Handbags and Poobags: Tales of a Soho Boxer Dog (12 page)

Chapter 26: THE MAKING OF A MOTHER

As a new mum to a baby I was surprised how similar it was to my early fears and feelings of owning Basil. (Obviously the procedure of delivering my human baby was a lot more painful than picking up Basil in the car, but now I understood why his poor mother had looked so miserable in that field that day – she’d produced a litter of six, and probably a lot more besides. I vowed to stop at one!) But I certainly remembered those early feelings of frustration and claustrophobia at being bound to the house by a little needy charge, alongside the intense feelings of love and amazement at this lovely little body we had created.

I resented Basil hugely while I was in hospital because I was desperate for my husband to spend more time with us there, because we’d had quite a difficult birth we had to stay in for a very long week. (I wore my Boxer print pyjamas the whole time of course). But Patrick was so worried about Basil continuing with his normal routine that he kept going home after just a couple of hours visiting.  “
But he’s only a bloody dog
” I would whine unfairly (something I know I would never have said before). Would the baby change how I felt about our dog? Patrick was rightly concerned.

Of course Patrick was right, he should continue to treat Basil as he always had been treated: our number one boy. It certainly wouldn’t be fair to completely change his status in the house, although I know I am guilty of changing my focus and being more exasperated by the extra work a dog gives you when you are already stressed out and exhausted from having a new baby.  He just seemed like such hard work and a distraction at this time.

Stanley had finally landed in the house, but Basil wasn’t even interested. I think he was concerned that I had been away for so long and worried that daddy had been away a lot, but he didn’t really acknowledge the baby when he eventually arrived in his new home.

I was focussed almost solely on Stanley but for the first few weeks Patrick couldn’t see the attraction at all. He did everything completely right -  he changed nappies, helped with night feeds, took him for walks but we both knew he wasn’t yet in love with our new addition.
“It’s like having to look after the neighbour’s cat”
he would say
and I would cry and not just because I was still hormonal.

Patrick and Basil really bonded again at this time and went on a lot of long walks together. Probably finding solace in each other’s company from the mad woman who had landed in their previously quiet home with a screaming infant in tow. I believe Patrick felt he had lost me for a while and in a suddenly spinning world Basil was the only stationary point he could focus on. Always loving, dependable and ready for a walk with a ball, that dog really helped him through a tough and lonely patch.

This was a dark and frustrating period for us all. I was disproportionally upset by dog hairs on baby clothes and bedding, I felt it unhealthy for all four of us to sleep in one bedroom and I even resented Basil watching me breast-feed for some reason. And when he barked at the doorbell as usual and woke the baby up from a nap - disturbing any precious time I had to myself - I could have absolutely killed him.

Walking Basil with Stanley strapped to me in a baby harness felt dangerous and I was constantly scared while pushing the pushchair with Basil attached to the handle (something that you are told quite rightly never to do) that he would hare off down the street pulling the baby under a car. But I didn’t know how else to walk him while pushing a heavy buggy.

I often thought about just leaving the front door open ‘by mistake’ and seeing what would happen… maybe Basil would just walk out and disappear? But of course I knew even if I did he would never leave us, he’d never leave home no matter how bad things got.

Yes, to say it was a bit of an odd time is an understatement. I really wasn’t sure what I was doing and everything felt just too hard. Patrick came home one day to find me on Camden Council’s website, looking up ‘Adoption’. He was surprised.

“
What are you looking at adoption for?”
he asked.
  “We’ve only just had a baby”

“
I don’t want to adopt another one”
I replied grimly. “
I want to give this one away but I can’t find anywhere on this site that will tell me how to do it”’

He shut the computer down and made me a cup of tea. 

I didn’t realise I was mourning my previous life, the life I had only just got back together after the arrival of Basil had disrupted it. And I probably was a bit depressed. I couldn’t begin to think where my next creative outlet would come from: a part of my life and career that had been so important to me. I certainly couldn’t imagine when I would next feel free or even happy. The only thing I could control was my baby and I held him close to me and didn’t let anyone else in for a while.

Sadly it meant that my previously adored hound was largely ignored by me during this time, he wandered around the house sniffing his empty food bowl or with a sigh slept alone upstairs. I didn’t recognise that  the sensible rhythm of the house that so suited the baby had been established because of our dog. My natural instinct to protect and nurture had flourished with his ownership and despite considering myself a new mum, the reality was I had already been a mother. We already had experience in caring for a young life and I should have trusted better that in a way we already knew what we were doing. And of course, I was already completely comfortable with cleaning up poo and sick.

I could rely on the fact that as I sat up in the pitch-black bedroom dealing with baby feeds throughout the night (so tired I would be dreaming with my eyes open) Basil would be awake too, watching me in the dark. Always there, always reassuring. He stayed awake with me even when Patrick continued sleeping. How could I continue resenting him?

Of course it wasn’t long before Patrick and Stanley suddenly clicked, joyously and beautifully. Two pairs of exactly the same eyes looked at each other and recognised each other. I was happy. I didn’t need to begrudge Basil anymore because Patrick had made room for our new baby in the house and his life. We threw ourselves into parenthood and once again life in our house changed, for the better.

Soon the four of us were on those long walks together and I have many happy memories of us trundling round Regent’s Park with a new pushchair that cost the same as my first car and stopping for cups of coffee and cuddles.  I wasn’t so happy the day Patrick kicked a football for Basil and it landed directly in said pushchair, bouncing squarely off of Stanley’s little squished face making him scream, but you get the idea.

After a while I began to realise that much like dog ownership having a child came with its own set of idiosyncrasies and so here are my top ten signs that show you’re definitely a mother (of a human baby):

1. You can move silently from the top to the bottom of your home, avoiding every creaking floorboard or step - even in the dark. You can communicate without uttering a sound and know the quietest cycles on your washing machine and dishwasher. For some reason no-one else seems to be able to do this and they continue to walk and talk normally (or think it’s ok have a play wrestle with the dog right outside baby’s bedroom!)

2. You have a drawer stuffed full of bras of differing shapes and sizes, but probably only about one or two fit you right now. I've probably changed bra size about five times in the last five years! I laugh so much when I read interviews with pregnant celebrities who say
'me and my partner really love my boobs right now'
because they have no idea that in a year from now when the baby is out and the breastfeeding is done they'll be left with a 25% volume loss and a completely unrecognisable chest (and about 50 unwearable bras).

3. Your life is full of unfinished cups of tea and conversations. You make a great cuppa or you start talking to someone but are immediately distracted by your offspring about to do something dangerous, so the tea goes undrunk and words go unsaid.

4. You spend a lot of time bending up and down picking things up from the floor. And after nine months of pregnancy and probably a difficult labour you know for sure that your back will never be the same again. Same goes for your pelvic floor, breasts and memory. (Also my feet are now a size larger – what’s that about?)

5. You can talk to other mums at Baby Group and happily ignore that smell of baby sick that seems to be following you around because you assume it can’t be you until you get home and realise you have a massive splatter all down your top. You can also do a full town-centre shop still wearing the gaudy sticker on your chest that you got from Baby Gym proudly displaying your name in a colourful clown face to every shop assistant and bus driver. Your baby has cleverly taken theirs off to avoid such embarrassment.

6. Previously precious or coveted items such as mobile phones, keys, cameras, iPods and remote controls are willingly handed over to your child if it means they are entertained for five minutes. Even though you know they'll get all gummed up.

7. You haven't slept for a straight 8 hours since you gave birth, and if you were due in Summer, carrying a large baby or worried about labour then the chances are it's been a lot longer.

8. You dread being ill more than normal. Pre-baby you used to be able to take the day off work to lie on the sofa in a duvet watching This Morning with a cup of hot chocolate and wait for the sickness to pass (cuddling your sympathetic pooch if you have one). Now, no matter how much you are sweating, shivering or swooning that baby still needs to fed, watered, changed and entertained - and even if you can't stand up without wanting to fall over you still have to pick that baby up and put it somewhere safe before you run to the loo for an emergency. Perversely you have never been sicker since you had a child and now seem to pick up every bug going. And not only do mothers not get sick leave we also don't have lunch breaks, fag breaks, spontaneous cake breaks or Dress Down Friday.

9. You will happily suck the snot out of your baby's nose if it means someone gets some sleep. You will also (again happily) let your teething child bite your fingers really hard if it affords them some relief from the pain and you some from the noisy tears.

10. You feel guilty about something every single day, and usually tense and worried too. When you lay down to sleep you can't - not because you're not utterly exhausted - but because your shoulders are locked up around your ears and your teeth are permanently gritted. If you do get some sleep you feel guilty.

Motherhood sure is a wonderful thing...

Chapter 27: THE MARCHING OF TIME

We left London and moved to the south coast. Living in Camden had been brilliant and exciting (and very handy for Soho) for as long as I had been single or part of a carefree couple. But when you have the responsibility for a little life, your dog’s or your baby’s, you get concerned at the level of crime and drugs in the area. Dog theft was rife. We lived close to a needle exchange and often found syringes and drug paraphernalia on our basement stairs. We had a couple of local homeless guys who tried to sleep down there and even found the odd human poo now and again – I don’t mind picking up Basil’s but I draw the line at some old bloke’s.  

One scary night we had our front windows smashed by some kids running by, this scared Basil stupid and woke Stanley up screaming. We knew it was time to get them out of the Capital.

We said goodbye by presenting our regular London dog-walker with a picture of Basil in a silver photo frame from Tiffany (I hope she’s replaced it with a picture of her children by now). She seemed quite sad to see Basil go, and we felt quite sad to be leaving. London had been my home for over 15 years and I had really felt part of that vibrant city.

But our new home by the seaside has delighted us all and we are incredibly lucky and happy to have found it. We have good friends in the area and my family are originally from there so it makes sense to us. My concerns at being close to the centre of town, bars, shops and friends has been replaced with the concern about proximity to outside spaces, the seafront and family friendly restaurants. We also have that most sought after of holiday destinations for many dog-owners a mere step from our front door, the Dog Beach! Yes, a seafront stretch that welcomes sun-seeking hounds all year long, which means we’re able to paddle, picnic, sunbathe and swim with Basil whenever we like.

Brilliantly, the pubs outside of London seem a lot happier to allow dogs in and Basil is rarely turned away. We now have so many locals that on a walk Basil is running in and out of nearly every hostelry we pass. Yes, it’s still embarrassing but always raises a smile and usually a comment from a passer-by such as ‘
He knows where he’s going doesn’t he
?’ 

Basil is a lot happier being close to such amazing walking spots like the beach and the South Downs. He has become part of a wonderful new dog walking family and has almost constant companionship with loving humans and friendly dogs, so I don’t feel guilty about being at work in the day.

He doesn’t come to the office with me anymore but that’s only because I know in reality he’s happier racing along the South Downs rather than sitting with a bone under my desk. Our new members of staff can’t believe I used to bring a dog into the office every day and we often tell them stories about our ‘Soho life’.

We now have a much more suitable family car complete with child seat, a big American diesel with a hatchback area for Basil to sit in. I can’t believe we used to drive everywhere with him perched on my lap in the Porsche. But I will always have happy memories of him sitting next to me in the convertible, when it was just the two of us, the sun shining, music loud, the top down and us flying along, causing a stir. I wonder if he misses those days too?

Owning a dog changed my life. He completely slowed me down during a mad period in my life, probably just at the time I needed to rein myself in a bit. I was selfish, partying too hard and wildly ambitious. By falling in love with Basil I found my mind and heart opened up to other ambitions and all sorts of love I hadn’t previously considered, so concerned was I with myself and my lifestyle.  A small, growing feeling for something so wholly dependent on you and who loves you unconditionally really opened my eyes to the possibility of having a husband and a family.  My dog was teaching me about life and I didn’t even know it.

It seems that while I was obsessed with trying to fit a dog, husband and baby into my life without having to change my lifestyle so much, I really should have been considering what I could offer them. They give me so much in return.  Being a party girl isn’t that important to me now.  I know I am thankful for the fun life I have led, I am sure I wouldn’t be so happy with my calmer choices now had I not been quite so hedonistic in the past. I really miss my little single girl’s Camden flat sometimes. I yearn for silence, the ability to do whatever I like and maybe a lie-in. But if I still lived there now the only company I might have would be an increasingly dwindling succession of gentleman callers and an ageing chinchilla.

Don’t get me wrong I am not going ‘
gentle into that good night’
. I haven’t hung my high heels up quite yet (although I can’t wear them as often as I’d like because my feet have splayed out so much after carrying that enormous baby around for 9 months). I might not be able to afford the designer handbags anymore but I am back at work, albeit part time so I still get to spend days with Stanley and hang out in soft play areas. But it means I get to have time with my peers, go to the gym, drink coffee and be creative. And just as importantly talk about last night’s television with my colleagues.

Happily, my very understanding business partner and I have been able to move our office to Brighton which means I am still close to Stanley and Basil in the day, even if I’m not thinking about them all of the time.

I’ve taken on a freelance writing job which I love and I’m in touch with my previous friends and contacts as much as ever before. Although everyone I used to hang around with are all pretty much married off now too, so we all expect less from each other and know how much harder it is to meet up. We still go on long boozy lunches in Soho now and again, but someone usually has a breastfeeding tot on their lap and I have to leave early to get back for nursery pick-up, but no one minds.

I’ve made some great new friends in Brighton who I go out drinking with regularly and I have even been to a few lovely star studded events where I’ve caught up with other industry pals and ended up in private member’s bars laughing and singing until it was time to get the last train home. But now it’s rarer and I’m not out every night I appreciate it a lot more. I have to plan a watertight diary and get a lot of support from Patrick, work colleagues and babysitters as I balance work, nursery, my marriage and a social life. The social life comes last now but I make the most of it when I can.

I can feel a wry smile forming on my face as I make my way home from a day or night out much earlier than I would have done five years previously. I see the twenty-somethings getting ready for another event, jumping in a cab in all of their finery (and carrying new handbags no doubt), heading for the latest late night drinking spot that I know I won’t have heard of. Time and places move on, and so do we all.

It might be only midnight but I know I am quite happy to go home (Basil is still waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me, no matter what time I come in, usually with one of Stanley’s toys or the ubiquitous sock in his mouth). I find I need a lot more sleep now my days are taken up with all this home management and spending time at art classes with Stanley. Besides, hangovers at 40 are not what they were at the age of 20, or even 30. They are harder to get over the older you are (same with colds). Combine a hangover with a toddler and a dog bouncing on you and it’s almost unbearable: an exquisite type of torture that those without children will not understand. I find I am almost unable to build Lego castles in the morning if I’ve had a night out. And if you know from first-hand experience what I am talking about then I am sorry for you too.

Patrick and I still enjoy a drink but we are now connoisseurs of drinking at home, a familiar habit of most parents I believe? And we even have babysitters now so we can still enjoy the odd ‘date night’, even if it’s not every Saturday like it used to be. Besides a sad side-effect of pregnancy has left me unable to consume half as much alcohol as I used to. The woman who could easily drink from lunchtime through until 4am (and still book everyone a taxi) has been replaced by one who has to call time after one bottle of wine. I haven’t been sick in the morning for years, and certainly not in my hat or my handbag!

A positive outcome of having a baby for Basil has been his parents are at home a lot more. As soon as Stanley is in bed he hops up onto the sofa for some ‘tiddlywinks’ knowing that in the evening he’ll be as cosseted and cuddled as much as he ever was. He will still not be dissuaded from having his cuddle as he pushes himself up into our arms whether we like it or not. If Patrick and I are sitting on a two-seater sofa Basil will invariably wedge himself between us. 

We now try to make as much of ‘Basil time’ as we can to ensure he always feels part of the family.  Patrick is very keen that the dog is never left out of family outings or visits to friends, no matter how exasperating I sometimes find it having to accommodate a dog as well as a toddler (I hated having to keep poobags and a tripe stick in the plush new baby changing bag alongside the spare nappies and clean muslins).

As we all grow older and get a bit more set in our ways I’ll admit I do find Basil rather irritating, especially when he manages to get his head in exactly the right position to stop the remote control working the TV. He can be a bit stupid and soppy sometimes and owning him causes us all a bit more work and concern than we would like. And he is always in the way, he doesn’t move around as fast as he used to and because he is desperate not to be left out of any activity he always seems to be right under your feet. He can tell when we are getting ready to leave the house and will stand at the front door just to ensure we don’t forget to take him along. For me sometimes it’s a very fine line between
Good Boy
and
Bad Dog
!

We live very close to a large charity dog-re-homing centre in Shoreham and often the cry goes up in the house from me:
“You’ll go to Shoreham if you’re not careful”
and if we ever drive past it I make a big show of pretending to turn off in order to drop Basil off. Patrick always shouts in response “
Put your paws over your ears Basil”.
Obviously it would never happen (but don’t tell him that).

Basil and Stanley have become great friends. Our son was always interested in the hairy creature that lived in our house and before he could even move he followed him with his eyes. Soon he was toddling about and trying to clutch at ears and chops and the little thumb-tail. Basil stoically ignored this invasion of his space apart from a rare snap or yelp to say the grabbing had gone too far. We’ve always leapt in to protect the dog more than Stanley. We know Basil would never harm a member of his much beloved pack, no matter how far beneath him he thinks the members are. 

While we’re at the vets a pained Basil would growl at the man in scrubs approaching him with a muzzle and he’ll always try to see off the postman (such a cliché), but we who live in his home can touch him anywhere with impunity. I put my hands in his mouth to make sure he takes his tablets and I always kiss his face, I’m more likely to be bitten by a dinosaur than my dog.

Stanley’s first discernible word that had a meaning was ‘
bar-bar’
as he tried to frame the word ‘Basil’ while pointing at the dog. Soon every four legged creature we encountered on the street was called a ‘
bar-bar’
and they were for a couple of years. Basil however is now ‘Basil’ and Stanley happily walks around the house yelling ‘
Get in Basil’, ‘Shut Up Basil’
and
‘Move Basil’
in a telling display that lets Patrick know just how annoying I have found the dog that day!

Apart from the odd cursory sniff  Basil tried to ignore our son for probably the first six months of his life.  But slowly and surely he began to realise that the baby wasn’t temporary and he accepted him into the household. He began to walk closely to the pushchair, standing in front of it when we stopped and became watchful of the soon toddling boy and would wait for him to catch up on a walk.  I often catch the dog coming out of Stanley’s room in the middle of the night as he goes on his rounds to check his family are ok.

Now the pair of them run around together, cuddle and are often both covered in glitter and paint. And there is even the hope that soon Stanley will be kicking a ball for Basil. I know he will achieve god-like status in the dogs’ eyes the day that he does.

As Basil reaches his tenth birthday it’s clear he is not the young pup he used to be, instead of running to the front door with a warning bark every time someone walks past he now makes do with an indignant huff from the comfort of the sofa just to let the neighbours know he’s still got his eye on them. He’s replaced reaction with a kind of bored nosiness as he sits on the bed in the day looking out of the window, in fact he’s an archetypal curtain twitcher these days.

Thankfully he has steered clear of any major illness or injury but there are a lot of grey hairs now around the muzzle and bad arthritis in one leg (Stanley says that it looks like Basil is ‘hopping’ when his painful limb hangs in the air). It sadly means that he can’t get in and out of his dog flap as easily any more, but we don’t mind the morning poo presents as much as we used to, we know it means he was in too much pain to hop in and out of the flap in the night. We still listen out of the clatter of the flap but not just to know he has used it but to make sure we hear him get back in because he can get trapped outside now. Unable to get back in the house he’ll yip a bit to let us know when he needs some help (which is a bit annoying if you’re in the bath or in bed). So we’ve made him another little step for the flap – like the one we made for him when he was a puppy – but this isn’t because he can’t reach the opening but because he needs a launch pad for his old bones!