by Anna Wilson
Still, it was important to keep Mum On Side, especially as Honey’s behaviour weirded me out at times.
For example, one morning I put her bowl of dog food down and said, ‘Sit,’ and, ‘Wait,’ which is what I always do before I allow Honey to dive in and scoff the lot in her usual three seconds flat. (This is a ROUTINE that Honey and I had got into ever since she was a puppy.) Anyway, when I was ready for her to eat, I said, ‘Go on!’ as normal.
Nothing happened.
‘Go on, Honey!’ I said in a reassuringly kind manner. ‘It’s your breakfast.’
Honey just flopped down in a droopy sad way and sighed heavily.
‘Oh, Honey – you’ve gone off your food!’ I said. This had never happened before. I supposed it was because of being pregnant, but nevertheless a tiny bit of me was feeling really quite worried that there might in fact be something disastrously wrong with her.
I tried tempting Honey with a bit of food in my hand. ‘Come on, Honey-Bun. Come and taste the lovely yummy food.’
Nothing. She just sat and stared at me.
After about half an hour of trying to get Honey to eat (I even tried to feed her by hand) I gave up and went to make myself some toast.
Just as it was beginning to smell particularly yummy, Honey heaved herself up from her floppy position on the floor and came and nudged me with her nose.
‘Do you want some?’ I asked.
I took the toast from the toaster and broke off a corner to let it cool while I spread some peanut butter on the rest of the slice for me.
Then I picked up the corner of toast and bent down to give it to Honey. She gobbled it up and licked her lips and then nudged me again. Oh well, dogs eat anything usually, I thought. Maybe Honey would like peanut butter. I held out the rest of the slice and told Honey to sit just like before. She sat immediately and looked at the peanut-buttery toast in a particularly BEADY-EYED fashion. And then she started drooling!
‘Funny pooch!’ I said and gave her the toast. She swallowed it in one mouthful, so I quickly made another slice for her.
After we had both finished off a few more slices, I went to have a look in my very own personal copg of Perfect Puppies to see if there was any thing to explain this bizarreness.
Often a dog will go off her usual diet in the early stages of pregnancy. This is perfectly normal. She may also develop particular cravings. For example, some dogs will only eat chicken and rice, some scrambled eggs.
‘What’s this?’ Mum said that evening, coming into the kitchen to find me cooking. ‘Are you in trouble at school or something?’
‘No. Why?’ I asked. Mum does often put two and two together and get one hundred and fifty-six. Why would me cooking some eggs mean that I was in trouble at school?
‘It’s just, I’ve never seen you cook anything that doesn’t have chocolate in it,’ Mum said, laughing, ‘and you’ve definitely never cooked your own tea before, so I wondered if you were trying to prepare me for some bad news.’
Ah. Mum thought I was cooking my tea. Whoops.
‘Er, the thing is, Mum. I’m not actually cooking these eggs for me. I would happily cook my own tea, but I’ve just used all the eggs I could find,’ I added hastily, seeing her frown.
‘Who exactly are you cooking them for then? Oh . . .’
Honey was sitting at my feet and looking up at me in a distinctly expectifying way.
‘Don’t get cross!’ I cried as Mum’s frown went darker and more dangerous-looking. ‘Honey hasn’t eaten any of her own food and I was starting to get worried, so I checked in Perfect Puppies and Monica Sitstill says it’s very important to realize that dogs sometimes get a bit fussy when they are expecting—’
‘A BIT fussy?’ Mum exclaimed in a quite over-the-top fashion. ‘Since when do dogs eat butter and CREAM in their scrambled eggs?
I’ve heard of cravings, but this is ridiculous. Even I wasn’t this expensive to feed when I was expecting!’
‘Mum,’ I pleaded, ‘will you stop going on about you being pregnant? It’s kind of embarrassing.’
Mum crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. ‘Humph,’ she said. ‘I think after this little Mastercook episode I’m entitled to say what I like!’ But her mouth twitched into a bit of a smile as she was saying this. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, rolling her eyes a bit. ‘I know that Madam here needs special treatment. Just make sure you ask me before you go using all the nice food. And for goodness sake, use milk next time instead of cream!’
Honey’s eating habits were not the only weird-doolally thing that happened to her in the early weeks. She also started paying a lot more attention to our cats, Cheese and Toast, than she had ever paid before – even in the early days when she had tried to get them to play puppy games with her. She kept moping over to them when they were sleeping, and nuzzling them.
She tried washing them, and once she even tried to pick Toast up in her mouth by the scruff of his neck!
Needless to say, Cheese and Toast were not having any of it.
It actually was quite hilariously amusing to watch, even if poor Honey ended up getting her nose scratched a few too many times.
In the end I thought it was kinder to encourage her to have one of my old cuddly toys to ‘look after’. I chose a toy monkey, which was more ‘manky’ than ‘monkey’, as it had been sucked and chewed by me when I was a baby, but Honey loved it and looked after it tenderly as if it was her own little one.
She had always been quite a loop-the-loop-crazy bonkers dog, but thinking a chewed old monkey toy was her own real puppy . . . that was taking her doolaliness to a whole new level.
At last the weeks of waiting and cooking scrambled eggs and watching Honey get sleepier and weirder were over.
‘Can I ring Nick?’ I asked Mum. ‘Pur-leeeeeeeeeese!’
‘Yes, I think we need him to check up on our little poochie, don’t we?’ Mum said, fussing over Honey, who was washing Manky-Monkey-Baby with extra-special tenderness.
‘It’s Day 21!’ I announced as soon as Nick came on the line.
‘Come to the surgery this evening,’ he said.
‘Oh, OK,’ I said, feeling a bit puzzled. ‘But I thought you said you’d come round here so that Honey didn’t get anxious—’
‘I would prefer it if you came here,’ he said quickly.
He sounded quite definite, so I said, ‘OK. Can’t wait! See you then.’
That evening Mum drove us to the surgery. We picked up Molly on the way, as I didn’t think it would be fair to leave her out of this mega-important event. We were so excited that we couldn’t speak. We just squealed a lot instead, which is what we do when our tummies are so squirmy with ANTICIPATION (in other words, looking-forwardness) that we cannot think of any words that will describe the feeling. Honey, on the other hand, just slumped in the boot of the car and whined a bit.
We got to the vet’s nice and earlg. As Mum parked the car I had a sudden HORRENDOUS thought which stopped me mid-squeal.
‘What’s up?’ Molly asked, noticing the look of Utmost Horror on my face (eyes wide open, jaw gaping, eyebrows shooting their way up to the stars).
‘We’re going to have to talk to the Bottom Shuffler A.K.A. the Scarlet Woman,’ I hissed.
‘Who’s the Bottom Shuffler?’ Mum asked.
‘She’s the nurse that looks like April,’ I said. ‘You know – the one April is humongously jealous of and thinks that Nick is going out with.’
Mum just sighed and said, ‘Come on, Honey,’ carefully helping her out of the boot.
We followed Mum into the reception area. Thank the high heavens above, the Bottom Shuffler wasn’t there. Nick was.
‘Hello! I thought you’d be early,’ he said, grinning. ‘And luckily for you, my last patient has not turned up, so I can see you right away. Oh, Honey looks a bit dopey, doesn’t she?’ he added.
‘So, er, Nick – where’s the Bottom Shuffler?’ Molly asked. I nearly almost hit her in actual public.
&nbs
p; ‘Who?’ said Nick, looking quite perplexed.
‘Oh, no one,’ I said quickly, and jabbed Molly in the ribs as SUBTLY as I could. ‘Shouldn’t we get on with the Matter in Hand, which is, of course, Honey?’ I asked, trying to Move Events Swiftly On.
We followed Nick into his room. He bent down and tickled Honey’s tummy, feeling it very gently. ‘There, there, Honey,’ he said, ‘I’m just going to give you a bit of a tickle . . .’
I was standing beside myself with the amount of nervousness I was feeling.
‘Don’t press too hard, will you?’ I said. I straight away realized that was a stupid and embarrassing thing to say to a vet who obviously Knows What He Is Doing. But on the other hand, you can never be too careful, and Honey was my One and Only Bestest Pooch in the whole entire world, which meant that her puppies were the Bestest Puppies in the whole entire world too, and I couldn’t bear the thought that anyone might hurt them.
Nick smiled reassuringly and, taking his stethoscope, said, ‘I promise I won’t.’
All of a sudden I felt so lucky to have a vet who was someone I knew and could trust, and I realized that I had really missed having Nick around in a Non-Professional Capacity. I wished April and he would get back together so that he would want to come round to our house again. I felt a bit EMOTIONAL – in other words, as if my eyes might go leaky. I squeezed them shut, just in case.
Nick helped Honey up on to her feet and stood behind her, then very gently he squeezed her tummy around a bit. When he had finished his examination he had a very serious expression on his face, and for one split of a moment I was extremely anxious.
But then his face opened out into such a huge boomy smile that it could only mean one thing:
‘I am delighted to say that I can feel at least seven puppies!’ he said.
‘SEVEN!’ I yelled. And Molly and even Mum whooped with excitement and joy.
Seven cute, tiny puppies! I was in heaven just thinking about it. I flung my arms around Mum and then Molly and then we all hugged Honey.
‘You are a superstar, Honey!’ I mumbled into Honey’s silky fur.
‘She may need a little bit more food from now on,’ said Nick, ‘because her body is working very hard to give the puppies everything they need to grow big and strong inside her.’
I didn’t think Honey would have any complaints about that! But when I looked at her she looked too sleepy to want to even bother with eating. Poor Poochy.
Nick went on. ‘But that doesn’t mean you should overfeed her. Indigestion can be a problem in pregnancy—’
‘Tell me about it!’ Mum said grimly.
Oh no! I did not want her Going Off On One about her own pregnancies in front of Nick. I coughed loudly and Nick smiled and patted my snoozing dog on the head.
‘Well, Summer, all we’ve got to do now is wait until D-Day!’
‘What is D-Day?’ I asked, looking a bit worried.
‘Delivery Day!’ Nick said. ‘Remember the timetable you drew up to plan when the puppies would be due? Well, about six weeks from now Honey will be ready to deliver her pups. Keep reading your Perfect Puppies book and look out for the signs like Honey’s temperature dropping and so on – and give me a shout when you think she’s going into labour.’
Mum looked at him sharply. ‘Why? Are you going to come round and help? I thought you didn’t want to—’
‘Of course,’ Nick said. ‘I wouldn’t miss seeing Honey’s pups being born for anything . . .’ He tailed off and shuffled his feet a bit. ‘That’s if it’s OK with you, Angela.’
Mum looked OVERJOYED with relief. ‘Yes, please!’ she said.
I thought even Honey smiled in her sleep.
Molly and I just about managed to survive until the bell rang on the last day of term, even though all that waiting was AGONY with a capital A . . .
But at last D-Day was around the corner! It was also going to be Christmas Day, but that was not in the front of my mind at all (for the first time in my life) because of the puppies. If someone had asked me the year before if I would ever not be excited about Christmas Day and all the presents and things, I would have said, ‘Are you bonkers round-the-bend? Christmas is the most thrilling thing that ever happens in my life!’
But this time it was not true, and I could not have cared less about a fat man dressed in red and white trying to climb down chimneys at midnight.
The most wondrous thing that had made me OVER THE TOP OF THE MOON with looking-forwardness was that for a while I had actually seen the puppies moving around inside Honey’s tummy.
I obviously do not mean that I had actual real X-ray vision – it was just that the puppies had got so big inside Honey that instead of her tummy looking quite wobbly and fat –
– you could see little lumps and bumps moving under the surface of her fur. Poor Honey – it must have been very uncomfortable. Mum seemed to get quite distressed about it too: you would have thought that she was having puppies herself!
‘Oh, Honey darling!’ she would say. ‘You must be so tired out. I think you should sit with her and stroke her to make her feel loved, Summer.’
And she also kept on saying things which FREAKED me out, like, ‘I remember giving birth to you and April like it was yesterday. Goodness me, I couldn’t wait to get you out towards the end.’
‘MUM! FOR THE LAST TIME – STOP IT!’
I could tell that actually if Honey had been able to speak, she and Mum would have had lots of conversations agreeing with each other. My beloved pooch looked so woebegone most of the time.
Meanwhile, Molly and I had decided to take it in turns to Keep Watch. One of the most important things we had to do was to take Honey’s temperature every hour.
This is what Perfect Puppies had to say:
The first signs that your dog is about to ‘whelp’, or give birth, are restlessness and panting. It is important to take her temperature often. It will fall from 38.6 °C to around 36.7 °C just before she starts to whelp.
Molly and I knew the section ‘What to Expect When Your Pup is Expecting’ almost completely off by heart, and we knew that the dog knows just by nature exactly what to do and doesn’t need the help of a human or even a vet to give birth.
‘Don’t you think that’s astoundingly amazing?’ Molly said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, scribbling furious notes in my notebook. (I had one of my own now – I was not going to let Molly be the only one to have a special Puppy Notebook when it was my actual dog having a litter.)
‘I mean,’ said Molly impatiently, ‘imagine if humans were born knowing how to do their seven times table just by natural instinct? Imagine just having the Knack of speaking in French or German or Spanish at the flick of a finger without having to actually learn it?’
‘Yes!’ I said, getting into the Swing Of Things. ‘And imagine being able to make lemon meringue pie standing on your head . . .’
I don’t know where this random-ish comment had come from. I don’t even like lemon meringue pie, and I didn’t obviously mean that you would be literally standing on your head, of course – if you could do that it would be probably quite a good circus act, I suppose, but it wouldn’t really be that useful because all the lemony bits and meringue would just fall on top of you because of gravitational forces – unless you lived on the moon, in which case it would just float everywhere and you wouldn’t be able to eat it anyway. Everyone knows they don’t eat lemon meringue pie in outermost space.
Molly looked at me weirdly and said, ‘Yes, so anyway . . . isn’t Honey clever to know just what to do?’
She was indeed a very clever pooch and as her owner it made me feel very proud inside, which was like a Flizzy feeling that was warm and nice at the same time.
‘Honey, you are a marvel!’ I told her.
Mum had said Molly was welcome round at ours any time she liked now it was the holidays, and so of course that meant that she had practically moved in for the whole of Week Nine. We simply did not want t
o miss a single second of being with Honey in case D-Day came early. We spent most of that week getting her den ready.
The whelping box should be a large drawer-like box, lined with plenty of newspaper. It should be possible for the mother to get in and out, but not the puppies.
‘We need to find a room where we can keep Honey quiet and also where people won’t be constandy coming in and disturbing her,’ Molly said as we got all the newspapers I’d been saving and the cardboard box for the puppies’ bed.
‘I know – I’ve thought of that. Follow me,’ I said, walking into the back room, which had all the GUBBINS – in other words, stuff, in it. ‘I thought this would be a great place. Honey sleeps in this room most of the time anyway, as there’s only the washing machine and boring things like that in here. No one ever comes in.’
‘Excuse me, young lady!’ Mum said, staggering through the door with a mountain of ironing and nearly tripping over our newspaper pile. ‘NOBODY comes in here? Who do you think does the laundry in this house?’
I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes right up into the back of my head to show how exasperational Mum could be sometimes. ‘Obviously you do, Mum,’ I said in an over-the-top patient sort of manner. ‘What I meant was, no one else does.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Mum muttered, plonking down the ironing and storming out again, mumbling to herself.
Molly and I decided to ignore Mum’s IRRATIONAL behaviour – in other words, her bizarreness – and set to work putting the cardboard box in the corner of the room.
When it was ready Molly said, ‘Let’s get Honey in here to try it out.’
I fetched my big heavy pooch from where she was snoozing by the radiator in the kitchen. She had taken to lying there recently, and I didn’t blame her as it was certainly Freezing McSneezing now that it was nearly Christmas and the days were so dark and gloomy.
