Not the Youngest Now

Gilby is a whole year old tomorrow, and we began the celebrations for the little man early with a small family gathering at the weekend. We also enjoyed a picnic at the beach yesterday, though the poor boy has a not insignificant amount of facial sunburn despite being smothered in cream, fully clothed and wearing a firmly-fitting floppy hat for most of the afternoon: naughty Mummy; failed again.

His birthday has accidentally coincided with the arrival of Kempton, our long sought-after golden retriever puppy, who, at eight weeks old, is one of the cutest things on the planet. Not quite as cute as Gilby in his sunnies, but not far off. It means we have a new baby in the house. One who requires regular feeds, cuddles and sleeps, and even cried in the night for the first two nights. So Gilby is no longer the littlest person; there is someone even more demanding than him.

In an effort not to make it seem as though this is a birthday gift, we have made it quite plain that it is in fact Gertie's puppy. She has chosen her collar and toys and chews and was heavily involved in the preparation for Kempton's arrival. Gertie visited Kempton at five weeks old as part of a litter of ten, and though she was a little wary at first she was happy to stroke the puppies and even got in the pen with them all at one stage. But now that we have Kempton at home Gertie is petrified of her, and insists on Kempton being shut off away from her (usually by a strategically-placed stair-gate, of which we have many).

Gilby seems to adore the puppy and is happy to crawl around with Kempton, have his toes licked and share toys. I'm not so keen on this last part, but he'll soon learn that they get chewed to bits when freely offered to the newest baby in the house.

But Gertie is really not so sure. It is only day five but she now feels that she has been 'really brave' if she tiptoes past the sleeping Kempton, and I wonder when, and perhaps if she will relax and enjoy the new arrival.