It’s been an emotional rollercoaster this week.
Our first puppy class on Friday was traumatic. Maggie spent most of the class ignoring all my instructions, looking bewildered and rather dismayed at all the action around her. When it came time for a bit of a play with the other puppies, she sat under my chair looking balefully out at all the other socially well adjusted, gamboling pooches. I ended up filled with a hot flush of shame all too reminiscent of years of parenting insecurities.
For all that, I did learn some useful things, so it was definitely worthwhile. One was the importance of putting them away in their crate several times a day. This has worked very well, up until yesterday when she learnt how to escape. This involves tipping it over onto its side and crawling out the top, which has twice given her enough time to poo and wee in the hall before being discovered. Clearly it’s time for a more sturdy prison.
I am getting flashbacks to childcare, when it always seemed that bad habits were much more readily adopted and held onto than good ones. Am I being outwitted by a creature that wasn’t even alive four months ago? I’m afraid I am.
