Guide Doggy Blog
Make way. Molly has arrived!
Hello. I’m Molly. Or at least, I think that’s my name. I keep hearing it but it could equally be ‘gorgeous’ or ‘darling’ or ‘lovely’, cos I keep hearing those words as well. I think, though, that I’m going to insist on being referred to as Mollylicious, partly because it’s true, and partly because it’s quite hard for human mouths to say. I arrived to live with the Wordsmith yesterday and I’ve turned her world upside down. I’m so adorable that she can’t stop looking at me, and when she’s not looking at me I’m sneaking off to do things I shouldn’t be doing.
Someone at the Guide Dogs for the Blind National Breeding Centre (or NBC as I think you humans like to abbreviate it to) told me I wasn’t the Wordsmith’s first allocation. Some other pup was meant to come and live with her weeks ago, but they decided she wouldn’t make the grade as a guide dog, so they’ve sent me instead. Well, when she discovered I was born on her birthday, the Wordsmith got pretty excited, although why I don’t know. I was born that day, that’s all that matters to me. Her day of birth is of no consequence to me but if it’s important to her, then that’s ok with me I suppose.
The Wordsmith keeps taking me out into this cold yard and saying something about being busy, but I did get a bit confused this morning, and busied myself instead by running into the room with the nice red rug to relieve my little bladder. But the Wordsmith, to her credit, didn’t tell me off, she just lifted me up and quickly put some newspaper down to soak things up. I think she might be doing quite a lot more of that before I get the hang of this ‘house training’ stuff. In fact, I think she’s had to put a call out for more newspaper, although I thought nobody read those things anymore and that it was all ‘online’ now. Oh well. I had to laugh yesterday, mind. The supervisor woman who brought me in her car and made the Wordsmith go through all this paperwork and sign things and note down dates when I’ve got to have needles stuck into me for various reasons; well, she told the Wordsmith that my litter has been chosen by a research group at the NBC to have all their pooh monitored until me and my siblings are ten weeks old. Poor Wordsmith. That means she’s got to give me some powder in my food once a day then inspect every stool, I think you call it, and assess its firmness on a scale of one to five. I’ve performed fours so far; that means I haven’t had an upset tummy which, given that yesterday I didn’t quite make it outside in time, came as quite a relief to my new keeper. I was impressed by how fast the Wordsmith was with that piece of newspaper, mind you.
Last night was interesting. I got put into this room I hadn’t really been in much, where I was locked in some sort of a cage with some soft bedding, a bowl of water and a towel over the top to make it seem like a tent. I was left in there all on my own, so, not having been away from my brothers and sisters before, of course I cried. Quite a lot. No one came, but all of a sudden some music noise started creeping out of the speaker in the corner of the room. It said it was something called Radio 3, but although it was nice for a while, it got a bit repetitive and even urgent at times, like classical music can, so I started crying again. I think the Wordsmith had been asleep because her hair was all ruffled when she came down in this floral fleecy get up and put me out in that yard again. She didn’t say a word; funny, for a wordsmith, but she was like that again this morning. I don’t think she does mornings. We’ll have to see about that. Anyway, tonight I might cry until l get something more lively. I’ve heard Radio 6 plays some nifty tunes, but their early morning stuff might get a bit dull. We’ll have to see later. Apparently, the Wordsmith can make the music come from her phone without even getting out of bed. These humans have got it easy really, haven’t they? I mean, there is even a big flat thing with moving pictures on it in the room with the red rug, although at one point the speed skaters were replaced by a black screen and only sound came out. I think it was the Archers. Some long running tale of country folk. Dull, dull, dull. Although maybe if she played that, Brian Aldridge’s moaning about some toxic barrels appearing on his land without him knowing anything about it might be enough to make me drop off to sleep.
So today I’ve mainly hung around the house, being carried up and down stairs to this little room where I’ve been dictating this to my keeper. She calls it the office, but now my bed’s in there and my toys and the newspaper and the doggie nappy mat they put in my carrier with me, it’s less of an office and more of a puppy nursery. I like it in there though. I don’t mind being carried outside now and again to see the builders next door and to busy myself in the yard finding tiny bits of rubbish to eat that that the Wordsmith thought she’d swept up earlier. She underestimates my ingenuity. After all, I am destined to be a guide dog. That means I’m one of the chosen ones, and I’m going to remind my keeper of that every day I’m with her for the next year.
Right, I’m off to have another nap now. To be honest, my naps have only really been punctuated by feeding my face and ‘being busy’, so they’ve been more like one long sleep with intermissions. But if I don’t get all this napping in before tonight I’ll be too tired to stay up making those heart rending whining noises that are guaranteed to get me some attention in the night. After all, why else was I made to make them?
Woof woof till next time.
