Nerves

Two days to go.

Two days of stomach churning nerves, two days of waiting, then it will all be over, Alf's first ever final, the one I have wanted to qualify for since I first heard it existed, the rescue league.

Apprehension.  Excitement.  It's all bubbling away in there, counting down to Sunday.

The steps to get here have each felt so huge.  Every round, every rosette, I have treasured every single one.  Every time I remind myself how far he has come.  I remember the pride and emotion of submitting his first ever points onto the league website, for his first ever clear rounds last March, then places in April.  His first ever trophy in May - and his second the same day.

Then realising he was creeping towards the top of the table.  Daring to dream he might be good enough for the finals.  Wondering if the points would be enough, as the year drew to a close and other dogs still had shows in October and November, while we had none.  But he did it, he finished in the top 20.  I thought I might burst.

In February, it came, an invitation to the finals.  Thud.  Suddenly it felt it might be real.

I had to write a commentary.  Wierd feeling, surely that is what people with top grade 7 dogs do for Olympia and Crufts, not little me in grade 1 with her strange hairy lurcher boy.  I could have written so much about him, I can't even express what he has put me through at times, but he is amazing, and I love the bones of him.  How could I tell his whole story in 35 seconds?

There is the worry of an unfamiliar venue, what will the layout be like, where will the parking be, and what if we get lost on the way there?  I know my stomach will be full of monsters, never mind butterflies - and where are the loos?  Hopefully walking the course will calm me down a bit, once I see what we have to do, and once I know we can tackle it. 

But I still know my legs will turn to jelly as I walk to the ring.  I know I will have to remind myself to breathe.  I'm getting stomach flips just thinking about it now.

I hope that once I am on that line, I will think only of Alf and the course, I really need to find our bubble, more that ever, this run needs to be about me and him and nothing else.

I know it has been said before, but the hard work was getting there.  Everyone keeps telling me to enjoy it, enjoy my dog, he has earned it, we have done it together, as a team.  It is not about winning this final, it is about being there.  So I promise I will try to relax enough to enjoy it, I will try not to let the nerves spoil the experience - he tries so hard for me it's the least I owe him.

Two days.... and counting.

Silliness

Everyone needs to be silly sometimes, it is good for the soul.

One thing we have discovered is Basil has a weakness for plastic bottles.  One night, I flattened an empty 2 litre plastic drink bottle ready to go in the bin, and Basil came dancing up, looking interested, and tried to take it off me.  I played at chasing him along the sofa with it, then he grabbed it and charged around the room killing it.

This was unbelievably cute - the bottle was as long as the dog - and unbelievably funny - Basil attempted massive leaps with the bottle between his teeth and somehow always made it, and it was impossible to watch him in action without laughing so hard it hurt.

The game was entertaining enough that I hardly needed reminding to play it again the next time we finished a bottle of drink.  Basil bounced around in full on crazy mode and we laughed and laughed, and when he dropped the bottle I pounced on it and threw it for him and he did it all over again.

The game has developed over time, and one day he brought the bottle back to me.  We played tuggy, but I didn't make him let go, and when he "won" he was ecstatic at his own cleverness and strength, and came straight back to see if I would tug again.

The plastic bottle game is now one of Basil's favourite things, and he still starts every game with a few laps of all the furniture and making as much noise as possible.  Then I have to pretend I want to steal it, and stalk him along the sofa with my hands.  I play chasey-chasey with my fingers, shuffle my feet, and pretend I can't see him, he puts on his stupid ears and plays hide and seek at 900 miles an hour around the furniture, crashing the bottle into the legs as he goes.

The thing with the plastic bottle game is it was always meant to be silly, just pure fun, it never had any rules or any purpose.  It's not as though I didn't play with Basil at other times, on his walks, in the field, we would play fetch or tuggy games, but they didn't initially tap into his silliness in the same way. 

His sheer joy at being given a plastic bottle to race around with brings a smile to my face every time.  Not for nothing is one of his many nicknames "Basilly".

Silliness is great.

Never

"I would never..."

It seems to me a lot of people who pride themselves on being animal folks are forgetting how to relate to their fellow humans. I have heard "I would never..." an awful lot recently. Whatever happened to putting yourself in someone else's shoes and trying to see their point of view? You may still not have made the same decision in their position, but trying to understand why they have acted as they did surely means as a decent human being you can offer support and sympathy.

"I would never give any of my dogs up."

Never is a long time. Anyone who cannot come up with any scenario where they may have to face this possibility either lacks imagination or leads a truely charmed life. Yes there are people who get rid of their dogs all too lightly, who buy a puppy on a whim and kick them out for growing too big or too inconvenient. But this isn't about them.

What if you were injured or ill, reliant on carers or hospitalised for a long period of time? What if you lost your job during this time, and you couldn't afford a dog walker?

I have only spent a few weeks on crutches at a time, but that was enough to teach me that being able to walk my dogs isn't something I should take for granted. If I hadn't lived where I did and been able to hobble out to a secure field and let them run, what life would they have had for those few months? And what if it wasn't months but years?

"I'd never give up a dog for biting."

For biting who? You? The postman? Your children? How many times? I have never yet come across someone willing to rehome their child in order to keep their dog, so if a dog is not suitable to be around children, and the owner does not have the skills, time or resources to make that dog suitable, then rehoming can be the best choice for everyone.

What if the dog was fighting with your other dogs? What if you got caught in the crossfire and ended up in A&E and your other dog ended up at the emergency vet? Is forcing those two dogs to live together for the next 10 years really the best option? However careful you are there will be a door left open one day, or a bit of toast dropped, errors that trigger a fight and possibly injuries. With all the management and behaviour work in the world some things are not fixable, and living with tension and stress is not easy.

"I would never live somewhere that didn't allow me to keep my dogs."

I've always flippantly said I would live in my car if I had to, but I know that would not be a long term solution, it would not be fair on my dogs. Many of us are lucky, as I know I am, there are people who would take us in, my parents, other family members, some good friends, I would be very unlikely to be truely homeless. But what if you were?

What if you had no parents, no job, no money? What if your partner has left you with two children under 5 and a dog, you are offered emergency accommodation but are not allowed to take the dog, do you turn it down and risk losing your children to foster care, or would you rehome your dog? One of the first dogs I remember booking into a rescue centre was that exact situation. The owner knew the dog was young, healthy and friendly, and going to find a new home really easily. She was looking at months of instability for herself and her children. She cried buckets, I don't think for a moment she took that decision to part with the dog lightly, and she deserves credit for having the courage to give the dog a brighter future.

"I would never be able to do your job."

I'm no saint, I don't do this job as a penance, I do it because I believe in what we set out to achieve, to help and rehome the animals, responsibly, and to provide backup for when things sometimes don't work out. But don't forget we get to see the happy endings, that is why I do it. And if you don't think you could do it because you love animals too much, I would say you are wrong, you probably couldn't do it because you don't like people enough.

It is people who have cared for these animals through their lives so far, people who are in tears at feeling forced to give them up, people who will donate the money to fund the rescue centre and people who will offer these animals new homes. Focussing on the sad puppy dog eyes is only half the story, and you sell yourself short as a human being if you cannot see the human side of the story.

Work

I have a full time job, and I have dogs.  I'm starting to feel like I will be hauled out and shot at dawn any day now.  According to many people who have never met my dogs, my dogs are neglected, under-stimulated, under-exercised, unloved and miserable, and I am selfish for keeping them.   I have lost count of the number of times a variation on this has been said to me by a visitor to the centre, on the phone, or even during a homecheck, usually just a few minutes after asking in passing if I have any dogs of my own - who are home alone at that very moment!

I would say my dogs are content, fit, active, fed a good diet, walked, played with, trained, groomed, cared for, and better off than many dogs.  Yes of course I would love to spend all day with them, but my employment has paid for their care and provided a roof over their heads since I first got Toby!

Ironically enough I am hearing more and more about rescues who will not rehome to people who work, not just full time, but anything over a couple of hours per day.  As I work for a rescue, and many of my colleagues also have dogs, I am continually defending rescues who home to full time workers, and trying to convince full time workers it is possible to rehome a dog, after they have been turned down elsewhere. 

I have homed many dogs to people who work - it would be incredibly hypocritical of me to refuse to do so, when my own dogs have all been rescues.  It is not the right setup for all dogs, but I have homed dogs to be left all day, if the dog is suitable and the people are prepared to put some effort into getting the dog happy to be left.  Many dogs are quite content to spend some time alone - I go home for lunch, but my dogs sometimes give the impression that they get up to greet me just to be polite.  They are certainly not pacing, howling, trying to chew their way out, or desperate to relieve themselves. 

Do I sound defensive?  Probably I do, I go to great lengths for my dogs, our days are planned around them, when I am not working I am with them, we bought a van to take them places in comfort and safety, we spend a lot of money on their care, half my bookshelf is devoted to understanding them better, our holidays include them, even our wedding and honeymoon had to be suitable for the dogs.  For anyone to question my commitment to doing my best for them, yes that hurts a bit.

There are thousands of dogs owned by people who work full time, and most of those are happy, well adjusted, healthy, fit and loved, and in fact I see many of them each week at training classes, and in the summer at agility shows.  Those dogs don't have a bad life at all, there are far worse fates for a dog than being home alone for a few hours while your owner earns the money to feed you.