Nippin’ Pippin

The “drop” command is a popular one in our house.  Pippin likes to fulfil his retriever’s instincts by grabbing anything within reach, even if that thing is attached to a person.  Trouser legs are nibbled, baskets are raided, paper is chewed and, or course, he still loves his favourite items, shoes.

He is allowed plenty of chewables such as his toys, empty cardboard boxes and lumps of wood brought in from outside.  The trouble is learning which ones he can’t have, and that is where the drop command comes in.

So here it is.  The voice deepens.  The tone, from baby-sweet, waxes serious.  Drop.  A bit sharper: Pippin!  Drop!  And again – Pippin! Drop!

No reaction.  The jaws clamp shut and a mocking half-growl emerges.  Socks are the worst because they stretch and threaten to tear, and he thinks it’s fun.  So now we resort to our ultimate weapon: the water spray – one shot and he’s startled enough to back off and drop his quarry.

This strategy has been in use a few days and now it is enough just to show him the spray bottle and say “drop” for it to work.  I’m hoping that soon, “drop” alone will suffice.  Meanwhile, his obsessive need to work his jaws has earned him the colourful title “Nippin’ Pippin” from the children’s music teacher.

He may look like a labrador but Pippin is also half collie, and predicted to learn quickly.  He already sits when offered treats or meals (including when these are not on offer but he would like them to be), and stays in a room I am leaving if I put my hand up and say “stay” or “down”.  He is intrigued by the chickens but will leave them alone when restrained by our voices, dropping to the ground in collie fashion.

But like a true labrador, he can’t always restrain his appetites when tempted by grain left behind by the chickens or by the tantalising contents of the dishwasher.  Still, there’s plenty of time yet.  At 10 weeks today, Pippin is a “nipper” in more ways than one.

Pippin the heart-throb

Pippin the pup knows how to get attention from strangers when he wants it.   There is a special look of intense puppiness, big eyes, fast-wagging tail and licking tongue that some people find totally irresistible.  And what’s more, he knows it: he seems to have a sixth sense for spotting a person who will fall for him.

Time for a rest

Yesterday as I was closing the gate to our drive, two young men strolled past carrying tennis rackets and balls.  Pippin slipped through the nearly-closed gate and scampered after one of them.  As I called out “Pippin” increasingly urgently the young man in question noticed the pup, fondled him and walked back to me so Pippin would follow.  Today as I posted a letter in our village, Pippin stood in the doorway of the hairdresser’s shop wagging his tail furiously.  It wasn’t long before the shop’s staff were all over him.

He kept me company today as I began tidying our overgrown front garden.  He hid indoors when the mower started but ventured out again as I raked the grass, the garden quiet now but for the the distant thump-thump of a neighbour’s sound system.  Rotted leaves had created a mulch along the edges of our drive where the couch-grass encroached and fed off itself.  The metal spade rang out against the tarmac as I scraped at the layer of mulch, making Pippin bark and snap.

He likes to watch us in the house with his brow furrowed quizzically, ears cocked at a playful angle.  His thin tail, curled slightly upwards in collie fashion, waves cheerfully above him whenever his head is down.  His appetite for shoes is undiminished and all footwear is now placed beyond his reach.  I would laugh at the sight of him making off with my old Birkingstocks if I weren’t so concerned about saving them.  As for socks, he won’t let go of them until sprayed with water, so we keep the spray bottle handy.

In so many ways he is changing our lives – and we haven’t started “walkies” yet.

Pippin arrives

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 watches my every move 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.