Bringing up Katie

Framed, again. A new puppy has joined our family, and there have been a few repercussions writes CYNTHIA SMITH.

Katie’s training is coming ahead in leaps and bounds. I also am proving to be a quick learner. You know those dog owners in muddy green gumboots you repeatedly meet on bush walks or trade smiles with as you both throw soon-to-be-lost tennis balls into the surf at Kakamatua Beach? They are the alpha dogs of the excited packs of wet animals running and panting at their heels. I am fast joining their ranks.

I now insist on going through doors before anyone else and on eating first. I say no (a lot) in a deep, firm tone, and have become a dab hand at canine sign language. All my trousers have an ever-rising tideline of pawprints at mid-thigh level and my sweaters shine with snail trails of puppy saliva; Katie likes to nibble on my sleeves when I scratch her tummy. Training treats fill my pockets – and get overlooked when clothes go into the wash. I’m told that I emit a faint whiff of beef jerky.

Not only has my husband remarked on the eau de biltong, he also admits to being somewhat unsettled by how I have started to insist that he breaks eye contact with me first.

We are not the only ones having to adjust to the effects of having a new puppy in the house. Poor Amber patiently endures Katie leapfrogging over her, gnawing on her forelegs, hanging from her cheeks, and repeatedly sniffing her behind. She gives Katie a quick bollocking when she goes too far, but she’s a good big sister, aiding and abetting Katie in the dismemberment of various toys and joining in on the daily zoomie run around the garden. Despite all this long-suffering tolerance, we fear she may have been framed. More than once.

The streets of many Asian cities are filled with scooters. Thousands of them. Other than a vague tendency to travel on the right hand side, road rules are generally ignored. When pedestrians cross the street they must

Katie is fascinated by my leopardprint Crocs.

step off the curb and commit, walking in a straight line at an even pace and never stopping, or worse, turning back. It’s like wading through a small stream; scooters simply flow around you.

It’s helpful to keep this strategy in mind when walking around with a lolloping puppy behind you intent on darting incursions, the target of which are on your feet. Stop suddenly, or worse, change direction, and inevitably the little blighter will head-butt your calves.

I confess to being the owner of a pair of leopard-print Crocs. I wear them when I’m gardening, confident in the fact that I will never, ever want to be seen in them in public. This minimises the chances of unwittingly carrying kauri dieback spores back home to infect our beautiful trees. Katie is fascinated by them and she lurks behind me when I’m weeding, exploiting every opportunity to wrestle them off my feet and sprint away triumphantly. I have been impressed at how remarkably hardy they are, not only as gardening clogs, but as puppy fodder for Katie. They now live out of reach on the BBQ, along with an ever-growing interesting collection of confiscated items.

Katie has now had her final shots, so at long last I was able to take the dogs for a walk. I took them together. This was a mistake. It was Katie’s first foray off the property so, for her initial introduction to the big wide world, we walked around the block.

It was less of a stroll and more of a Morris dance. My advice when walking a puppy, especially in winter, is to wear shoes with a particularly sturdy tread. Amber plodded sedately along in a relatively straight line, but after Katie had darted off in all directions, sniffing every flax bush and lamp post, turning somersaults in an attempt to rid herself of the lead, and enthusiastically investigating everything Amber even glanced at, the two leads knitted themselves together into a maypole plait and it required complicated pirouettes to get us back on task. Not an activity to be recommended when negotiating wet, slippery footpaths.

Katie loves shoes. I imagine there is a fascinating smorgasbord of smells in and on them, and maybe the leather ones still retain the scent of the original occupier of the hide. They are even more tantalising because, when not being used, they tend to lie around at nose level, so now all shoes sit either on top of the BBQ and the wood burner, or sit out of harm’s way on the lid of the washing machine. I’m currently ruining my slippers because there are never any shoes within arm’s (or foot’s) reach when Katie needs to go out. I’m pleased to report that she’s almost fully house trained – there is only the occasional puddle inside, but when she has to go, she has to go now.

I may have to invest in a pair of green gumboots.

... the two leads knitted themselves together into a maypole plait ...