Family Of Rescue Dogs Collection - Books 5-8

Excerpt from Family Of Rescue Dogs Collection - Books 5-8

2012, Not a Vintage Year

How often in our lives do we find something good coming from something tragic or unpleasant? 2012 was just such a year for us, especially for my dear wife, Juliet. It began well enough, when she saw an advertisement in the local newspaper offering Staffy puppies for sale. I’d promised her that if she found a suitable puppy, we could add one to our family of rescue dogs, so having seen the advert she drew my attention to it, and I made a telephone call and we arranged to go and see the puppies for sale.

Of course, it’s not too difficult to fall in love when faced with a litter of beautiful little puppies, and Juliet, (and me of course), were no different from anyone else. Having seen the pups, and played with them in the owner’s garden, it quickly became a matter of choosing which one we would take. Although I fell for a little one that was black with white feet and chest, this was to be Juliet’s puppy, so I left the decision to her. She eventually chose a tiny, brindle coloured pup, and after the required cost of the little dog was handed over, we went home with the latest member of our ‘doggie family’.

I can’t really recall how we came up with a name for Juliet’s new ‘baby’ but eventually we settled on ‘Chudleigh’. The puppy soon settled into our home and family and in no time at all he became ‘Juliet’s baby’. He followed her everywhere and was like her second shadow. He was a fast learner and was soon house trained and loved going for walks with his new human ‘Mummy’.

Sadly, our time with little Chudleigh was all too brief, as at the age of eight months, we were to lose our little boy in particularly harrowing circumstances, which I won’t put in print, as the loss of her baby boy was to have a devastating effect on Juliet. Even now, seven years later, she finds it impossible to get rid of the T-shirt I had made for her with his picture on the front and printed with ‘Chudleigh’s Mum’, and she still sheds a tear from time to time, at the memory of that gorgeous little boy. (I’ve still got his name tag in a box, too).

All I knew at that time was my dear wife fell into what could only be described as a time of deep depression. Although we still had the rest of ‘pack’ to love and care for, I’d often find her tearful and sad, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that the loss of her special puppy had totally devastated her.

Weeks passed and my poor Juliet seemed to be slipping further and further into a morass of depression. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she couldn’t get poor Chudleigh out of her mind. Even a visit to the doctor, which I virtually pleaded with her to attend, did little to help, despite him prescribing anti-depressants to help her.

Knowing what was causing her depressed state of mind, I decided that there was only one thing that might help her become more like herself once again.

“You need a new puppy,” I said to her one day, completely out of the blue.

“What for?” she asked.

“Because unless you have a puppy for you to give your love to, you’re never going to get over losing Chudleigh. A new puppy isn’t a replacement, you can never replace him, I know that, but you will have a new pup to focus on and that way you won’t be thinking about him all the time.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replied, and I left it at that. I didn’t want to push her into it. When and if it happened, it had to be Juliet’s own choice, her decision.

It was four or five weeks later before anything was said about my offer of a new puppy. I’d noticed that Juliet had been buying our local newspaper more frequently than usual, and I’d thought she may be looking at adverts for puppies for sale. On this occasion she confirmed my suspicions.

“There’s some puppies for sale in the paper,” she said one day as I walked into the house with two dogs after we’d been for our afternoon walk.

“Really?” I said, trying to sound both innocent and surprised at the same time.

“Yes,” she replied, sounding brighter than she had in a long time. “It says here there’s a litter of five puppies for sale, staffy/springer crosses, fifty pounds each.”

I could sense a new enthusiasm in her voice, and I commented,

“Staffy/springers? I bet they’re unusual looking pups.”

“Please, can we phone up and find out about them?”

“Of course,” I responded. “Pass me the paper.”

She did so and I saw she’d drawn a big ring round the advert.

I picked up my phone and dialled the number given in the advert. The lady who replied sounded very nice, gave us the address and said, if we were interested, we could call anytime to see the pups. Knowing how much this could mean to Juliet, I told her we’d be there in ten minutes, as the address she’d given wasn’t far away from our home, and was located very near the town’s racecourse, and would be easy to find.

Juliet’s excitement was palpable as we drove towards the puppies’ location. As we pulled up on the street close to the address, she was out of car almost as soon as I turned the ignition off.

We were greeted at the door by the lady I’d spoken to on the phone and after introducing ourselves she led us into the lounge, where her husband sat, with two dogs at his feet. These turned out to be the parents of the pups. The mother was a beautiful white and black Staffordshire bull terrier, and the father was a very handsome-looking red and white springer spaniel. Both dogs were calm and extremely gentle as they both greeted us with licks and allowed us to stroke and pet them. We saw that as a good sign. If the puppies had inherited their parents’ friendly natures, they should make excellent family pets.