A little helper joined me in my writing den this morning. I have never had much luck with pets, but my dogs bring me such joy, and are the glue that holds our family together, loved by all. They are the reason H and T are keen to come home, and any phone conversation with L, no matter with where she is, always begins with "how are Paddy and Polly?" They are always close by, always keen for a cuddle and they make my heart sing. I just wish they wouldn't bark at other dogs, and annoy the neighbours. But nobody is perfect.
I had two guinea pigs when I was about 7 or 8. They were named after one half of the duo of guinea pigs in an Enid Blyton story, Bubble and Squeak. They were both called Bubbles, both black with a ginger stripe at the back of their heads. The first Bubbles didn't last very long, and I think my mum probably felt she needed to get her money's worth out of the hutch, and had lots of food and sawdust left when Bubbles the first succumbed to an unexpected cold snap. He was replaced with Bubbles, who didn't last much longer, and after that she might have cut her losses and given the hutch and leftover wares to someone else with more patience and better animal handling skills. We tried gerbils but I got a bit squeamish when they had babies and one was born without a foot, and was prone to nosebleeds. She was called Winifred and went to live on a farm!
At the age of ten, I was desperate for a dog. In fact I think I was probably more than a little obsessed with dogs. I loved Barbara Woodhouse, an early dog whisperer, although I think she probably had more of a growl than a whisper, and read her book several times from cover to cover. I wanted a golden cocker spaniel, and it was looking hopeful. For my 11th birthday, my best friend Jo bought me a collar and a lead and a dog bowl. When my elder sister gave me a big brown paper bag with something heavy inside it, I was sure it was a puppy.
My eldest nephew (the one who went to school with Alan Carr), looked in the bag for me first because I was just too excited and asked "is it real?", and my heart leapt and I really thought she had bought me a puppy. I looked in the bag and saw the most beautiful Yorkshire terrier, with real fur, glass bead eyes and a tiny red collar. She was called Annabel and I loved her, but she wasn't exactly what I had in mind. And then a couple of months later, my eldest sister's neighbour took in a heavily pregnant cat, which had many kittens. We went to see them, and of course we had to take one home, when he was ready. And I forgot all about dogs and fell in love with my kitten. I called him Henry, after my favourite king, another obsession! I was a bit disappointed to have to leave him for 5 whole days shortly after he came to live with us, to go on the school canal trip. And even worst, when I got home, I found that my mum had been calling him Benny, after her favourite character from Crossroads, and she said it was too late to change it because he was already used to it. I don't know how I did it, but he ended up being Henry, and I like to think that he was grateful to me, for insisting on such a regal name.
I developed allergies a couple of years later, and I couldn't hold him after then (although he was not one for cuddles anyway). He was not widely liked, and had a tendency to maul, although he loved me and my Dad, and Mr C, when he came along too.
But the allergies got worse, and I was prone to bouts of bronchitis and wheeziness when I came into contact with dogs and cats, so we were never able to have any pets. Until the early noughties, when we got the strangely named Ben and Yogi, goldfish belonging to H and T, when they were 6 and 3. H was so sad when they died, and we had to have a ceremony in the garden, singing "12345, once I caught...." in their honour. We struggled to think of any other fish songs, but a few rounds of that seemed suitably fitting.
And then we experimented with a guinea pig, and the nursery guinea pig Barty came to stay for the Summer holidays. Or at least that was the plan....... He lasted a day, but sadly not the night. When I went to check on him the morning after he arrived, there was no movement in the hutch. I rattled it about a little, and then shouted for my neighbour Elaine, who came round with a shoebox, and the children were told that Barty had been picked up early that morning because one of the other nursery teachers needed him. And Smudge the rabbit who came to stay with us was set free by a 2 year old L, who opened his hutch to say hello, and helped him out. He was found later in the bushes on the field, and returned to his hutch, and didn't come to stay again.
So we had given up, as it never ended well. Until 8 years ago, when we met a very lovely Labradoodle, who belonged to a friend, and who didn't make me sneeze or itch or wheeze. And we discovered that I wasn't allergic to poodle crosses. Very soon after, we went to see Paddy in Milton Keynes and he came home with us in a cardboard box.
And then a couple of years later, Mr C bought Polly for me as a late wedding present, in September 2013. I really wanted an apricot cockerpoo, but we went to just have a look, and of course we fell in love. The same as with Henry the cat. Never go to look at pets unless you are prepared to bring them home with you. L keeps asking for more dogs, asking if we could just go and have a look. I have learnt my lesson, and that will not be happening any time soon.
We visited Billing Garden Centre last week and met some skinny pigs, hairless guinea pigs. They could have been another pet solution for us but fortunately they looked like newborn babies' heads and cost hundreds of pounds, so we did not fall in love. I don't think I was ever a massive fan of hairy ones, the idea of them being so much better than the reality.
Whereas with dogs, the reality is a billion times better than the dreams I had aged 10 or 11. I cannot believe that I have spent so much of my life without a dog unnecessarily. But feel so lucky to be blessed with two. They were worth the wait.
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