For a few months well-intentioned, kindly people have been asking me when they can expect to read my next blog. These people do wonders for my morale. They foster a naïve belief that somewhere out there a bevy of avid blog followers are pining to read my latest drivel, rather than just my family who have to read it or risk me telling all, like the time my brother…
But I digress.
There is a simple reason why I have not written for a few months. There is a simple reason for my messy house, my inability to have a normal conversation, my untrimmed hair, my aching back and my recently acquired stoop. That reason has a name, and his name is Jethro.
Jethro is the sixteen week old Pembroke Welsh Corgi who has taken over our lives. We brought him home eight weeks ago from a breeder in Wellington, Somerset. (That’s in the southwest of England, for you geographically challenged Americans.) What an eventful eight weeks it has been!
There were the nights of getting up at two o’clock in the morning to stand shivering in the back garden while the little one did his business. Did I enjoy setting the alarm and hustling him outside in the wee hours? No. When he began sleeping through the night it was cause for celebration, but I can say it wasn’t all bad. It was achingly cold, but I will always treasure the memory of the utter silence of the village at that hour, with just the quiet calls of nearby owls causing both puppy and sleepy woman to look up into the jewelled, starlit sky in wonder. Yes, I’ll treasure those memories, and also be thankful there were not many of them. Staring at the night sky is all well and good, but it sounds much nicer when you’re writing about it after the fact than when you’re actually standing on the frozen lawn in the dark of night dressed in flannel pyjamas and Wellies. I much prefer to treasure the comfort of being curled up beneath my warm duvet all night and save stargazing for summertime.
There have been the inevitable accidents to clean up, the evening puppy crazies to manage and the frantic trips to the veterinarian when our darling was unwell, but we’ve survived them all. There have also been triumphs – seeing understanding dawn in his little eyes when he figures out what we’re asking him to do, the joy of warm cuddles, the laughter of playtime. Once again I have a companion to share my walks around the village and the countryside, and I get to experience it all again as if for the first time through him.
He’s a brave little boy, always excited to meet new dogs and people, and he reacts with delirious, unadulterated joy to so many of the sights I’ve long grown accustomed to. When we walk to a nearby stream he does an adorable sideways hop at the sight of the water burbling over the rocks. He’s going to fall in there one of these days, but so far he hasn’t quite ventured so close to the edge that I have to intervene. He’s waded through the rushing rapids of the ford after a heavy rain. He’s been to the beach and conquered all with his incredible cuteness. He’s been the star at puppy class; and I’m only a little prejudiced when I say that.
We’ve enjoyed eight weeks of love, joy, wonder, frustration and anxiety – and we wouldn’t go back for anything. Here’s to a long life ahead with the little fur ball, and fodder for many a blog to come.
“Happiness is a warm puppy.” ~ Charles M. Schulz