…is quite young. I don’t know whether I’m making progress on her toilet training, or whether I’m getting more efficient in cleaning up her piss. She’s a Spaniel, just like Pepper. I adopted her in a different set of circumstances than my last dog, possibly a bit easier and more stable. However, unlike the last puppy stage, I’ve spent the last few weeks wondering if this new layer of responsibility is fraying my mental health.
The effect that a dog has on the world around it is unusual and unpredictable. People stop for pictures in cafes and on footpaths. People bridge language and culture differences to talk about their experiences with a dog growing up. I’ve become a city street counsellor for those who have lost their dogs. My office is full of staunch corporate types, not softened by the appearance of a smiling face, but by the bites of a sharp toothed pup with large, smelly wet ears. One suit took to jumping around gleefully in his brogues while the dog looked on excited and accepting. She then shed her roan tufts on his wool collar, to which he delighted as I apologised and scurried around in my bag trying to find my lint roller. Now everyone knows our name and stops by our desk frequently for pats, cuddles and squeaks. Puppy is a resident city dog now and balks at the sight of open spaces. While I anticipated putting her in doggy daycare due to her perceived distraction on the rest of the office, the distraction was welcomed. She is very well behaved and I did not foresee that, based on prior experience.
She relishes routine. In the mornings, we drop my son off at school where she greets the kids in his class. We toddle off to work and have a brisk walk around the block to ease off the excitement she’s absorbed from yelling children. Then she spends a good 3 hours snoozing under my chair, periodically being woken up by visitors and the occasional treat. Lunchtime consists of roast chicken and rice, sometimes beef mince, sometimes eggs, never dog roll or biscuits. Another walk round the block often sees us being stopped by tourists on the waterfront, or fellow dog fanciers intrigued by her colouring. More often than not, other office dogs from the adjacent buildings will be out with their owners. We’ll have a sniff and walk back to the office to great fanfare from the receptionist and colleagues. Being a dog owner is not suited to fierce introversion.
As a result of being a huge part of my day, she struggles with separation. When I leave the house, I have to put on talkback radio or classical music. She is gradually losing her ability to be fooled by that, seeing it as a cue of my impending absence. I don’t feel like I’ve really gotten to know her yet and unlike my other dog, we haven’t really connected. She often rests her chin on my lap, but then again I would do the same to one who shelters me. Like motherhood, I do possess an annoying sonar-like sense linked to the guardianship for the things I look after. I always know where my cat, my son and my dog is. If any of those elements are lost, my sense of equilibrium is thrown.
For now, I still feel a deep loss for my old Pep. I try not to equate the Pup for my old dog, but I’ve been told there is nothing like your first dog. Where I’ve tried to disassociate myself from the rest of the world, where I think that the only companion in my life will be my dog, they’ve always been the thing that forces me to be myself. To get outside and look at how great people can be. To listen to the clarity of my own commands.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find – it’s your own affair –
But…you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.
– Rudyard Kipling, The Power of the Dog
