Dogged Determination

In the early days of this blog I would write articles here because I didn't have anyone else to publish them. Four years later I find myself temporarily back in the same position. I don't think I could have picked a more difficult career for myself here if I'd have tried. I will, of course, be back in print soon, but until then I'll be back blogging. So for any Grumpy fans here's the next installment.

As a mom, or should I say mum, back in England, I never really looked forward to my daughter’s parent teacher conferences. It wasn’t that she was a bad student, but she was forever in trouble for talking in class. I come from a long line of women who talk too much. As a child my mother and I could barely make it back from a trip to the corner store in less than an hour because she would have to stop and chat with everyone she saw, unfortunately whether she knew them or not.

Although I no longer have to attend those dreaded conferences, in many ways I feel like a new mom now we have a new baby in the house – albeit a small furry one with four paws and a striking black beard.

When Grumpy comes home from work we always talk in detail about Daisy’s potty training, although I really must try to stop doing that during dinner. We discuss if she’s been a good girl or a bad one, forgetting that in reality she’s actually a dog and doesn’t deliberately do anything wrong (apparently). I’ve actually heard myself saying “wait til your father gets home”, although this is pretty unlikely since he’s actually a dog who lives in Missouri.

Things were going pretty well, until we enrolled in puppy obedience classes. I’m not talking about the dog’s behaviour, but within a week we were back in our old roles as parents.

“I think she’s very intelligent,” I heard Grumpy tell the trainer. “She’s only three months old and she can already sit. She’s a fast learner.”

While he was falling into proud pushy parent mode, Daisy was following in our real daughter’s footsteps. Within seconds she was firm friends with her class mate Pepper, refused to do any work at all and spent the whole lesson playing and messing about. (I mean messing in the literal sense here, unfortunately).

“Did you feed her before you brought her here this evening?” said the trainer accusingly. I won’t be doing that again.

By the third week I’ll swear Daisy had been texting her friend between classes. They rushed into each others paws leaping up and down like teenagers at a Justin Bieber concert. Pepper is now running rings around our puppy who is turning into a straight D student, and I don’t mean D for dog. All we can hope is she can get by on her looks, because at this rate she’s destined to become a dumb blonde.

Out of class we’ve spent hours doing her homework for her. Grumpy lays down on the floor while I pretend to feed him a treat in the hope that Daisy will understand what we want her to do. If we meet strangers on the street, she jumps up and down like a lunatic waving her paws at them like long lost friends. Either she’s begging them to rescue her or she’s inherited some of my family genes after all.