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| A daytime nap, A5 sketchbook. |
Beware a long post follows...
Subconsciously, I hear a clip clip of claws
on tiles. Then, suddenly I awake fully as a paw hits me in the face… I check
the clock 4.45am sigh … At the same
time, Degas stretches out and lies across my middle; all 22kgs pinning me down.
Having sleepily fussed Degas, I struggle up, pushing her off my stomach and
pull on some clothes. The last thing on is my trousers and it’s the usually fight as she paws at them and chews my arms in her excitement to go out. I
remember a time when my clothes didn’t have holes in them as both my T-shirt
and trousers are holey now… only 6 months ago, but it seems a distant past.
At the door, Degas sits and I let her out of
the flat with a hissed “steady”, but she runs full tilt downstairs, sliding
into the wall where the stairs change direction. I meet her at the bottom of
the stairs as she’s rushed back from the door to see what’s keeping me. She
reluctantly sits, without being told, at the door but her whole body is
wiggling as I clip on the lead, then she’s off like a rocket towing me like a ragdoll behind her.
Of course, having looked after my parents
dogs over the years, and despite having Degas for almost 6 months, I still
expect her to squat as soon as she’s outside… but no. She dilly dallies and
wanders around for what seems like hours with me whispering for her to pee.
Finally, we can go back inside. Back upstairs, I stupidly check the time –
4.55am – and debate with myself if I should go back to bed or not. I choose to
go back and Degas comes too, snuggling up back to back. Sometimes she sleeps
but often she starts chewing the sheets, pillow, or anything else in range including me.
5.40am I get kicked in the back and then I
feel 4 paws trying to push me out of bed. Sigh.
More cuddles are required before she lets me out of bed and then alternates
between chewing my arms and hands or circling my legs in her impatience for a
walk. I pull my clothes back on, fight for my trousers, struggle to get a
harness on my squirming puppy, wait for her to sit, tell her to steady, and
follow her rushing body back downstairs.
After a dawdle around the
waste ground, we set off around the neighbourhood. Spotting a cat, she pulls my
arm out of its socket as she tries to go and play with it. Hauling her back,
she sits down facing the cat and as I attempt to get her back on route she lies
down, on her side, in the dust. Of course, construction workers are on the
street and I can almost hear the chuckles as I try to get her back to her feet
and continue walking. By 6.10 we are home again, but now she refuses to sit at
the front door. I stand there. She walks to the end of her lead away from the
door… and sits facing the street. SIGH! I tug her back to the door, get her sat and in
we go.
At this point, I finally get to put the
kettle on for my first cup of tea and whilst it boils, I clean my teeth. Six
months ago I would never have left the house without either, but already I’ve
been out twice. I make my tea, sit at my desk to check emails as I know I won’t
be allowed to draw, and Degas jumps up at the window where the birds are
drinking. She paws the window and I wonder if it’ll break. Then, bored with
tormenting the birds she bounces on me and demands to be played with. I’m
halfway through my tea, but she’s jumping up, and chewing my arms.
At 6.25 I abandon my
tea and computer, hunt for her ball, and go outside to the yard around the
building. Having closed the gate we play fetch. She charges after the ball and
back often bowling into me. Then she drops it, picks it up, drops it, picks it
up, slobbers all over my hands and holey trousers as I take the ball from her.
After several throws, she gets distracted and, ball in mouth, sticks her head
out of the far gate and… drops it. We watch it roll across the pavement and
into the street. I put her back on the lead, no easy nor quick task once she’s
outside, and go into the street to recover it. After a few more throws, she
drops the ball in the yard and goes and waits by the door, as I retrieve her
ball.
Upstairs, I taste my tea – cold, so have my
muesli with a glass of water. Every third day, like today, I give the empty
pouring yoghurt bottle to her, holding it so she can lick the mouth, then she
takes it to chew and dribble yoghurt across the rug and sofa. On other days I
have to play ball again, so it’s a welcome relief this morning. I check the time… eek 6.50am
I eat the last spoonfuls of my muesli and head for the shower. As I’m washing I
realise my legs are hairy but I have only time to wash. Sigh. At this point a head appears under the
shower curtain, laps up some water, licks my leg (eew), then disappears. As I’m rinsing my hair I can hear her
playing on the bed and I pray it’s with her toys.
Wrapped
in my towel, I see Degas is wrapped in the sheets in her attempt to strip the
bed, which I’d made 3 minutes earlier. I spot footprints on the sheets and
wonder if I should wash the sheets, but I don’t have time to put on the machine
and the spare set are already in the wash. Sigh.
Attempting to straighten the sheets around a playful Degas, she slobbers my
arms and hands... I’ve been clean less than a minute. A thought flits across my
mind as to when I will lose the smell of puppy slobber which I’ve had
permanently as a perfume since she arrived. Pulling on my clothes, I check the
time. 7.10 – time to leave for the day job.
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| Stripping the sheets is such fun especially when I end up in a mass of material. |
Degas, happily chewing the sheets, refuses
to move off the bed, and bounces about as I try to shoo her out of the room.
Finally, I trick her into the lounge, put the baby-gate in place, put on my
shoes, and with a final “be good” leave.
In the car, I sigh with relief I’ve survived another morning, I check the time
7.20, and notice I will be late again despite getting up so early. SIGH.
