You might remember a post I wrote 3 weeks ago, where, among other things, I complained about my boyfriend’s obsession with buying a puppy. He has been talking about getting a dog for several years, with me always firmly opposed to this plan. Until last Wednesday, that is. I am still not quite sure what happened. Maybe it was the painkillers I was taking to soothe my phantom teeth? How else to explain my sudden conversion, after years of determined resistance. Whatever the reason, the decision was made, a phone number dialed, an appointment made.

This is why, on Saturday morning we found ourselves driving through a landscape veiled in morning mist, on our way to see some German Shepherd puppies. In advance of the viewing we had decided on questions we wanted to ask, and to make sure to try to haggle a little on the price, which we thought would be around 500 Euros. After a night of barely any sleep (too much excitement) we were lightheaded when we arrived at the breeders who began by telling us that there was only one puppy left. And then she brought out the cutest little fluffy creature, and we were sold. All the important questions were forgotten, and we completely neglected to haggle on the price, which turned out to be 750 Euros. Instead we said yes on the spot and went on to thoroughly rummage through our wallets to find the extra money needed to seal the deal. Luckily the breeder took the time to go through some details, and told us we could always email her with questions later. Then came the tricky part. The puppy was yet to be given an official name, which was needed for the documents, and the names for this generation all had to begin with the letter L. We were given a book of dog names to help us and I suggested Lucky. Unfortunately a sibling had already taken the name so we went for Loki instead. And so everything was in order.

During the car ride home little Loki whined and howled, clearly upset at being puppy-napped from his home and put in this horrible unstable environment. The movement made him nauseous and caused him to retch, but with very little food in his stomach he did not even have the relief of vomiting. Luckily at some point he fell asleep, so at least a part of the journey passed him by.

Once in our apartment he soon became used to us and spent the day playing, and happily doing his messy business on the floor. My boyfriend spent the day warmly dressed with shoes on, and ready to pick up the puppy and go downstairs as soon as a little puddle or pile started forming at his feet. And by today the situation has already improved with only two small accidents in the house. When outside he always does his toilet business, if possible, looking proud and expecting his treat. We obviously have the smartest little puppy in the Universe who is well on his way to being house-trained after only one day in his new home. He has also learned how to sit before getting treats or food.

I was very worried about the traumatizing effect of taking a puppy away from his mother and first home. But it seems little Loki is quite content with finally being the centre of attention instead of only one out of 8 siblings. He follows my boyfriend around the apartment and loves to play with his ball, the inside tube of the used up roll of kitchen paper, a plastic bottle and of course his fluffy toy bear.

      

        

A testament to how adorable he is, is that I have only read a couple of pages this week-end. Anybody who can keep me from reading must be a special person indeed!

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