It’s been a week since my new pal came to live with me.
I’ve been in tears for much of it, convinced I’m a bad person and will never get the knack of it. Like there’s some instinct that dog owners have that means they can cope. An instinct I don’t have.
Before Watson came, I found myself thinking of the Sorting Hat in Harry Potter. When Harry put it in his head, he wished and wished that he wouldn’t get put in Slytherin house. I imagined Watson thinking about all the potential owners that had visited him in the shelter and wishing and wishing his new owner was going to be the odd human with the green hair. I hoped he wanted me.
But of course it’s not about me. He’s a fragile creature with a past. He’s full of hopes and anxieties and irrational thoughts.
These seem to be about the potential for cats and birds to take over the world, and his deep felt annoyance that other dogs can’t dance like he can whilst barking joyfully at the end of his lead.
“But you’re not doing it right; I want to play with you!”
Yeah, play as in the Black Terror pouncing on his prey then poking it and sniggering. I know he’s a big softy but if I didn’t and I was the height of a footstool I’d be fair boogered out of my mind to see Watson pogoing towards me.
My grown up daughter has been fantastic, and already she has helped him walk nicer so my back is saved. He is so fast to learn – way faster than me.
Waking in the morning is a joy. To hear his tail start to wag as he realises I’m awake and then to be enveloped in Muppet Monster cuddles and kisses – it beats waking up next to a sweaty man with bad breath hands down.
Although Watson is on a special diet right now and the farts are astonishing. I’m thinking of leaving some HazMat masks at the front gate for the mail man.
As much as I am enjoying spending time with the Hound of the Basketvilles (sic), I keep coming back to the problem. While he barks and lunges at the world, I can’t take him out into it without feeling dread and uncertainty.
I have to be able to take him to work – otherwise he will be on his own for too long each day and it’s not fair to him. I also want to be able to take him on holiday and to woods and fields and valleys and across Middle Earth to Mordor and beyond!
While he barks and lunges like a happy Cujo, I can’t do that.
Worse, my agoraphobia is rearing its head. He makes such a scene. Everyone looks. The owners of the other dogs judge me (well, it feels like they do). It’s my worst nightmare. All I need is to be naked, without my homework and unable to find a loo. Pinch me…?
I am getting better though. For example, I am learning to be quiet to express my displeasure rather than to stomp home in a strop. I don’t know who came home from the shelter sometimes – him or me.
The shelter have been amazing and they are sending one of their trainers out to me in a couple of hours. I think we can do this, you know it? Hope is brimming out of me and filling my muddy boots.
As I write this, Watson is having his breakfast. It sounds like mud filtering through shale into a bottomless sink hole.
I may be falling in love with the smelly Muppet.
The Time Puddle 
He is adorable! You can do this. We got two cats a year ago,(not like having a dog, but bear with). Both were traumatised after living where they had been born. In their first 8 weeks of life they weren’t handled by humans. Then they spent 7 weeks terrified in a cat sanctuary. By the time we got them, they were so shy and timid that they sat on my bookshelves for two weeks and never came off. Gradually with a lot of gentle persuasion, treats and a calm voice, they moved to getting food from a table put right next to the shelves. Next the floor. We still couldn’t strike them as they were too scared. Fast forward to now. Soon I’ll get a morning visit after they’ve been outside to play. They’ll be a meow of hello, a jump on the bed and lots of purring and eventually they’ll sit next to me. You can do this. He’ll come round. You’d make his world!
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So encouraging as always. Thank you! I’m finding the doggy cuddles heart melting. š
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Best part!
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I think there are many cases where the human is actually the one being rescued.
I know that’s how it was for me when I “saved” my fluff bucket of a cat after a major hurricane. I was in a bad place, and he kept me going. I’m sure he would have been just fine out on his own. but he accepted my request for friendship. and I’m ever so grateful.
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