I was beyond excited that Boo was going to be our puppy. I say ‘our’ but to be honest, she was to be mine. My husband Gary was very willing to go along for the ride, but the deal was that she would be my charge. I was to be her owner / companion / teacher / best friend. And I don’t think I’ll be ruining this story to note that in the end she was, of course, all those things to me.
I will never ever forget the day we went to collect her. We had met her a few weeks before and she was cute beyond measure. Beautiful, and daft, and glorious, and a total heart-melter. Anyone who’s met a Eurasier puppy will know exactly what I mean. I felt honoured and excited – and was armed with all my reading. And I was also aware that we were about to take her away from her mum. I was thrilled and over the moon, but I felt for her.
I felt for her all the way home, while she cried and climbed under the car seats and peed repeatedly on Gary’s lap. (I’m the designated driver in our household) I felt for her while she cried for her mum and siblings that first night, so forlornly, I almost drove her back to Brigitte! And I continued to feel for her while we slowly got to know each other and became increasingly entwined. Me and my Boo. And Boo with her Charlotte. (I know that second statement may sound trite and anthropomorphic, but that is how it felt.)
There were times when her judgement was way off. Like when she would charge at other dogs in the park no matter how large and quite obviously unfriendly they were. (A phase, thank goodness.) And there were times when my judgement was way off. Like when I thought I might prefer it if she didn’t sleep in our room!
She chewed shoes and wallets, and I thought no dog would be so stupid as to run up to horse and nip at its hind legs. Our efforts to walk each other on a lead reduced us both to tears I think, and I definitely cried in those first couple of weeks, when she resolutely refused to let me go to the loo without destroying something in my brief absence. There were times I wondered what on earth I’d done, and there were times when she probably thought the same. One Saturday quite early on I remember spending the whole day cooking homemade food for her, only for her to sniff at the bowl and walk off. I could disappoint. And on a few occasions, she did too. But my god, I loved her. I absolutely adored her. And as any wise dog owner will tell you. It’s never them that’s the problem, it’s always you.
She continued through all the years to be utterly beautiful, adorably daft, yet gloriously wise, always a complete heart-melter – and also a wonderful mother herself.
And….. well, I think I might stop there. I’m afraid we know how this story ends. And the hole in my life left by her absence continues to be as wide and as deep and as true as the love I felt for her. In the end, that first book was right. And my, how lucky am I to have been Boo’s Charlotte.
