Puppy pre-school has 12 puppies attending which the organizers tell me is a record. Santa must have been busy delivering pups down the chimney this Christmas! Recent statistics show that the love affair with Christmas puppies is generally over by Valentines Day. So starting with the basics of puppy school means that these little pups get the best chance since their owners start the training early. We’re taught how to make puppy sit by the lure method and to walk on a loose leash. Lots of treats and positive advice is given. Over the next four weeks we’re to practice this. Secretly Scooter and I have already. In fact the little dude has mastered the in and out of a giant dog door. Impressive. However my ‘stage mother’ and overachieving nature hasn’t fully rubbed off on Scooter as he’s quite reticent to meet and greet the other puppies.

He retreats to a safe spot in the day care centre–under a kiddies table and watches the others with a furrowed brow. I joke that he’s only come in contact with other spotty dogs (this is actually true). His watching from the sideline is perfectly fine and I know enough about pups to realize that we should never force them into uncomfortable situations. Shame really as the Airedale puppy I wanted him to besties with is just adorable. Surprisingly, (or maybe not) the class has mostly fashionable cross breeds–Cavoodles; Bichoodles; Moodles. Where are the Labradores? Where are the German Shepherds? More importantly where are these dogs coming from?

One of the other tips we’re taught is getting puppy to recognize his name. This is a mildly embarrassing moment as I don’t really call Scooter by his name–I’ve been using Pootie. The reason for this is that he’s always responded to the call of “Puppy, Puppy; Puppy”. So I’ve made the transgression to “Puppy, Puppy, Pootie”. I’ll even offer up this little further embarrassing insight into my kookyness. While we’ve been on our round the block walks to get him used to being on a lead, I’ve been singing “C’mon the Pootie, C’mon the Pootie”, all to the tune of “We’re in the Money”. There I’ve said it. Actually I’ll just lay it all on the line. Every dog I’ve had–Mick; Jerri and Lilly, have all had their own little song that I’ve made up for them. Each with distinctly different lyrics and tune and always using their name.

Before Scooter came home I had been telling girlfriends that given a proper routine, puppies were pretty easy to manage. I had really been talking this one up and as cringe-worthy as it is to admit, had believed it. You see that’s how I had remembered my last little pup–which was actually Jerri. She had come home at ten weeks too. Most recent pup was Lilly and she was a full five months when she arrived in our lives. I’m beginning to think that I’ve totally rewritten history in terms of the work, mess and general upheaval in the house. A girlfriend laughingly reminds me of how sure I was that this process wasn’t going to be to hard or time consuming. She had smiled politely throughout my rose-tinted views of bringing puppy home.

I refer to Scooter the everywhere man. He’s into everything and can pull all sorts of things off the dining table. He even has a spot in the garden under our large stag fern that I refer to as the place of mysterious and disgusting things. He’s managed to find large bones that appear to be petrified and date back to the Cretaceous period. An old sponge head from a mop is shredded into bite sized pieces as are the morning papers. He routinely sequesters toys and pigs ears to this spot but on the upside, at least it’s outside and these revolting finds are not buried in our bed.

Baby barrier gates contain the everywhere man and I’m appreciative of the one that is a barrier to the stairs. Within a very short time he’s mastered the stairs–no mean feat as they’re polished wood, very slippery and there’s lots of them. He can scale up them but can’t come down them. Up seems easy and down is way too scary. I pray to the god of balance that as I carry him down 16 stairs that I don’t trip with my 9 kilo grunting package.

The bedroom is off-limits and this seems to be Lilly’s only quiet spot away from him. She sleeps with us every night while Scooter is in his crate downstairs. His ‘roomies’ are Roger and Jackson and we laugh that the birdie boys have much bigger abodes then little Scooter’s crate. Now every morning when I take Scooter’s covering off his crate and get him up, we’re greeted by Jackson saying “Good Boy”, which I find very sweet as he’s obviously heard me saying this to our little man.