Puffin #1

Now, I've said that Puffin deserves a post of her own, so here it is. (Or at least, the first one, more to come.)

Months ago, I decided my life was missing a furry-faced little companion. I love dogs, always have. But it never seemed right to have one in London, what with my busy hectic life an' all (ha).

So, last November, I registered with my local RSPCA branch to rehome one. This meant I had to get the whole garden re-fenced (thank you G). The fencing bit was sorted in days but the rest of it... took a while longer. Partly due to the Maxi dying, me spending a month over Christmas on an elongated tour of the West Country and mainly due to apathy on my part.

But after a nudge - well, that's to say a well aimed and fairly forcefully delivered boot up my arse from a good friend - I got my act together. I went to the RSPCA in Patcham, near Brighton. I went to the Dog's Trust in Shoreham. I went to the Raystede centre near Ringmer.

At the RSPCA I met a skinny little Lurcher pup called Puffin, just as she was being taken out for a walk by a volunteer. She reared on her back legs, stretched out both her skinny front legs to try to get to me, and just looked at me as if to say 'LOVE ME PLEASE, I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO LOVE ME'.*

After enquiring, and learning that someone else had already 'registered an interest' (meaning they had first dibs) I went to the other dog centres. But I kept thinking about Puffin. So I called the RSPCA and they put me as a 'second'. The first interested party were due to call back the following Sunday about whether or not they could take her or not. Apparently, they were worried that their fence wasn't high enough. Whereas I HAD THE BEST GODDAMN FENCE IN THE WORLD.

I called the RSPCA as soon as they were open on Sunday to let them know that I wouldn't be at home (I was in London for the weekend) but to call my mobile as soon as they heard anything. They called me at about 3pm, while I was having lunch with friends on Chiswick High Road. The other party had dropped out, and Puffin was mine if I still wanted her. I cried into my pizza and said 'Of course'.

She's now been with me for 6 weeks and I would feel like one of my arms was cut off if she wasn't. Yes, we've had altercations (usually involving her trying to eat my dinner if I turn my back for a second) or crapping on the living room floor (if I haven't understood her requests to go outside). But we're all good. So good.

She likes: food, more food, my food, her food, cuddles, tummy tickles (it's ALL about the tummy tickles), running by the river, company, toys (Mr Squeaky in particular), my shoes, my boots, my feet, her bed, my bed, the sofa (naughty girl), other dogs, other people, being brushed, being in the garden in the sunshine, chasing things around the garden, putting extra holes in my watering can, curling up in my lap, finding dead things while out for a walk - rabbits, lambs, other unidentifiable bits of carcass - and trying to bring them home, eating poo (her own, cow, sheep, horse, whatever) and much more besides.

She doesn't like: being on her own, the dark, having a shower.

So, I've been learning responsibility in all kinds of shapes and forms. But mostly a shaggy-haired, spindly Lurcher who loves to run fast but turns into a cartoon dog (with legs in all directions) whenever she tries to stop or turn.

The first time I let her off the lead (down by the river, she can't escape anywhere) she ran, then looked at me, then just haired off with her tail wagging madly. I think it was the first time she'd ever been allowed to just RUN. This almost made me cry with joy, until a few minutes later - when called - she ran happily back to me. That did it.

She's now sleepy beside me, trying to wriggle her head underneath my MacBook and into my lap.

Thank you RSPCA, thank you.

* Little did I realise at the time, but she does that to EVERYONE she meets, even now. Little wretch.