Happiness is a Warm Puppy

Last Friday we became the proud, if slightly stupefied owners of two puppies.

We had arranged, we thought, to go with Florian, our hay-provider and wish-deliverer, (Getting Ready for Winter) to his place in a not-too-far-away village, to have a look at his puppies, with a view to maybe having one of them, at some point in the near future.

But when he arrived at our house late on Friday morning, he already had two (travel-sick) puppies with him to show us. He took the sorry-looking drooling bundles of fur out of his car and deposited one each in our arms.

We looked into their sad little puppy eyes and looked at each other. Florian rambled on in the background in a mixture of French and English, about their parentage, their feeding habits, their friendliness. But we weren’t properly listening. I was wondering how on earth we could possibly tell Florian to take them away again, and how we could possibly choose one and reject the other. I was also wondering how the hell we could accommodate a boinging parcel of puppiness in our small house, which was already bulging with three cats, a crazy cluster of kittenhood, and Big Ol’ Max.

And as I was wondering what Simon could possibly be thinking about all this (he is SO practical, he must surely be thinking of a way to tell Florian that we need some time to reflect!), Florian delivered the fatal blow – the comment designed to seal the deal, and drive away the last vestiges of common sense. “This is the first time they have left their mother. They look so sad. They would be so much happier if they could stay together.”

What? What an outrageous suggestion! There is NO WAY we could have two puppies. Even I thought that would be insane, and I am well known for my lack of sanity. And yet…. and yet, it sort of made some sense. They would keep each other company. They could play together, and not be so dependent upon us for energetic social interaction. But Sensible Simon would NEVER go for it! We would have to discuss this calmly over a cup of tea, without the pressure of witnesses.

But, hang on….why is Simon not saying anything? Why is he just still stroking a sick puppy and looking lovingly into its brown, beseeching eyes. Are those his senses I see taking their leave, and flying away on the wings of disappearing reason?

“Well….?” I venture, “What d’ya think?” He doesn’t take his eyes off the furry little life in his arms. He still says nothing. Thinking to break him out of his reverie with a statement I know will jolt him into astute awareness, I dare to voice the Outrageous Thought. “We could, maybe, um …well, um, maybe we should… um… could… um… have them both?”

I wince in anticipation of the calmly-delivered shot of sound judgement that I know is about to be administered.  But the derisive snort, the knowing shake of the head, the oh-so-grown-up considered response does not materialize. Instead, Simon simply looks up at me with a sort of small smile, and says, “Should we?”

Well, what can I say? Simon has changed a bit in the last year or so. Just exactly when the cool-headed, practical, rational Assistant Director left, and the soft-hearted, sentimental, indulgent Animal Lover moved in is hard to say.  I’m not sure when the transformation began, but I suspect The Chickens may have had something to do with it.

I don’t recall how the conversation with Florian developed from that point. I guess I was in shock. But suddenly, we were all shaking hands and sort of congratulating each other on a Good Transaction; and Florian was Over-the-Moon, and So Happy that the puppies would have such a good home; and we were wondering if the sick puppies would ever come out from their hiding place under the Landrover; and Florian was waving, and tooting his horn and driving cheerily away in his vomit-festooned vehicle.

And we looked at each other and thought, “What the hell just happened?”

As the Awesome Overwhelm of Responsibility hit us full in the face, like a massive dose of smelling-salts, we suddenly recovered our senses and started organising where the puppies would sleep, and what they would eat, and how we would stop them chasing the cats and the chickens, and stop them being chased by the llamas and the cows.

A week later, we are still coming to terms with the somewhat strange fact that our dog contingent has increased by two hundred percent. And dear old, set-in-his-ways, Only-Dog-of-the-Household Max has still got an awful lot of adjusting to do, not least because he is suddenly finding himself being expected to go for at least three walks a day, with two young wannabes bouncing irritatingly at his world-weary heels, whilst he fails grumpily to set any kind of Good Example at all.

But Rufus and Stubbs have settled in remarkably quickly and are showing every sign of becoming a well-adjusted, amenable pair of willing family members. Oh, and did I mention that they are also just plain-and-simple Utterly Adorable?