The trials and tribulations of Charlie Brown…
The world is a strange and scary place for a pup sometimes. Charlie Brown is almost 6 months old … “a big dog in a small body” to paraphrase those who know the breed well.
In the house, he is indeed a pocket rocket, living up to his pedigree title. As we relax after a hard day’s work, he zips from room to room, ball in mouth, only stopping to attempt to tease Flossie into playing as he passes.
Sometimes she obliges. Sometimes she ignores him.
Should I scold Charlie, Flossie is quick to distract him from whatever he has done to annoy me. She will find a toy and lure him away. Her mothering skills are amazing. In fact, Flossie has really come into her own since Charlie arrived. She is definitely the grown up.
There was a time when Charlie would not venture far into the garden on his own. Now, he scoots out the door and forages in the bushes for hours, if left. He barks at the dog next door, though Poppy is hidden from view. He barks at the neighbour’s children on the other side, though they too are just sounds behind a six-foot fence. I seem to spend my time calling,
“Charlie, quiet!” “Charlie, come here!”
He comes of course, tail wagging his body in excitement.
He is brilliant with all the grandchildren but does have a special playmate at the moment…
Yesterday, I heard a strange crunching coming from the living room. What had he got now? Generally very good, he sticks to chewing his toys but he is not without an opportunistic streak. The sound was very like that of shattering glass.
I left my computer and peered round the corner of the study into the living room. There he was, crunching a DVD – blue ray no less and my eldest son’s copy of “The Hobbit” that he had leant us a while ago. Shards of DVD lay all around and Charlie was happily munching on the remains.
I managed to retrieve the DVD but it was beyond repair. I pieced it together to find out which one it was and groaned. I have ordered a replacement.
Charlie was none the worse for his misdeed, thankfully, and turned his attentions to a child’s plastic watering can in the garden – with which he raced round and round the garden until he tired of that game too.
Today, I thought he was asleep in some far-flung corner of the house with Flossie. Then I heard a muted bark. I checked the living room. I checked the kitchen. I checked all the rooms downstairs and even the garden though I didn’t remember letting him out. Flossie was lying at the foot of the stairs – alone.
I looked up. There was Charlie, peering round the bannisters. This was the first time he had discovered upstairs. Alas, it was evident that having discovered how to get up the stairs, he was unable to come down again.
I carried him down.
He did this twice more and each time had to be carried down. Perhaps it would put him off I thought.
I underestimated him. I have just spotted him on the landing and as I took this photo…
…he legged it down the stairs.
Maybe it is time to put the stair gate up…