dante days

It has been so long since I last blogged that I feel a bit overwhelmed by my choice of subject matter. My blog used to be where I would come when I had a few moments to spare. I would write about some exciting experience or jot down an update on goings-on in my world. These days, 'spare time' is a past luxury which has been replaced by critical essays, domestic chores and dog walks. Additionally, committing to a weekly post on my small change blog has meant that, until recently, roxblurb has been lying dormant on a lonely server somewhere. That was until Fox lovingly compiled all my roxblurb posts into a book for Christmas. Therefore, I feel such a labour of love deserves the granting of a request that I post a more recent update than August last year.

The most significant alteration to our lives since my last post is the adoption of our puppy, Dante. Our intention was to go and 'view' him after seeing a picture of him online and then come home to make a balanced and logical decision. We arrived, took one look at his little face, paid our deposit and collected him three days later.  I would love to report that his docile and independent temperament, that first attracted us to him, has endured. It hasn't. Instead, he is hyperactive, overly-friendly, totally disloyal, demanding, chewy and suffers from acute separation anxiety. If you think I am kidding about his desperate need to be close, let's jump to 11pm in our household. That's our bedtime. The moment the lights go out, Dante makes his way to his favourite sleeping spot: my head. If we try and banish him to the kitchen, where he is supposed to sleep, he yelps so loudly we fear he will wake the entire neighbourhood, never mind just the neighbours. So there are three in the bed. 

My once leisurely days now consist of epic battles of tug-of-war, fetch, feeding, cleaning up puppy-poop and a minimum of two walks. On these walks I am often found to be running across Wimbledon Park screaming 'Dante!!! Nooooo!!!' as the dog hurtles toward a toddler who is just the right height to accept a thousand puppy kisses planted on the lips. Simple activities such as cleaning are now a matter of strategic planning. If Dante is anywhere in the vicinity, the mop weighs 4.5kg more than it should due to the added attachment of a dog. Our carpets are wrecked, I had to replace most of my wardrobe thanks to holes caused by puppy teeth and I can't remember the last time I had an entirely peaceful night's sleep.

Yet, for every one menacing trait, he possess ten lovely ones. He is cuddly and lovable. Four days after we brought him home, he attracted a horrible stomach bug. At 2am in the morning, I was so worried that we would wake up to a dead puppy that I went and slept on the kitchen floor to be close to him. I will never forget that tiny little creature looking over at me, using what little strength he had left to climb onto my chest and subsequently falling asleep in my neck. Fox likes to point out that Dante and I have a 'special' relationship. I think it started that night. After my head, my lap is his second favourite place. He is getting a bit big for it to be entirely comfortable but he persists. As I type, he is sleepily flopped over my legs like a rag doll, twitching occasionally as he dreams of chasing a bird or being chased by a barking Jack Russell. 

The postmen love him. We have two and they both enjoy delivering parcels because they get greeted as if they are the most important person in the world as soon as the door opens. And it's not just them. Dante will go to anyone. This is why I say he is disloyal. Keeping him beside me on a walk is nearly impossible. Every new person who comes within range is lavished with kisses and nibbles and most likely a nice muddy smear down the front of their trouser legs. It is almost always a stress taking him into public places but still I endure and treasure those few incident-free outings. 

He is gorgeous. I have had strangers stop me in the street to ask if they can take a picture of him. Going for a walk always takes longer than necessary because people want to know what breed he is or have a little pat. 

I no longer have use for an alarm clock. Instead I am woken by sloppy kisses and gentle bites which I have come to interpret as, 'Wake up sleepy-head. Don't you know it's breakfast time? Sheesh, what's a dog got to do to get service around here?'

I love watching Fox interact with him. He pretends to be the tough-guy but I know better. Let's just say I'm not the one who first allowed Dante a taste of sleeping in our lusciously comfortable king-sized bed. When Fox arrives home I worry that Dante might spontaneously combust, such is the reciprocal scene that takes place at the front door.

Nothing scares him. Poor pup had to undergo the loss of his manhood on Tuesday. You would think that a return to the vet would induce fear and loathing but not our dog. Instead he runs through the door, wagging his tail (which in turn causes his entire body to follow in a wagging motion) greeting all the staff as if he couldn't be happier to see them. I've never known a dog with such enthusiasm for life. Yet, he has his moments of quiet where he will happy sit and stare out of the study window, watching the passers-by.

So we persevere through the bad times carried by the many good times that have been and in anticipation of those that are still to come. Now, five months on, we wouldn't trade him for anything. Our Dante days have only just begun.