There have been lots of laughs with Luna since she came into my life on 23 July 2019. Coincidentally, it was the 70th anniversary of my parent’s marriage, so I knew that she was going to be a permanent fixture in my life, even though I was only supposed to be fostering her short term. I was still grieving the loss of Paddy, my 5 year old rescue dog, who had been killed in front of me just 4 months previously. I really wasn’t ready to adopt again, but Luna needed urgent help.
She’d been found on the streets of Almoradi, near my home in Algorfa, covered in ticks, malnourished and carrying the scars of old injuries. She was a mess, and so was I. It felt like we were meant to be together, so I bit the bullet and adopted her,
In late October 2019, I had to come to England to sort out some personal stuff, and of course, Luna came with me. It seemed as though she was coping really well with all the changes she’d faced in such a short time, but in December, I injured my knee. I wasn’t able to give time to her training and exercise, and things got a bit out of hand.
My daughter, Elizabeth, stepped in to help, and being the Dog Whisperer she is, she soon brought Luna into line, As I was still out of action with my knee and persistent infections, Luna developed a really close bond with my friend Glenys, who is our host while we are in England.
Glenys finds this both touching and exasperating, as Luna seems to have a knack of being exactly where Glenys wants to be, a split second before she gets there. There have been a few near misses for both of them, and Luna was particularly persistent on Sunday. Eventually, Glenys had had enough, and she flounced into the lounge and announced:
I feel like I’m in a nursery rhyme – Mary Had a Little Lamb. Luna’s following me everywhere today!
We both burst out laughing, at the thought of Luna as a lamb, and then the creative right side of my brain kicked in, and I was inspired to write the poem below. There’s a bit of poetic licence in there – Luna is my dog, not Glenys’s, and she hasn’t dug a hole in the lawn. Yet! That was one of Paddy’s tricks though, and remembering it helped me with the rhyme pattern. Enjoy.
Glenys had a ruddy great dog, its fur was ever so black,
And everywhere that Glenys went, the dog was at her back
It followed her into the kitchen, when she was fixing lunch,
Hoping she’d drop some grated cheese, so the dog had a cheeky munch.
It followed her into the bedroom, and bounced all over the bed,
Leaving muddy footprints everywhere, and big scratches on Glenys’s head,
It followed her into the garden, when Glenys did the weeding,
It dug a great big hole in the lawn, and then it all needed re-seeding.
So if, like Glenys, you have a big dog, with fur that’s the colour of coal,
Teach it how to stay, without delay, so your lawn doesn’t get a great hole!
Once again, Paddy has asked to do a guest post on the blog. Since I’ve taught him how to throw a sentence together, and how to spell, I can hardly refuse – especially since the last time he did a guest post he got more views than all of my posts during the month put together! Ah well, over to Paddy, who wants to get something off his chest. According to him, he hasn’t had the best of weeks. According to me, he’s an ungrateful, attention-seeking pup, but hey, it’s a free country, so over to Paddy:
“Hello everyone, and welcome to my guest post. I felt I had to chip in before Mummy started spreading lies and exaggerating everything on Facebook. To say I haven’t had the best of weeks is an absolute understatement. And most of it is Mummy’s fault – she just doesn’t realise how sensitive a soul I am.
The big problem is Gizmo. The longer we spend together, the bossier he gets. I mean, I’m scared to even walk past him these days – everything I do seems to be wrong. And Mummy and Aunty Glenys are no help. Instead of telling him to leave me alone, and giving him a flying lesson, they just laugh, and say I’m a wimp! Not only is that very hurtful, it’s totally untrue.
I’m not a wimp, but I am a sensible boy, and I’m not going to do anything that earns me a nip on the back legs from Killer Chihuahua. Okay, I am a bit frightened of him – but only frightened that I may choke on him if I do what he deserves and say ‘No more Mr Nice Guy’ and eat him. I don’t think Mummy and Aunty Glenys would be very happy about that though, so I’ve made a new friend.
He’s a very handsome dog – similar to me in fact, and I know we’d get on great, and between us, we could put Gizmo in his place. The problem is, my new friend is very shy. He won’t come out while everyone else is around. In fact, he waits until it’s dark, and Aunty Glenys has turned off the TV and taken Killer Chihuahua to bed. Then he plays hide and seek behind the TV screen or the conservatory window. No matter how much I talk to him, or how fast I wag my
tail, he just won’t come out to play.
It’s very frustrating for a friendly boy like me, so I cried a bit and asked Mummy to coax him out to play. She laughed, so I asked Uncle Tristan instead. Then he laughed, and said, ‘It’s your reflection, you daft dog.’ Now, I don’t know what a reflection is, but it isn’t a breed of dog I’ve ever heard of. Obviously, they don’t want me to play with my new friend in case Gizmo gets jealous. I’ll outwit them though – I’ll save a couple of my favourite treats to tempt him out to play.
Really, the only thing that makes life worthwhile these days is when Mummy takes me out in the car, without Gizmo. It’s lovely to see him cry to come with us, and even better when Mummy tells him he can’t come, because she can’t manage two dogs on her own. My Mummy can do anything, so I’m sure she could – she’s just giving me some breathing space from Killer Chihuahua, so we can share some quality time together.
However, on Tuesday, even that got a bit scary. We’d been out all day, and were on our way home, when the car started making funny noises and juddering. Mummy slowed down, and told me not to worry, and we’d soon be home and safe. The words had hardly left her mouth when there was an enormous bang, right behind where I was sitting, looking for dogs and cats to bark at to liven up the drive home.
I thought the world had ended, and I did the only sensible thing and jumped into the front with Mummy, to get away from the bang. That was easier said than done, because I had to work out how to free the restraining strap from the seatbelt, but I was a Desperate Dog, and I managed it. I was shaking like a leaf, but did I get any sympathy? Not a bit of it! Mummy just laughed, and said, ‘Don’t be such a baby, Paddy – it’s just a blow out, that’s all.’
I’ve never been so insulted in my life! Mummy is always telling me off for ‘blowing off,’ but I never make such a loud noise as that – it’s not polite. A blow out must be very similar to a blow off, so in other words, I got the blame for something that frightened me almost to death. I thought my time had come to cross the Rainbow Bridge, and all she could do was laugh!
I’ll never understand humans if I live to be 100. There we were, miles from home, almost dead, and Mummy is on the phone and taking photos. I was so glad to see Aunty Glenys, I just leaped into her car, and didn’t even mind Gizmo barking at me.
I was pretty sure I’d never see the car again – I mean, how could it survive such a major disaster? However, I was wrong, and the next day, the car came back. Being a sensible boy, I wasn’t going anywhere near it – it was a death trap, obviously. You’d have thought Mummy would have understood, but no, she said I had to go in the car with her. No way was that happening, so I headed back to Aunty Glenys’s. I was so traumatised, I’d rather spend the day with Killer Chihuahua than go out in the car with Mummy – that’s how bad it was.
Did she understand and respect my feelings? What do you think? She actually bundled me into the car and said “Paddy stop over reacting!” Can you believe that? It was most undignified. First she grabbed my front paws and put them on the back seat, then lifted my back legs and pretty much threw me into the car. And that smarmy black cat from next door saw everything! I’ll never be able to hold my head up in the street again, because I bet that rotten cat’s told everyone.
Whoever first said ‘It’s a dog’s life’ was not wrong. I’m going to have to rethink my position after this week. If anyone would like to offer a loving home to a very good boy, I may seriously consider it. Mummy needs to examine her recent behaviour and think how she can make amends, otherwise she’s going to be very sorry. Thanks for listening, and please, if you love me, tell Mummy and Aunty Glenys to go easy on me. I may be a big strong boy, but I do have feelings, you know!” Paddy.