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.