I should know better

Well, Belle has done it.  She is a mother.

She started at midnight.  Why do they do that?  Her own mother was always very civilised, and used to begin at dawn, but I have spent so many sleepless nights whelping, and wondering if I will be able to get help when needed.

Well, she soon produced one.  And she sat there, looking at it in horror.   Clearly she had done something very dirty – and in the house!  Would Mum be angry?  I rescued the newborn and spent some time reassuring her that she had done the right thing, and Mum was very pleased.    It took her a little time to decide that it was hers, and she should probably clean it up a bit.

Hours till the next one, again a little girl.   And that was that.   She settled down with her two daughters, quite relaxed and happy with them.

All lined up, 2 days old.  The boy is in the middle

I was not relaxed.   She had been scanned for three.   And clearly she was not about to produce number three.   Cue a call to a friend, and one to my vet.   And the result was a drive through the early morning mists of Ayrshire to the surgery.

Another scan.   Yes, there was indeed a third in there, with a strong heartbeat.  Two injections of oxytocin had no effect,  (but  a strong cup of coffee for me worked wonders!)   Eventually poor Belle was carried off for a caesarian.  Fingers crossed and more coffee….and back the vet  came with a strong protesting little boy, who had been warm and comfortable and now was plunged into a strange world where it appeared he had two very pushy sisters.  Belle was totally  puzzled, but quite prepared to have an extra who wasn`t there when she unexpectedly went to sleep.

Back home, and all well.  I got her settled and really, she has never looked back.  She is an ideal mum. eating well, willing to go out (especially when she found out how much respect a mother gets from other bitches!) and quite happy.  I am a little less worried than I usually am with new litters in the first few days.

But meanwhile I will not be far from home. 

I have kept off the matter of the referendum.  My vote is already in, and those who know me will know what it is.  I am trying to avoid the endless media coverage, and in particular the Beeb`s relentless NO campaign.

However, I have the habit, last thing at night, of checking the next day`s headlines on my phone, and last night was amazed to find that Milliband, a man who has as much authority in this matter as Donald Duck (and a lot less charisma) was threatening an independent Scotland with armed forces at the border.  I thought little of it and fell asleep….

And then I dreamed I was wakened by a hammering on the door.  There stood a soldier, who demanded to know if I had a gun, as I was registered as having one.  I said that I had. 

“Well, pack a small bag and come with me.  We are organising a militia to defend the border  against the English army.”

In vain I protested that I was ancient, and so was the gun.  And I was about to be taken off to war…..when the dream was penetrated by a loud honking.

"Honk, honk, honk!" - Florian

I woke and recognised the sound.  “Honk, honk honk!”   Pause.  “Honk, honk honk!”.  Florian`s deep, resonant,  desolate bark.  Prudence is in season, and he was lamenting his sadly deficient sex life.   I know he would go on for hours, telling the world about the unfairness and misery of it all.

I looked at the clock.  3am.  You will gather that sympathy was the last thing on my mind.  I got up and gave him a piece of the said mind, threatening  to take him to the vet and sort out his problem for once and for all.   He wisely shut up.

And I went back to bed and wondered how that border war would have gone, in the dream world I had left….

Maybe just as well Florian chose to honk.