Puppy Love

I am on my own again for a few days while Simon is visiting his parents in England. Typically, Rufus has chosen this moment to discover that he can climb over the fence of the penned-in area where he and Stubbs have been residing, while we waited for the kittens to be big enough not to become a tasty meal for the Greedy Puppies, who will eat anything that moves, and almost anything that doesn’t.

I had forgotten what puppies are like. A bit like mothers conveniently forget the pain of childbirth, thus ensuring the continued existence of the human race, I had forgotten all the difficult and nasty things about puppy-owning that might (almost certainly would) have prevented me from agreeing to take these adorable little monsters off Florian’s oh-so-giving hands.

Three times this morning I heard uncharacteristic barking emanating from the wood/dog shed, and each time I opened the door to see what-the-bloody-hell-all-the-fuss-was-about I was greeted by Rufus on the doorstep, tail wagging ridiculously much, and face looking ridiculously innocent. Stubbs meanwhile, remained obediently in the pen across the yard, barking his adamant disapproval at Rufus’s cheeky and clearly verboten shenanigans.

Stubbs was born a Little Old Man. Rufus obviously took Stubbs’s share of infantile excess, and added it to his already ample supply, such that he emerged from his mother’s relieved womb afflicted with a serious degree of Attention Deficit Disorder. He is SO enthusiastic about EVERYTHING for as long as…oh….as much as three seconds, until something else REALLY EXCITING (a piece of grass, a dead beetle) catches his attention.

On the plus side, this does mean that Rufus will come (at 50 mph) when he is called. Over and over and over again (because he finds it impossible to stay put, once he has arrived). Stubbs, on the other hand, will come, eventually, at a slow trot, when he can be bothered, when he has finished inspecting that small pile of peach stones with his microscopic level of focussed attention. Is he deaf perhaps? Only selectively, in the time-honoured fashion of all grumpy old men who will only hear when it suits them.

I think we can safely conclude from these already existing contrasts in our puppies’ behaviour, that temperament is more Nature than Nurture. Which is a Good Thing as far as I’m concerned, because it means that it is NOT MY FAULT that Rufus is such a disobedient, distractable and downright naughty canine.

After a brief internet debate with my better half (Me – “I’ll have to keep them in the house.” Him – “You could teach him to respect the boundaries.” Me – “If he could respect boundaries we wouldn’t need a pen.” Him – “You have to catch him at it and make it aversive.” Me – “I’d rather sit indoors saying ‘No’ everytime he goes near something he shouldn’t, than be running out into the cold every five minutes, growling at him when he tries to climb over the fence. We need to train them to behave in the house anyway.” Him – “Agree with the intention. Just not sure I’ll be wanting to do it while you’re away next week. Or that you’ll succeed with it in the next couple of days.” Me – “Bet I will.”) I decided to Go with the Flow, and try to work with what the Universe was sending my way, rather than trying to control the hell out of it.

And as I sit here now at the close of play, after a beyond-hectic sort of day, listening to the snoring of Max (who at last has managed to reclaim his bed from the rampant puppies) and the silence of the kittens (who are all full-and-fat and flaked out in the room next door), I can look smugly down at my feet, and revel in the lovely warm glow of two happy, sleeping puppies who have, in the last eight hours, learnt a whole long list of Things They Must Not Chew, Places They Must Not Wee, and Random Things They Must Avoid Doing Because I Happen Not to Like That, Thankyou Very Much.

And all of the day’s stress and anxiety and irritation is forgotten in the momentary bliss of watching Young Creatures Sleep. It’s a bloody good thing that young mammals can look so appealing. It must be an evolutionary strategy. Because if they didn’t look so damned cute (especially when asleep) they would have been victims of infanticide many days ago.