There is a Very Good Reason why Old People Shoudn't Have Babies...

 ...or take on young puppies.  

They are exhausting!  Really exhausting.  Routine life goes out of the window.

Yes, they are adorable bundles of fun but they chew carpets, rugs, furniture, fingers and clothes.  All with great enthusiasm and affection, even when they accidently draw blood.  Then there is the over enthusiastic gardening.  Not digging, yet.  Just grabbing any foliage, flowers or moss, along with a side-serving of bird poo, if available.  The careering around the garden, oblivious to the danger of a drop onto the paving slabs, or the danger of squeezing into a narrow gap by the wall.  

They also get between, in front, just behind and to the side of your feet.  Every footstep has to be monitored.  One develops a kind of 'puppy walk' widely spaced feet and constant scanning!  It looks weird, but it does work.  Very necessary when one is older.  Last thing we need is a tumble, or an injured puppy.

Winston was due to move in here on Sunday morning, but in the event he came at around 5pm on Saturday.  He is an amazing ball of energy who keeps on going, until he suddenly stops.  Snooze time.  Luckily he has plenty of naps.  I couldn't cope otherwise! 

Once he gets to sleep I spend time working with the old cats.  They are coming round.  Millie is still not impressed, but she is back in her favourite high-level spots and demanding food, special food because she is so traumatised.  Nice try Millie!  

Sparky has assessed the little chap, decided that he is a bit of a nuisance, but not a threat.  She has taken over the porch and insists on being fed out there, luckily it is quite large and has a very long window sill.  Between that, and the bench seat at the end, she is quite happy.  She has her own entrance, fresh air, a great view of the bird activity in the garden and access to all her facilities.  If she and Winston happen to come face to face in the garden, she stands her ground and he leaves her alone.

It has gone better than expected.  The length of my day has expanded, my knees have callouses from crawling around the floor playing with Winston,   I am grubby and worn out, but all my animals are happy and my husband is still getting fed homemade food.  The house even gets an occasional hoover - mainly because I am determined that the puppy will become used to all the normal household appliances, doorbells, telephones, and so on.

He is crate trained now and sleeps in it from 10.30pm until around 4.30-4.45am, when I let him out to do the necessary in the garden.  So far, so good.    He also takes daytime naps in there. It is his special place.

It is early days, but he is a delight.  Yes he has slightly weak back legs, but the vet has checked him over and is not concerned.  Yes he is rather brighter than my usual boys, so bright that I should be putting his name down for a good school, were he human.  Luckily he is not. 

Yes, our nice peaceful life has been radically changed, our routine totally trashed.  That is a good thing.  It is too easy to become set in our ways.  A little shake-up now and then is probably good for us.