Suki Sioux

Well it had to happen, after the Labrador died we only had cats, then Emmy decided to die in the spring. She lay in the garden her front paws crossed, a smile on her face, as stiff as a board. Her long life had come to an end.
And then we talked. We went to websites, we talked some more, and forgot about it. Then we talked again. I sat with my lap top looking at Malamutes in Leicester and Retrievers in Norfolk.. The old git found another website and wrote paragraphs on why we would be good parents.
And then out of nowhere, the ‘oosbind started erecting gates and buying mesh and filling in gaps in the garden to make it puppy proof. Then three weeks ago a picture of a basket of puppies came up on his computer. 10 tiny Lurchers, all leggy and cute, were looking for homes, you could smell them biscuity puppies ten miles away.
Trevor was meant to check the garden, Sunday came and went and he didn’t arrive, but Magaret did, and she said what a lovely home for a dog.
We’d been to the rescue place and seen the puppies, boys in one room, the little girlies in another. Climbing and crawling over each other, whining and sniffing. Each litter is named after a collective noun this load of Lurchers were named after biscuits. ‘Jammie Dodger’ had gone, ‘Bourbon’ had gone, ‘Custard Cream’ had been nabbed, we had to choose between ‘Rich Tea’ and ‘Digestive’. We, well the old man, chose ‘Digestive’ cos she was calm and quiet, pretty with a white spot on her nose and little white socks and a white tip on the end of her tail.
After Margaret had given us the go ahead we drove through Withyham and Hartfield, down past the nursery and the new builds into the ‘Last Chance’ rescue place. Parked the car, opened the gate, walked past the goats and the two cats who couldn’t be separated, as they’d been used as breeders for eight years and needed each others company and a loving home. Digestive was handed over to us, smelling of her siblings wee, she was stinky but sweet.
She trembled in my arms as we drove home.
Into the kitchen, she padded, this tiny, long legged thing, a miniature foal.
And so the training and the sleeping and the waking and the poohing and the vets and the change of diet and the biscuits and the shitting and the vets and the Kaolin and the change of biscuits and finally, after the Northern Gits patience and expertise, we have a quiet home. She has adopted his chair. She knows what she wants.
She has stopped with the defiling of the rugs and now prefers to leave her trail on every leaf in the garden.
She has learnt how to give up a paw, accept a treat and sit.
She knows how to ask to go out into the garden, and she settles down in her crate with her blanket and toys and one of his old shoes.
When he leaves the house she cries, when the dawter came the puppy leapt into her arms as if she were a veteran back from a three year tour of Afghanistan.
“It’s all about the energy,” said the dog whisperer.
She yawns and squeaks and nestles into your neck. She hates the car but the ‘oosbind will train her by Sunday so that we can take her for her second inoculation.
We have joined the pet club to get reduced animal feed.
A lovely friend bought us a doggie sling and gave us toys that himself fills with food that she chases and nibbles till she gets the treat out of the hole.
I sit up all night
He sits up all night.
Although last night I watched a documentary and she was spark out by 2.00. I covered the crate with her blanket and shawl, and she curled up on top of his trainer.
A crate!!! They never had such a thing when we got Jackson in 1994, well they probably did but we didn’t know about it.
She slept till 7.30 when the keeper got out of bed and soaked her biscuits.
She was born on May 23rd, and her name is Suki Sioux, she will be walking on a lead in four days and then we can knacker her enough so that we can go to sleep normally.
Suki Sioux, is vulnerable and feisty, she is spindly and smooth. There were those who wondered whether it was a good idea to get a puppy, at this time in our lives? “New life is good” said the dawter and her friends.
We’re fecking exhausted.
We’re turning down invites that are difficult and we’ve enlisted the help of neighbours.
Why we even cracked open a bottle of bubbly and designated them as surrogate parents. The neighbours on the other side are on holiday but when they get back the teenager will be in stroking and nuzzling and babysitting, should we need it.
The house is a tip, shoes, scarves, blankets, squeaky toys, slings, dog bowls, water bowls, biscuits and leads everywhere.
Of course it is lovely to have her, but blimey it aint ‘alf hard work – I am told it will be worth it in the end. A dear friend, who is a patron of the Lurcher Society said they have sensitive stomachs but when you find the right diet they are fab. She texted me this after having a wild swim in a river in Portugal, having left her Lurcher in the hands of her son.
So it’s nearly midnight, she’s snoozing in the chair, the cottage is quiet, I’m starving and the old git is on the internet trying to buy a battery, not for the dog for the computer. Suki Sioux is chipped, clipped and now one of the family.
The dear old man is cutting up a ‘reward’ so that she can be enticed into the garden. He is in trainer mode, you know using that high pitched voice calling “Suki”. I can hear him saying ”good girl, good dog.” All praise and encouragement. Who would have thought that we would get so excited about a bitch having a wee.
She’ll outlive us, but don’t tell her that.