Charlie turned 2 on Saturday. He celebrated his big day with a chicken thigh and a bone shaped biscuit. The first didn’t have enough time to touch the bottom of his bowl before it hoovered up. The second was, of course, carried across to the shaggy rug and crunched into a 1000 tiny pieces. Many of which are no doubt still trapped amongst the fibers, invisible to the human eye and completely untouchable by the vacuum cleaner.
To mark his special day, my daughter was insistent that we bought him a present. She was taken along to the pet shop and came home with a teddy for him. The same teddy (a small furry dog with an immensely annoying slow squeak when bitten) that he had had as a puppy, and then somehow lost along the way. The whereabouts of this first toy were always something of mystery to me. Perhaps it was dog-napped by next doors cat, and is still being held hostage in their garage. Perhaps it is buried out in the garden somewhere. More than likely it is wedged under one of the sofas, entombed in 4 inches of dust.
Being 8, my daughter was of course incredibly anxious that Charlie shouldn’t see his present before it was wrapped up and ready for the grand presentation. I tried to explain that he really wouldn’t care or even have a clue, but of course that didn’t cut it. I found her trying to sneak a new roll of wrapping paper into her bedroom. Needless to say that was taken off her and cheap art paper was substituted in it’s place. An hour, and a good roll of tape later, we all had to gather around Charlie so that the present and homemade card could be opened.
I’d like to say that he appreciated all the effort she had gone to, but I don’t think he really noticed how pretty it was, as he ripped into the present with his teeth and nearly choked on a ball of soggy paper and sellotape.
His new friend hasn’t been let out of his sight since. He has accompanied Charlie outside to bark at next doors cat, been dragged backwards and forwards through the dog flap, been taken to the bowl at dinner time and carried through to bed at night – where they both go to sleep next to the other teddy that he was given by Father Christmas.
I’m rather hoping that having all of these furry friends will keep him entertained, and perhaps get him out from under my feet for at least a few hours a day. For while I do love the company, and the warmth of his fur laid across my toes under the desk, it would be nice to get up from my chair without repeatedly running over his tail.
It has to be said that a Spoodle is, without a doubt, the most emotionally needy of all dogs. I know that ours is anyway. If you move 2 foot across the room – he’s there. If you get up to make a tea – he’s there. If you go to the loo – he’s there. And while it is very flattering to be so loved, it can also sometimes make you feel like you’re being stalked.
So if you’re choosing a dog and can’t decide on the breed, take into account the following. If you want a furry shadow and constant companionship, then a Spoodle is perfect for you. But if you don’t like being followed everywhere you go, you get easily agitated from overcrowding or you are prone to feeling somewhat claustrophobic when pinned into a chair by 4 feet and a wet nose, then perhaps a Spoodle is not the right dog for you.
If however you’re thinking of having a baby, and you’re not sure if the whole parent thing is for you, then fear not and look no further. Spoodles thrive on attention and love to be held, cuddled and stroked. They don’t like to be left alone, and can instantly guilt you out with sad puppy eyes. They have boundless energy and will let you know when they want to play. They can be both highly strung and as dopey and soft as they come.
A Spoodle is the human equivalent of a newborn baby. They are the perfect baby test run.
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