Dog blog # 6: Canines, crashing and career moves...

Dog blog # 6: Canines, crashing and career moves..

After nagging to get a dog for 18 months, Libby was an impulsive, Sunday morning credit card purchase. Arriving home with the little bundle of fluff and no clue as to how the raise the thing, we started our journey as first-time parents. I really should have planned this better. As our family, rapidly increased in size because having a dog, meant that I had to (in typical northern suburb fashion) appoint two home executives. Rosie and Ellen. Rosie has a fear of dogs, but is coping well and Ellen speaks fluent barking-Tswana.

Broken puppy leg

As over protected parent, the monkey-puppy could not be left alone. Firstly: I was worried that something was going to happen to her. Like falling, choking or breaking a leg. Turns out she did break a leg, but only after I accidentally reversed over her. Picture emphasises the guilt but THAT is a completely different story...

And secondly, Libby turned out to be a chewer as previous blogs have illustrated, and thus could not be left unsupervised for extended periods of time. Thirdly, our pedigreed-pup was not as healthy as we thought, meaning that sick dog (who chewed something she shouldn’t have) can’t be left alone either.

Solution?

Libby came to the office on Friday mornings. Our Hyde Park hound was quite content to sleep under my desk, quietly. Not so much when the phone rang and important client wanted to discuss important work matters, at which time high pitched howls in the background would ensue. These were curbed by stuffing foot into hound’s mouth, resulting in high pitched wails from human.

Our neat, perfectly decorated office looked like a kindergarten, with Libby’s toys, blanket, bed, water and food bowels, sticks and everything else she managed to drag up to office, scattered around. Important papers have been shredded, telephone wires were chewed and strategically placed newspapers (for emergency wee-wee’s) were completely bypassed. This working arrangement did not bode well for future promotion.

Libby was soon shuffled between various babysitters. In-laws, my mommy, home CEO’s and even neighbours. The babysitting was not the problem. It was the commute.

Labradors are fiercely independent and do not like to be told where to sit and what to do. This meant that many mornings were highlighted by a traffic update about an out of control smurfie-mobile swerving recklessly on the William Nicol, accompanied by yelling, barking and wild gestures to keep Labrador from eating the gear lever and jumping on the steering wheel. She has crawled under the seat and jumped on the break pedal, windscreen wipers and indicators competed with each other, windows have been know to open and close spontaneously (with either dog about to fall out, or dog’s head stuck and about to be crushed to death by window).

Thank goodness women can multi-task and I managed to drive, speak on a cell phone, keep a dog at bay with one foot, change gears, grip steering wheel, flip a sign to the rude person telling me not to drive with a dog on my head, all in one fluent movement. I left the hooting to Libby, which she managed quite well.

Canine and career women made it to the office on time and in one piece. Only to remember: “You know that last minute report I promised would be done today? Uhmm, slight problem... the dog ate it!”