Winnie the puppy

Ah what a difference a few weeks make. We were either getting the hang of this dog owning business, or the ADAPTIL calm synthetic mother dog pheromone diffuser I bought on Amazon really did work.

Winnie's second week was reasonably uneventful - apart from when she got caught inside the duvet cover and I had to pull her snarling, writhing, body out (this is surely the closest I will come in my life to experiencing the expression 'mad as a bag of snakes') and the time she bit Isobel on the ankle in a fit of excitement on seeing her at 6.05am, or when she picked a fight with a doberman in the park.

We even got her a second bed in the kitchen so she was no-longer restricted to a single room. We did this for her benefit (the books say you need to keep sensory stimulation low at first and only let them move around the downstairs of your house freely from week 2), but also ours, when Isobel pointed out our new reality was "like we've got divorced. I'm alone with the kids all day, meanwhile you're living in a bedsit with a dog and sleeping on a sofa bed." As usual, she had a great point.

So Winnie was finally allowed into the kitchen / lounge. To protect the children we put up a gate between the open plan rooms so she wouldn't chew them or their toys, although Ted spotted that Winnie could now go where she wanted, while he, Poppy and mummy were imprisoned instead. We soon fixed this issue by getting Ted to wear boots when he had to venture across Winnie's lair to get to the toilet. She seemed to enjoy the taste of rubber en route.

We were beginning to feel we had the hang of toilet training though. This was thanks to post-it notes and our diligent recording of Winnie's bowel movements that were helping us predict when she would need to go, although Winnie had a helpful, natural, way of showing us too - by letting off excruciatingly pungent farts.

This made going back to work much easier (I had taken her first week with us off as holiday) and she was soon the focus of attention in my various zoom meetings - it turns out everyone likes to see someone else's puppy. In fact, Winnie fitted in with work seamlessly. Sitting on me snoozing while I bashed away on my laptop, and then giving me a useful excuse to get up and move around to take her into the garden or out for short walks. And because she is a whippet, she sleeps 18 hours a day now as a puppy and I'm reliably informed this only falls to 16 as an adult. Making her the ideal office worker or working from home companion.

As end of week 2 beckoned, I took Winnie for her second jabs, and ten days after that she would finally be allowed to go for a walk. Truth be told we had already taken her out a few times (hence the previously mentioned fight with a doberman) because one of the many conflicting pieces of advice we found in dog books was that while you should not let them out for a walk until ten days after their second injections (on account of Weil's disease) you also have to make sure they encounter other dogs as much as possible while they are young to get them socialised. Quite how you are supposed to manage the latter without the former I have no idea but we were content to break the rules.

Our visit to the Vet turned into something of a reunion, as the breeder had organised a block booking for the siblings who would see each other again for the first time since leaving the litter. But this was not the kind of joyful reunion I have witnessed among separated siblings before, as a group of us terrified owners looked on in horror as an increasingly irate bundle of skinny black dogs tore each other's nice new coats and jumpers to shreds as they play fought each other with snarling barks.

Standing their with all our nice shiny new dog leads tangled together, as the writhing mass of teeth began to froth, reminded me of a particularly painful childhood memory of my primary school teacher's face when my class royally fucked up the Maypole dance we had spent months practicing, but I digress. I'm not sure if you've ever tried to prise your single puppy from a mass of snarling teeth but if you have you know you are guaranteed to get your hands bitten, but not guaranteed to get your own dog. Twice I braved the chaos only to realise my bloodied hands were not actually holding Winnie.

I left the vets in relief however, that we had bought a girl. She was half he size of her - mainly male - siblings and after I made a tortured joke about being bitten on the hands it prompted jealous looks and a pained face confiding "you're lucky, Nero keeps going for our necks." Well, if you are going to call your dog Nero what do you expect?

Which brings me to right now, as we approach the end of week four, and Winnie is asleep (and farting) on my lap. This morning all the pain and hassle began to subside. I took Winnie (somewhat grudgingly, I'll admit) out for a walk at seven this morning to a small wood near our house. It was blisteringly cold outside and I had to wear a stupid hat to keep warm. Winnie wasn't keen to go but I dragged her along on her bum across the wooden floor to the door – in a kindly and loving way. And then, a few minutes later, it finally happened.

We were in the hopeful darkness of the wood. Light was only just beginning to make the world tingle, with birds singing to greet the day. Winnie walked happily by my side as we strode through the fallen leaves, her snuffling as she went. We both nodded to other dog owners a few feet away, communing wordlessly our delight on knowing the secret of dog ownership. The gateway to nature you would never otherwise see. Human and dog companions together, walking through the trees.

We ducked in between the avenue of Yew trees my daughter Olive likes to climb as the crepuscular light kindled, and headed on through a folly from the 15th century that was moved to it's current spot a few hundred years ago. And then as we turned the sun came. The soul searchlight we all depend on. As I gazed in wonder and gratitude - this is a dawn I would never have seen without her - Winnie lifted her head towards it mirroring mine and actually sat without me asking. It was a moment we had both fought for, and we drank our fill as my heart threatened to burst.

And then she stood carefully, squatted her bottom to the floor and did a gargantuan poo.

I looked down at her and said "GOOD GIRL!" – thanking god she hadn't done it on the floor of the kitchen at home. I bent down to scoop it up – only then realising I had left all the shit bags at home. *

* yes, of course I went back to pick it up later. What do you take me for?