This. Is. Fergus. Possibly the most adorable puppy on the planet.
Since my Darling Husband died almost two years ago, many people have said to me that I needed to get a dog. Some for security reasons, some believing in the power of a dog’s love and companionship to see me through the towering grief.
I was smart enough to know that, as someone who’s never owned a dog, I was not equipped either in emotional space or competence to take on the responsibility of training and caring for another living creature.
Until recently. Some dear friends visited me in my somewhat remote, mountain home. As we walked a pathway through the woods to one of my meadows, they both exclaimed that this is, in fact, the perfect place for a dog and out of their loving concern for me, encouraged me to consider getting a puppy.
I guess enough time has gone by that I felt I could contemplate the responsibility and recognize the endless benefit of a warm, not to mention snuggly, loving companion. So, I did my research and decided on the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel breed as smart enough to train (for a novice), an excellent companion (even therapy) dogs, not too big, not too small – a dog that loves his or her human and wants to please them.
Then, I had to search for a reputable breeder. These puppies are in somewhat limited supply. Finding a breeder who’s recognized for striving for the healthiest dogs with their renowned personalities takes some time. I finally found one within a three-hour drive (wow – I just started singing the theme to Gilligan’s Island…I blame sleep deprivation) and who had a puppy at just the right age to adopt. So, here we are!
Within two weeks of coming home, Fergus fell off a retaining wall and when I, in my panic – unwarranted thank goodness – rushed to his rescue, slipped, fell and broke my leg. Taking care of and trying to train a puppy, not to mention myself, while on crutches/a knee scooter and under strict instructions not to put any weight on it for six weeks is not easy let me tell you.
Nor is writing. Since I started writing this short piece, I have been outside seven times, winkled a bead that he found lord-knows-where, a leaf and a chunk of creosote from the fireplace out of his mouth, and cleaned up one accident. And now he’s innocently snoozing on my lap with his little noggin relaxed on my arm making typing an exercise in constant typo correction.
“Move his head off your arm,” you say.
“No way,” I reply.
I love these snuggles and I would put off finishing this blog post before I lost this chance to soak up these puppy-naps while he’s still small and wants to cuddle with me.
Broken leg and all, I am so happy I chose this time and this little, precious pup. He has his moments when I just want to cry in frustration because he figured out quickly that I can’t chase him and he tests his boundaries, but those moments are not too frequent and they are completely offset by these quiet moments of snuggling and the shear entertainment factor of living with a tiny clown-puppy…
Are you a dog person? Any advice?????