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When my two sausage dogs and I got up this morning it was, yet again, chucking it down with rain. I’d spent a comfortable night with Willow and Bear at my side, though at around 5.30 am, Willow decided it was time to get up and started bouncing on my head.
Determined to get at least another half an hour of sleep, I hoicked her under the covers, pulled her into my arms, and said a quick prayer that she might settle down for a little longer. Thankfully, Bear, who likes his sleep, didn’t join in on the onslaught or I wouldn’t have stood a chance. As he rolled over and snuggled up, I was able to persuade Willow that we should get another half an hour which, joy of joys, actually became an hour and 20 minutes.
Of course, it wasn’t quite as easy as I make it sound. I had to gather her up, pin her down, slide her downwards, raise my chin, and cover my face to avoid the tongue trying to snake up my nose. But there was success and that’s all that mattered.
As I said, sometime later I stood absolutely no chance. As Willow woke again and decided to resume the attack, Bear, having also woken, started dancing on my chest, his tail like a propeller and his tongue, like hers, seeking out my every crevice and orifice (cute, I admit, but not at all pleasant unfortunately). I was being attacked from two sides, Willow on my head, seeking out my ear, and didn’t stand a chance.
Making my escape, I sat up and gently propelled both dogs off the bed and onto the floor so that I could put on my dressing gown and find my slippers. I sighed as I recognised the impossibility of doing anything other than following them as they danced and skittered joyfully down the hall to the top of the stairs.
In the kitchen and momentarily not raining, I let them outside as I prepared their breakfast, switching on the kettle for my tea. Tanks empty and bellies full, they raced back upstairs to bed, where they immediately burrowed down under the covers. Before I’d finished showering and brushing my teeth, I could hear Bear drifting off, his snores vibrating and thrumming through the quilt.
Do I resent it? Well, yes, a bit if I’m honest. Whilst I’m forced to get up, all thoughts of sleep abandoned, they, satisfied in all areas, crawl back into bed, curl up together, and drift off back to sleep for another hour, longer if I’d let them, leaving me wide awake!
Having dressed and put my face on, I peeled back the quilt and after some shoving and a bit of persuasion, evicted them, shutting the bedroom door behind me so that they couldn’t creep back in, which they’ve been known to do. Downstairs, they raced to their sofa sack whilst I prepared my breakfast of fruit, cheese, and another cup of tea. I watched the news before getting ready to take them out.
The thing is, they hate the rain. I literally have to push their little bottoms out the back door and stand over them, barring their retreat until they’ve had a pee, or they’d just cross their legs and race back in.
Yesterday, as it was drizzling, I bundled them into the car and drove them to the cricket field. I thought they’d be fine once out with the grass under their paws, but that wasn’t the case. Once out of the car, both were reluctant to move forward. I ushered them along, trying to be upbeat and enthusiastic, but both went only a matter of yards, instantly had a poo, then hotfooted it back to the car and put their paws on the bumper as they cried to get back in. I’m afraid I gave up and just brought them home as I reasoned it’s supposed to be about enjoyment and they were shivering and crying, no hint of enjoyment anywhere.
Well, after yesterday’s experience, when it was time for ‘walkies’ this morning, I poked my nose out of the back door. It wasn’t actually raining but it was very wet. So, mistakenly as it turned out, I decided we were good to go. I thought I’d take them on a pavement walk rather than in the field, as they might find it more pleasant.
They weren’t keen, but having been persuaded to leave the garden on leads, they pootled along quite slowly – but we were moving forward. However, as we got around the corner, it decided to chuck it down. Oh my goodness, both sausages began shivering dramatically, trying to snuggle into each other and stand between my legs, wailing quietly. I stood to one side under a bush, trying to shelter them as best as I could, but with little success.
And it was then that they made their feelings clearly felt. Bear began paddling up my knees frantically crying, with his distressed black, beady eyes looking into mine, whilst Willow stood looking up at me, soggily pleading with her hangdog eyes, tail tucked right under, her head and ears held low. I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t. Accepting the inevitable, I turned for home. Once realising we were homeward bound, they were straining on their leads to go forward, their little legs going as fast as possible.
Needless to say, though only a short distance, we were all pretty soggy as we entered the garden gate and both dogs raced for the back door, chivvying me along. Once safely inside, I ignored my own needs in favour of theirs, wrapping them both up in warm towels as I sat on the floor dripping wet and rubbing them vigorously.
Though appreciative of my ministrations, none of us were mentioning the elephant in the room…as far as they were concerned, this was entirely my fault and their comfort and care had been sorely neglected by me, the individual supposed to be their guardian and protector. Once warm and dry, Willow refused to look at me or stay in my lap, whilst Bear point blank refused to kiss me, turning his head away to the side when I, apologising profusely, tried to kiss him.
They’re now snuggled up together in their snuggle sack, completely ignoring me. The sun is shining, towels are in front of the fire drying out, and I’m feeling dreadful. Guilt, my only companion.
Have I learned my lesson? I have. I’ve promised them that I won’t take them out in the rain again, even with their Barbour rain macs on (which I forgot to dress them in). I’ll check the forecast before leaving the back door and I’ll be more mindful of their needs, their low-slung tummies, and wrinkly little legs. In short, I’ll do better!
Still, were it just a very light spattering…
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