Nightmare in Medlar

At least he was my best boy. That was before the Night from Hell. We had a pleasant evening together, Hugo padding silently around the house beside or behind me, and he settled down on the rug in front of the fire once I'd lit it. But when I put him in the kitchen and went upstairs to bed - quite early as I was shattered, and I thought he would be too - the howling started again. As before in the car, it rose to a crescendo and lapsed into loud sobs, interspersed with heart-rending wails. Then the banging started as he threw himself against the door and tried to scratch his way out. I'd been primed about how to deal with this, and ignored it. I stuffed in ear plugs and took a sleeping tablet, but I had an uneasy night. Early next morning I saw the damage: one of the five doors out of the kitchen had been nearly shredded across the bottom, showing the poor quality of the workmanship. Put it this way - it's not solid wood. He had climbed onto the work surfaces and padded all the way around. The only casualty was a pot of coriander which had slipped into the sink but was unharmed. God, this was dispiriting. Worried about what else was to come I rang his foster mother Jenny, and she was very helpful. When he'd cried the first night in the kennel she'd thrown a jug of water over his head and told him to shut up. It worked! I'm not going to do that to the dear boy, but I need to distance myself from him for short periods during the day, to show him he can't be with me all the time. He has to learn to be alone. I fed us both and we set off for a walk, the early morning slightly chilly but fresh and clear. Once home I put him indoors and finished dog-proofing the garden, then I let him loose. Oh, he loved it! He flew around full pelt, and when I threw a ball for him he enjoyed bringing it back to me. He is a lovely boy, but he's still staying very close to me. I have to keep up the training.