These are photographs of Sasha's new home and some of her new siblings. I honestly and truly believe she will be happy here, happier than she would have been with me. It's a farm for God's sake. She's going to sleep in the kitchen beside the Aga with some of the other dogs. No more cage. No more wiping feet when she comes indoors. She can eat dogs' poo for breakfast, lunch and dinner if she wants, with tasty snacks in between. She can roll in fox poo and nobody will rush her into the bath. Hare's legs? Eat the whole hare if she likes, even if it's been dead for weeks. I doubt she'll ever go into town, or even need to be walked on a lead. She'll have the run of the place, surely every little dog's idea of heaven. I know from her time at Happidays that she loves the company of other dogs.
Me? I feel a bit wretched, disappointed, my dream of having a little dog completely scuppered. I've tried, I really have. For three months I've struggled with her behaviour and with much hard work got her back to being a nice, affectionate, happy little creature. I've put her before the garden, spending a fortune on fencing to keep her safe, not caring if she dug holes, sat on top of plants, made rat runs through expensive shrubs. I've delighted in seeing her joy at being free, being able to fly around if she wanted, or flop on something comfortable when she got too hot, even if it was the weed-screening sheet which her claws tore holes in. It was the price to pay for having a dog, and I willingly paid it. I decided that NOTHING in the garden was out of bounds to her.
Indoors it was the same. She loved to snuggle up against me on any one of my five sofas, including the summerhouse one, and I let her, willingly. Though I wiped her feet when she came in wet and muddy, still they were not clean but it didn't matter - after all the kitchen tiles didn't show the dirt. I bought a huge cage so that she'd have room to manoeuvre at night and be comfortable. I brought her with me when I went most places, knowing she preferred to be left in the car than at home, despite what the puppy training people told me, and often at huge inconvenience to myself. I so, so badly wanted it to work out after a difficult start, but every time I thought we'd got there another problem arose.
What broke the camel's back? It wasn't the poo eating, though that was horrible and worrying. In the end it was the day she rolled in the fox excrement, again, and ended up stinking to high heaven. On the same walk, free as always, running and skipping like a Bambi, she found the hare's leg, rotten and smelly, and kept running past me with it in her mouth, dropping down in front of me, and chewing the leg, crunching the bones. Nothing I could do would get her away from it. Not even the lovely sausages I bought for her. I couldn't catch her, and she ended up running across the lane into the garden. She could have been run over and hurt or killed, or caused one of the many cyclists who use the lane to crash off their bike.
I had to put her straight in the bath, a lovely hot one with nice soapy shampoo. But overactive after her exhilarating freedom, she struggled and fought, and I was left exhausted as well as soaked. I just didn't have the strength for her, and unless I curtailed her freedom and walked her on a lead, baths were going to be a frequent occurrence.
The whole point of getting a dog was to walk, and those walks were not fun anymore, for me at least. I had to admit failure. The animal rescue people found this new home for her. It's a beautiful farmhouse surrounded by fields and woods. They love dogs, and wanted a replacement for an old Jack Russell that had died. She ran into their kitchen, ecstatic as always to meet new people and other dogs. Mary, her new owner, told me she was going to take them all for a walk in the fields. None of them wear collars as there is no need. They don't wander off because they are pack animals and stay together. This was going to be her new life, and as I deposited all of her paraphernalia and took my leave she was excitedly playing with a sheepdog, elbows down and hindquarters up, tail wagging wildly. She didn't notice me going, and I honestly don't think she'll miss me.I'll ring in a few days to check that she's OK, but I already know the answer.
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