After only four weeks, I cannot imagine Jed not being part of my life. Yet there are still occasions when he feels like an intruder (usually after he piddles all over the landing carpet).
I still struggle with the weighty responsibility of being a dog owner. As an immature Shaw, I cared for (in the loosest possible sense) a series of goldfish, most of which – all right, pretty much ALL of which without much if any exception – started swimming the backstroke before curling up their flippers and dying.
A dog is a different prospect. First of all, when they’re not gnawing raw meat, they’re pretty cuddly – unlike goldfish, which are a bit slimy/smelly for tactile bonding. There’s more commitment with a dog, which lasts (hopefully) many years. I can already see how, if anything happens to Jed, the mourning process will be more involved than flushing him down the toilet.
The first two weeks after we got Jed home were particularly traumatic. Life is much easier now that I have figured out what he eats, which is: pretty much anything except puppy biscuits. His staple is still igneous rocks, garnished with grass, sticks, fish and raw meat.
When he knocks over cups of coffee or headbutts Husband in the crotch, he is referred to as: ‘your dog’. However, most of the time, it’s all: ‘Who’s the BEST DOG? Who’s the SMOOCHIEST little POOCH? The JEDSTER IS! You ARE! YOU ARE! HEAD THE BALL FLUPPY PUPPY! Aw, LICKS! THANK YOU! SNARFY SNUGGLE MONSTER!’
I have found that Husband responds equally well to this sort of encouragement, including having his ears pulled