At the end of May this year I wrote the following:
“There is a day somewhere in my future when we shall have another dog of our own, a time when the time can be given to another little ‘being’ that should always be considered as an enhancement to family life.
“Until then I’ll continue to practice for his or her arrival.” (I work with other dogs, you understand).
Well, that day arrived last Saturday when we met a little dog in Desborough who was in desperate need of re-homing due to changing family circumstances.
He’s a three-year-old West Highland Terrier crossed with a Shih Tzu, though he has longer legs than either breed, leading me to more than suspect there is something else lurking in the breeding mix.
He’s lived within a family environment for the past three years and is therefore used to children and the hustle and bustle of daily human life.
However, his present owner – a lovely lady – had already ‘rescued’ him from someone who had kept him locked up in a cage for the first year of his life.
We were therefore to be his third home in as many years.
We arranged to collect him the following day (Sunday) and immediately headed off to a pet store in Corby.
I’d long forgotten the immediate needs of a dog that is to become part of a family.
The right bed, feeding bowls, toys, food, brushes, combs, new collars, harness, poo-bags, towels, worming tablets, shampoo: the list could go on.
Between the Saturday and Sunday Ros and I talked of little else.
We were like children on Christmas Eve, full of excitement in anticipation of our new arrival, yet there was something on which we found it difficult to agree.
His first owner had seen fit to call this little dog Bruno, a name that neither of us could comprehend, yet what on earth rhymes with Bruno?
I’ll let you know.