A Day In The Life

‘I’d love to run a dog hotel like you,’ they say. I smile and nod. ‘Just feed the dogs twice a day and then play with them – nothing else to do.’ I nod. ‘You’re so lucky,’ they say. ’What you do is my idea of heaven – you live on the Côte d’Azur, you spend all day long with dogs and you get paid for it.’ It’s six in the morning, still dark.  I let the dogs out. Beau won’t go down to the garden. It’s raining, the third day of rain. The garden is grateful but I’m not so sure I am. Beau, the Bruno de Jura, who came to live here from the refuge doesn’t ‘do’ rain. Here is a dog that had four homes before coming to me, who lived for several years in a run-down refuge and who is now living in the lap of luxury. The biggest decision in his day is whether to sleep in my chair or make a mammoth effort and move to the sofa, and now I discover he doesn’t do rain. I try to understand him: after all, he lived in dreadful conditions in the refuge. ‘Beau, this is not a dog kennel and you don’t pee in the house!’ But I can’t get mad at this dog – he’s obviously been beaten. If I pick up a broom to sweep the floor, he cringes. I’ll need to put on my dog psychology hat but for the moment, there isn’t time. I go into the study. Zak, one of the Hungarian Vizlas who is here, en pension, has peed on the daybed. Zak and his sister, Maddie, always sleep on the daybed so what’s this? I strip the bed – fortunately there is a rubberised sheet underneath but the replacement protective bedding still isn’t dry as this is a repeat performance of yesterday morning. The study smells like a pissoir: a combination of Zak’s pee and bad smells from Rox, the old crossbreed, who has cystitis. The smell is of rotten fish: quite appetising just before breakfast. He’s on antibiotics so the cystitis should clear up shortly. So, that’s good, then. I check out the bathroom: Happy, the young Lakeland terrier, has chewed a lump out of the wooden doorframe. She has Nylabones, toys galore, she plays with Digby, the dachshund all day but of course, chewing a doorframe is far more interesting.  ‘I’d love to run a dog hotel like you,’ they say. I smile and nod. © Jilly Bennett