​Monday is my working-at-home day, it is also a day I meet up with my friend Sarah for a coffee—today Dora came too. She thoroughly enjoys a walk into the village and a visit to the Barrel House, a particularly dog-friendly hostelry and somewhere Dora has frequented reasonably regularly since she was a puppy. She is a very social dog—perhaps too social! She certainly knows how to work a room, though she has a rather disconcerting habit of randomly sniffing crotches, which, not surprisingly, has it’s drawbacks, especially when the majority of customers at the Barrel House are elderly men! Both my dogs are very sociable and throw themselves into a party with the abandonment of a carefree adolescent—unfortunately they are just as prone to break things… though it is their tails rather than ‘drunk and disorderly’ behaviour that creates havoc. Scout is particularly fond of pushing himself through people’s legs, sometimes head first, sometimes bum first. This is fine as long as you have long legs… however, not everyone has and he has been known to lift people off the ground—at which point I usually pretend that I don’t know him and that he isn’t with me.
 
Anyway, back to our coffee. They have dog biscuits in a jar at the Barrel House; I lost count of the number of biscuits Dora consumed while we were there. I think she managed to extract one from every person she ‘spoke to’. I did wonder what people made of her and her slightly strange shape—no one mentioned it, perhaps they were just too polite to ask. Fortunately she did not sit, as she loves to, legs akimbo with her ever-expanding stomach and ‘milk bar’ on show for all to see!
 
People frequently ask me what ‘sort’ she is—this phrase, ‘what sort have you got there?’ makes me laugh, it reminds me of choosing chocolates out of the Quality Street tin at Christmas. And they never quite believe you when you say ‘Large Munsterlander’, particularly if, like me, you follow it up with ‘it’s a German HPR’: they look at you slightly askance, not sure whether you are telling the truth or taking the mickey! When someone does know the breed I treat them like a long-lost friend or relative, which must be equally perplexing. I guess that’s Munsters for you—they’re just a bit different and it tends to rub off on the owners!
 

Dora is lying stretched out on the sofa, she shouldn’t really be on the sofa, but then she is just about to give birth, so is entitled to some privileges. Scout is lying at my feet—he hates to be left out and is determined to always be at the centre of everything, and I mean everything. I am curious to see how he takes to a houseful of puppies. He was brilliant with Dora when she arrived, so tolerant, too tolerant! Dora runs rings round him and he lets her: a doting uncle indulging his favourite niece. As a puppy Dora was extremely cute, but rather naughty… there was the time she did the ‘Wall of Death’ around the sitting room—leaving everyone open mouthed and somewhat incredulous; no one quite believing what they had just seen. I still think of her as ‘the pup’ and it’s odd to think that very soon she will have pups of her own.
 
It’s almost exactly 3 years since Mandy, Esther and I made the journey over to Germany, to Kassel and Rasko. As with most things ‘Munster’ that trip didn’t go entirely to plan! Turns out it’s a long way from Yorkshire to Kassel and not necessarily a trip to be done in a day! We only realised this while crossing the Channel—what to do? Find a hotel en route, or ring my friend who lives in Holland—not quite en route… but close enough… sort of! Fortunately, I have really lovely friends, who are totally unfazed by random 2-legged and 4-legged visitors arriving at unbelievably short notice. The next day, following an evening of generous hospitality (which, I seem to remember, included quite a lot of Cointreau), Mandy, Esther and I left Holland for Germany. Dora’s Father Rasko (Urban von St. Vit) has a delightful human family who have always welcomed us into their home with great generosity. I especially remember the copious cups of coffee and pieces of cake—guaranteed happiness! Mind you we nearly didn’t make it back to the UK, leaving the Arend house, happy and slightly high after a successful mating, or too much coffee, I forgot which side of the road I should be driving on and narrowly missed driving into an oncoming bus—oophs…
 
Nine weeks later and Dora was born. And that story I will leave for next time.
 
Dora learning to hold—and yes, it is a paint roller!

I’m not sure where time is going at the moment. There don’t seem to be enough hours in the day, but, as a friend pointed out, if there were more they would only get filled with ‘other stuff’ and you would still feel ‘time short’ — this is, I fear, true. Anyway it turns out that preparing for a birth, or at least any birth that is occurring in your house, requires quite a lot of sorting, clearing and cleaning! In many ways this is very cathartic and I have found a number of things I didn’t even know I’d lost. Like the soil rake, which, had I remembered its existence, would have been very useful when levelling the mound of soil left over from laying the slabs outside the backdoor! Mind you, rediscovering the soil rake is nothing compared to finding, a few months ago, the lost, very lost, Macbook under the seat cushions on the sofa — that, frankly, was a minor miracle!
 
Most of the morning was spent outside gardening. Both Dora and Scout enjoy a bit of gardening, though I have yet to train them to do anything remotely useful. Constantly dropping a ball into the weed trug, in the hope that I will throw it, is not helpful! Dora, who could, from certain angles, be mistaken for a beached whale, spent most of her time basking in the sun, though she did also chase Scout round the garden, play rough with him, dance on two legs round the apple tree (she was telling the birds off) and hunt for mice in the wood pile. I am torn between stopping these antics and allowing her to be herself — I want her to be happy, to enjoy this final week of freedom. She didn’t ask for this and giving birth is not risk free, nor is it without pain — as any of you who have had children can attest! So fingers crossed everything goes ok. What is lovely, is feeling the puppies move, they are kicking quite hard now, and when Dora is stretched out on the floor you can see the ‘inmates’ practising their drop kicks and jostling for position. As I sit here in almost complete silence — all I can hear is Dora breathing (plus the occasional sigh) and the noise of wood pigeons in the distance — I am aware that very soon the house will be filled with the mewing of new-born puppies. Guess I need to make the most of the silence while I can…

As I sat down to write this first entry, the radio, on in the background, informed me that the Director of the film the Dam Busters had recently died — now that might seem rather irrelevant to a blog about a litter of puppies, but it’s not! Dora’s Grandmother Fee was a German dog and was trained for her German working tests at one of the dams/reservoirs bombed by the British in 1943. Perhaps it is significant that her Granddaughter will have her first litter of puppies, to a German dog, during the RAF’s centenary year. Fee was a very special girl who came to Britain by chance and good luck, she had two litters, and those of us lucky enough to live with her offspring know how amazing her children and grandchildren are. Here’s hoping her Great Grandchildren follow in her footsteps!
 
Well… we are into the last week of pregnancy. Mandy came over this afternoon and helped me put the finishing touches to the whelping box. I am so proud of that box… it’s amazing what you can do with several pieces of plywood, some softwood and a box of screws! Particular thanks must go to Finn, my extremely able 18-year-old son who acted as joinery assistant, general factotum and handyman — here’s hoping you’re around to make cups of tea when Dora goes into labour! And Dora… well… she’s blooming. Pregnancy must suit her because is she looking good and seems very content. She’s not quite as fast on the sand dunes as she was a few weeks ago, but is still enjoying getting out and about: a very social dog our Dora. She is currently lying at my feet, waiting for her tea — food and Dora go hand-in-hand, particularly at the moment. So on that expectant note I will leave you and go and feed my ever-expanding, black and white companion.
 
PS — Mandy took the photos as I am a rubbish photographer!