Puppy love xxx

Nothing can teach you patience quite like a puppy can. You forget what you're in for the day that those gorgeous blue eyes steal your heart away and you whisk this little brown ball of fluff home. You forget that every single pair of gumboots you own will sprout holes; that your slops will be relocated to the darkest, thorniest bush in the garden; and that your front lawn will start too look like no-mans-land with dongas and pieces of god-knows-what lying scattered all over the place. You'll dodge landmines in your kitchen for weeks, and almost kill yourself at least twice a day tripping over puppy under foot... and that's just in the beginning!

I have decided, in all my wisdom, to attempt puppy training classes this month with our 6 month old collie-x-white shepherd, Frankie. Now, for anyone who has ever owned a dog, you will know how challenging this task is. Town dogs, however,  are pieces of cake compared to dogs brought up on a farm... Somehow, Frankie just knew something was up the first day we were due to head to bootcamp, and no matter how much I pleaded and coaxed and begged, she would NOT come within 2 metres of me - just out of reach. When you have a garden that is over a hectare in size, this is a problem. With the other additions to our menagerie adding to the frustration by assuming this to be the best game EVER, I spent at least 20 minutes sprinting around the garden chasing my little brown pooch whilst being trailed by a spaniel, a Labrador and two cats, and occasionally being dive bombed by the resident drongo.

Eventually, after trapping Frankie in a corner and literally wrestling her to the ground, I managed to get a leash onto her. And it was instant - Statue dog. Not. Going. To. Move. Ever.

*Sigh*

So, giving in I hoisted her into the front of the truck (tripping over Guinness in the process) and set off for the village. Stage one complete.

Upon arrival at destination-bootcamp, I notice that we are part of a group of four ladies, with four very different dogs. This is obstacle #2 as Frankie has not socialised with other dogs before. After prying her from the passenger seat of my truck, and then retrieving her from underneath it, I try to get her to walk on the leash. Vibrating statue dog. Too. Terrified. To. Breath.

*Sigh*

Thus, I am the only owner who has to carry her dog into the training ring, where she then proceeds to sit directly behind me for the entire class, vibrating. At least she got "sit" right... When it comes to the end of the session, the dog trainer smiles sympathetically at me and says (with the slightest, knowing smirk)..."Farm dog? Don't worry, next time will be better". One can only hope...

So after probably the most traumatic day of her life, Frankie returns to the farm and immediately runs off to the bottom of the garden to find some vegetables to destroy, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Now I'm the vibrating mess thinking about having to repeat the whole process all over again next week! A glass of wine you say? What a fabulous idea.....