Puppy. Pupster. Pupper. Pupsy. Pup-pup.
All words mum will sometimes call me. Along with some slightly more choice versions that we won’t go into here.
We thought it was high time that we did a post about my formative months, and it gives us an excuse to use lots of puppy pics for the ‘ahhh’ factor.
I was born in September 2013 and went to live with mum in November when I was about nine weeks old.
My dog mum, Bella, had been adopted from a rescue by one of mum’s work colleagues and his wife, and unbeknown to them she was already pregnant. She had, they think, been puppy-farmed.
Steve and Sue had made an appointment with their vet to have her spayed but asked him to scan her as she was getting suspiciously large.
The scan confirmed she was indeed pregnant. They contacted the rescue staff to ask if they’d known she was ‘with pup’ when they adopted her but they insisted they didn’t. The only ‘help’ they offered was to have the puppies aborted.
This was definitely not an option as far as Bella’s new family were concerned, the upshot being that within just a few weeks of adopting her their lives were turned upside down when she delivered 11 pups (sadly one went over the rainbow bridge soon after birth).
Originally auntie C and uncle J were interested in adopting one of the pups to join their two other dogs, but after careful consideration decided that a dog that was part-collie might be too much of a handful.
They then sowed the seed regarding mum getting a pooch – something she had never considered before, living on her own and working full time.
After much discussion about the logistics, and promises from auntie C and uncle J that they would help out by checking on me while mum was working (at the time she worked office hours, and they both work shifts), it was agreed that we would visit the pups.
Mum was clear she wanted a dog rather than a bitch, which narrowed the field down considerably. Steve and Sue had found good homes for almost all of the pups, apart from three of us.
One of those was female which ruled her out. That left me and Chubbs – so called because he was greedy (he stayed with Steve and Sue in the end, along with our brother Kenzo).
Mum, auntie C and uncle J spent a couple of hours with us, weighing up which of us would most suit mum and after much deliberation it was agreed that I’d be going home with her just a few weeks later.
Cut to 9 November 2013 when I was brought home. I was sick just the once in my crate on the journey and I cleared it up by eating it. Lovely.
The next few weeks were something of a culture shock for mum. She’d only ever had cats, which as we all know – apart from being evil – are much less demanding as they’re so independent. To suddenly have this crazy puppy in the house who had energy to burn left mum a bit dazed to be honest.
In fact, she began to doubt if she’d done the right thing by getting me. Can you even imagine..?
I think me shredding her dressing gown by hanging off it with my razor sharp puppy teeth, and waiting until the exact moment she turned out her bedroom light before I started whining and playing up in my crate downstairs all got a bit wearing.
And I never got on with George, mum’s tabby cat at the time. All I wanted to do was chase him and he never stood his ground long enough to swipe me round the muzzle with his claws to teach me a lesson.
Gradually though, I wormed my way into her affections (the same cannot be said for George’s) and Team Wilson became a ‘thing’.
Fast forward to 2018 and much water has flowed under the bridge. We’ve learned lots – still are – and mum knows much more about my strengths and weaknesses (all of the latter are her fault, naturally).
I’ve cost her a small fortune in raw meat, dog walking, vet insurance, toys…but she wouldn’t be without me for the world. And while she will always be disappointed that she had to withdraw me from search dog training, life as an unemployed doggo isn’t so bad.
Long walks with mum in the countryside or along the coast – we’re very lucky in Hampshire to have both, from the ancient New Forest to the Solent just a mile from our front door – so I reckon, all things considered, I did pretty well ending up with her.
And she definitely feels the same way about me.