Better Than Kittens

I find my life radically changed this week, with new routines, new perspectives, and a newfound sense of responsibility.

I go to bed earlier. I get up earlier and actually go outside for a walk before breakfast. I've even cleaned the house, probably better than it's ever been cleaned before.

I'm more focused, more determined. More... um... maybe the expression I'm searching for is 'grown-up'.

The diet's changed too. Less chocolate. More fruit. Less KFC (though on that, it is perhaps a little too soon to make the call). More fresh cooking. Less chips. More... (what are these things? They's supposed to be 'good for me" but they taste disgusting... ah well).

All this on account of one little puppy.

I know. Dr J has new kittens, and they're sweethearts. But I'm a dog person... always have been... always will be. Even my cat Stranger thought he was a dog.

When the kittens joined the family, it was always the intention to get a puppy too, and when Dr J called me on Saturday afternoon and said "I think we need to get the puppy in here before the kittens are too grown up", it was inevitable that we'd have Zac by the end of the weekend. I don't actually think she meant "lets get a puppy today", but events have a way of unfolding on themselves, and all outcomes are predetermined.

Actually, it was when she followed "...grown up" with "Have you thought about the type of dog you'd like?" that the wheels really set themselves in motion.

"A Spoodle" was the reply. All the personality of a Cocker Spaniel, and all the street smarts of a Poodle (without the neuroses carried through life by most Poodles in their typically French "you call this dinner?" attitude).

It took me about 10 minutes to find a litter of Spoodle pups, and about 10 minutes more to call the breeder, bundle Dr J into the car and set off for what would end up being a very long trek into a wilderness that seems to exist on the edge of any big city anywhere... that undefined place where rural and urban collide.

Camden is a town about an hour's drive south west of Sydney. Well it would have been an hour's drive if I hadn't missed the turn off.

We'd set out at 5ish. It was well after 8 before we finally navigated our way through back streets and country lanes to the semi-rural acreage that the breeder called home. It didn't help that it was pitch black by the time we arrived, but it was worth it.

So... back to the change of life...

There's a responsibility now... this little bundle of fluff is my responsibility. He needs to eat well, exercise often and learn stuff. All of that is my responsibility.

So far, the eating and exercising have been no problem at all. Leaning's been easy too, for the most part. It took him less than a day to learn his name, and only about an hour longer to learn to play fetch. But the house training... Little Zac just doesn't get it. He thinks the absorbant mats scattered around the house are extra Zac beds, and he'll actually get off one to go and wee. He doesn't get the whole "yes, we're outside, I can do it here" thing either, and this morning, he actually waited until he got back into the house.

Proper sleeping arrangements are yet to be codified too. He just gets separation anxiety if he's more than a foot away from me for more than ten seconds. On Sunday night, I slept on the lounge, so that he could sleep on his bed on the floor next to me. Last night, I tried a night in my own very comfy bed with the same intention. It didn't work, and the elabourate step construction to help Zac get up and down is a fine work of engineering.

Ah well. We start puppy pre-school next Tuesday, "Toilet Training" is the second lesson on day one, and "Separation Anxiety" is the fourth. I hope they can do a better job with those than I'm doing.

The kittens, by the way, think this new fluffy thing is a bit of a curiosity. They just sit there when Zac wanders by, tilting their heads as if to say "what the?". Scooter lets him get closer, but Mini isn't so sure. Zac pretty much ignores them most of the time.