Muffin, Digby And Petal

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Muffin, Digby And Petal - book excerpt

Chapter 1

2012, Not a Vintage Year

How often in our lives do we find something good coming from something tragic or unpleasant? 2012 was just such a year for us, especially for my dear wife, Juliet. It began well enough, when she saw an advertisement in the local newspaper offering Staffy puppies for sale. I’d promised her that if she found a suitable puppy, we could add one to our family of rescue dogs, so having seen the advert she drew my attention to it, and I made a telephone call and we arranged to go and see the puppies for sale.

Of course, it’s not too difficult to fall in love when faced with a litter of beautiful little puppies, and Juliet, (and me of course), were no different from anyone else. Having seen the pups, and played with them in the owner’s garden, it quickly became a matter of choosing which one we would take. Although I fell for a little one that was black with white feet and chest, this was to be Juliet’s puppy, so I left the decision to her. She eventually chose a tiny, brindle coloured pup, and after the required cost of the little dog was handed over, we went home with the latest member of our ‘doggie family’.

Chudleigh

I can’t really recall how we came up with a name for Juliet’s new ‘baby’ but eventually we settled on ‘Chudleigh’. The puppy soon settled into our home and family and in no time at all he became ‘Juliet’s baby’. He followed her everywhere and was like her second shadow. He was a fast learner and was soon house trained and loved going for walks with his new human ‘Mummy’.

Sadly, our time with little Chudleigh was all too brief, as at the age of eight months, we were to lose our little boy in particularly harrowing circumstances, which I won’t put in print, as the loss of her baby boy was to have a devastating effect on Juliet. Even now, seven years later, she finds it impossible to get rid of the T-shirt I had made for her with his picture on the front and printed with ‘Chudleigh’s Mum’, and she still sheds a tear from time to time, at the memory of that gorgeous little boy. (I’ve still got his name tag in a box, too).

All I knew at that time was my dear wife fell into what could only be described as a time of deep depression. Although we still had the rest of ‘pack’ to love and care for, I’d often find her tearful and sad, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that the loss of her special puppy had totally devastated her.

Juliet with Chudleigh

Weeks passed and my poor Juliet seemed to be slipping further and further into a morass of depression. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she couldn’t get poor Chudleigh out of her mind. Even a visit to the doctor, which I virtually pleaded with her to attend, did little to help, despite him prescribing anti-depressants to help her.

Knowing what was causing her depressed state of mind, I decided that there was only one thing that might help her become more like herself once again.

“You need a new puppy,” I said to her one day, completely out of the blue.

“What for?” she asked.

“Because unless you have a puppy for you to give your love to, you’re never going to get over losing Chudleigh. A new puppy isn’t a replacement, you can never replace him, I know that, but you will have a new pup to focus on and that way you won’t be thinking about him all the time.”

“I’ll think about it,” she replied, and I left it at that. I didn’t want to push her into it. When and if it happened, it had to be Juliet’s own choice, her decision.

It was four or five weeks later before anything was said about my offer of a new puppy. I’d noticed that Juliet had been buying our local newspaper more frequently than usual, and I’d thought she may be looking at adverts for puppies for sale. On this occasion she confirmed my suspicions.

“There’s some puppies for sale in the paper,” she said one day as I walked into the house with two dogs after we’d been for our afternoon walk.

“Really?” I said, trying to sound both innocent and surprised at the same time.

“Yes,” she replied, sounding brighter than she had in a long time. “It says here there’s a litter of five puppies for sale, staffy/springer crosses, fifty pounds each.”

I could sense a new enthusiasm in her voice, and I commented,

“Staffy/springers? I bet they’re unusual looking pups.”

“Please, can we phone up and find out about them?”

“Of course,” I responded. “Pass me the paper.”

She did so and I saw she’d drawn a big ring round the advert.

I picked up my phone and dialled the number given in the advert. The lady who replied sounded very nice, gave us the address and said, if we were interested, we could call anytime to see the pups. Knowing how much this could mean to Juliet, I told her we’d be there in ten minutes, as the address she’d given wasn’t far away from our home, and was located very near the town’s racecourse, and would be easy to find.

Juliet’s excitement was palpable as we drove towards the puppies’ location. As we pulled up on the street close to the address, she was out of car almost as soon as I turned the ignition off.

We were greeted at the door by the lady I’d spoken to on the phone and after introducing ourselves she led us into the lounge, where her husband sat, with two dogs at his feet. These turned out to be the parents of the pups. The mother was a beautiful white and black Staffordshire bull terrier, and the father was a very handsome-looking red and white springer spaniel. Both dogs were calm and extremely gentle as they both greeted us with licks and allowed us to stroke and pet them. We saw that as a good sign. If the puppies had inherited their parents’ friendly natures, they should make excellent family pets.

“Well, I suppose you’d better come and see the puppies,” the lady, whose name was Jane, told us, after we’d spent a few minutes interacting with the adult dogs. Jane led us through to the kitchen, where there, in a large dog bed in one corner, the five puppies were located. That is, they were until they saw Jane and us, and suddenly we were surrounded by five little balls of fur, full of excitement, their little tails wagging furiously and a couple of them making little puppy noises. Jane’s husband, John, joined us at that point and the four of us spent the next few minutes picking up and fussing the five tiny pups.

“They’re all gorgeous,” Juliet said, with a big smile on her face as she stroked one of the pups as she held it in her arms.

“They certainly are,” I agreed.

“I have to tell you,” Jane then pointed out one of the pups, a black and white one with striking markings, “this one is reserved for our son. He saw them and instantly asked if he could have it, because of its markings.”

“And this one,” her husband said as he picked up the smallest puppy, “is staying with us. He’s a little runt and we don’t feel it would be right to sell him in case his owners don’t give him the extra care and attention he’ll need. You’re welcome to choose from the other three.”

By reducing our choice from five to three options, you could be forgiven for thinking this made our task easier, but no, the more we interacted with the three remaining puppies, the harder the decision became. They were all so lovable, cute and cuddly. I personally liked a little black and white girl puppy, with very pretty markings, like the petals on a flower, while Juliet was leaning more towards another puppy, smaller than my choice, black with a white chest. The one remaining pup was a little boy with an attractive brindle coat covering most of his body, but with a white head and chest and a patch over one eye.

“Well, my darling, which one is it going to be?” I asked, and Juliet finally decided on the little black one, who she was cuddling in her arms as she spoke.

“I’d like this one, please,” she replied, and I nodded in agreement.

The choice made, I took out my wallet and handed over the fifty pounds to Jane, who in turn passed the cash to her husband who put it safely in his pocket.

“We need to go and get a few things for her before we can take her, new bed, collar and lead and so on, so if it’s ok with you, I’ll call tomorrow morning to pick her up.”

“That’ll be perfectly okay,” John responded, and with our business done, his wife offered to make tea or coffee for us.

“Coffee for me please,” I said, while Juliet opted for tea.

We spent a convivial half hour chatting with the couple, while the puppies were placed back in their bed in the kitchen. We explained to Jane and John about our family of rescued dogs, and they seemed impressed with our love and devotion to our animals. They also told us how their own dogs had managed to ‘come together’ accidentally and the puppies hadn’t been planned, but they were happy that when they arrived, they were all fit and healthy and were pleased that the little black one now seemed to have found a perfect home. Jane then asked Juliet if she had any ideas on what she was going to name the puppy and Juliet instantly replied,

“I want to call her Muffin.”

“That’s a lovely name,” Jane exclaimed, obviously loving the name.

“Yes, it’s unusual too,” was my response. “Okay, Muffin it is.”

Juliet was delighted and after we’d said our goodbyes, for now, to the couple, we immediately drove into town to buy everything we’d need in order to be ready for Muffin’s arrival the following day.

There was a large pet store close to the market in the centre of town, and after finding a space in the nearby car park, we soon found all we needed in the store, and happily set off for home. Later that day, when our girls arrived home from school, we told them about the puppy, and they were both delighted and excited at the prospect of new puppy arriving the next day. They’d had no idea we were even thinking about getting a puppy. Juliet’s depression had been kept from them as far as was possible, although they knew their mum was still unhappy about losing little Chudleigh.

Later that evening, as we were relaxing in the lounge, and the girls were in bed, Juliet suddenly said,

“Are you sure I’ve made the right choice?”

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“The puppy,” she said. “I know you preferred the little black and white one. I’m not sure now.”

“Don’t be silly,” I smiled and sat beside her with my arm round her shoulder. “This is supposed to be your puppy, and I left the choice entirely up to you. I’m sure little Muffin will be a perfect addition to our family. Stop worrying about whether or not you made the right choice. Of course you did.”

“It’s just that they were all so gorgeous. I’d have liked to bring them all home with us.”

I squeezed her hand, reassuringly.

“I know you would have,” I said, “but you’ve made a choice and we’ll stick with it.