Puppy Love
AN UPLIFTING SHORT STORY WRITTEN BY JAN SNOOK
Could we all learn to get along with our new house guests, or was the fur about to fly?
I’ve always thought I’d do anything for my children. Almost anything.
Most things, anyway… but this?
“They’re absolutely adorable,” Alice said coaxingly. “They’re still only three months old, and they’re so sweet!”
I stared at her.
“And you’ve named them Bimbo? And Rambo?”
How was I supposed to stand at the kitchen door and call them with names like that?
“Can I at least change their names?” I ask falteringly. “They can’t have got used to them yet. Or maybe we could find them another home until you…”
Alice’s face fell.
“And what about Pumpkin?” my husband Richard chipped in.
“You’re right,” I said, clutching at this lifeline. “I don’t know how Pumpkin will react. He’s fifteen this year, don’t forget.
“That’s old for a cat. He won’t want to share his house with a couple of boisterous puppies, will he?”
“And certainly not the garden,” Richard said. I could see he was thinking about his flower beds rather than Pumpkin’s territorial instincts, but any port in a storm.
“The contract’s only for two years, Mum,” Alice pleaded as Richard beat a hasty retreat. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
That’s what she had said before they went to live in New York, landing us with three rabbits. And when they’d come back (five years and two children later), they’d promptly accepted another “two-year” contract to Malaysia, leaving us with a bearded dragon lizard, who glowered at us for the next four years.
“We really did think we’d done with travelling this time, and the girls were so anxious to have a pet, and I thought they’d squabble if they didn’t have a puppy each… And it’s such an educational experience for them, living abroad. They’ll have a wonderful time!”
“But why don’t you take the puppies with you?” I asked, suddenly inspired. “There aren’t all the quarantine rules there used to be, are there?”
Alice sighed.
Patrick’s company’s providing us with a house, and pets aren’t allowed. I checked.
“I see…”
But I’d hesitated for too long, and Alice enveloped me in a grateful hug.
The next few weeks were a whirl of activity as they packed up their house, rented it out and sold their car.
The puppies, complete with dog beds, leads, diamanté coats (chosen by our granddaughters, Polly and Evie), a mountain of food and an array of toys and chews, arrived the day before the family flew to Canada. I watched apprehensively as the children hugged, kissed and wept over the puppies.
Bimbo and Rambo, on the other hand, were far too excited for tearful goodbyes and set about investigating Pumpkin’s basket. Once they’d chewed his favourite toy, they promptly fell asleep there.
Alice and the girls cooed over them, then looked at me happily.
Oh look, they’ve settled in already! How marvellous! They won’t be any trouble, Mum. Just walk them a couple of times a day – twenty minutes should do it, they’re only young.
“And obviously they’ll need to go outside quite a lot, but the vet said they should be house-trained in two or three more months. Reasonably reliably, anyway. We’re so grateful. And once we’re in Canada we can talk to Bimbo and Rambo on Zoom once a week or so, can’t we? So they don’t forget us…”
Was this really my intelligent and highly qualified daughter? Talk to puppies on Zoom?
“We’re really going to miss them,” she said sadly, before kissing Richard and me goodbye rather more briskly than the puppies.
When they’d left, Richard and I looked at each other.
“So, what do we do now?”
But before I could answer, Pumpkin (who had sneaked upstairs to avoid the hullabaloo in the kitchen) crept downstairs again. At the kitchen door he stopped dead, arching his back and hissing like something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon.
The puppies weren’t remotely abashed. They ran in and out between poor old Pumpkin’s legs, appearing to think his angry swipes at them were all part of the fun. When we picked the newcomers up and put them in our (escape-proof) back garden, Pumpkin was even more incensed.
Didn’t we know it was his garden? And so it went on.
When they’d been with us a week, Richard and I were on our knees: they’d chewed the rugs, stolen Pumpkin’s food, made puddles all over the house and ravaged the curtains.
When they’d been with us a month, we’d both tripped over them and their toys countless times, and Pumpkin was spending most of his time with the neighbours. The puppies cried for food at five in the morning, and practised competitive barking whenever they heard the postman.
After a few months, once they were at last properly house-trained, we became resigned to the situation. Even Pumpkin grew accustomed to batting them out of his basket without undue force, and allowed them to give him the odd lick.
Although I admitted it very reluctantly, there were upsides, too.
The constant walks meant that Richard and I had both lost weight – I’d gone down two dress sizes! And we’d made some good friends among the other dog walkers in the area.
“So, when are your daughter and son-in-law coming back?” one of them asked anxiously, as months toppled into years, when I explained that Bimbo and Rambo were only ours on loan. “Won’t you miss them terribly?”
“Oh no!” I laughed, and then, seeing her shocked look in the face of such heartlessness, added, “Our granddaughters would be heartbroken if we didn’t hand them back.”
To my surprise, when I related this conversation to Richard, instead of laughing with me he frowned.
It’s certainly going to be different without them. You know, I think Pumpkin would miss them.
He paused. “I know I would.”
But two days after this bombshell of a confession, disaster struck.
The puppies – more like adolescents now – were yapping insistently at six in the morning, which was earlier than they habitually woke us.
I went down to the kitchen, ready to tell them off, and found them both scrambling about in Pumpkin’s basket, pawing the cat hopefully.
But Pumpkin, now almost seventeen, had died peacefully in his sleep.
The house was strange without him. For a cat who barely miaowed, he left a large gap in our lives.
Bimbo and Rambo carried on visiting his empty basket for several weeks, giving piteous little yaps, before leaving with their tails between their legs.
One day Alice rang to say that they weren’t staying longer than their contract, and would be coming home in three weeks. I felt a twinge that I couldn’t immediately identify.
I must have looked sad, because Bimbo jumped up on to my lap and I stroked her absent-mindedly. Rambo sat at my feet looking up at me anxiously and giving little sounds – almost like mewing. That must be it. I was just missing Pumpkin. When Richard came in, I told him the good news.
“Alice asked whether they could stay with us for a week,” I said brightly, “so that they can sort their house out. The tenants moved out last month and apparently it’s in a bit of a state.”
Oh, that’s good. The children can take over the feeding and walking and so on, can’t they? Break us into our new pet-free lives gradually…
We looked at each other, and suddenly the full impact of a pet-free house struck me.
“It will be lovely to have them all home,” I said quickly, “but…”
“We’ll miss Bimbo and Rambo terribly, won’t we?” Richard said.
“They won’t be far away… and we’ll be able to look after them during holidays and things.” I could feel my eyes welling up. “But it won’t be the same, will it? Bimbo and Rambo won’t even remember living anywhere else. This is their home.”
I spent the next couple of weeks getting the spare bedrooms ready and spoiling the dogs. It wasn’t for long, I thought guiltily.
At last the family arrived. Richard opened the door and helped with the luggage while I had a final word with the dogs.
“Now remember,” I said sternly, “I want you to behave really well. I don’t want you giving Alice the impression that we’ve been spoiling you, OK?”
“Hello, Mum!”
I spun round to find Alice in the doorway, smiling, and went to hug her.
“Were you really talking to Rambo and Bimbo?” Then she frowned and held me at arm’s length.
Mum, you’re not ill, are you? You’ve lost quite a bit of weight… and so has Dad. You haven’t been on another of your faddy diets, have you?
“It’s all the walking,” I said. “I should warn you, they need a good two hours a day.”
The children burst into the kitchen, squealing at Bimbo and Rambo, who ran up to them, jumping up and wagging their tails.
“They’re so big!” Polly said.
“And so…” Evie began, but exactly what she was going to say was was lost in a fit of sneezing.
“I always seem to catch colds on planes,” I said soothingly, passing her a box of tissues, and putting the kettle on.
Evie continued to sneeze throughout the noisy tea – everyone was talking at once, catching up on two years’ worth of news face-to-face. At last, Patrick looked at the dogs and asked how we’d coped.
“Oh, it’s been fine,” I said, trying to keep the desolation out of my voice.
“We were really glad of them when Pumpkin passed away,” Richard said.
“The first few weeks were a bit of a challenge,” I said, “but after that, well…. we’ll really miss them.”
And to my utter mortification, I burst into tears.
Alice, Patrick, Polly and Evie were all suddenly smiling at me. Alice even began to laugh. Which set everyone else off, but gradually Alice got her giggles under control.
“It’s just that… we thought we were going to have to re-home them. You see, while we were away we discovered that Evie has a severe allergy to dogs.”
“I’m OK as long as I don’t touch them,” Evie added. “So can they live with you, Granny? And we’ll visit them?”
“It will be Granny we’re visiting,” Alice said, smiling. “You’ll hurt her feelings if she thinks you only want to see Bimbo and Rambo.”
But nothing could have hurt my feelings right then. My family was back, and Bimbo and Rambo would be living with us for good.
I didn’t even notice any more what silly names they had…
