by Megan Rix
“We’ll sleep down here tonight,” I told Freddy, who seemed to think this was an excellent plan. I lay down on the sofa and Freddy curled up on the floor with his blue-and-white soft dog toy and fell fast asleep. Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, with a sofa cushion behind my head and the light angling strangely through the room, I listened to Freddy’s little snuffles and snores and hoped Emma was sleeping well wherever she was.
Jamie wasn’t pleased when I told him Freddy hadn’t slept in the right place.
“You must start as you mean to go on,” he said. “Freddy has to get used to sleeping in his crate at night. First of all in the bedroom and then downstairs.”
The next day I tried to encourage Freddy to go into his crate by putting tasty treats inside, but he was having none of it. He was small enough for us to easily put him into his crate, whether he wanted to go or not, but it seemed very cruel, and we then had to listen to him whining and crying and barking to be set free.
“You have to do it,” Jamie said. “It’s part of a Helper Dog’s training and the sooner he gets used to it the better it will be all around.” He couldn’t understand why Freddy should hate his crate so much. For most dogs the crate is a hidey-hole, a private space and a sanctuary—and it has the bonus for the puppy parents that it protects the furniture from gnawing teeth when they were busy or out of the house.
Reluctantly, we put Freddy into his crate that night, and I forced myself, despite the anguish it caused, not to listen to his yelps and whines telling us he didn’t want to be there. Over the next few nights, Freddy responded by weeing or pooing, and often both, in his crate, and then lying in it so that in the morning his white fur was a completely different color. Ian became expert at showering the dog, and I at disinfecting the crate, as each morning I came down to find a bedraggled, penitent-looking puppy in desperate need of a clean peeking out from between the bars.
“He’ll soon get used to the crate,” Ian said, but I wasn’t so sure.
Jamie phoned shortly after 7 a.m. on Freddy’s second Saturday with us.
“Jo has had a family emergency and needs someone to look after Elvis for the day. I can’t do it. I’ve phoned everyone I can think of, but nobody’s around. I wouldn’t normally ask, not when you have such a young puppy there, but . . .” He tailed off.
“Of course we can,” I said.
He dropped Elvis off twenty minutes later. It wasn’t usual practice to put older and younger puppies together because of the physical mismatch, which could tire the younger one out, but as soon as Elvis came bounding through the door Freddy let him know who was in charge. Elvis tried to help himself to one of Freddy’s toys, and Freddy yapped at him and chased him into the garden, where Elvis promptly gobbled up a puppy chew Freddy had left. Freddy chased him back into the house yapping all the time. This was his house and he was boss—albeit a quarter-sized version.
After a while I became concerned that Freddy might get exhausted, so I asked Ian to keep an eye on him while the older dog dragged me down to the river for a walk. Freddy wanted to come, but he hadn’t had his injections and had to stay home. It was a relief to let Elvis, bigger and stronger than any dog I’d ever walked, off the leash. He gamboled ahead, but never too far, and then came gamboling back to see if I had a treat for him. He’d bounce forward and back, tail wagging for a treat, but then he disappeared: one second he was running ahead, the next he’d tripped over his own paws, performed a sort of somersault and landed in the river.
“Elvis, Elvis, where are you?” I cried.
I raced over to where he’d gone in. Elvis’s head was poking out of the water, looking up at me, but he wasn’t moving.
“It’s OK, it’s OK!” I said, although I didn’t really know if it was or not. “You’ll be all right. Come on, Elvis, up, up, up!”
If he swam along a little way, he’d be able to clamber up the bank. Elvis didn’t move.
“This way, Elvis. Come on, Elvis, this way.” I called and called, cajoling and imploring him, but he remained as if rooted to the spot. The water was very deep, too deep for Elvis to stand; he must have been balancing on a submerged rock or branch. A leaf and then an insect floated slowly past his muzzle, his poor huge soppy face peeping out of the water looked very vulnerable.
There was nobody else around, and he was too far for me to reach, but I was going to have to do something. I lay down on my stomach in the mud and tried to grab his collar. Too far away. I inched farther and farther over the bank, my upper body precariously balanced over the brown water, and somehow managed to grab his collar with my fingertips. I stretched some more, and then he stretched his neck up so I could get his collar in my whole hand. I grabbed it and then pulled and pulled and pulled, scrabbling backward on my belly. Elvis scrambled up onto the bank and was safe.
Once on land, he shook himself vigorously and river water splashed all over me.
“Thanks, Elvis,” I said, and we trudged home. He seemed none the worse for his adventure; I was scraped and bruised and muddy but mainly very relieved that I’d managed to get him out alive.
Jamie came to pick him up later.
“How was he?” he asked.
“Fine, fine,” I said. “Although Freddy’s got a slight limp from keeping order and putting Elvis in his place.”
“Make sure he has a good rest and a gentle day tomorrow,” Jamie said, “and he’ll be fine too.”
Freddy was so exhausted he fell fast asleep on top of one of Ian’s trainers. I didn’t have the heart to wake him and move him to a more comfortable place, and so he slept on—on top of the trainer that was almost the same size as him—for most of the afternoon.
After I’d showered and changed, I found a message on my computer from my friend Susan in Ecuador. She was coming to visit the UK with her husband, Graham, and a surprise companion: Eliana.
“I took Graham to the orphanage so he could meet Eli,” read the e-mail, “and he fell in love with her just like I’d done and so . . . we’ve adopted her. She has to be the most adorable little girl in the world. We’re coming back to the UK so she can have specialist treatment at Great Ormond Street Hospital, so if you have the time it’d be great to meet . . .”
I definitely did have the time and I couldn’t wait to meet Eliana again, and also to congratulate Susan and Graham about their momentous decision—which I could only see as being a fantastic thing for them all. I kept remembering how Eliana had made a beeline for Susan as soon as she’d walked in the door at the orphanage. It was as if Eliana had known, even before Susan did, that she was going to be her mum.
14
Two weeks had passed—weeks full of dog showers, intensive training at the Helper Dogs Center and a whole lot of fun and sleepless nights as Ian and I relearned the joys of looking after a brand-new pup and fell totally in love with him. Even on my worst days he could make me laugh. He was so entertaining. And it wasn’t just me who could watch and play with him for hours. Ian was completely smitten too. There was something about how Freddy lived so completely in the moment that was very appealing. If it was food time, he gobbled up his food with gusto; sleep time, he was completely zonked out; and play, well, play needed every ounce of concentration.
The newspaper asked me to write up Freddy’s diary for the column:TUESDAY: FOOD
Today I finally managed to get into my full sack of puppy food and gobble up as much as I could before Meg caught me. She put pegs on the bag after that. But I managed to pull off the pegs. Now she’s put the food out of my reach. It’s not fair. I think I’m big enough to get my own meals when I’m hungry.
FRIDAY: TIDY PUPPY
Meg and Ian are very pleased with me because I am such a tidy puppy-boy. When I’ve finished playing with my toys, I like to collect them all together and put them in a special round furry bed that’s in the garden. I’ve got lots of toys. I especially like my pirate ball and my cow that goes moo.
SATURDAY
Fergus (Labradoodle) came to visit for the we
ekend. We went to a country park and I got to splash in a big puddle with Fergus. Ian wasn’t too pleased about having to carry me back as I made him all muddy. But I’m only allowed to go on little walks at the moment so I have to be carried sometimes. Meg made us some special dog bones from flour and oats and meat—they were yummy. I barked to tell her I wanted a hundred but she only lets me have one each day.
Freddy was doing very well at Frank’s obedience classes, where he was learning to sit and wait and not to take food off plates until I said he could. We had to put paper plates with dog biscuits on them on the floor, close to the puppy, with the stern command “Leave it!” and the puppies had to resist helping themselves. Mainly they managed it, although for some, especially those who’d had breakfast early, it was sometimes impossible.
Helper Dogs classes were going well too, barring one or two aberrations. If I popped out to get something from the car, Freddy wouldn’t stop barking until I came back, and, once, Jamie had tried to put him in the crate at the center; I’d taken him outside and said, “Busy busy,” the usual words for toilet time, but to no visible result. Then we’d gone back in.
“We’ll just give him five minutes first of all and build it up,” Jamie said. It seemed like a sensible plan but no sooner had he put Freddy in the crate than he started barking. “Just ignore him,” Jamie said. “He’ll stop soon.”
But Freddy didn’t stop and began to wee in the crate to show what he thought of being shut in and ignored.
Jamie wasn’t pleased. “What a naughty puppy,” he said, letting Freddy out of the crate so he could clean it. Freddy didn’t look even the slightest bit guilty.
All in all, though, he was a model pupil, and he’d been selected to perform at the Helper Dogs Summer Fête. Being the youngest, and incredibly cute, he had a starring role, following me and weaving in and out of traffic cones placed in a line. He did it perfectly in class, but I was still a little nervous about how he’d do on the day. I hoped he’d be able to concentrate, especially as it was the day that Susan and Eliana and Graham were due to visit. Susan had thought that Eliana would enjoy the fête: it was to be a little treat as she was going into Great Ormond Street to start her treatment the next day.
Finally, the big day arrived and they were at the door. I gave Susan, Eliana and Graham a big hug each in that order and then turned to feast my eyes on Eliana. She’d grown a lot and wasn’t so thin, and her dark hair was even longer than it had been at the orphanage. She was still far smaller than she should have been for her age and needed a walker to help her move. Her smile was infectious.
“Wow!” I said to her. “Aren’t you pretty?”
“Yes,” said Eliana, her smile getting even bigger. She’d even started to learn some English.
“She’s really, really bright,” said Susan. I sat them all down and, forcing everyone to consume buckets of tea and cake, didn’t let Susan stop talking until she’d explained everything that had happened in the eight months that I hadn’t seen her—I’d been so busy that I’d been bad at keeping in touch on e-mail.
They’d been allowed to adopt Eli so quickly because of her special needs and because of the loving care and medical attention that Susan and Graham had promised. The prognosis when she was given to the orphanage was that she would never be able to do anything, but it had been clear to Susan that this was rubbish. They’d taken her to a specialist doctor as soon as they’d had legal custody over her, and with physiotherapy and the intensive work that they’d organized, she was developing quickly. The most serious problem was her hips, which had failed to grow properly due to her not being able to move about freely like other children, so they’d arranged a special consultation and corrective operation in London. Best of all, although she was still undoubtedly behind other kids her age, she showed so much enthusiasm and will to learn that her intellectual development was coming on in leaps and bounds.
“Remember the baby I was thinking of adopting?” Susan said, and I nodded. “She went back to live with her real mum.”
This seemed to happen quite often in Ecuador. Being in the orphanage didn’t necessarily mean the child was strictly an orphan or that the parents wouldn’t take them back at some time.
Graham pointed to Eliana’s new rolling walking frame in the corner of the room.
“There’s been no stopping you since you had this, has there, Eliana?” He smiled at his daughter.
Eliana shook her head.
“She’s making up for all those weeks she couldn’t move at all, when she had that hip spica cast on,” Susan said.
“What’s that?” Ian asked.
“I called it the mermaid cast because she looked like a mermaid in it,” Susan told him. “It was a fiberglass cast that encircled her waist and both her legs like a mermaid’s tail so she couldn’t move.”
Eliana was tentatively patting Freddy, and he was keeping perfectly still so she wasn’t frightened. She wasn’t used to dogs and was a little nervous of him at first, even though he was still tiny. Luckily, she couldn’t have chosen a better dog to get acquainted with. Susan lifted her onto her lap, and I held Freddy and let Eliana give him a few of his treats so that they could get to know each other.
As Susan and I carried on talking, Freddy brought over his blue dog toy to show Eliana. She began warming to him, picking up his toys and offering him them to pick up and play with. I told her all about Emma and how our lives had been changed by becoming puppy parents. Susan told us about all the physiotherapy Eliana had been having. It had been slow, painful work that had caused both her and Eliana to cry. They’d also paid privately for speech therapy, which had done wonders. They didn’t know how far the little girl would be able to go, but they wanted her to have every chance of getting there.
“She loves swimming and is fantastic at it, like a little seal,” Susan said. Susan and Graham were both enthusiastic swimmers and having a daughter who loved the water too was very good news. Susan smiled at a memory. “I remember Graham was away for a few days when I brought her home, but when he came back I asked him to keep an eye on Eli because she was in the bath and I needed to get a fresh towel. I came back and I could hear the two of them laughing together as she splashed about. I listened to them from the other side of the door with tears streaming down my face. It felt like all the years we’d had to wait were worth it now we had her. My mum always says the reason I couldn’t have children was because we were supposed to be Eliana’s mum and dad all the time.”
I told Susan about our own difficulties and that we were thinking of going to a private clinic. Her experience of private clinics had been good and she advised us to go ahead.
Eliana crawled onto my lap and we played with the miniature crockery set I’d bought for her. She was still so small and fragile. One day, maybe one day soon, I’d be playing with our own daughter, I thought, hoping against hope.
“Tea, Meg, drink tea,” Eliana said, holding out a cup to me.
Eliana made us all miniature cups of tea and then it was time to set off for the fête. Eliana walked behind her roller walker, with Graham shepherding her on the uneven grassy field.
That afternoon was Freddy’s second fête, and this time he’d been vaccinated long enough ago to be allowed to walk on the ground. At the previous one, a couple of days after he came to us, he was too young to have had his second vaccination and so was at risk when in the vicinity of other unvaccinated dogs, but he was the only young puppy in training at the time and was so cute that Jamie, who was always on the lookout for new volunteer puppy parents, begged us to take him along. He’d looked funny in the special soft padded black dog bag that Ian had bought on the Internet, with just his snowy white head peeping out of the head hole. It must have been comfortable because at one point he took a nap, and a shocked passerby had said, “I thought that was a stuffed toy dog at first!”
“Oh, no, he’s all real,” Ian had replied.
Eliana, Susan and Graham found a spot close to the demonstration show
ring while Freddy, Ian and I went off to join the other volunteers and their dogs.
There was a chorus of ahhhs from the crowd as Ian walked Freddy round the edge of the ring.
“Can my little boy stroke him, please?” one lady asked. “He’s usually terrified of dogs, but he wants to touch your one.”
Freddy was very good while he was stroked by the beaming little boy. “Mummy, I did it. I touched the dog,” he said proudly.
Ian told me later that he’d heard Eliana say to her parents that she was going to get a dog just like Freddy.
“All the time she was saying this, Susan and Graham were shaking their heads.” He laughed.
I laughed too. I reckoned a girl as determined as Eliana was would probably soon wear her parents down and have a dog eventually.
Jo was at the fête too, with an overexcited Elvis, who was doing his best to stretch his lead and charging around in small circles like a bull in a china shop. Ian agreed to take him for a while to give Jo a break. Soon it was time for Freddy to take the center stage. Jamie had set up twelve traffic cones in a line across the grass and wanted the dogs to weave in and out of them on command.
“This is one exercise where the youngest dogs usually do much better than the older ones,” he said. “Meg, why don’t you demonstrate for us with Freddy?”
I took Freddy to the start of the line of cones, and when Jamie nodded at me, I started weaving quickly in and out of the cones. Freddy was right there behind me. He took no notice of the other dogs or all the people at the fête, sticking close to my ankle all the way along.
When I came to the end of the cones, I told him to sit and he immediately did so, as the crowd of onlookers clapped.
“What a good boy you are,” I said, and gave him a treat.