I am writing this with the puppy.

We have had him for a while now.

He has been fed and watered. We have been outside for wee’s and poos. We have been outside again just to check. We’ve played catch and savaged a poor innocent stuffed banana and ripped the guts out of a stuffed pheasant. We have tried to eat, in no particular order, my toes, my laptop wire, a chair leg, our own tail, my hands, wrists, ankles, pyjama trousers, sleeves, the sofa and a blanket.

We have headbutted the laptop in annoyance ( to be fair I often do that.) We have tried jumping on the laptop, lunging at the laptop, and simply leaping onto my boobs in an attempt to top-trump the laptop. All to no avail.

I need to write. He needs to sleep.

Is there anything more perfect that the solid warm weight of a dog sleeping against your thigh while you type? I wouldn’t know. It hasn’t happened yet. I’m going to have to nip him back out into the garden again as he’s doing the ‘I’m going to pee in your shoes’ shuffle – brb.

Ok, we peed. But now all the games have to begin again, so read what we did before and imagine us doing it all again.

On the whole, puppy training is going well.

We have mastered ‘Sit’ and ‘Wait’ and ‘Look at me’, though to be fair it’s his dinner he is looking for. The crate training is going well, with only 5 minutes of whining and grumbling that he hasn’t got the right chews/ toys/ parts of my body, to maul why he is in there.

He is going to be a brilliant dog.

We just need to learn to let me work.

The feeling of love you have for a puppy – for any dog is enough to outweigh what annoying little beasts they can be.

Still, for all my love of dogs over the years, I have never lost the, ‘Oh my god what the fuck have you done now?’ Does that make me a bad dog owner? For as much as I find I can not live without the presence of a dog in my life, I am still prone to exasperated groans as they are sick down the side of the sofa, or sneakily eat my sandwich, or do the most disgusting farts, out of spite, as you try to eat your tea.

And yet, for all that, this puppy, with his ridiculous ears and too-big feet pulls at my heartstrings (and my laptop wire) in a way I find I cannot resist.

Another wee break – it’s not like I am slow at typing it’s that he’s super-fast to wee – brb!

Oops didn’t make it in time, my fault for looking for a shoe to wear in the pouring rain or maybe the puppy just didn’t want to get wet? Though he’s not too fussed when walking the pee all over the house and then savaging the floor cloth as I try to clean up the mess.  Right then, where was I? Oh yeah – how much I love my puppy.

After another round of trying to bite my hand, which I immediately hide away, he has given in and finally settled, snoring gently, his tiny nose mushed into my leg. At last, I can write.

Only now I’ve nothing to say.

Nope, not a thing.

And my tea has gone cold.

And I’ve just realised it’s freezing in here, now I’m not jumping up every five minutes.

And my iPad is just out of reach.

But if I move, even just an inch, then the puppy will wake up and it will all start all over again.

I’d better think of something to write, quick. This may be my only peace and quiet for the day.

I will be right back.

2 thoughts on “A Writers Life.

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