green, blue and Skye bites back
Skye has grown in the week he’s been with us and has graduated to a new travel carrier: a Cyberdog DJ bag. He rides about town with the insouciance of a style leader, surveying the world from his palanquin. Only two more weeks and we’ll finally be able to put him down on the ground in public. We are counting the days.
A very busy weekend. Saturday was completely swallowed by party preparations and then a pre-Christmas party with lethal homemade eggnog (adding extra rum to cut through the creaminess a bit was, on balance, a mistake) and a surfeit of pastry products – the pup was the star of the show and I bailed early (very drunk) and went to bed, leaving TA and Skye to entertain everyone.
Sunday I woke up bathed in sweat and knew it was going to be a rough day. Still, no matter what, the pup has to be fed at 6am. I pulled on some pants and sat on the floor while he ate. Note to self: no more topless play with the pupster. Mid cuddle he “playfully” bit my nipple. It was even more painful than getting them pierced! Then, following a hangover-postponing breakfast of eggnog latte and mince pies, we took the pupster on an adventure. Luckily he’s totally relaxed about public transport since the adventure involved a bus, a train and a taxi, not to mention a long return journey in the back of a cramped car.
There are lifestyle changes one prepares for and then there are things that totally take one by surprise. Usually I ration my weekend newspaper habit and shun the competing free papers that litter London’s evenings. Now I greedily grab all the free newspapers I can on the way home and, having bought my usual Guardian on Saturday, chose a Sunday paper at Waterloo purely on the basis of size – hopefully it will take a day or two for Skye to get through the Times and all its various supplements.
We went to Kingston (upon Thames, not Jamaica) to visit my friends S&M and meet their little daughters (18 months and six months) for the first time. My friends have two chocolate labs too (they can, they have a huge house and garden) and the pupster handled himself with aplomb only widdling once and not biting the little uns or getting too freaked out by the good-natured giant dogs. But it wasn’t a restful visit – three dogs and two under twos, what on earth did I expect? By the time TA and I got home it was all I could do to get ready for bed. Which is when the chaos really started. A flood of widdle escaped the little furry monster only to be followed by vast quantities of poo that he felt it would be a good idea to deposit in every room. At one point TA was trying to clean up two carpet messes at once, at which point I took pity on him and cleaned up the legal poo that Skye had put on the newspaper.
TA and I are not doing so well. We’re tired and this morning I got out of bed at 6am in the dark and on my way into the kitchen to feed the pupster his beef mince and rice with carrots I put my foot in what he had made of the previous night’s supper. I was not amused. We have borrowed an obedience training manual from my friends and I have instructed TA that he has to read it today. Skye sits, he stays, he lies down on command, but getting the little fecker to consistently use the newspaper is proving impossible.
I sigh resentfully, all this disruption – why couldn’t we have just had a baby instead? I am so envious of what S&M have: a barrister’s lifestyle and inherited wealth; a beautiful house; wonderful daughters. There are things about my life that I love, but why does it have to be such hard work? Why can’t I just rip up that horrible carpet and put in the reclaimed oak floor I dream of? I’m seriously contemplating rejigging our finances and taking out a loan to get it done.