“He was the perfect companion for an adventure, affectionate without exuberance, brave without being belligerent, intelligent and full of good-humoured tolerance for my eccentricities.” Gerald Durrell on Roger the dog in My Family and Other Animals
“A black-and-yellow streak shot past the station agent. Dog Monday stiff? Dog Monday rheumatic? Dog Monday old? Never believe it. Dog Monday was a young pup, gone clean mad with rejuvenating joy.” Dog Monday greets Jem Blythe as he returns from the First World War battlefields in Rilla of Ingleside by L.M.Montgomery (from the Anne of Green Gables series)
I grew up with dogs – real-life ones and those in books. The real-life ones were my friends and even my sanctuary when the rest of the world got tough, and just the mere sniff of a dog in a book made me like it more. I haven’t touched an Enid Blyton book for years but the thought of Timmy still makes my heart skip with excitement and I’m yet to get over my yearning for a St Bernard after Rufus and Bruno in The Chalet School series. I even came to look on bull terriers with a softer eye after Heloise in I Capture the Castle.
And now, at last, we have we have a new addition to the household: an almost nine-week old Toller puppy who is as soft and fluffy as a kitten and yet looks head-turningly fox-like, right down to the foxy spring and pounce. He’s not doing much for my daily word count or for the unbroken nights that I was still counting as a blessing even though my children are now both school-age. And the house has acquired the faint odour of eau-de-canine despite daily floor-washing, a liberal application of beeswax, open windows and highly-scented flowers. However that, I tell myself, will dissipate once house-training is complete. (NB There’s no need to disillusion me here. I’m well aware of my future reality.)
My children are exactly the same ages as my younger sister and I were when our family acquired our first dog: an Irish Setter called Penny. Penny was the first of several dogs: Irish Setters, Dalmatians and a Toller.
I have a dim memory of being crowded into a small room in the breeder’s house, a litter of puppies tumbling about in the space between fireplace and sofa, while the breeder quizzed my parents. Where did they live? Had they had dogs before? Would the dog live inside or out? Did they know how much exercise Setters needed? They must have passed the test because Penny came home with us, cradled on my mother’s knee, in the back of the car. Many years later, she said, ‘I don’t know why I didn’t sit in the front seat with her.’ If she had, Penny wouldn’t have had the chance to be sick all over my shoe. I didn’t like the shoes; they were sturdy brown things from Clarks, with T-bars and no hint of a patent shine but I still wasn’t sure I wanted dog sick on them. ‘Don’t worry,’ my mother said, ‘I’ll clean them for you.’
When we got home, I assume the first thing my parents did was take the puppy into the garden. The first thing I did was run upstairs to my bedroom – I’m not sure what I’d done about the vomity shoes – and lie down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. We’ve got a dog! A dog! is what, even now, I remember ran through my mind just like the wobbly caption at the bottom of an old film. (Incidentally, I recognised the same peculiar mixture of exultation and disbelief more than twenty years later with the birth of my first child. It’s a baby…. was my first thought.)
I soon got over the urge to lie prone on the bed and joined everyone else – bar the cats, that is – in the garden. Penny, I was determined, would be my very own Roger, Timmy, Dog Monday, Jack and Pongo all rolled into one. Of course, as a child, and a young one at that, I got all the best bits of having a dog in the family and, walks in inclement weather aside (we lived in the north-west where it rains more often than it doesn’t), none of the drudgery of mopping, wiping, getting up in the night and training – although, to do them credit, my parents got me involved in all of that just as soon as I was old enough. I grew up determined that my children should have the same thing. Now they have and I am filled with a strange mixture of pleasure, excitement and trepidation. Real life dogs are much more work than literary ones but, I think, just as inspiring in their own way.
Gratuitous puppy picture:
8 thoughts on “It’s All About Dogs”
Oh, gorgeous puppy! You do know how to keep yourself busy, don’t you? 🙂
I have my own lovely doggies, now sadly gone to the big kennel in the sky. Chewy, a cocker spaniel we had from the age of six weeks until he passed away at 17, then Oscar, a feisty little Jack Russell who touched our hearts all too briefly. We are keen to get another dog but the gorgeous girl is a bit worried by them, so we’re waiting until she’s a bit older (or we can convince her to fall in love with a puppy). xx
17 is a grand age! 14 is the best any of mine have managed – and Penny, poor Penny, only made three (she was poisoned by weed killer used in the local park). I’m such a dog person I’m not at all surprised at anyone wanting another dog but I understand how difficult it can be with diffident children. My daughter is cautious and definitely is not enjoying the “mouthing” stage our pup is going through. However we’re careful, the children are being taught about how to behave around dogs and I am hopeful she will feel at ease in time. A fair bit of time with a friend’s well-behaved but still lively dogs (whippets) helped a lot in the preparation for our pup’s arrival. Might be worth a thought for your girl, if you’re very keen. X
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We are the same, have always taught her how to behave around dogs. And she loves my Aunt’s dog! But she doesn’t want one in the house right now and gets quite upset so we can’t push it too much 🙂 Time will tell xx
Oh, definitely not. You don’t want to put her off for life, do you! X
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Love the gratuitous puppy picture, Louise! We don’t have a dog: we have all the village dogs instead, usually just two, but occasionally four at a time. They’ve got us down as the soft English people whose garden has no fence, and who buy canine biscuits and treats every week. Our own first pet was an unwanted lab x collie of four months old, taken in when our son was six. He never learned to pick up the poo, but the memories of the pair of them romping in the garden are sweet. He’s turned into a cat man, as a dog wouldn’t fit into his life. And we – well, we have enough visiting dogs to be going on with, and no fences. Maybe at the next house…
Brilliant – I can see it now: your local starlight barking alive with the news that the soppy people in the house with the unfenced garden have been seen unpacking bags of shopping from their car…… And, actually, from your point of view, visiting dogs must provide a lot of the pleasure with much less of the responsibility. I can see the attraction, although I am far too in love with my boy to want things any other way right now. My son – also yet to do any poo-picking – seems to feel the same way while my husband can only be described as besotted. Still, it could be worse; it could be a car he’d fallen for….
What a cute little puppy! Dogs are a lot of work, but they’re worth it!
Definitely – although a puppy in the house is a salutary reminder of just how much work. I think my husband’s plea for a second dog in the not too distant future may go unanswered!