Saturday, 4 September 2010
I have this little puppy, Timmy. He's small and very sweet. And every morning (that he's not already in my bed with me) when he's let out of his cage, he runs upstairs and rests his paws on the edge of my bed, waiting to be lifted in. Nothing could make me not want to have him - even when he chews my hand till I want to scream, or cry - he's like my baby and I feel a little maternal towards him. I work out when he needs his food and cook up bits of meat, I worry when he's not jumping up at me all the time that he might be unwell, and when he sleeps I can't stop looking at him and I sometimes worry he's stopped breathing because he's so still. I also, like a mother, spent nights sleepless because he cried, woke at 5am to let him out and still upset myself when I tell him off or find him annoying.
As naff as it sounds, I'm finding it hard to remember Timmyless life - we spoil him beyond anything - and I know for a fact more than my parents EVER spoiled me, Everything revolves around Timmy - trips out, days in and everyone's capacity of attention-giving must be carefully planned or Timmy ends up getting it all.
If he was my brother I'd be fiercely jealous, but being a dog (especially being a puppy) gives him some leeway, and the ability to be mothered by everyone in the family, not just the parents. He gets more attention being walked down the street than any baby ever could, and I make sure to factor in extra time for every walk for when I get stopped to talk to people about him. The key to having a puppy is definitely patience: they take up more time than I could ever have anticipated, but also give more love. And maybe more importantly than patience is a smile to beam at passers-by (and mothers whose children scream in terror at his curiosity) - especially old ladies, they love a bit of him! M X