Insanity has struck. Despite all of my plans, I’ve done something mad. I gave myself a good talking too, reminded myself that I was of an age, was quite emphatic that this wasn’t the time, then ignored myself and did it anyway.

We got a puppy.

My husband was useless. Rather than talking me down, explaining that we’d agreed to wait a year, he was grabbing his coat and had dog poo bags in his pocket before I could say puppy pads. (I’m not entirely sure he hadn’t just kept the poo bags in his pocket for the ASMR of the crinkly plastic, -bloody weirdo.)

So, we went to look at puppies.

‘We’re just looking.’ I declared despite having the adoption fee burning a hole in our pocket.

‘If we don’t both agree then we walk away,’ husband was not sounding confident at all, (and was holding a bag of puppy food.)

Who were we trying to kid. We were going to pick a puppy.

The puppy people were lovely, though hubby taught one of their kids so there was much talk of grumpy teens and dragging them from their beds. I sat in a pen of puppies and cooed and fussed.

It would have been easier to say no if they hadn’t been so lovely, the puppy people as much as the puppies.

For a mad five minutes we thought of taking two, to keep each other company, before sensible Maya reappeared on the scene and knocked that idea on the head. They were all lovely in their own way. Mum a Collie, Dad a Basset Hound, some were more Collie but the boy we chose, the first pup I picked up, was more Basset, all big floppy ears and rolls of puppy flesh.

It’s day four as I write this.

Like having a baby, day four is all about the baby-blues. Hubby and I are exhausted. I am taking the night shifts and he is doing the early mornings before heading out to work. Our house is trashed. We are trashed.  We all smell of wee.

There is so much wee. Teeny-tiny puddles of it everywhere. We’ve taken up the rugs and having lived with an elderly incontinent Fox Terrier we know the drill, but, like having babies, it amazing how quickly you forget. I have paper towels and floor spray holstered into the top of my leggings, ready to leap into action at a moments notice. Then there is the bag of dog treats tucked into my bra for easy access – chicken scented boobs is not something I would recommend to anyone.

I’ve said, ‘good boy!’ in that cheery dog- voice so many times I’ve gone horse, though it could be duck depending on the flavour of treat.

Today is the day of, ‘What have we done? How the hell are we ever going to work? Why did we think this was a good idea?’

Then I catch sight of those puppy eyes, or my husband dozing in a chair, the puppy curled over his belly, and my heart melts. He is going to be such a good boy! (I am not sure if that’s hubby or the dog?)

Having always had older rescue dogs, we’ve never done this puppy stage and today it all feels a bit much. My sciatica is playing up, I smell of wee and turkey strips and I can’t quite follow the smell of poo (though to be fair minus the smell of poo, that could’ve been any day.)

The puppy is finally asleep.

I’ve managed to grab a cuppa and sit down to write this. Telling you makes it seem not so bad, not so insane or impulsive. The puppy is laid by my side, the weight of him warm against my thigh as I type, and I suddenly know that it will be alright. Everyone feels like this, its just the puppy blues. Isn’t it?

But he’s waking up. And I need get more treats and run him out to the garden, calling ‘WEE WEE’ in that bright puppy voice while he looks up at me like I’m mental.

Maybe I am.

But its too late now, look at that face.

We have a puppy! Welcome to the family Bertie.

Now, where the hell has he pooped.

7 thoughts on “What have we done?

  1. This is such a heartwarming post! Congratulations on the new addition to your family. It’s definitely a challenging time, but it sounds like your love for your new puppy is outweighing any difficulties. Here’s to many happy years with Bertie!

    Liked by 1 person

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