Today I have divided my time between editing and puppies—puppies it transpires are exhausting, but rewarding—editing is just, well… exhausting! In the afternoon this is a sunny room, Dora and Scout are stretched out on the floor, fast asleep: Scout is lying in one of the pockets of sun streaming through the window, Dora lies in the shade, taking a smidgeon of ‘time out’ before returning to the ever hungry brood. The room is silent apart from the occasional noise from the whelping box. Puppies, it seems, dream. I’m not sure what they dream about; perhaps they hold memories from long ago, because they cannot, surely, be dreaming about their current life experiences? They are fascinating to watch, their bodies twitching, animated: not the uncontrolled twitching of the newborn but more deliberate; an attempted scratch, the legs moving as if running. And the noises… an anxious noise, a contented noise, a low, soft, gentle growl, that one, the growl, caught me unawares, I thought I’d misheard, but no it came again, a low, soft, gentle growl. Sometimes, like now, the noises sound like singing, and when several of the pups join in it sounds like some strange primeval chorus. When they are awake barking is added to the ensemble, funny little high-pitched barks. It turns out that puppies, even very small ones, are noisy, sometimes very noisy!
Some puppies have opened their eyes. Some puppies can stand. Some puppies can sit. Some puppies go and wee on the paper. Some puppies wee on me! Their personalities are beginning to emerge and I am beginning to have my favourites!
Soon it will be time for tea: Dora and Scout will be fed, the puppies will be weighed and the whelping box cleaned. Dora will, once again, take her place in the box, stretched out, a ready supply of milk. I cannot quite believe the amount of food she is currently consuming — vast quantities of porridge and honey and milk and yoghurt and eggs and meat and tripe and biscuit and veg and… the list goes on. She is still skinny, like a wraith—all that goodness going in and coming out again, turned into nourishing milk for those small creatures she grew inside her for 9 weeks; and now gives her all to feed and raise.
Finn is home from school and the kettle is on. The process of feeding starts again…
Some puppies have opened their eyes. Some puppies can stand. Some puppies can sit. Some puppies go and wee on the paper. Some puppies wee on me! Their personalities are beginning to emerge and I am beginning to have my favourites!
Soon it will be time for tea: Dora and Scout will be fed, the puppies will be weighed and the whelping box cleaned. Dora will, once again, take her place in the box, stretched out, a ready supply of milk. I cannot quite believe the amount of food she is currently consuming — vast quantities of porridge and honey and milk and yoghurt and eggs and meat and tripe and biscuit and veg and… the list goes on. She is still skinny, like a wraith—all that goodness going in and coming out again, turned into nourishing milk for those small creatures she grew inside her for 9 weeks; and now gives her all to feed and raise.
Finn is home from school and the kettle is on. The process of feeding starts again…
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