I first met Snoopy when he was one week old, and fitted into the palm of my hand. I visited him again when he was three, five and six and a half weeks old, before bringing him home at eight weeks. And all at once my life as I knew it came to an end.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. As regular readers of the Voice would know, I lost my beloved Labrador Toby in late April and, without my accustomed companion, I was in danger of talking to myself. I love all dogs, but I think Labs are special, and Toby was my second (after Barney) during my 23 years in the Valley. But – after many years in denial – I was beginning to feel my age. Labs are pups until they’re at least three, and they’re big and strong. So I made the difficult decision to get a small dog. During my 25 years in Sydney, we’d had a total of five miniature dachshunds, so I was familiar with the breed. Enter Snoopy.
Despite having had many puppies during my lifetime, I remembered only the good things about them: they’re adorable, joyful and entertaining… and, when asleep, angelic. Perhaps I should have re-read my series Toby and me (published in the Voice in 2009-2010), to remind myself of the attributes of a puppy best forgotten – such as the needle-sharp teeth and claws, hyper-activity and accidents.
At eight weeks, Snoopy was still tiny, so from the moment we arrived home I had to get used to look down whenever I walked, so as not to tread on him. And I had to abandon my previous attempts to lift my feet – to avoid my habitual risk of clumsily tripping, – and instead to shuffle, so as not to kick him.
Expecting that the Labrador-size dog flap in the security screen outside my laundry door would be too big for a tiny puppy, I replaced it with plastic strips, cut down from one designed for a shop doorway – remember those? -which, to my surprise, was still available from Bunnings. It took one day for Snoopy to clamber through it unaided, and two more days before he’d leap through it without slowing down. There is a lock on the security screen, and I hoped that I could leave the door open, so that Snoopy could come and go as he pleased, until Allan pointed out that he was so small that a bird of prey could snatch him away so, until he grew, I accompanied Snoopy whenever he went outside.
Anticipating that young Snoopy could get under or through the fence built to stop Toby wandering, Graham and I had attached chicken wire to it, and to the two gates in it. During Snoopy’s first week at home I was watering tubs just outside one of the gates. I was a mere half a metre away from Snoopy, but that wasn’t close enough. Somehow he managed to squeeze under the gate without scratching himself to pieces. There are now logs blocking his escape.
I’d bought dried puppy food and, in accordance with his breeder Sheryl’s instructions, soaked it in boiling water and waited until it cooled down enough to offer it to Snoopy. He showed little interest so, on day two, I phoned Sheryl, who advised me to mix some raw egg with it. That made a substantial difference, but it wasn’t until, after a couple more days, I added a concoction of chicken and veggies – a “Nosh” product for puppies – that he finished some meals in one go.
Snoopy wanted to chew everything – as puppies do. I’d bought him soft teddy bears to snuggle up to, and ‘chewy’ toys to play with. He loved them all, but failed to distinguish between their intended purposes. The delight of his licking my cheek quickly turned to anguish when he moved upwards to chew my ear. My hands, arms and legs didn’t escape his attention, either, and I used more Savlon in the first week than I’d normally use in a year.
I’d taken up all the rugs in the house, but left the mats in the bathroom and loo. I had to remember to shut Snoopy out of both, as the possibility of, not only chewing the mats, but dragging them out of the rooms in which they served more than a decorative purpose, proved irresistible. There were of course a few accidents, but his house-training was going reasonably well – helped by the fact that I took him outside regularly. And for a few days he did use a puppy pad for its intended purpose when he wasn’t dragging it around the house.
Snoopy loves everyone, and greets visitors with wild enthusiasm. Unfortunately one was wearing shorts, and at first dismissed my concern. He soon shared it, when Snoopy, trying to jump up on him, scratched the length of his calf and drew blood. His wife dismissed my profuse apology, saying “It was only a scratch. He’ll live! Don’t forget he is on blood thinners so that he bleeds easily. No harm done by your adorable puppy, Snoopy.”
And that was just the first week.
Tony Barnett