So we were very glad to offer dog sitting services to our friends and neighbours, who were out of town for a few days. Borrowing Bo was a delight. Mainly because he is exceptionally well mannered, and not a little chilled out. He's not one for long walks, and mainly seems to like lazing about.
|Under the table while Lady P has dinner|
|Strangely wedged between the bed and the nightstand while I napped|
|Adding a certain 'give a shit?' attitude to the office|
But then Lady P had to learn some hard lessons about animal instincts and life in the wild. Bo is, after all, a retriever. Born and bred to gather small creatures from the hunting field. Lady P's hunting field is our house and yard, and the small creatures are her prized possessions. Here she is, literally tearing her hair out with angst, as Bo gently savages a teddy bear in a dress.
We rounded up all the small stuffed animals and put them either in Lady P's cot, or in her cardboard box in the yard: newly reborn as a safe house, an animal refuge.
But peace has returned to the stuffed animal kingdom. And I no longer need to do a constant sweep of the area to see if Lady P has left anything out that Bo might see fit to 'retrieve'. I'm thinking we might wait another year or two before we get a dog of our own. A few days of borrowing Bo every now and again might suffice - until Lady P is big enough to defend her stuffed animals herself, at least.
*I still day dream about being a proper writer. But then I realise I'd never be able to entitle a piece about a dog with something as lazy as 'A Dog's Life'. And I think maybe there's something to be said for amateur pursuits after all.