Dublin | Conortje

Someone told me it’s all happening at the zoo

4 09 2014

We briefly became an animal free household but something wonderfully awful had ignited in My Very Own Newfoundlander. Some might say boredom, kinder folks would call it charity or a big heart. Whatever the reason, MVON had essentially become St Francis of Stoneybatter. I would round the corner after a day at work to see hoards of stray cats racing out of our house, like illicit lovers hoping to avoid being caught. Another day I arrived to find another dog being fed in the kitchen while a litter of hungry kittens were being accommodated in the front room.

I started getting alarmed when he devised elaborate traps and began to speak about trap, neuter and release campaigns. I tried to remain stoic about this, fully expecting to someday arrive home to find a badger being nursed back to health or a depressed otter being entertained in our yarden.

He spent his days making animals’ lives better and mine more stressful until one day he succeeded in capturing two young feral kittens with the intention of bringing them to the vet the next day. While they created havoc in the bathroom we attempted a night’s sleep only to be woken up every 30 minutes or so by their mother who launched a full scale screeching protest outside our front door – apparently distraught by the kidnapping of her beloved offspring. Instead of just releasing the kittens, the next day I came home to find the mother had also joined our household. Now that she was on the inside, she had no desire to be anywhere near her kittens and hissed at them. In fact she hissed at everything: at us, at the TV, at herself, her food. She had some serious anger management issues.

MYON, decorated with an assortment of vicious scratches, brought them to the vet for checkups, vaccines, flea & worm treatment and a later appointment for mum to be spayed. All of this meant they were now residents. Despite the fact that I HATE cats we had three living with us. And so it went for months on end until we eventually found a home for the two kittens.

A year later we are still harbouring the mother. She regularly throws evil glances at us, as if to question why we exist at all. She scratches our furniture, demands to be stroked when it suits her, and other times leaps away from us in terror as if she’s never seen us before. More often than not she positions herself on the couch, a metre away from me and stares at me for hours on end with an icy look that would make Satan jealous. Then she’ll stroll over to me and demand to be worshipped, battering me with her claws if I take my hand away for even a second. We haul heavy litter and food from the supermarket regularly, and spend our evenings shoveling dirty litter and googling phrases such as ‘How can I make my cat love me?’. MVON still feeds all the strays of the neighbourhood and threatens every week or so to take more in.

Mercifully he now has a busy job and his menagerie has taken on a moonlighting role.

I still live in fear of coming home to find I need to share our tiny cottage with the latest creature in need. And I still hate cats, especially now that we find ourselves living under the tyrannical reign of a feline dictator.

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Tags: animals, cats, Dublin, MVON, Stoneybatter
Categories : animals, cats, Stoneybatter

The dog days are over

25 08 2014

Our cottage is very small. Tiny really. As you walk in the front room you stumble out the back door. We’ve rearranged the furniture repeatedly in the hope of gaining an extra square inch of floor space. We had to move the table into the front room so that there is space to take things out of the oven. My Very Own Newfoundlander managed to score ‘nesting tables’ from neighbours so that we have two coffee tables for the space of one – magic! Even at this optimum arrangement you can hear the other person breathing no matter where they are in the cottage. It’s kind of comforting really. Just as well we love each other. While we didn’t have space for an extra stool we found we did have a smidgen of extra love to bestow on a creature in need and had been following Dogs in Distress (DID), overcome by how many dogs were in bad need of looking after – even temporarily till they find their ‘forever home’.

In the days before MVON had found a job he reasoned that there was still a dog sized space that was free in the kitchen. Considering one of europe’s biggest parks is on our doorstep we had already devised walking routes and catch games by the time we contacted DID. Before we knew it Paulo was delivered to us one sunny Saturday morning. He had been found abandoned in a supermarket car park. ‘Hello lovely Paulo’ we chorused outside our front door and he responded by immediately lying on his back – legs akimbo and eyes begging for a tummy rub. In less than 30 seconds we were in love. All three of us.

In truth he was about two dog sizes bigger than we said we could foster but about 50 times more adorable. He sniffed every single centimetre of the cottage before retracing his steps to ensure he did it correctly. He did this three times before having a cheeky pee in front of the fireplace. And so we began the process of house training him, in between long walks and belly rubs. ‘Did he have a poo?’ I’d ask MVON when they’d return and I’d squeal in delight if a solid had been achieved. In only a few days and a gallon of bleach Paulo knew the park was his toilet with our yarden as an emergency space.

When I’d get home from work he didn’t just wag his tail, he wagged his entire lower half, with an urgency that made me dump my bike and immediately run up to him for a huge hug and belly rub. A gift of a rawhide on day 4 was like Christmas to him – it became his world – until he rediscovered the tennis ball that he’d chase about the cottage, dodging our nesting tables and slamming repeatedly into the oven. Exhausted he’d slump down against the bathroom door trapping anyone who happened to be inside. On day six we gave up protesting and allowed him on our bed. Our choices were between sticking to our principles and being kept awake by his impressive all night protests or relent and have all three of us sleep through the night.

We settled into a routine. Walks, belly rubs, food, belly rubs, napping, belly rubs, food, belly rubs, napping, walk, belly rubs, sleep, belly rubs… Then one night we headed out for a couple of hours to meet friends – the first time he was left alone for more than 5 minutes. We set him up in the kitchen for the few hours, turned the radio on, gave him toys and assurances that we’d be back soon and he’d get all the belly rubs he missed then – with interest.

We had a great time and returned eager for hugs and excited wagging. We opened the door of the kitchen and Paulo torpedoed out at lightning speed. Before us lay a scene of destruction and chaos. He had ripped up the lino trying to dig an escape tunnel, moved a chair so he could jump on the counters and knock everything off – dishes, plants, chopping board, glasses… There was earth and wee everywhere. None of us were wagging anything. There was one contrite face and two exasperated faces as MVON began the 3 hour clean up process. The lino was beyond repair and Paulo was canine non grata – no hugs or cuddles or belly rubs that night.

We reluctantly came to the conclusion that he was just too big for our tiny cottage. His puppy energy needed a garden or large space to burn off energy. He needed another dog so he’s never alone. He deserved a better home – one that doesn’t have a desperate need for nesting tables. With a heavy heart we contacted DID and told them that Paulo’s needs sadly couldn’t be met by us – no matter how much we loved him. And we did. An awful lot.

And just like that, they found him a new home. Hurray – we’ll have our lives back we rejoiced – not looking Paulo in the eye. Our yarden won’t smell like a toilet, our clothes wouldn’t be covered in a layer of dog fur.

We still had a week together before he was to move on. We began hugging him more. He stopped jumping at the table during meal times, there were even more belly rubs and he grew to love the park as much as his toys. I raced home everyday , more and more eager for my bum waggle welcome. He was extremely well behaved and we were even more in love. His rawhide bone was lovingly chewed and he was well settled into cottage life.

But the day came. His new carers came to pick him up. I left for work unable to say a proper goodbye. I had whispered in his ear the day before that he would always be loved by us – no matter where he was. MVON had to do the handover on his own. He let me know when Paulo had left, gazing out the car window at MVON till the car rounded the corner.

I sat at work fighting back the tears. MVON was at home alone with less success at keeping his eyes dry.

We’ll be finding Paulo hairs about the place for months – no matter how often we vacuum. Paulo had hidden his bone the night before and search as we did that damn thing wasn’t to be found. That bone is going to be found one of these days reducing the two of us to a weepy old mess.

But for now it’s just the two of us in the cottage again. And the place has never felt so big.

(I scribbled this on a notebook about a year ago – He’s now living in London with a doggy brother, a big garden and a loving family. We get Christmas cards and the odd email from him – by all accounts he’s finally found the happiness he deserves. Even now, we still miss Paulo. A lot.)