As I lay in bed, not
enjoying the fact that Paul is up following yet another 5.30am wake up call
from Sherlock, I wondered what happened to the life I had pre-dog.
Bracing myself for another
day in the office with my new fur covered assistant, I could hear Paul
downstairs urging Sherlock to let go of his foot for the sixth time in as many
minutes.
Soon after, it was just me...
and him.
Sherlock greeted me in his
usual way, tail wagging furiously with a mouth full of as many stuffed toys as
he could possibly fit in, all the while making a muffled woofy sound. It was
clear he was excited, by his suddenly apparent boy-bits making an unwelcome and
frankly all too frequent appearance.
...Just a little off
putting over breakfast.
The two off us head off to
work - myself wondering how many emails and answer phone messages will be
waiting for me, Sherlock wondering how long it will take him to annoy me enough,
that I finally give in and give him his pigs ear.
Never did I think that my
life would rely so heavily on various bits of dead animal skidding around my
feet.
I unlock the office door
and crunch my way over what can only be described as a forest floor. Through
the carpet of mud, leaves and bits of tree still covering the floor from
yesterdays antics - Sherlock does his usual and heads straight for the shelf
where I keep the office dustpan and brush - not that it even resembles that
anymore; the brush has half the bristles it used to and the dustpan is bent and
full of holes...
As I fire up the computer
and flick the kettle on for the first of my caffeine hits, my eyes fill with
the dust and mud particles that are catapulted in to the air as Sherlock throws
both himself and the dustpan around the floor.
Oh... It's going to be one
of those days is it?
I fling open the patio
doors and Sherlock heads straight outdoors to see what dangerous things he can
dig up and eat. But on the plus side, at least that keeps him occupied while I
try to do the best job I can of sweeping the floor with the half eaten dustpan
and brush.
Within minutes, he
presents me with a piece of barbed wire, which is not only dangerous for him as
I try to remove it from his mouth, but also for my poor hands.
After a long and tedious
wrestling match, he finally lets go and his mouth is thankfully fine - unlike
my poor hand, which now has three small but painful puncture wounds from the
barbed wire.
I wonder how on earth he
finds these things in an area I have gone over with a fine tooth comb to ensure
it is a safe place for a delinquent puppy to burn off some of that relentless
energy...
The mind boggles.
Then the phone rings. A
customer.
It's always a challenge to
concentrate on what someone is saying on the phone whilst trying to sound suitably
proficient, all the time I have a 25kg Labrador
dangling from my shoelaces. I suppose I just have to be thankful he is not
humping my leg - though I am in no doubt that this will be the next phase of
puppy ownership I have to look forward to.
The only way to prize him off
my shoelace is to point my leg, complete with dog hanging from shoe, out of the
patio door and then pull my leg back in slowly as I shut the door on my lace.
Then I just pull continuously for several minutes until he finally bores. This
seems to work quite well and I am becoming quite the pro at this nifty
manoeuvre.
Sherlock tilts his head
sideways and looks at me with those butter wouldn't melt eyes through the
glass. For some strange reason I find myself opening the door and inviting him
back inside. So now with both legs on my desk, one on either side of my
keyboard, I begin answering the first of the twenty-eight emails I have to get
through. I wonder, at what point did it become necessary in my job description to
become a contortionist...?
Still, I am grateful that
the person I am emailing can't see me at this moment - or what I ate for
breakfast.
One email responded to -
twenty-seven to go...
Somehow I find my mind
wandering. I wonder why new puppy owners aren't entitled to maternity leave.
After all, all human babies do is sleep and eat. They can't even move. Puppy's
spend their first months unwittingly trying to kill themselves and driving
their owners to drink! Maternity leave should be mandatory for puppy owners!
Sherlock settles down on
his bed and finally I am able to put my legs on the floor instead of wrapped
around my ears. I'm comfortable and all is calm... for now.
The phone rings
again.
Now, I'm honestly not sure
which is worse; trying to have a sensible conversation on the phone with dog
hanging from shoe? Or trying to have a sensible conversation on the phone with head
hanging out of window, whilst trying desperately to escape the eye-watering smell
that Sherlock has just released in to my office.
He snores peacefully away
while I am gagging into my sleeve...
Eventually, he awakes and
decides that I am now a giant chew toy. At this point no part of me is safe.
Apparently I am raising a crocodile, not a puppy. Finally I give in and shove a
pigs ear in to his mouth. Off he trots with a satisfied look on his face.
I look at the clock... 9.37am.
Joy.
Only five and a half hours
of this to go before I finally get to go home and kick off my shoes,
remembering of course that I have only seconds to pick them up and hang them on
the puppy proof high level shoe rack before they get eaten.
Then I will make my self a
nice cup of tea and sit on my once red sofa - which is now covered in rust
coloured fur. I will bury my feet in to my once cream carpet, which is now a
colour I can't even describe and I will spend some time trying to remember when
I didn't smell of dog, my clothes weren't covered in paw prints and my socks
weren't covered in dog slobber.
Overwhelmed by it all, I
wonder again what happened to my life pre dog... But then I look in to those beautiful puppy
eyes...
...Do I really care?
Then I nuzzle up to his
soft furry cheek and he seems to sense that now would not be the best time to
chew my ear...
...What a good boy he is
:0)
Anyone new to my blog needs to scroll down some way to realise that
my usual furry friends are bears and I'm not just about the dog! 
