Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
Dogs are such amazing little creatures. They’re brave, resilient, compassionate, and emotionally intelligent. At six am this morning, my dog Willow woke me up with morning kisses. She cuddled up under my chin for a snuggle, until her brother, Bear, with his vocal over-enthusiasm, nudged her out of the way, tail going like the clappers, so that remaining where I was became an impossibility.
Stroking Willow’s soft, silk-like ears, her eyes tightly closed, her head like velvet resting against my face, I mused on the fact that she must, at her core, be so confused and sad. She was initially separated from her mum and siblings at only eight weeks old, and then, at two, she lost everything she’s ever known once again, with no understanding of why.
I confess, I’m always staggered by the choices made by people where dogs are concerned. Of course I didn’t really know them, but her owners appeared to be good, nice people and she and her brother were clearly loved, in good health, and well brought up. But, if I was given the choice of emigrating without members of my family, I just wouldn’t go! In my world, you wouldn’t leave a child, so why would you leave a dog?
I honestly don’t get it and I too have been tested in my life. When I got my first job in London after being in hospital for a year, I had to travel from my parents’ home in Chelsea to Hackney twice a day (without tubes – it was three buses and took hours!), and it was gruelling. I desperately needed to move into the area and being a church school, the school’s chair of governors offered me a church flat in Hackney. Great, I thought, but then he said I couldn’t take Henry, my very first dog (also a dachshund) with me. My parents offered to take him but, for me, the choice was simple and it was a very definite “no”.
I remember this man was really horrible; calling me stupid, implying I was ungrateful, and making me feel terrible. He was so cross with me and just couldn’t understand my position, going on about how lucky I was to be offered a flat, even suggesting that I might lose the job if I refused his offer. I still refused, though I desperately needed that job having been ill for over a year and fighting to get my life back on track. But Henry, my furry companion, was a part of that picture. He was part of my recovery and kept me well.
However, even without that, when I homed him, I took on that responsibility. I promised that little dog that I would take care of him when, having paid my seven shillings and sixpence, we walked out of Battersea Dogs home on Christmas Eve together four years earlier. I got that little dog three months before I turned 21 and he taught me so much about life, love, responsibility, and the joy of living with dogs.
It’s true that in 2005 I did have to rehome a dog who I’d rescued and who’d been with me for 10 years – and it absolutely broke my heart. But, in truth, the choice was made for me. For some unknown reason, Myrtle (a tiny red Jack Russell) picked a fight with my other dog, Freyja, a 14 stone Leonberger who she’d happily lived with for four years.
We had no idea what started it, but they were two bitches and, once started, neither would back down. Myrtle nearly lost her life and the vets assured me that having gone the way that it had, it was not going to get better. It was only a matter of time before Freyja killed her.
Thankfully, my partner’s mother (who’d always taken Myrtle when we were on holiday and had been trying to get Myrtle off me for years), jumped at the chance of taking her full-time. I wept and wept and wept, my heart broken, but I knew it was the right thing to do as one of them had to go or she’d die. Rehoming 14 stone of dog, as against a five pound Jack Russell who was loved and wanted elsewhere, meant that the choice was made for me – but it nearly killed me.
Interestingly though, as I write this all these years later, I still feel the enormous guilt like a black pit in my stomach. Though, realistically, I had absolutely no choice about it or about which dog should be rehomed. I’d brought Freyja into the home, 10 years after taking on Myrtle, and although I didn’t cause the rift between them, it was on me. It was my fault and I’ve never forgiven myself.
Of course it also taught me an important lesson; while same-sex siblings can get on together with no issues, if you want to avoid these things happening at all, go for one of each! Boys and bitches have different needs and different urges and if you want a 99.5% chance of avoiding fisticuffs completely, don’t have same sex pairs!
It was a well-respected dog behaviourist and vet who told me: “Boys might fight, but when it’s over, it’s over. Bitches bear grudges. Whilst boys might do each other damage, if they haven’t been bred to fight, one will submit eventually and it’ll be over and done with. Bitches will fight to the death and if you intervene, they’ll bide their time until they can continue to settle the score.” I’ve never made the same mistake again.
Holding Willow in my arms, I recognise that her desire to constantly be on you, next to you, and with you is not just part of her affectionate personality, it’s a huge reflection of her insecurities. It’s clear she feels that if she doesn’t ingratiate herself to me and keep me in sight, she might just find herself in yet another home.
Understanding her as I do, I held her tightly this morning and whispered in her ear. I promised her that whether she could or couldn’t ever learn to love me, I’d always love and protect her. I’ll never, ever let her down. This is her forever home and she won’t be going anywhere.
We so glibly treat dogs like they’re disposable objects and because they’re so forgiving, so good at adapting, few consider the consequences or long-term damage that re-homing does to them. Though, things are changing in some areas of the law. But, sadly, with rescue centres bursting at the seams and high numbers of ‘lockdown’ dogs already abandoned, people just aren’t learning. You only have to look at the way humans treat other humans to understand that we probably never will.
Promises made and whispered in her furry ear, something stirred at my feet as a small Bear rolled over, woke up, and decided to give both Willow and I the ‘good morning’ onslaught. I greeted him with equal enthusiasm and made him my promise too, before, face washed (kind of), I struggled to get out from underneath him, pull back the covers, get up, and face the day. The two little sausages raced down the stairs ahead of me for breakfast.
Oh and good news. I weighed Bear yesterday and he’s lost just under two pounds; he’s well on the way to his first Slimming World gold star!
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