Last weekend my kids became very attached to a dog that
wandered into our garden. A couple of
days later when they were taking boys bestest friend in infinity for a walk,
the rightful owners happened to be driving along and claimed him back. I have always feared the day their hearts
would be broken but I thought they would be slightly older than the tender age
of single digits. When I was their age I
always wanted a dog of my own. Heavily
impressed and influenced by the adventures of The Famous Five, I wanted a Timmy
dog. A Timmy dog who would adore me and
only me. One who would growl at anyone
who so much as looked crooked at me. A
dog that would be my friend for life. I
didn’t get a Timmy. I got a Spider. A tiny Jack Russell who was the family pet
for a couple of years. Back then, dogs,
ours at least, didn’t know what a vets surgery was. There were no vaccinations, regular worming’s,
or the eradicating of fleas. At least
none that I was aware of. None of our
dogs were ever neutered let alone micro-chipped. Spider disappeared only to be found dead at
the bottom of our garden. Poisoned. Or that was what we were told. Cover your ears now, those of you who are die
hard animal lovers. It was only when I
was older, a lot older, it emerged that Spider had been shot by my father. A local farmer objected to the interest our
Jack Russell had been showing in his bitch and my father took matters into his
own hands. We never had another dog
after that. It was too hard on us when
the dog died so Spider was our last pet.
We got over it and as an adult I would not be able to claim an affinity,
strong or otherwise, to any animal. I’m
not anti-pet. Just anti-hassle. We’re got four kids. Four full
time kids and as far as I am concerned, introducing a pet into that mix is
extra work and added expense. Just down
the road from our house exists a field that fascinates my kids. Or rather, the inhabitants do. They are: a very regal and fierce German Shepherd,
a donkey on occasion, a horse, some hens, a cockerel, a gaggle of geese, and ducks
complete with fuzzy little wind up ducklings.
There was tremendous excitement the day a couple of furry brown rabbits
were seen outside the fence, devouring the clover. Clearly tame, there was great concern that
they might meet their end on the road.
My kids don’t get their gra for animals from their mother. They boys are captivated by this Neverland
and its menagerie. So many animals in so
much space. Who feeds them? Who put them there? Where do they sleep? Who owns them? And then the phone a friend question: “Mammy, can we have a pet?” For a while, every time we passed this field
with its mixed bag of animals, I was issued with instructions to slow down so
they could see if the rabbits were out.
The lads hatched a plan to “trap the rabbits,” bring them home and put
them in a box. The requests for a pet
increased in their frequency and intensity and so too did my reasons/excuses
why they couldn’t have one. And then a
white shaggy dog appeared at our house and made himself very much at home. I wasn’t one bit pleased, least of all when
he decided to accompany me on a run.
Wherever he had come from, he wasn’t used to traffic and ran for cover
into the long grass every time a vehicle heavier than a car passed. Somewhat naïve and too friendly for his own
good, he ran over in delight to make friends with the German Shepherd on the
way back and was almost savaged. I lived
in hope that hunger would drive him on overnight. It didn’t happen. The next morning he was
still there. The kids were
delighted. Their new pet was sticking
around. Unimpressed with his tenacity, I
caved a bit nonetheless and he dined on a breakfast of Cheerio’s, Rice Krispies
and milk. Then I beat it on out of
there. When we returned home in the
early afternoon, the lads were ecstatic to see the mutt curled up outside the
back door, practically waiting for them.
The dog possessed a lovely temperament.
Clearly used to children and people, he was gentle and friendly. He wasn’t giddy and overly excited but he did
scare one of the boys a couple of times and the toddler was a bit too fond of
grabbing tufts of shaggy fur. Not once
did the dog bite or snap. He had no
interest in venturing out onto the road and was making firm friends with the
two dogs next door. And inveigling his
way into the boys’ affections. I could
see what was happening, in particular with our oldest. They were loving this creature. Bonding with it. High on their agenda was what to call
him. A bad sign. A very bad sign indeed. And just wait till Mister Husband saw
him. He never made a secret of the fact
he wanted a dog about the place. I spent
a great deal of time on the phone that Friday afternoon, leaving messages,
descriptions and contact numbers with all of the usual suspects. It still annoys me that our local
neighbourhood watch contact service were not picking up the phone or replying
to my messages and texts. This would
have saved a lot of heartache a couple of days later. The longer this dog stayed with us, the
harder it was going to be on the boys if an owner turned up. Almost 48 hours later, the dog had a new name
and there were no reports of a missing white German Shepherd cross. The vet checked for a micro-chip – there was
none. She also advised us to be careful
in the event that the owners did materialise and we “didn’t like them.” But at this stage, the dog had cemented
himself into the heart of the family.
They wanted the dog to stay so they believed he would. I was very apprehensive. It was clearly a family dog so the chances of
someone claiming him were high, especially now that local authorities had his
details. It could be a week, it could be
a month but the longer he stayed with us, the harder the parting was going to
be. There was nothing I could do. The dog was in good hands, clearly happy to
stay and it was pointed out to me that maybe he was sent to us. Possibly. But for what?
The kids were too young for such a lesson if it all went sour. But I wasn’t.
Maybe that was the lesson. I
feared it was. The dog had been with us
for three days and the boys wanted to bring him for a walk. It was all part and parcel of the newness
that was the dog. So off they went and
returned home some time later. I didn’t
pick up on the sombre atmosphere immediately but when it was announced that the
dog had been collected by his owners, I thought Mister Husband was joking. I was very much taken by surprise at the way
my own heart lurched in disappointment even though I didn’t believe him. But one look at our oldest boy’s face and I
knew the dog was gone. I held out my
arms to him and he began to cry. I
almost did too. The others didn’t cry
but were very quiet. Damn dog! Damn dog
for coming here and making everyone like him.
Damn the neighbourhood watch service for not being available. Damned owners for losing their dog. Damned owners for not coming to find him
sooner. Damned owners for taking the dog
in front of my kids. A big huge little
part of me hoped they would be back with dog in tow; I even toyed with asking
them to sell us the damned dog. Instead
it was decided we would get them one of their own. When I saw how upset Conor was over the dog
being returned I wondered how he would react if a much loved pet passed
away. But you can’t shield your kids
forever. It’s impossible to protect them
from the natural way of life and the more I thought about it, I realised maybe
having a pet would be a good introduction for them. And then another thing occurred to me. We had already agreed that for every poop
scooped in the garden, there would be a bounty of 50c. So they would be learning how to take
responsibility for their pet and also acquiring a little financial acumen. There was nothing else for it. It looked like we were going to get a fifth
baby after all. We found our puppy
through a website and on getting directions to the house, Mister Husband
realised the family lived not too far away from where he used to spend his
summer holidays as a boy and on arriving at the house, we were greeted by a
lovely couple with no less than four young boys under the age of four. Maybe the stray dog was sent to lead us to
Juno, who right at this moment in time, is curled up on my stockinged feet. She
gets a little lonely when her young masters go to bed and needs a bit of
company. There is a happy ending to this
story and least of all because our boys have a new pet. There is another family down the road, happy
out that their dog was found safe and sound and returned to them. The lady owner appeared at our door the day
after she was reunited with her pet with a present and a thank you card for the
boys. They did consider taking the
dog back to us but their own children were horrified at the idea. And well they might be. Dogs, it seems, have a pesky habit of showing
up and staying just that bit long enough to make you care. Sometimes, just sometimes, one will wander
into your life and subsequently your heart. Kind of like kids I suppose.
If you enjoyed this
you might like to hear how the stray dog came to be with us in the first
place. Doggone It! on www.wonderfulwagon.ie
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