Just when we thought the sleepless nights were over and the nappies done with, we take on a new responsibility. A new responsibility with a wet nose, a wagging tail, two bright eyes and an eager disposition.

Pippin at nine weeks
Pippin is nine weeks old today and has lived with us for the past three days, a Labrador-collie cross from a farm in a nearby village. I’m looking forward to long walks and games of ball throwing, watching him run with the children and the whole social life that revolves around owning a dog.
But right now he’s a pup (a necessity for a dog that has to adapt to chickens), not yet socialised or house-trained, unable to go out properly because his jabs aren’t complete, and missing his mum. This explains why I was up at 6 this morning and 5am two days ago comforting a whining creature, why there is the occasional puddle to mop up and why, like in the old days of having toddlers, precious objects are being lifted out of reach.
He is a delight already, loves people who come to the house and will readily roll over for anyone who looks prepared to scratch is tummy. He trails after me as I potter around the house and if I’m still, he curls up on the floor and follows my every move with his eyes like a small black shadow. He can be frisky too - he loves to chew the furniture when he isn’t trotting off with a shoe in his mouth.
Shoes, chair legs, tissues, clothes, electric cables and human limbs are all grist to the mill, or to his teeth anyway. I have had to create makeshift barriers out of cardboard boxes, paint chilli paste on sensitive items and even change out of flowing skirts to escape the shredding action of his small but effective jaws.
I’m assured he’ll grow out of the random chewing as well as of the occasionally painful habit of jumping up, but only if we train him properly. The real work still lies ahead.
Look, no rubber: the world’s most incompetent artist has drawn a bird.
