Five weeks into ownership of our new puppy Drake pictured above, I’ve been reflecting on whether books can ever really prepare you for the real thing. Whether it’s reading about how to look after plants (not entirely successful as my previous blog shows) or how to cook, unsurprisingly it’s never quite like that in reality.
To be prepared and to make sure we knew what we were doing, and what we were letting ourselves in for, I bought and read The perfect puppy by Gwen Bailey and Labrador by Peter Neville beforehand. They were both packed full of useful tips. It helped us prepare for the car journey home when we went to pick him up, to understand how to toilet train and crate train him, and helped me realised at nine weeks old he would be the equivalent to a five year old child, exploring the world but with some trepidation.
It did not prepare me for just how much it was going to change our lives. For the better of course, but everything does now require that extra thinking through. It didn’t prepare me for complete exhaustion from no longer being able to sleep through the night for the first two weeks, or for the demise of a weekend lie-in. But it also couldn’t have made me understand just how lovely it is to have a snoozing puppy at your feet having a puppy dream and chasing rabbits, or how doleful he looks when he’s really tired, or when he gets puppy hick-ups whenever he wakes up.
I imagine this must be a bit like what baby books are to parenthood, but in microcosm.
That sounds *a lot* like motherhood! Add in a sprinkling if people saying you’re doing it all wrong, and a ridiculous multi-million pound industry to sell you stuff.
It’s a funny thing, instinct. The scientist in me tells me there’s no such thing, but it’s hard to find another word for a deep conviction that you know what they need when they have no words.