Admitting defeat
So yes, I suppose I went into it with the best intentions: a puppy! A playmate for Bert! (who must surely be lonely seeing as he’s the only dog in the house?). A fun, diversionary interest for the boys during the holidays! Another little addition to the family! Even, it has to be said, to save poor Jen from a four hour round trip across Ireland to drop her at the kennels. Hmm. Cue sound of needle scratching across record.
Bert hated the puppy, hated it with all his marrow, all his being. He took, as you know, to sleeping upstairs, having to be persuaded to come down with the use of the lead (lies! All lies!), growled and snarled (and in one particularly terrifying encounter, snapped at her little head) when she climbed all over him, went on a week-long hunger strike and (what hurts the most – to quote that one from Cascada with the funny black and blonde stripey hair) withdrew all my cuddling and slobbery kiss privileges. Not one single happy greeting, (not even when Hubby arrived home from work – usually the scene of delirious wagging and face slurping), not one airborne greyhound crashing onto the bed as soon as he heard us wake up, not one sleepy, after-dinner cuddle: his nose stuffed lovingly into my armpit, came our way. Gosh, dearest reader, life is hard.
So luckily, seeing as it was only a foster arrangement, little Taz (or Flea or Maudie or whatever) was able to be returned to Jen to be put into her kennels as originally planned (where, it seems, they’ll be able to find her a little puppy playmate or seven); be dumped from our little family unit like a hot potato if you would. But this begs the question: what would have happened had we actually bought her – permanently – into our family? I suppose we would have had to persevere with an over-emotional Bert skulking upstairs on the bed, closed doors, segregated mealtimes and muzzled introductions. Would Bert have starved himself to death? Who knows, but to inflict such misery on my beloved? I couldn’t do it.
Happily, she’s bound to be adopted quickly – puppies not being the most difficult of ‘retirees’ to rehome. She’s a good girl (she learnt to use a little patch of newspaper in the kitchen during that first week instead of random floor peeing), didn’t chew (well, only children and they don’t count) and didn’t cry at night. What it has done is cause Jen just as much driving: two trips to meet me at Maynooth rather than one huge trip to the kennels, and probably even more hassle (fevered, desperate telephone calls being only the start of it). And for that, Jen, I’m truly sorry.
#2 and I returned from our trip to meet Jen and C to find an ecstatic Bert waiting deliriously at the door, tail going like the blade of a helicopter, jumping and leaping, delighted to see us. He scoffed down a huge dish of food (it’s always best on Sundays – leftover roast dinner!) and spent the remainder of the evening laid across our laps ‘en famille’ happily snoring and drooling as we watched Top Gear. For Bert, life is sweet. And for me? Well, I’m disappointed, but Bert’s family, and you know what they say: family comes first.
Give him big hugs from nutty William and a sympathetic Taffy xx
Don’t you DARE reproach yourself for the truly Wonderful gift you gave Curragh (name not my fault!).
You helped her make the transition from foundling fleabag to confident little madam and helped to teach her all of the socialising skills so absolutely vital to her new vocation as family pet.
Sometimes, the shoe doesn’t fit – you can’t blame the shoe, or the foot (or the spoiled pair of Manolo’s in the wardrobe – LOL!). All you can do is find the right fit. If my time in adoption has taught me anything, it’s taught me two things: absolutely everything happens for the best in the end and, when in need, I can always depend on my Wonderful, Enthusiastic, Sincere and Generous Best Pal to offer a couch for a hairy bum (canine!) or a telephone distance glass of wine and a whinge.
Love’s ya Missus. Mwah!
As it happens, Curragh has already been adopted – by Sally, a mildly brain damaged, 5 year old Mama greyhound. Sally was horrifically beaten and, as a result, lost some of her hearing, teeth and ALL of her confidence. It was ADORATION at first sniff between them and, since Sally is living in the house, not the kennels, Curragh joined her (Damn! That name’ll have to go…)
She spoons into her ‘Mama’ at night and Sally is fine about her ‘puppy’ clambering all over her and chewing her ears. If she gets out of hand (paw?) she ‘mouths’ her as a warning to behave. This is when the Mama closes her mouth around the pup in a light, warning squeeze. Curragh (groan!) pees when her Mama does, and has taken to kicking sand over her ‘business’, just like Mummy. Wherever they go, Sally trots on, her poor damaged face held high and proud, her fawn bundle of trouble scampering after her.
Heaven directs us for the best, Missus. I think this is the solution He wanted.
When I’m having my usual word with Him on Sunday, I’m going to thank Him for bringing the little family together – and for my Wonderfully Ditzy and Fabulous Best Friend.
Yay!!!
TM: Aw thanks. And thanks for all the email support as well – bitey kisses back at the fellas x
Jen: Goodness, I think we’ll have to give you the next guest blogger spot – what a way with words! Thanks for the update (too much information on the bodily functions) and I’m glad little Curragh (I quite like it – it’s like Posh naming her son Brooklyn) is happy with her new ‘Mammy’. Oh, and put a good word in for me with the Boss will ye? x
I think you did the right thing though. Maybe “Bert”s are just destined to live alone?
I’m so glad the little pup has found her niche.
And what would have happened, EM, if you’d kept her? I suspect that while Bert would have settled to some degree, there’d always have been tensions and trouble ready to pop up. Not the best fit, it seems. He’s obviously SO much happier without her!
Jay: Lucky little thing isn’t she. I agree. What finally made my mind up was Jen’s lovely C saying ‘could be that she’s just not suitable for Bert…and he comes first’. x
Wee One: ‘Tis nice to have a happy ending for a change, isn’t it! x
EM look on the experience as having given the little one the real chance in life that she deserved and now she has gone on to better herself xx
I’ll miss Taz though… she was a sweetie.
[...] trace no search looks at the problem of knife crime Iain Dale despairs at the police English Mum admits defeat Blue Cat breathes deeply and calmly LCT talks to herself The Unbearable Lightness contemplates [...]
All that can be said is you tried, maybe over time they would have liked each other, but you never know, so dogs are not meant to be pack animals .. esp demented Greyhounds !… at least you can look in the mirror and say “I tried”
I adopted a Boxer (not Lenox Lewis), long story, maybe another blog time, but I know I gave her the best three months of her life… and you have given the ickle one a good start off … good work EM x and esp you Jen for taking her on and giving the new happy family a go …. I’m all made up ! Happy days !
Will Definitely be nicking that one… and ‘Oedepus’ for a cat… LOL!
All’s well as ends well, as some chap said, sometime.
I have found EM to now be offically inspiring..gonna venture into my own blog .. Thanks Em (and DBM)… it will never be a match for all this though ….in my opinion, EM is a blogging leg-end xx
Keep the Solar Panel Stuff comin’ – Sweetie and I are buying some for our new shack and the jargon has us (me) in sobs…
Womble: Welcome!! Yep, you’re damned right – doggy blackmail of the highest order.
Moon: Happy days indeed. And how’s the blog coming fella??
Ma: Meh, she’ll be fine – I think half the problem with the ickle on was that she wanted to be Bert’s friend – he couldn’t be doing with all that climbing all over him, kissing and biting. He’s rather an aloof sort of chap x
Jen: You’re right – a sort of happy ending which is all we could hope for really x
Moon: Ah, I’ve always wanted to be a leg end. Thanks. And hurry up, I’ll do you a plug or twelve x
Baino: Yep, and I love my shoes more than life itself – Bert, thank gordon, is not a chewer, more a collector. We’ll often come home to little piles of shoes in his bed, but they’re all mercifully unscathed x
Tara: I never saw it before you pointed it out but he definitely is..er…deery!
June: And you know how much we all love a happy ending! x