some after hours work, because as previously thought, he’s not getting much work done at home during the day.
Thursday 25th October
Steve’s
at work today and I’m at home. It’s the usual routine of food, play and sleep.
You can tell that Brody is getting bored with being at home, but he does like
his toys (the new ones haven’t arrived yet). His favourite so far is Tiger, the
draught excluder. He gets particularly amorous with this one, if you know what
I mean. His second jab is next Thursday, then it’s only a short wait (about a
week) until he’s allowed out on proper walks. We’re all looking forward to
that.
I try a bit of training with Brody today. Sit, stay, lie down – a bit wobbly, he’s not quite sure what I’m talking about just yet (I’m not quite sure what I’m doing just yet) but we’ll get there. We play a few new games – hide the treat under one of three cups, which one’s it under; hide a treat in my hand, hold out both hands, which one’s it in? He likes those games. In fact, anything that involves food he likes.
I try a bit of training with Brody today. Sit, stay, lie down – a bit wobbly, he’s not quite sure what I’m talking about just yet (I’m not quite sure what I’m doing just yet) but we’ll get there. We play a few new games – hide the treat under one of three cups, which one’s it under; hide a treat in my hand, hold out both hands, which one’s it in? He likes those games. In fact, anything that involves food he likes.
Wednesday 24th October
Brody is 10 weeks old
today. I drive off to work with a slight sigh of relief. There is no way Steve
is getting any work done at home today. My voice is unrecognisable – it comes
and goes so often I don’t know whether anything will come out when I open my
mouth to speak. I update work colleagues with news and photos of Brody. I think
they’re all relieved that the dog drama story finally has a happy ending. I
have a long day at work today – everyone’s staying on late for Kindle training.
We start selling them in the morning, so we’ve all to learn how they work. I’m
looking forward to seeing Brody tonight. When I do finally get home, I’m
greeted by this beautiful pup with his ears down pressed right back, so all you
see is a nobbly head, bottom wobbling, tail wagging. I get loads of kisses,
licks and tugs on clothes. What a lovely welcome.
Tuesday 23rd October
Still
dosed up, but feeling a bit more relaxed with Brody. We’ll get a nice routine
going. You sleep all day, and I’ll read and catch a nap. As if. My sister has a
dog, Jenny, a Dalmatian, and when Jenny was a puppy, my sister swore by doggy
training pads. They are to be put on the floor in the house somewhere easily
accessible to puppy, and there’s some sort of liquid in there which gives off a
scent to make puppies do their business on it, instead of on your carpet or
kitchen floor. He’s had a few wee wee accidents in the house, so I wonder if I
should try them. I go online and check
them out. I then get slightly carried away. It’s a website full of great stuff
for dogs – anything you can think of! Wow, I wonder what Brody would like –
must have an assortment of balls. There’s too much choice! I go for a green
lattice design ball that they can get their teeth into, one of those
multi-coloured hard plastic weaved balls, a squeaky yellow face ball, and some
odour-killing spray.
I have a much better day with Brody. I’m starting to learn signs for needing a poo – manic running around the house or the garden with bum tucked in. With a wee, you never can tell. People say look out for lots of sniffing, but he’s always sniffing, so I’m on constant alert.
We have a good game of ball throwing and running around outside, but then, as I watch him tumbling over and crashing into flower pots, I remember the warnings of taking it easy with puppies as their bones can break easily, and quickly calm everything down.
The house is starting to look rather messy. Anything that’s at his level or within easy reach, we have to find another home for. Shoes, telephone directories, bags, washing, wires – basically, everything. So our coffee table is now piled high with all sorts of paraphernalia, it’s no longer recognisable as a coffee table. More like a stall at a jumble sale. I decide to hoover and put a clothes wash on. It’s time he’s introduced to noise. The hoover he finds quite interesting – what is this black beast with a long trunk that won’t keep still? He keeps wanting to bite the wire – not good, Brody – frazzled puppy not good. The washing machine has his interest too, but slightly more nervous of this one. Who’s chucking those clothes around in there? Stop! Woof! Scratch! Run away!
One thing I must say though. Brody likes to be in constant contact with somebody, especially when he’s settling down on the sofa (yes, we’ve let him up there, I can hear the tut-tuts and see the shaking of the heads). There’s nothing so wonderful as a soft puppy cuddling up to you. Then you’re trapped. The book or remote is always just slightly out of your reach, and you don’t want to move because that’ll spoil the cosiness of It all. You wait for a big sigh and slight stretch of the legs from Brody, and then you make your move, so it’s not really you that’s spoiled it.
By the end of the day, I’m absolutely shattered, and I’m looking forward to going to work tomorrow for a break – no matter how I’m feeling!
I have a much better day with Brody. I’m starting to learn signs for needing a poo – manic running around the house or the garden with bum tucked in. With a wee, you never can tell. People say look out for lots of sniffing, but he’s always sniffing, so I’m on constant alert.
We have a good game of ball throwing and running around outside, but then, as I watch him tumbling over and crashing into flower pots, I remember the warnings of taking it easy with puppies as their bones can break easily, and quickly calm everything down.
The house is starting to look rather messy. Anything that’s at his level or within easy reach, we have to find another home for. Shoes, telephone directories, bags, washing, wires – basically, everything. So our coffee table is now piled high with all sorts of paraphernalia, it’s no longer recognisable as a coffee table. More like a stall at a jumble sale. I decide to hoover and put a clothes wash on. It’s time he’s introduced to noise. The hoover he finds quite interesting – what is this black beast with a long trunk that won’t keep still? He keeps wanting to bite the wire – not good, Brody – frazzled puppy not good. The washing machine has his interest too, but slightly more nervous of this one. Who’s chucking those clothes around in there? Stop! Woof! Scratch! Run away!
One thing I must say though. Brody likes to be in constant contact with somebody, especially when he’s settling down on the sofa (yes, we’ve let him up there, I can hear the tut-tuts and see the shaking of the heads). There’s nothing so wonderful as a soft puppy cuddling up to you. Then you’re trapped. The book or remote is always just slightly out of your reach, and you don’t want to move because that’ll spoil the cosiness of It all. You wait for a big sigh and slight stretch of the legs from Brody, and then you make your move, so it’s not really you that’s spoiled it.
By the end of the day, I’m absolutely shattered, and I’m looking forward to going to work tomorrow for a break – no matter how I’m feeling!
Monday 22nd October
Day One - Sunday 21st October 2012
I
think it must be Brody’s first time on grass – he bounds along like a happy
new-born lamb, reaching about a foot in the air. Tracey and the kids are out in
their garden next door, and there’s plenty of “Awws” and “Aars”, and the children wanting
to have a hold, but Tracey is sensibly saying to let him settle in with us,
seeing as he’s just literally come through the gate, and we’ve not even had a
chance of holding him ourselves yet. After a brief investigation of the garden,
we show Brody into the house. After having travelled a fair distance in the car
with Steve, Brody is now sticking close to him, and is not sure what to make of
these two other strange females. Well, show no fear little pup because we’re
now going to calm you down by flashing bright lights in your eyes from all
directions as we all take a zillion photos!
He is being very brave. We all turn
into the sheep as we all follow him around the house, watching his every
movement. It’s like the puppy version of The Truman Show. The rest of the
evening is spent watching him eat (very
quickly), making sure we take him outside every 5 mins for a toilet break, and
also regretting that we were wearing clothes with dangly attachments. Clothes with
dangly attachments, it turns out, are a draw for puppies. They just want to
either a) hang off them, or b) chew them. At bedtime we put down loads of
newspaper on our bedroom floor, and put his bed in our room. He christens the
paper immediately with a number one and two. And so it begins. During the
night, any snuffle or movement from his bed wakes me up in a panic and I elbow
Steve to take him out. (Well, he is closest to him). But there is no whining
all night (Brody that is, not Steve), he is brilliant.
How it all began...
I can’t
remember how it really started. We were like any other family with a small
child, hearing the same request nearly every day, and seeing the familiar word
on the top of every birthday and Christmas list :
And,
just like any other family, we had the work commitments that made it impossible
to invite a puppy into our home. But one day, and I can’t recall how the
subject came up, but I wondered aloud if, perhaps, we could rejig our working
hours to make owning a puppy possible. No sooner had the words left my lips,
than my partner zoomed into action and logged onto the RSPCA’s website to see
what poor homeless doggy might need a loving home. For the next few weeks, our
lives were taken over by dog rehoming and adoption sites, we started to lose
track which dog we saw on what site, and all the while trying to keep it secret
from our daughter – that was the really hard bit, especially when it came to
phone calls received in the home while she was around. “This is a very
important phone call from work, I must take it outside so I’m not distracted in
any way” was more or less the cover story. Slightly harder to explain when one
rehoming charity left two messages on the phone, which of course I just played
out loud not even thinking as to who it might be. “Hello, this is Labrador
Rescue, I’m just ringing to organise a home visit.” Beep beep beep, I’m
frantically pressing any button trying to find the volume because you don’t
realise how loud these messages are until you want to be extra quiet.
Thankfully daughter is out in the kitchen choosing an after-school snack so she
is oblivious to everything except food. The next time there’s a message, I take
the handset out to the kitchen with me and shut the door. I press play, but am
horrified to hear an echoey version of the message coming out of the phone base
in the living room where my daughter is sat, as well as out of my handset. I
quickly press stop and peep round the door. She has one of her favourite films
on quite loud, and thankfully she is deaf to everything except the words coming
out of the TV. I wish I knew more about how our phone works.
We finally bite the bullet and make a choice. We’ve spotted 2 springer spaniels, brothers, one black and white, the other liver and white, they look gorgeous and we have all the info we need on them. We organise a day to go and visit them, and if we all get on alright, we can take them away. They are staying in Bath, which is about 3.5 hours away, so we decide to tell our daughter the day before so she can come with us. This is the moment that will stay with us forever. Steve comes home from work, comes into the house and says “Can you two help me with some shopping please?” Secret grin between us. Megan sighs but obediently dons shoes and goes outside with us. Steve opens up boot of car. Inside is a dog basket and toys. “Why is there a dog basket in your car?” asks Megan. We look at her and smile. “Mum, what’s that doing there?” she asks again, a little more franticly. “Are we getting a dog?” She has a look of disbelief and happiness on her face. “Yes,” I reply, “we’re getting a dog.” She clasps her hands over her mouth and then runs to me and hugs me and buries her face in me. She does not let go for a long time, and sobs are emanating from her. I feel myself filling up. She finally lets go and between sobs she says “I can’t believe it, we’re finally getting a dog.” She is absolutely incredulous, the tears are rolling down her cheeks, she is in absolute shock. With impeccable timing, the little girl from next door (she is 5) comes over to us, and even though we are obviously in the middle of a very emotional moment, she ignores Megan’s tears and starts to tell us about their imminent family holiday. Being the thoughtful and sweet girl that she is, Megan listens and between sobs says to her “Really? Wow, that sounds lovely, you’ll have a great time.” For the next 45 minutes, Megan tries to come to terms with what is happening, and we fill her in on the dogs we are visiting the next day. We show her photos and she falls in love with them instantly. She’s not going to get any sleep tonight.
I won’t go into too much detail about the trip to see the spaniels, but need only say that we came back with an empty dog basket. The spaniels weren’t right for us. Megan was absolutely devastated, and we felt rotten for having put her through such an emotional trauma. She wouldn’t speak to us for the 3.5 hour journey home, but by that evening, she was very mature and understanding and agreed with our reasons as to why we didn’t have them. But we were determined to carry on looking – we were definitely getting a dog and this upset would not set us back or put us off.
We called back Labrador Rescue, and after a successful home visit, it was with incredible speed that we had a call back to say they had a young lab they thought would suit us. He was a black lab called Denzil, he was 15mths old and very sweet and caring. Steve and I went to visit him on our own, and agreed to take him. We were to go back with Megan a couple of days later to pick him up. Megan was quiet when she saw him, and I wasn’t sure whether she liked him, but she assured us she thought he was fab. We took him home, and he instantly weed on the living room carpet, he was so nervous and unsure as to what was going on. This was the third home he’d been in in as many weeks. We settled him down, played with him, gave him food, and lots of cuddles and attention, and Steve decided to sleep on the sofa to be with him for the first night. I had work the next day, Megan had school, and Steve was going to stay at home with him. When I got back home from work, Megan was sat on the sofa watching tv, but looking rather sad. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Denzil doesn’t like me anymore,” she says, “he growled at me.” I try to assure her that of course he likes her and he’s just settling in. I go to the kitchen, where Steve has shut himself and Denzil in. “He has to go back” says Steve. “What? Why?” I ask. “He’s had a go at Megan, I’ve had to restrain him and shut him in here with me, but he was growling at me as well.” I look at Denzil who has obviously forgotten about any horrendous incident and is happily playing catch and fetch. I suddenly feel no love for him, and a slight fear. Steve adds “I don’t want to keep them in the same room as each other at the moment. I can’t risk it.” For the next couple of hours we all try to digest what has occurred and what we should do about it. Steve decides to call the rescue lady, explain the problem, and ask if we can return Denzil. It is all very upsetting for everyone concerned, and the rescue lady is horrified as to what has happened with Megan, and agrees a return to the foster home is what’s best in this circumstance. Denzil is gone within the next hour. It is very quiet. Megan has gone to bed, and I get out the hoover and clean away all trace of a dog having been here. I put the dog blankets in the wash, clean the kitchen floor, and clear the toys away. I go to bed because I know Steve won’t be back till late.
The next couple of days are very sad, and we have to do a lot of explaining to all the people we’d told about us having a dog. Then the next day I get a call from Steve while I’m at work. He’s had a call from the rescue centre to say they have a lab puppy, female, chocolate brown, 2 months old, the owner is allergic and sadly has to give it up. We jump at the chance, as puppies rarely come up for adoption. We’re terribly excited. I ask Steve for us not to tell Megan after what we’ve been through. It won’t be that easy though, as that evening I get a call from the rescue lady organising pick-up details of the puppy and Megan is listening in and guesses what is happening. I fill her in – we are going to pick up the puppy in 2 days time while she is at school, so we’ll pick her up with a puppy in tow at the end of the school day. She is very happy. And I’m very relieved we’ll finally get a dog.
The next day, the day before pick-up, I get another call at work from Steve. The owner has changed their mind. They’re keeping the puppy. I’m in total shock, I’m outraged, but most of all I’m dreading telling Megan. What have we done to her. She’s only 9 years old and she’s had to go through this emotional trauma for the past couple of weeks. She won’t understand and she’ll never trust us again. “Next time, we’re definitely not telling Megan, I’m not going through this again,” I say angrily to Steve. In fact, inside, I don’t think I want to go through ANY of this again, I’m suddenly tired of dog hunting, it’s not fun anymore, and I don’t want one.
I have butterflies in my stomach on the way to school, I feel sick, I go over in my mind all the different scenarios. I imagine her coming bouncing out of school singing “We’re getting a puppy tomorrow!” In fact, she comes out chatting about her day, and when we get in the car, I say “Darling, I’ve got some bad news about the puppy.” “We’re not getting her are we”, she says, matter-of-factly. “No, I’m afraid the owners have changed their minds.” She then takes me completely by surprise by her mature thoughts, “Are they allowed to do that? They said we could have her, they made an agreement, and now they’re going back on that agreement. What about the allergy? He can take tablets, but it won’t stop him being allergic, he’ll always be allergic. And how come he didn’t think about getting tablets in the first place?” Even though she is evidently angry and frustrated, I am proud how she is thinking this through and asking the very same questions I was asking. “And I’ve told all my friends I’m getting a puppy tomorrow”. She is quiet for the rest of the car journey home. I try to chat about other things, and when we get home, she makes no more mention of it.
For the next couple of evenings, Steve and I chat about what has happened. “We’re not meant to get a dog”, I say, but he says he doesn’t believe in fate, and is determined to keep looking. I tell him of my change of heart in wanting a dog, but he tries to convince me that I’ll change my mind when we do actually get one. He decides to keep looking on his own, and even though the rescue centre say they’ll try their hardest to get us a puppy again, we know that that is unlikely. Steve decides to look into local Labrador breeders, with the hope of acquiring a puppy that way.
About a week or so later, he announces to me one evening that he is going to view a puppy that weekend, and if he likes it, he’ll be bringing it home with him. I’m not sure how I feel. A little bit nervous, a little bit excited, a little bit not really caring. I tell him not to mention a word to Megan – the first I want her to know about it is when it’s actually in the house.
The day arrives. I take Megan out and Steve goes puppy shopping. About 2 hours later, I get a call. “Package picked up, delivery eta 1 hour”. “OK”, is all I can say, partly because Megan is in the room, but partly because I can think of nothing else to say. Steve is definitely more excited than I am. At the allotted time, I’m in Megan’s bedroom helping her with her homework, when out the corner of my eye I see the back gate open and 2 figures, one big, the other tiny, enter the garden. “Megan, look out the window.” “Why?” she asks suspiciously. “Just look out the window!” “What for?” Why is this so hard, I ask myself. “Just look!” and I almost drag her up out the chair to the window. She looks out, gasps, and races down the stairs. She throws open the back door and runs outside. She doesn’t utter a word. There is just a big smile on her face. “Say hello to Brody”, says Steve.
And so begins my diary of keeping a puppy.
My Christmas List (aged 7)
1. Puppy
2. Hermione’s wand
3. Book
4. The Saturday’s CD
5. Anything pink
My Christmas List (aged 8)
1.
Puppy
2.
DS
3.
Mobile phone
4.
Anything purple (but no pink)
My Christmas List (aged 9)
1. Puppy
2. Laptop
3.
Vouchers
4.
Anything blue (definitely no pink or
purple)
We finally bite the bullet and make a choice. We’ve spotted 2 springer spaniels, brothers, one black and white, the other liver and white, they look gorgeous and we have all the info we need on them. We organise a day to go and visit them, and if we all get on alright, we can take them away. They are staying in Bath, which is about 3.5 hours away, so we decide to tell our daughter the day before so she can come with us. This is the moment that will stay with us forever. Steve comes home from work, comes into the house and says “Can you two help me with some shopping please?” Secret grin between us. Megan sighs but obediently dons shoes and goes outside with us. Steve opens up boot of car. Inside is a dog basket and toys. “Why is there a dog basket in your car?” asks Megan. We look at her and smile. “Mum, what’s that doing there?” she asks again, a little more franticly. “Are we getting a dog?” She has a look of disbelief and happiness on her face. “Yes,” I reply, “we’re getting a dog.” She clasps her hands over her mouth and then runs to me and hugs me and buries her face in me. She does not let go for a long time, and sobs are emanating from her. I feel myself filling up. She finally lets go and between sobs she says “I can’t believe it, we’re finally getting a dog.” She is absolutely incredulous, the tears are rolling down her cheeks, she is in absolute shock. With impeccable timing, the little girl from next door (she is 5) comes over to us, and even though we are obviously in the middle of a very emotional moment, she ignores Megan’s tears and starts to tell us about their imminent family holiday. Being the thoughtful and sweet girl that she is, Megan listens and between sobs says to her “Really? Wow, that sounds lovely, you’ll have a great time.” For the next 45 minutes, Megan tries to come to terms with what is happening, and we fill her in on the dogs we are visiting the next day. We show her photos and she falls in love with them instantly. She’s not going to get any sleep tonight.
I won’t go into too much detail about the trip to see the spaniels, but need only say that we came back with an empty dog basket. The spaniels weren’t right for us. Megan was absolutely devastated, and we felt rotten for having put her through such an emotional trauma. She wouldn’t speak to us for the 3.5 hour journey home, but by that evening, she was very mature and understanding and agreed with our reasons as to why we didn’t have them. But we were determined to carry on looking – we were definitely getting a dog and this upset would not set us back or put us off.
We called back Labrador Rescue, and after a successful home visit, it was with incredible speed that we had a call back to say they had a young lab they thought would suit us. He was a black lab called Denzil, he was 15mths old and very sweet and caring. Steve and I went to visit him on our own, and agreed to take him. We were to go back with Megan a couple of days later to pick him up. Megan was quiet when she saw him, and I wasn’t sure whether she liked him, but she assured us she thought he was fab. We took him home, and he instantly weed on the living room carpet, he was so nervous and unsure as to what was going on. This was the third home he’d been in in as many weeks. We settled him down, played with him, gave him food, and lots of cuddles and attention, and Steve decided to sleep on the sofa to be with him for the first night. I had work the next day, Megan had school, and Steve was going to stay at home with him. When I got back home from work, Megan was sat on the sofa watching tv, but looking rather sad. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Denzil doesn’t like me anymore,” she says, “he growled at me.” I try to assure her that of course he likes her and he’s just settling in. I go to the kitchen, where Steve has shut himself and Denzil in. “He has to go back” says Steve. “What? Why?” I ask. “He’s had a go at Megan, I’ve had to restrain him and shut him in here with me, but he was growling at me as well.” I look at Denzil who has obviously forgotten about any horrendous incident and is happily playing catch and fetch. I suddenly feel no love for him, and a slight fear. Steve adds “I don’t want to keep them in the same room as each other at the moment. I can’t risk it.” For the next couple of hours we all try to digest what has occurred and what we should do about it. Steve decides to call the rescue lady, explain the problem, and ask if we can return Denzil. It is all very upsetting for everyone concerned, and the rescue lady is horrified as to what has happened with Megan, and agrees a return to the foster home is what’s best in this circumstance. Denzil is gone within the next hour. It is very quiet. Megan has gone to bed, and I get out the hoover and clean away all trace of a dog having been here. I put the dog blankets in the wash, clean the kitchen floor, and clear the toys away. I go to bed because I know Steve won’t be back till late.
The next couple of days are very sad, and we have to do a lot of explaining to all the people we’d told about us having a dog. Then the next day I get a call from Steve while I’m at work. He’s had a call from the rescue centre to say they have a lab puppy, female, chocolate brown, 2 months old, the owner is allergic and sadly has to give it up. We jump at the chance, as puppies rarely come up for adoption. We’re terribly excited. I ask Steve for us not to tell Megan after what we’ve been through. It won’t be that easy though, as that evening I get a call from the rescue lady organising pick-up details of the puppy and Megan is listening in and guesses what is happening. I fill her in – we are going to pick up the puppy in 2 days time while she is at school, so we’ll pick her up with a puppy in tow at the end of the school day. She is very happy. And I’m very relieved we’ll finally get a dog.
The next day, the day before pick-up, I get another call at work from Steve. The owner has changed their mind. They’re keeping the puppy. I’m in total shock, I’m outraged, but most of all I’m dreading telling Megan. What have we done to her. She’s only 9 years old and she’s had to go through this emotional trauma for the past couple of weeks. She won’t understand and she’ll never trust us again. “Next time, we’re definitely not telling Megan, I’m not going through this again,” I say angrily to Steve. In fact, inside, I don’t think I want to go through ANY of this again, I’m suddenly tired of dog hunting, it’s not fun anymore, and I don’t want one.
I have butterflies in my stomach on the way to school, I feel sick, I go over in my mind all the different scenarios. I imagine her coming bouncing out of school singing “We’re getting a puppy tomorrow!” In fact, she comes out chatting about her day, and when we get in the car, I say “Darling, I’ve got some bad news about the puppy.” “We’re not getting her are we”, she says, matter-of-factly. “No, I’m afraid the owners have changed their minds.” She then takes me completely by surprise by her mature thoughts, “Are they allowed to do that? They said we could have her, they made an agreement, and now they’re going back on that agreement. What about the allergy? He can take tablets, but it won’t stop him being allergic, he’ll always be allergic. And how come he didn’t think about getting tablets in the first place?” Even though she is evidently angry and frustrated, I am proud how she is thinking this through and asking the very same questions I was asking. “And I’ve told all my friends I’m getting a puppy tomorrow”. She is quiet for the rest of the car journey home. I try to chat about other things, and when we get home, she makes no more mention of it.
For the next couple of evenings, Steve and I chat about what has happened. “We’re not meant to get a dog”, I say, but he says he doesn’t believe in fate, and is determined to keep looking. I tell him of my change of heart in wanting a dog, but he tries to convince me that I’ll change my mind when we do actually get one. He decides to keep looking on his own, and even though the rescue centre say they’ll try their hardest to get us a puppy again, we know that that is unlikely. Steve decides to look into local Labrador breeders, with the hope of acquiring a puppy that way.
About a week or so later, he announces to me one evening that he is going to view a puppy that weekend, and if he likes it, he’ll be bringing it home with him. I’m not sure how I feel. A little bit nervous, a little bit excited, a little bit not really caring. I tell him not to mention a word to Megan – the first I want her to know about it is when it’s actually in the house.
The day arrives. I take Megan out and Steve goes puppy shopping. About 2 hours later, I get a call. “Package picked up, delivery eta 1 hour”. “OK”, is all I can say, partly because Megan is in the room, but partly because I can think of nothing else to say. Steve is definitely more excited than I am. At the allotted time, I’m in Megan’s bedroom helping her with her homework, when out the corner of my eye I see the back gate open and 2 figures, one big, the other tiny, enter the garden. “Megan, look out the window.” “Why?” she asks suspiciously. “Just look out the window!” “What for?” Why is this so hard, I ask myself. “Just look!” and I almost drag her up out the chair to the window. She looks out, gasps, and races down the stairs. She throws open the back door and runs outside. She doesn’t utter a word. There is just a big smile on her face. “Say hello to Brody”, says Steve.
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