Spoons

We have a new addition to the household: four weeks ago Bendigo arrived to cause chaos.

Right now we have a twelve-week-old golden retriever, and a nearly twelve-year-old golden retriever.

When Bendigo turned up, Kempton was unsurprisingly NOT IMPRESSED. She 'tolerated' the chewing on her ears, the wet puddles on her bed, the lack of manners, the general irritations - but only just. It took eleven days for the frost to thaw, and for more playful wrestling matches to begin. Now they are inseperable.

My hope was that Kempton, with her calm sensibility and seniority would teach the youngster how to behave. In fact, Bendigo has been teaching the old dog some new tricks, including how to dig in the garden. (The garden that we worked so hard on during lockdown.) I imagine that the pair will make it to central Australia at some point next week. So it's lucky that they snuggle up and do this, really:

Spoons: Kempton and Bendigo, nearly 12 years and nearly 12 weeks

 

Currently reading: The Rules by Tracy Darnton

Blood and Salad

Gertie has these strangely precise ideas about the way that life will work out and what will happen when she is a 'bit bigger'. For example, though she currently fears Kempton, our new golden retriever puppy, she thinks that she will not be frightened of her by the time she is four.

She's quite convinced that she will like salad when she is six, though she will not touch the stuff now.

Yesterday, I went to give blood and as I was collecting Gertie and her brother from nursery she asked me about the plasters on my finger and my arm, so I explained the process to her as carefully as I could. She was intrigued.

"I'll probably give blood when I'm a bit bigger, won't I Mummy?"
"Yes, you might do."
"Maybe when I'm ten?"
"Well you have to be a bit older than that. Perhaps when you're eighteen."
"Oh."

She thought for a minute.
"So they just put a tiny prick in your finger first?"
"Yes, a tiny little prick."
"And it didn't hurt at all? It must have hurt a tiny bit."
"Well maybe a tiny bit, for only a second and then it is all better."
"Yes, but it did hurt a tiny bit for a little while?"
"That's right."

She thought for another minute.
"I don't think I will give blood when I'm eighteen. In fact, no. I probably won't."

So, a practice clearly not in the same league as liking puppies and eating salad.

Fright Night

It is summer, moonless night in the small village, starless and bible-black.

Suddenly a violent shriek erupts from somewhere outside the bedroom. A loud yelp follows almost instantaneously; then a few seconds later, a prolonged cry from the nursery.

I am terrified, and push my husband from the bed to investigate.

Daddy discovers that Gertie has wet the bed. Kempton, the new puppy has somehow found herself upstairs, inspite of the forbidding stairgate at the top. Gilby has also woken. I go downstairs to make up some milk and find myself clearing up a puddle of puppy-widdle. It doesn't help that I knock over the first bottle, spill watery formula everywhere and have to start again.

A sequence of events emerges. A sleepy-headed Gertie must have emerged with damp pyjamas from the bedroom to be confronted unexpectedly by the puppy, of whom she has a deep fear. She gave out an involuntary (and inhuman-sounding) scream. This woke her little brother, who was terrified by the commotion and rendered inconsolable. The milk was not enough to allay his fears and it took a good forty minutes to get him settled again.

So if we include Kempton's yelp, that is at least four of us who were frightened out of our wits last night. And two of us who had to clear up wee.

We Can Parent But Not Own a Puppy!

I hope I am not tempting fate by writing this. My husband and I have been trying to get a puppy for the last four years. In fact, since before the arrival of the children. Until now we had been refused on the grounds that we are not suitable and had managed to get ourselves 'blacklisted' (if such a thing is possible in the dog-breeding world).

As children we both grew up in 'doggy' households; I remember our first dog from the age of about five, then a golden retriever from the age of about twelve. They were both great friends to me. My husband also had retrievers as a child. So there was no discussion about the breed. The only problem was that that our house was quite small and the garden wasn't really big enough for a large dog. So - we put the house on the market. It took a while to sell, and in that time I became pregnant. We now live in a place with a large garden, in a rural location, just across the road from 70 acres of woodland: perfect for dog-walking. Gertie arrived and we settled in happily. We waited till she was a little older before thinking about a puppy again.

We went through the kennel club to find a breeder. It took a while to find one, but when we did the pups were due in six weeks. We waited anxiously for news. We were a little way down on the list, but when the puppies arrived there was nine in the litter and plenty for everyone.

We saw the photos and Gertie was really excited about the prospect of the new arrival. Then disaster struck. We received an email to say that there weren't enough bitches in the litter and we couldn't have one. But that's ok, we replied immediately. We didn't mind too much about the gender. My husband grew up with bitches whilst we had a dog, so actually it didn't matter too much whether it was a dog or a bitch, we just wanted a family pet. 'No', came the reply. We were not having a puppy.

My husband spoke to her at length. It transpired that she wasn't happy about sending one of her puppies to a household with such a young child. What? Aren't golden retrievers known for being family pets? I was devestated.

We tried again. We got to a similar stage before the breeder let slip that she had spoken with the previous breeder (small world) and didn't think we would be suitable. By this point I was pregnant again with Gilby which complicated matters further. We wouldn't be able to give a puppy enough attention with a new baby. What? How dare you judge us! This time I was furious.

Our household is something of a managerie already. We have a ten-year-old cat, Iggy; two chickens, Cecily and Isolde, and two fish, Percival and Tristan.

Now finally, we have found a breeder who is happy to let us have a puppy. We underwent a two hour 'interview' to ensure our suitability and had friends put in a good word for us. We have been to visit the litter of ten. Gertie was a bit intimidated by the bigger dogs, but loved being in the pen with the puppies and was happy to stroke them. Gilby was fascinated and couldn't get enough of them, pointing and giggling and gurgling with delight at their antics.

Gertie's grandfather is also having one of the litter (as their last retriever sadly passed away last year) so the sibling puppies will spend a great deal of time together.

They are beautiful and gorgeous and we are about three weeks away from expanding our household to include a dog. I can't wait. There won't be a more loved family pet.