We have been home for all of five days. Digger is almost unpacked. The house is relatively tidy with clothes washing becoming an urgent proposition tomorrow. We have been eating quite well at dinner time, albeit a bit later due to an additional challenge in the form of a joyful, energetic and razor-sharp puppy named Stella.
Ruby's deterioration and demise had left us all shattered. Our quirky little Beagle had undergone a savage loss of personality and self-esteem in the weeks before her death. The diagnosis of her bladder cancer was the last straw. Without realising until after the event, Ruby had been reduced to a shell of her former self. And so, we made the difficult decision to euthanase her.
Pip's face was a portrait of confusion and misery as we guiltily left him with our excellent and competent housesitters, Liz and Patrick. I was desperately anxious about him for a couple of weeks. Then, our kind-hearted carers took pity on me and sent a photograph of Pip and Ruby the cat contentedly sunbathing in the winter daylight. I let out a sigh of relief.
And yet, I knew that we all needed a boost. Pip, at twelve years old was enjoying his daily walks with Patrick and would need stimulus to keep him active when we returned. Michael had to manufacture an excuse to walk for control of his diabetes. I was just missing that spark of silliness, of tomfoolery, of happy unpredictability.
And so, in Carnarvon, we adopted Stella.
The last three days of our trip, Stella was so well behaved, considering her age. She was faultless inside Lily, was not carsick and was obviously eager to please. Michael was slower to warm to her, because, frankly, he had not wanted to acquire a dog, let alone a young puppy. In the last week, he has also fallen in love with Stella. However, he was right on so many levels...and now I have to eat a large helping of Humble Pie.
Stella is a blast of extremes. Energy, enthusiasm, inquisitiveness and pure unadulterated joy for living. She is bright and smart and positive.
She also needs stimulation and training. We have mastered "sit" and "come" and she responds to her name. Toilet training has been a rollercoaster ride of hit and miss. She is easily distracted and bored. The TV magazine, the bathroom bin, Pip's revoltingly snotty couch and her puppy training pads have all be assaulted. The couch cushion was utterly annihilated. Michael's dark brown ponytail from forty-two years ago has been discovered and chomped. Pigs ears are too rich for her tummy, leading to a bout of projectile spewing and diarrhoea.
And in eight short days, Stella has transformed all our lives. In our living room, we are surrounded by the latest debris. A ripped page of the TV magazine, a toilet roll from the bathroom bin and a tuft of Michael's hair. She and Pip are sound asleep on the resurrected dog bed. Pip hasn't stopped grinning from ear to ear since Stella arrived in his world. He has attempted to bonk her from every angle, every position and at every opportunity. Ruby the cat has taken Stella firmly In Hand and has dished out a few clips around the earhole. Stella is still in total adoration of the Fickle Fairweather Feline and Ruby has certainly become less aggressive in the puppy's presence. In time, Ruby may allow Stella the privilege of sniffing her bottom.
I think it's safe to say that Michael and I are now both besotted. Stella adores him with every gram of her puppy being. He has responded with gusto. Stella has become a hit in Station House.
However, the time has come to eat Humble Pie. Michael was right. There, I have admitted the bleeding obvious. Stella is a puppy bull in a china shop, a doggy whirling dervish and a cyclonic canine clown. I had a foolish, romantically simple vision of a new puppy in our household. Stella has blown that idealistic picture out of the water.
How wonderful!
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