Nothing causes absolute panic quite like your partially-trained puppy wriggling free of its collar and disappearing over a sand dune onto a posh golf course.
Unless, of course, the puppy is now a year old, as strong (and almost the same size) as a horse, and has a mad belief that all the balls in the world are his to play with.
Enter the delightful chaos that is Barley Bruce, the now 12-month-old labrador retriever.
“A puppy is just like having another baby,” we were told by well-meaning friends. Well, those friends lied. Babies are far easier.
For starters, you get at least some time, babe in arms, when your little cherubs can’t walk. Not so for dogs. They arrive like pent-up springs – all four legs already functioning, if a little uncoordinated – desperate and hell-bent on bounding around.
We’d only had Barley a week when I was phoning the vet wondering how many times a tiny dog can thump his head on a glass door before puppy concussion occurs.
Then there’s the teeth. Infants, unless they appear in Ripley’s Believe it or Not!, come toothless. Oh, for a gummy puppy and not a razor-mouthed drool machine that gets to know its world by partially digesting it.
What were you doing on Christmas Eve? We were in the car park of a 24-hour animal hospital because Santa Paws had eaten the mince pie left out for Father Christmas.
A three-figure bill later, Barley was rid of the toxic raisins in his belly. And half a candle. And my missing earring.
Plus, what looked like most of a P&J, half a dozen cotton buds, a milk carton lid and an entire chicken breast.
A dog’s life is messy, chaotic and very good indeed
It’s not socially acceptable to put your pooch in a nappy, despite what social media might say. Thus, prepare for puddles. And hair.
Look, I knew dogs lost their hair. What I wasn’t prepared for was the daily miracle whereby he can both shed all of the hair on his body while simultaneously still being the hairiest dog in Aberdeen.
However, just like babies, some memory-wiping takes place. Even when they launch themselves at, and lick the faces of, unsuspecting golfers, you still find yourself incredibly grateful for your four-legged friend.
When I was sick recently, Barley was by my side. His recall is rubbish, but he’ll now bring me a blanket so he can snuggle next to me on the couch.
And, despite yanking me into the Don beside him – more than once – I’m happy to conclude that a dog’s life, while messy, water-logged and chaotic, is a very good life indeed.
Lindsay Bruce is obituaries writer for The Press and Journal, as well as an author and speaker
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