It’s incredibly cheesy and I need to hand my rock card in at the door but I was musing the Westlife classic “Flying without Wings” as it was on the radio the other day (Bea likes Magic as a station) and a lyric stuck with me – “it’s the little things that only I know, those are the things that make you mine”. Whilst that wasn’t the exact subject the writer was aiming for, despite the love between dogs and people being far greater than that of most people to people, it struck a chord in me and got me (over)thinking.
It’s the little things I know about you two, the little things that I learn about and from you that make you mine. You are the greatest of teachers and (sometimes) the most willing of students and I learn something new about you all of the time – just little things that cement your place in my heart and make me think – “no one else (except Joe) knows that about you”.
I know this week you aren’t wary of the car anymore. If anyone else wanted to take you for a trip now, they would have two dogs eagerly sniffing the boot, waiting for a boost in and wagging their tails gently. They would have two dogs that lie down and don’t make a sound on the trip, that jump to their feet when they hear the boot release ready to get out. They wouldn’t know that you ran from the car when we first tried taking you out (and bought a new car just for that reason), that you tried to get back into the house rather than go in the back. That you spent journeys stood up whilst we drove very slowly around the block trying to encourage you to lie down, that you weren’t being taken to the track, or someplace else that we would leave you, that we just wanted to do something fun with you and then all come home together to cuddle up on sofas. I think you know that now, but that’s a little thing that only I know about you.
I know that when I ask if you want to go to the park for a walk, you jump up and head to the cupboard where your harnesses, leads and coats are kept. You wag your tails, and race into the garden to play tag with each other and then bounce at the end of your lead on your favourite route to the park, sniffing at all of the things!Anyone else sees two dogs keen and eager for a walk. They wouldn’t know that you weren’t always so keen, that you walked compliantly beside us, reluctant to pull or sniff (were you afraid of being yanked back or reprimanded, or did you just not know you could?), cowering or startling at the sounds of loud traffic, not understanding that a walk should be a super fun activity where new places could be explored. If someone wanted to walk you now, they would have two eager, happy dogs, keen to walk but just as keen to come home, no cowering or reluctance but all of the eagerness of a mini adventure with your people. That’s a little something only I know about you, how you have embraced the joy of a walk, like we have, with the best company.
If you walked into my house right now, you would see a black greyhound stretched on the sofa and a fawn greyhound sprawled over two floor beds. They are ignoring the noises of the football match on the TV and the commentary at volume from Joe in the corner. That wasn’t always the case. There was time this room was terrifying, that it took one of the sleepy pair weeks to enter it, and longer still to lie down on a bed and longer still again not to leave when the tv was on. I have seen first hand how hard adjusting to being in a room with people and noise and the flashy lightbox has been for you, I’ve cried as you made it into the room, thinking you finally felt comfortable enough to join us and cried harder when you decided you couldn’t and ran to stand in the hallway on your own. But we got there. You go into anyone’s house now and fall asleep in front of their tv. How long it took for you to feel safe doing that is a little thing that only I know.
Feeding time is everyone’s favourite time of day. I call Sam, Bea, food time and if you aren’t already in sight of me, it takes about 15 seconds for you to appear at pace. You stand behind me as I narrate the options (is it Turkey Tuesday?!) and know exactly whose bowl is whose as food gets put down – noses in, tails wagging and food devoured. You stand quietly and patiently (with all of the drooling thank you Bea) and wait politely for food – diving in once it’s in the bowl stand and ignoring us as we carry on tidying up or making tea. That wasn’t always the case. Sometimes meal time was a panic, that needed leads and harnesses on just to get to the kitchen, that the kitchen couldn’t be coped with unless the back door was open, that if we moved to put something in the adjoining the dining room you had to abandon food to follow, that sometimes if we even looked at you, you had to freeze. Using taps or opening cupboards were out of the question. These things don’t bother you so much anymore, you are comfortable with feeding time and the quiet sounds of people in the kitchen as you eat. It’s a little thing, that makes everyone’s day that little bit easier.
You like people feeding time as well. You don’t get anything but like to stand and lean your snoots on the table or at our elbows for a minute just to see what we’ve got. You then both go to the dining room beds for a lie down while we finish our meal. That’s a whole lot of new things. You are curious enough to come and investigate without fear of reprimand and you know that it’s “people food” so you don’t try and steal (that often anyway!), but are happy enough to curl up the same room and doze while we dine. Anyone joining us for dinner sees two dogs, not demanding but curious and content to come in, look and wait for us to be done. That’s not how it’s always been. We’ve had the extremes – the trying to get into your lap and the lapping of the hall too scared to come in. I cried and sent about 20 picture messages the first night that you both joined us and slept on beds while we ate. That’s such a little thing, but for you and us, such a big thing.
For big dogs, adjusting to a whole new way of life, it’s all about the little things. The little things you take for granted, that seem so simple and uncomplicated are in fact a minefield to those not used to this environment, so alien from where they have been. To an outsider looking in, I have two dogs that look pretty well adjusted to home life – enjoying a trip in a car, a familiar walk, a sofa snooze and dinner time. All basic little things that you expect of a family dog. It’s the steps forward (and sometimes backward) that they don’t see that make you mine, that I understand, to some small degree at least, the effort and challenge it was for you to get to where you are.
“Little steps big Sam” was a quote on a post I put on Facebook and I’ve often thought about it. To us these are little things, little steps , but they are huge strides forward in Bea and Sam feeling safe, secure and happy in their new (forever home). How much progress they have made it a little huge thing that only I know and it’s this, that makes them mine.
*disclaimer – “I” in most of these cases also refers to Joe, but frankly that was wordy to write every time.