|I'm having fun!|
We've made the house and garden as Charlie resistant as possible but he's getting more and more adventurous each passing day. This guy loves to chew and there's nothing he won't have a go at. Despite the plethitude of squeaky chewy toys that he's already accumulated, he'd rather get his puppy teeth into the cupboard corners, table and chair legs, radiotor valves, towels, garden wire and my feet (did I mention he's very brave too?!)
At the moment he is a machine.....a pee and poop machine that is. Even though we 've taken every precaution to assist in his toilet training, if we don't get to him fast enough he's doesn't hang around crossing his legs and paws holding it in....no way! Fortunately the kitchen floor is tiled and cleaning up his mess isn't a drama but in the first few days it was happening so frequently that once I'd put the rubber gloves on I didn't bother taking them off, there really was no point.
A new kind of smell has impregnated the house and I don't mean the smell of dog. This boy can fart and not in relation to the size of his body. The pungent throat clogging stench can only be described as evil and lingers in the air long after it's expulsion. It's hard to believe it was brewed within the inner workings of a little ball of fluff and not the decaying bowels of a dinasour.
The quality of my days are measured by the quantity of indoor little "accidents". If there have been none or very few then I've had a good day and if there have been alot then I've had a shit day......quite literally! Our conversation on an evening is no longer filled with everyday issues such as work, tv, dinner and general news. Now we discuss in minute detail Charlie's pee and poop. how many, how long between each one, solid poop or soft poop, the size and shape of his poop, does it resemble a chocolate covered sausage or dispensed lump of Mr Whippy ice cream and how far up the stinkometer etc etc. The scary thing is that it seems perfectly normal to talk like this in our all consuming Charlie bubble while the outside world ceases to exist.
We haven't spent a night on the comfy sofa in front of the TV since Charlie arrived. No we'd rather sit huddled in the kitchen watching him sleep, watching him eat, watching him drink, watching him play, watching him chew, watching him poop!! Are we obsessed? Yes, I think so.
And why is it we talk to each other as if Charlie was their child? My sister has become "mummy" my brother-in-law is "daddy" and I'm his aunty. Our brains are being turned into mush. Lord knows what the neighbours would think if they were to overhear me in the garden encouraging my "nephew" to poop and pee on the lawn "pee pee Charlie, do a pee pee please for aunty". Repeating a phrase like this is what they advise in the training manual yet I can't help but feel that whoever wrote this did so while laughing manically "mwahahahahaha!"
In truth, when the toilet training goes wrong and he leaves us a "present" on the kitchen floor or a table leg succumbs to his mauling mouth it is oh so easily forgiven because "butter wouldn't melt" is what springs to mind as his eager face peeps from behind the gate, wagging his tail in excitement as he sees us. A sudden unknown noise and he darts to "hide" behind our legs. Should we be standing at the kitchen counter making a drink or preparing food he will squeeze inbetween and snuggle down on our feet. And when he's tired he wants nothing more but to be cuddled in our arms and nuzzle his tiny head into our necks as he softly slumbers.
Yep this little fellla has us wrapped around his little finger (or claw) and who can blame us?
|My favourite toy!|