So, the dog is gone.
We all cried. We still feel sad. Both for her, and for ourselves. We wanted a dog, but after our experience with Lupin… it is not to be.
There will not be another dog. I think that ship, the one with our dog on it, has sailed.
It’s been just over a week now, since we took her back.
During that week I discovered that three of the seven pups in her litter have been returned to the rescue, because of similarly difficult-to-live-with traits. So Lupin is currently living with one of her brothers, which is a nice thought in a way, but sad for both dogs in reality.
I also discovered that the rescue are already advertising her for adoption, describing her as “good with other dogs and children over twelve”. Lad is thirteen. When we took Lupin back, I gave them two sides of A4 listing all of her problems. Right at the top was the problem of her ongoing aggression towards lad.
So I called to tell them, again, that she wasn’t good with children over twelve. Or men. Or strangers generally. But it seems that their one-day assessment of Lupin’s character trumps our nearly-six-months of living with her. They say they have seen no evidence of aggression. So that’s that.
The thought that another family may go through the same painful experience as us upsets me greatly, as does the thought of Lupin facing a third rejection, but having handed her back it seems there is nothing more I can do about it. And so I have had to breathe deeply and let go.
A week later, and I am still hoovering up dog hair and wondering what to do with the packets of dog treats in the cupboard.
I should be getting on with work, I have lots to do, but I seem to be stuck.
Inspiration is always sparse at this time of year, but it’s worse than that. I feel a bit panicky when I try to start work. Some of the work I have done has not, to my eye at least, been my best.
Our new neighbours are knocking through their kitchen at the moment and it is very noisy. The builders have managed to dislodge the plaster on our adjoining kitchen wall – chunks and dust come cascading down. But that’s no excuse.
I clean the house as displacement activity. I try to drag up some creativity from somewhere, but it appears to have gone into hibernation for the duration.
It’s not because of the dog, I think. It’s just the winter, dragging on. It seems, like me, to be stuck. It afflicts me every year, this dark period after Christmas. I need to get stuck in, but instead I get stuck in a time warp.
Roll on spring. ♥