Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
I’ve really enjoyed exposing my sausage dogs to new experiences, so I decided to invite some friends over for Christmas drinks and nibbles. Though I recognised it might be a tad stressful as I’ve only had Willow and Bear for five months, I’ve noticed a real change in their behaviour recently.
In simple terms, Bear trusts me now. He understands that I’m his and he’s mine and this is a forever home where he’ll never be physically chastised for anything. No hand will ever be raised, he doesn’t need to eat his poo to hide it, and he doesn’t have to secrete himself away, just in case. He’s developed into a calm and confident little boy and is even playing with Willow and getting the zoomies, his little tail spinning like a propeller.
Every day he comes for cuddles of his own accord, is enjoying exercise more, and I’m so proud of the change in his appearance. When I took him in he was 17lbs 13oz (just say it quickly so you don’t gasp) whereas Willow was 10lbs 2oz. His fur felt greasy to the touch, his skin was scurfy, and his coat was dull and lifeless. Now, he’s competing with Willow for good looks. He’s lost 4lbs 7oz, has a vibrant, glossy sheen, and to the touch is just irresistible, meaning that I can’t keep my hands off him.
As he stands up on his little back feet and rests his front paws on my calves, I can’t resist running my hands up and down his flank, burying the tips of my fingers in the rich, silky, velvet bundle that he’s become. He’s so soothing to touch and he has more energy and enthusiasm for life. But, most importantly, his true nature has blossomed.
Bear is, without a doubt, the sweetest, nicest-natured, little sausage you could ever meet. As he tries to steal your sausage roll or digs himself into your lap as he makes himself comfortable, you just feel privileged to have him and joyful that it’s your lap he’s chosen and your sausage roll he’s trying to steal. It’s called trust and until he came to live here, Bear had known little of that in his life.
Willow, physically beautiful from the start, was affectionate but incredibly clingy and so shouty you needed ear defenders. Her tail was always tucked right up underneath her, she was afraid to walk along the pavement and afraid of everything that came towards her, from behind her, and every car on the road made her flinch. It was clear that in her little life she’d witnessed the abuse Bear faced and was desperate to ingratiate herself so that she didn’t come into the firing line.
Using the same methods of consistency, affection, reward, and lots and lots of exposure to kind, gentle people in her own safe space who’ve calmly shown her that life really is OK, Willow (though a hard nut to crack) is now much less shouty, finds her feet more quickly, and is learning to trust the world around her. Her puppy side has blossomed and she now enjoys streaking across the grass like a little gazelle, getting other dogs to chase her and playing with Bear every evening.
Now, when people come to the house, she settles down much more quickly and her favourite thing is to sit on them, thus earning her trust. If she has a fault, it’s that having climbed your chest, she wants to be right up there in your face, sticking her tongue up your nose and in your ear.
Initially terrified of men in particular, she’s now decided that she particularly likes beards. If she had her way, having washed every inch of them, she’d like to use her velcro paws to snuggle up inside them, like a small black and tan spider in a tightly woven web. Neither my friends Matt nor Lee can escape her as they politely try to extricate her from their facial hair with little or no effect.
Anyway, my Christmas gathering went ahead and although we put up a public disclaimer about possible inappropriate behaviour from unschooled puppies and plates of food, I was immensely proud of them. Not just the way that they coped with so many different people (two they’d never met before) but everything; noise, chatter, big feet moving about, food on every surface, music, the doorbell constantly going, and perhaps most importantly, the fact that they weren’t the centre of attention.
Bear quickly became the host with the most, padding around after people with his tail wagging, putting his paws up on knees to check they had enough food or whether they needed a drink, whilst Willow styled herself as an important fashion accessory. She bounced around to be picked up (which everybody did, succumbing to her charms and doe eyes), then sat in the crook of their arm until the next guest arrived and she felt she ought to get down to meet and greet them too.
She only gave one friend a hard time, but even they quickly won her over (a smidgen of ham helped) so that harmony was quickly restored. It also helped that Bear made up for it by sitting on my friend’s lap quietly as they chatted, ear fondling as he gently made friends.
Later, when we all decanted to the comfort of the sitting room, Bear went from lap to lap, checking in on me regularly, but I wish I had taken a photo of Willow. My neighbour’s husband is a huge man, well over six foot, physically built, and must appear as an absolute giant to a tiny Dachshund. But there was Willow, upside down in the crook of his arm, legs, and wrinkly feet akimbo, whilst his enormous thumb caressed her upturned tummy. He was chatting obliviously and she was sleeping soundly.
It was one of those moments where it’s as if you aren’t there. You’ve removed yourself to quietly watch on from above and check that all is well with the world. I felt my smile from the inside out, to be surrounded by my friends, those I love, and see how perfectly my two furry beasties have slotted in. I could’ve sworn that I felt the familiar lean of my previous dog Arthur’s gentle touch, his confident reassurance reminding me that all is now well and that I’m never alone!
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