Lady Buffy-Aloka of Narwee

 

I had planned for my next dog to be named Aloka after the peace dog who is walking (was walking?) across America with the monks.

Unlucky for me, this wee poppet knows her name is Buffy so I gave her an aristocratic hyphenated name. I think it's a tad classier than Mountbatten-Windsor.

I had made an application for her and received no response so had given up when the message came asking if I would like to meet her. The foster carer was a lovely lady and Buffy was her first foster. She told me she nearly kept her, maybe thta's why it took so long.

Buffy has been in foster care for a few months and had a few teeth out as well as a fatty lump removed so that's that taken care of.

The lady from the shelter insisted on speaking to Keaghan because it's policy to speak to every household member. After she made the call she was full of angst because she feels she is always awkward on the phone. I started telling her that the first time I made a call to a stranger I stared at the phone for 15 minutes beforehand but now I can call anyone. It was meant to be 20 seconds of encouragement but before I finished speaking she had walked away and I was left talking into the air and feeling stupid.

 

Taking the hint

Well, dear reader, I was not chosen as the new guardian of the wee dog Poppy. On the same day I applied for her, there was a call out for a foster carer for a 16 year old Jack Russell. The owner has cancer and isn't able to care for the dog but may eventually be in a position to bring it home. Bizarrely the vet had suggested euthanasia. The loss of a long time companion would be just be salt in the cancer wound. Not ideal for anyone.

I volunteered straight away and the lady from Jack Russell rescue thought it would be preferable to send the little one to me as they are uncertain how it would like to be in a multi dog household. With me it would have only dog status.

The owner was going to call me on the weekend but never did so either she's decided to rehome/ foster somewhere else or she can't bear to say goodbye to the dog.

Whatever is happening I hope it's a good outcome for both.

A friend of mine long ago told me that if you have to force something, it's not for you. Reluctantly I am putting aside the quest for a dog and hoping the universe will deliver something even better.

Two dogs?

Craig and Poppy

 

I've made an application for this little munchkin. The questionnaire was long and detailed and maybe it is in my imagination but I thought the designers of the questionnaire were the type who want a perfect life for every dog. Whether I can come up to the mark is anyone's guess. Poppy is 10 so she is old enough to be undemanding but hopefully not old enough to have an immediate health crisis.

Her eyes have the same intense quality that Sally had in her one eye and I foolishly imagine she will be the same kind of personality. Foolish because she isn't and never will be Sally and I know that but part of me hopes to get Sally back, so to speak.

I realise this is crazy, I also know that I will adore any dog when I can appreciate their unique qualities.

At work I have a few "frequent flyers" who show up at the office door wanting help with administrative tasks and while I like the interaction, it really takes all my available brain power to do the things that I am supposed to do.

One frequent flyer is Craig (his name isn't Craig but I accidentally called him Craig once. I probably shouldn't reinforce that faulty neural pathway but here we are)

The first time I met Craig was the day his mum was admitted. He looked like death warmed up: pale, weak and tired. He was sweet and deferential to me and on the verge of tears. As I slowed down to pay attention to him, the story tumbled out. His mum had a fall and landed in hospital at the same time that he had a cancer diagnosis. He had a couple of options for treatment and made the choice for a less aggressive treatment which would allow him to get out of hospital and organise his mum's admission to aged care. The day we met he had come direct from hospital where he had undergone a key hole surgery and been burnt by the instruments.

Craig had a rough recovery and his problems are ongoing but he is looking a lot better these days and has been in a couple of times recently having a panic about the documents he needs for his mum's government assistance. Yesterday I offered him a seat, printed the documents that have previously been emailed to him and asked how mum is going with the transition to aged care. His speech is punctuated with apologies for "being a pain" and gratitude for the help. He left to go and visit mum but was soon back with a tin of biscuits I recognised as the Christmas gift all residents were given.

He shakily eased the lid off the tin "Do you like these, Kylie? Will you eat them? I won't eat these, will you have them?" 

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth I grinned and said I shouldn't eat them but I probably would. 

Craig handed them over and said his goodbyes while I slid the biscuits into a drawer. Next time I'm cranky about being overwhelmed and under appreciated there will be a tin of biscuits to tell me otherwise.