You Wouldn't Read About It
by Annie Chappell
She was born after many years……….and a tubal ligation ……and curette. A girl, after two boys.
After the shock news of her impending and determined entry into our family, (she managed to remain undetected until 21 weeks gestation) everyone regarded her existence as nothing less than a miracle; and as such, she was a tad indulged.
By the age of 3, the tall, long blonde headed, blue eyed pre-schooler had fast developed an extraordinarily advanced lexicon and the manipulation skills necessary to keep her early teenage brothers, parents and everyone else for that matter, fetching and carrying on her behalf. You wouldn’t describe her as precocious, she was more like the 18-year-old head on very gorgeous shoulders variety.
It was at this point, she became determined that her favourite bedtime Golden Book story should develop a sense of reality in her life. She asked for a real live Pokey the Puppy! Actually “asked” doesn’t really cut it. Nor does appealed, requested or cajoled. It was definitely demanded.
Trade & Exchange, being the market place of the day, provided a perfect opportunity to view an eight-week-old golden cocker spaniel poodle cross. I thought once seen – that will satisfy her over active desire.
Pokey came home with us that day, and I will never forget the look of sheer delight on that little girl’s face as she hugged and kissed her beloved Pokey in the back seat of my pristine car.
For me, life was manic. Job, husband, older kids, pre-schooler, school, kindy, kid’s sports, house, garden, extended family, and now puppy and dog shit, dog shit, dog shit!
I tried hard to maintain my sanity, equilibrium and good humour; now adding puppy training to the significant job spec list. Putting it mildly - Pokey was an excitable puppy – manic is a much more accurate adjective. Particularly if he couldn’t see me. Little did I know that I had inadvertently become a surrogate mother to him, and my absence, (of any length at all) he would howl uncontrollably, destroy anything and everything in his sight, and display general behaviour inconsistent with sanity.
After trialling strategies and heeding many wise words of advice from well -meaning self-professed dog behavioural gurus, my resolve and options whittled to a choice of the dog or me. The last chance ranch was a trip with Pokey to an animal psychologist. I sat on his couch with Pokey for about 45 minutes and after the therapy session, was relieved of a wad of money and provided with the advice to renovate our home into a more Pokey focussed environment. Hocus pocus! The diagnosis of separation anxiety was not going to conquer me.
My resolution was to take Pokey everywhere I went. The supermarket was a killer. Strategic parking kilometres away from public, windows down, car door locked - the dash began. I was off like a Bride’s nightie – up and down the aisles in quick smart time, whilst the dog howled, and proceeded to dig his way out via the gear lever! The dash back to the car would usually result in very disapproving looks from fellow shoppers, no doubt assuming animal torture and neglect. Often, I would survey my purchases once back in the car repatriated with Pokey, only to find in my hasty snatch and shelf-grab, would have resulted in procurement of the wrong thing or forgotten essentials under time pressure.
I am an absolute animal lover. This, I have to say, has never been questioned, and despite the challenges, that love has never ever waned……..except one day when Pokey excelled himself. Picture this. Wednesday afternoon driving to school with 3 -year-old blondie and Pokey. I had collected the two boys from school, provided them with afternoon tea on the run and then leaving Pokey in the car, entered the school hall with all three children to supervise badminton practice. Whilst the boys practiced, the blonde haired 3-year-old played happily and Pokey remained in the car with access to water and fresh air. From the outset, I could hear Pokey in the car in full chorus, howling and barking. Every 15 minutes or so, I would run out of the hall and take Pokey out of the car for some respite and a walk around.
The last dash to the car came about 15 minutes prior to the end of the practice session. Yes! One more Pokey stop before we could all go home.
As I approached my little white car for the last time, I could not clearly see in any of the windows. Pokey was in full cry, but something was obscuring all the internal windows with a chocolate looking substance. As I opened the car door I immediately became aware that this was not Cadbury’s or Whitakers smearing each and every pane – it was something I was far more accustomed to. Pokey had decided he could not wait for his next car evacuation, and had self- evacuated on my flash black velour seats with the red stripes. Not only was the faecal matter all over the car and windows, but all through Pokey’s poodle like long tresses.
Panic set in. How was I going to clean this up parked outside a country hall 10 minutes from home with nothing but empty lunch boxes and lipstick? How was I going to extricate my children from the hall without anyone knowing the dilemma in the car? I had thought as far as the teasing the boys would receive the next day of school if this scandal had become common knowledge. The shit would hit the fan!
Calmly and nonchalantly (yeah right) I walked back into the hall and using my fire and brimstone look, ordered my 3 children to immediately head to the car. Despite their protestations that the session was not over yet, I knew that they would thank me for saving them the embarrassment. I apologised to the other supervising mother without divulging my issue, departed the hall, and we all towards the car and an awaiting Pokey complete with his impression of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I opened the car doors and all three children alerted me to the fact there was an issue. Unsympathetically and desperate to get home, I ordered them into the car. Pokey’s mistress in her car seat in the back along with her elder brother and big brother alongside me in the front passenger seat.
As we drove through the first intersection all windows were down. We all had our seatbelts deployed despite these being covered in the offending matter. A middle-sized voice came from the back. “I feel sick”. Too bad and too late. The contents of one child’s afternoon tea flew through the air, landing on the dashboard and gear stick. This was closely followed by a similar performance from the youngest and then finally, the large boy in the front passenger seat delivered his payload.
Pokey was very happy. He was happy to be in the car with his family, and I was suspicious that he was happy that there were others now who could be blamed for the internal state of the car!
My friend and neighbour heard us arriving. She appeared out of nowhere to see what was going on. She has always been the voice of reason, incredibly level headed and an excellent teacher to boot. She marshalled my children and bellowed orders whilst I went inside to run a bath for Pokey. I could not let him loose, as the proceeds of everyone’s bodily functions would have transferred.
As I gently lifted him into soothing, tepid waters of the bath, he gave a tremendous yelp. It was then I noticed that his anus had prolapsed and that I urgently needed to remedy the problem. I stuck it back in. It stayed put!
My friend came running when she heard Pokey yelp. I think she thought I had finally lost it and was committing Pokeyside.
I wrapped Pokey in a towel and after calling the vet, hopped into a semi wiped down vehicle and set off to get him seen to. My dear friend agreed to organise and look after the 3 children whilst I was away.
The vet confirmed my diagnosis and said I had done a good job of the necessary, in terms of putting the anus back where anus things go! Pokey was fine and very happy, and did not need any further medical attention. I drove home with him. I was exhausted but relieved we had all come through this crisis and no one accept my dear friend and the vet knew the sordid details.
Pulling in the driveway I looked in my rear vision mirror and saw my husband arriving home from work behind me. I walked slowly towards him with Pokey in my arms. I was about to open my mouth when he said “Can’t wait to get inside – I’ve had a shit of a day”.
After the shock news of her impending and determined entry into our family, (she managed to remain undetected until 21 weeks gestation) everyone regarded her existence as nothing less than a miracle; and as such, she was a tad indulged.
By the age of 3, the tall, long blonde headed, blue eyed pre-schooler had fast developed an extraordinarily advanced lexicon and the manipulation skills necessary to keep her early teenage brothers, parents and everyone else for that matter, fetching and carrying on her behalf. You wouldn’t describe her as precocious, she was more like the 18-year-old head on very gorgeous shoulders variety.
It was at this point, she became determined that her favourite bedtime Golden Book story should develop a sense of reality in her life. She asked for a real live Pokey the Puppy! Actually “asked” doesn’t really cut it. Nor does appealed, requested or cajoled. It was definitely demanded.
Trade & Exchange, being the market place of the day, provided a perfect opportunity to view an eight-week-old golden cocker spaniel poodle cross. I thought once seen – that will satisfy her over active desire.
Pokey came home with us that day, and I will never forget the look of sheer delight on that little girl’s face as she hugged and kissed her beloved Pokey in the back seat of my pristine car.
For me, life was manic. Job, husband, older kids, pre-schooler, school, kindy, kid’s sports, house, garden, extended family, and now puppy and dog shit, dog shit, dog shit!
I tried hard to maintain my sanity, equilibrium and good humour; now adding puppy training to the significant job spec list. Putting it mildly - Pokey was an excitable puppy – manic is a much more accurate adjective. Particularly if he couldn’t see me. Little did I know that I had inadvertently become a surrogate mother to him, and my absence, (of any length at all) he would howl uncontrollably, destroy anything and everything in his sight, and display general behaviour inconsistent with sanity.
After trialling strategies and heeding many wise words of advice from well -meaning self-professed dog behavioural gurus, my resolve and options whittled to a choice of the dog or me. The last chance ranch was a trip with Pokey to an animal psychologist. I sat on his couch with Pokey for about 45 minutes and after the therapy session, was relieved of a wad of money and provided with the advice to renovate our home into a more Pokey focussed environment. Hocus pocus! The diagnosis of separation anxiety was not going to conquer me.
My resolution was to take Pokey everywhere I went. The supermarket was a killer. Strategic parking kilometres away from public, windows down, car door locked - the dash began. I was off like a Bride’s nightie – up and down the aisles in quick smart time, whilst the dog howled, and proceeded to dig his way out via the gear lever! The dash back to the car would usually result in very disapproving looks from fellow shoppers, no doubt assuming animal torture and neglect. Often, I would survey my purchases once back in the car repatriated with Pokey, only to find in my hasty snatch and shelf-grab, would have resulted in procurement of the wrong thing or forgotten essentials under time pressure.
I am an absolute animal lover. This, I have to say, has never been questioned, and despite the challenges, that love has never ever waned……..except one day when Pokey excelled himself. Picture this. Wednesday afternoon driving to school with 3 -year-old blondie and Pokey. I had collected the two boys from school, provided them with afternoon tea on the run and then leaving Pokey in the car, entered the school hall with all three children to supervise badminton practice. Whilst the boys practiced, the blonde haired 3-year-old played happily and Pokey remained in the car with access to water and fresh air. From the outset, I could hear Pokey in the car in full chorus, howling and barking. Every 15 minutes or so, I would run out of the hall and take Pokey out of the car for some respite and a walk around.
The last dash to the car came about 15 minutes prior to the end of the practice session. Yes! One more Pokey stop before we could all go home.
As I approached my little white car for the last time, I could not clearly see in any of the windows. Pokey was in full cry, but something was obscuring all the internal windows with a chocolate looking substance. As I opened the car door I immediately became aware that this was not Cadbury’s or Whitakers smearing each and every pane – it was something I was far more accustomed to. Pokey had decided he could not wait for his next car evacuation, and had self- evacuated on my flash black velour seats with the red stripes. Not only was the faecal matter all over the car and windows, but all through Pokey’s poodle like long tresses.
Panic set in. How was I going to clean this up parked outside a country hall 10 minutes from home with nothing but empty lunch boxes and lipstick? How was I going to extricate my children from the hall without anyone knowing the dilemma in the car? I had thought as far as the teasing the boys would receive the next day of school if this scandal had become common knowledge. The shit would hit the fan!
Calmly and nonchalantly (yeah right) I walked back into the hall and using my fire and brimstone look, ordered my 3 children to immediately head to the car. Despite their protestations that the session was not over yet, I knew that they would thank me for saving them the embarrassment. I apologised to the other supervising mother without divulging my issue, departed the hall, and we all towards the car and an awaiting Pokey complete with his impression of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I opened the car doors and all three children alerted me to the fact there was an issue. Unsympathetically and desperate to get home, I ordered them into the car. Pokey’s mistress in her car seat in the back along with her elder brother and big brother alongside me in the front passenger seat.
As we drove through the first intersection all windows were down. We all had our seatbelts deployed despite these being covered in the offending matter. A middle-sized voice came from the back. “I feel sick”. Too bad and too late. The contents of one child’s afternoon tea flew through the air, landing on the dashboard and gear stick. This was closely followed by a similar performance from the youngest and then finally, the large boy in the front passenger seat delivered his payload.
Pokey was very happy. He was happy to be in the car with his family, and I was suspicious that he was happy that there were others now who could be blamed for the internal state of the car!
My friend and neighbour heard us arriving. She appeared out of nowhere to see what was going on. She has always been the voice of reason, incredibly level headed and an excellent teacher to boot. She marshalled my children and bellowed orders whilst I went inside to run a bath for Pokey. I could not let him loose, as the proceeds of everyone’s bodily functions would have transferred.
As I gently lifted him into soothing, tepid waters of the bath, he gave a tremendous yelp. It was then I noticed that his anus had prolapsed and that I urgently needed to remedy the problem. I stuck it back in. It stayed put!
My friend came running when she heard Pokey yelp. I think she thought I had finally lost it and was committing Pokeyside.
I wrapped Pokey in a towel and after calling the vet, hopped into a semi wiped down vehicle and set off to get him seen to. My dear friend agreed to organise and look after the 3 children whilst I was away.
The vet confirmed my diagnosis and said I had done a good job of the necessary, in terms of putting the anus back where anus things go! Pokey was fine and very happy, and did not need any further medical attention. I drove home with him. I was exhausted but relieved we had all come through this crisis and no one accept my dear friend and the vet knew the sordid details.
Pulling in the driveway I looked in my rear vision mirror and saw my husband arriving home from work behind me. I walked slowly towards him with Pokey in my arms. I was about to open my mouth when he said “Can’t wait to get inside – I’ve had a shit of a day”.
Copyright and licensing notice
© 2017 by Franklin Writers Group
© 2017 by Franklin Writers Group
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
(CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)
To view a copy of this license, please visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/
Attribute to: Franklin Writers Group and the author, Annie Chappell.
To view a copy of this license, please visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/
Attribute to: Franklin Writers Group and the author, Annie Chappell.
This page published 18th September 2017