Handbags and Poobags: Tales of a Soho Boxer Dog (11 page)

Chapter 25: THE BUN IN THE OVEN

The honeymoon was finally over. We landed late the night before but were up early to go and pick up our boy. Jet lag be damned! We were so excited to see him again. Would he recognise us? Would he remember us? Would he have an inkling that his mum and dad were now married and he was part of an official family unit? We certainly felt like a proper little family now we just need to collect Basil to make ourselves whole again. But there was definitely something amiss that morning…

We had left the house early enough so we could stop off at some motorway services for breakfast. But something surreal had obviously happened to us while we were scoffing bacon and eggs, because when we got on the road again we headed off the wrong way around the M25. Then we just couldn’t either get off the motorway at the right exit or seem to go in the right direction and suddenly there seemed to be traffic everywhere. We felt like screaming! What was going on? Why were we being kept from our happy canine reunion?

After what seemed like hours, and certainly a long time since we had gotten out of bed, we eventually pulled up at the agreed meeting place very late indeed. Basil’s temporary carer was waiting for us in a small country car-park. Everyone seemed to leap out of their car seat at the same time to greet each other – including Basil! But he was a very different looking dog from the one we had dropped off three weeks ago. This skinny, skittish dog wasn’t our robust, bonny boy. He was emaciated!

Sadly, it seemed that Basil had gone on hunger strike in protest at being left in this gorgeous country spot with other doggy friends, having long walks in smelly woods every day, with treats and cuddles on hand. Yes, our lad obviously preferred our basement flat in Camden with its little square garden and sometimes only having a walk to the local pub. In a way I was secretly pleased that he had nearly pined away for us.

But it was sad to see him like that, as it turned out he had gone off his food and he didn’t take kindly to having to share a bowl with other hounds. He’s particular in that respect, every other dog I have ever met is happy to eat or drink from any dog bowl, certainly every canine visitor that comes to my home greedily helps themselves to whatever is on offer. But Basil always turns his nose up at anything communal. It’s hard when we go to places that kindly leave out water bowls for dogs, we either have to ask for our own personal one or I will sneak it into the toilets and wash it up and fill with fresh water before offering it to him because he is so fussy.  I am sure if he could wash his paws after tumbling around with other dogs he would, as it is he is constantly cleaning his bits and pieces. As I say he is quite particular.

The hotel owner actually asked us for more money to pay for extra food as it seems we hadn’t supplied enough. Being English and awkward I immediately wrote her out a cheque for the new amount, when I should have been pointing out that it was quite patently obvious that any dog staying in the hotel apart from Basil had been eating his food, and he certainly hadn’t had anything extra. Internally I seethed at the thought of her dogs getting fatter on all the little tins of sardines and tripe we had left behind for Basil to eat, while he sadly moped in the corner unable to stomach a mouthful.

Soon enough we were on our way back home, a wedded threesome looking forward to starting our new married life together. Basil slept all the way home on my lap in the car, he then slept for about 24 hours in his own bed, he then woke up and had a huge meal from his own clean bowl. Patrick and I watched over him like worried parents as he still seemed unhappy, but we nursed him back to his full fighting weight within days. It took a lot longer than that though for him to forgive us and it was over a week before he came to us unprompted for a cuddle. We vowed never again to leave him for so long. And besides, travel was unlikely for some time because soon enough I was pregnant.

I can remember the exact night we conceived. We’d been on a fantastic night out to the old Camden Palace to see another friend DJ. I’d worn some fabulous shoes, electric blue with silver high heels. Sadly they were rather painful to dance in and I didn’t want to walk home in them, after complaining and having a bit of a row with Patrick over wearing shoes I couldn’t walk in (what girl doesn’t have a pair of shoes that will only just about take her from a cab to a bar-stool?) he ripped them off my feet and made me walk home without them. I wasn’t happy but as I waddled along freezing I saw the funny side and we soon made up. Yes, that was definitely the night!

The morning after I saw the blue and silver shoes on the floor, Basil had chewed them up. Well at least they wouldn’t be causing any more rows between Patrick and I. As I stared at them I wondered… and only three nights later I was sure. We were out for dinner at the Oxo Tower (one of our favourite restaurants in town with beautiful views along the river, it’s a place we often went to for celebrations and somewhere I regularly used for entertaining local magazine editors) and as we went up in the lift I felt a wave of nausea and light-headedness. Now, I am rather claustrophobic and hate being in lifts, but I knew it wasn’t that. I think I just knew!

I had a mixed experience of pregnancy. Sadly, it had taken us a couple of tries to go full term but I like to view these now as ‘trial runs’ for what turned out to be our perfect baby in the end. I was happy to be pregnant. I liked the feel of a hardening bump under the fleshy tummy I had cultivated from years of drinking and eating out.  And I was relieved that my propensity for throwing up while hungover hadn’t extended to pregnancy and I managed to avoid any real morning sickness.

But I also found the process to be confusing and full of unnecessary intervention. Almost from day one there seemed to be the potential of a problem. Every visit to the doctor, midwife or hospital revealed I was in danger of developing ‘something’, I had tests for ‘everything’ and all of them revealed ‘nothing’. It felt like we could never really relax and enjoy the experience because we were concerned about the next possible problem on the horizon.

Even the magical scan that revealed the sex (we were having a boy and I was overjoyed, because as I say there is room for only one princess in my home) revealed the possibility of an impending difficulty, which was a shame as it ruined our temporary happiness. Of course I know they have to take very good care with pregnant women but in reality my baby and I were healthy all the way through the pregnancy and if I hadn’t seen one medical professional from conception to birth I might have enjoyed the whole thing a bit more.

And we were a bit stranded at home. Again! In our two-seater car Basil had to sit in the footwell, he had to stop sitting on my lap as it started to disappear. Eventually Basil disappeared from view too as my tummy took over, and it became unfair for all three (four) of us to travel around like that sadly. Which meant if we couldn’t take public transport or walk we couldn’t really go anywhere together.

One symptom of pregnancy though actually affected my relationship with Basil. I was always grateful he was around when I was feeling weepy or unsure and used to enjoy his cuddles as usual, until one day I noticed he smelt a bit funny. Actually he smelt terrible!

“Patrick, we need to do something about Bas, he stinks. Can we give him a bath?”

“He smells ok to me?”
he replied taking a good sniff.

“Honestly, can you not smell that?”
I was incredulous, it was so pungent.

“Honestly, no I can’t but we’ll give him a bath if you like”

Poor Basil was hauled up for an unexpected bath, completely indignant because he hadn’t even been rolling in mud for a change. Patrick had to do the honours because I couldn’t go near him.

“Ah that’s better”
I said, as a while later the two of them came downstairs slightly damp. “
Oh no, it’s not, take him outside to dry, its clinging to him”

“Alice, he’s fine, he smells of nothing but shampoo now”

But to me the air was full of this acrid, hot smell of intense doggyness, I couldn’t tolerate it.  “
Please please just put him outside for a bit”
I pleaded.

Now normally we think our dog smells gorgeous and sometimes the most comforting thing in the world is to get a sniff of him. He has the aroma of warm freshly baked ginger biscuits usually, unless he has been running hard and rolling in a muddy puddle after which he can get a bit ‘rabbit hutchy’. But he always smells warm and alive to us, even his ears smell like honey. We do worry sometimes that he can make our home a bit ‘doggy like’ to visitors and we have all manner of carpet sprays and air fresheners that claim to take it away. Because we live with him we don’t notice the smell and always worry that when someone comes round they will leave with ‘
yes, nice people but they could do with washing that dog a bit more often’
on their lips.

Oh dear, it seemed that my pregnancy meant I was experiencing some kind of heightened smell but only in relation to the dog. He reeked! I could hardly bear to be in the same room as him, how long would this last? Would I ever be able touch my dog again?

We went to the pet shop and bought every kind of anti-smell potion we could find, all flavoured with evening-primrose oil and anti-bacterial ingredients and the like. That poor dog was washed, brushed, sprayed and rubbed to within an inch of his life. Nothing worked. He had to move out of the bedroom as I couldn’t get a wink of sleep – my nose wrinkling in the dark as he snoozed near me. He was pushed off the sofa and couldn’t go near any clothes or cushions in case he contaminated things with his horrific smell.

After a couple of weeks we were all at our wit’s end. But I started to notice a subtle change, something else was taking over, I was now desperate to smell vinegar and found that helped with the smell of Basil. In fact I could cope with it. Mmmm lovely vinegar, if I could just keep it near me I couldn’t smell the dog. I quickly progressed from smelling it to putting it on my food, all of my food, on everything I could. I loved it, couldn’t get enough of it, I ate pickled onions by the handful. My thoughts were consumed with vinegar, not fancy stuff, not balsamic or raspberry but proper old brown malt. Soon I was drinking it straight. I could think of nothing nicer than sitting on the sofa with a big bowl of brown vinegar with some bits of bread to dip in it followed by slurping up the rest. I must have stunk worse than the dog? Basil would curl up on my feet and look at his weird mummy. Happily, I couldn’t smell him at all anymore.

If there was one real medical problem with my pregnancy, and it’s not really a problem, it was that my baby was a big one. In fact he was huge; he turned out to be nearly 11lbs huge. It made for a rather uncomfortable last couple of months. Now I am no fragile girl but it was tough. I honestly looked like I had swallowed a space hopper. I feared my body would never be the same again (and I was right).

Sleeping the three of us on the bed, in reality four, was becoming harder and harder as I tried to find a comfortable space for my huge self. If I
could
get to sleep I would wake up in the early hours, gasping for breath. An intense, claustrophobic feeling would steal over me as my huge host-body felt overwhelmed by this growing parasite. I couldn’t lie down, I couldn’t sit up, I couldn’t get away from it. I’d have to get out of the dark bedroom and stagger downstairs to run my wrists, thundering with hot and worried blood, under the cold tap and splash my face. Usually I would end up in the lounge knowing that there was no chance of sleep again that night. Trying to calm down and get my breath back I would have to get on all fours to pull the weight down off my lungs.

A little noise would let me know that Basil was also on his way down stairs to see what was up. Again I was thankful for his company, he would come over and sniff my face as I crouched on the floor, then get onto the sofa to watch me.  As soon as I was calm again and able to breathe I would go and join him. The two of us would then sit up cuddling until first light watching late night TV or listening to the radio. He’d even rest his head on my huge bump. Thank you boy.

I was still taking Basil to work with me at this point and we’d walk as far as I could from my home to the office. An absolutely massive pregnant woman with her big handbag and her large dog all trotting along. I was acutely aware that while I was in charge of two precious lives I was completely incapable of protecting any of us, I was so vulnerable and unwieldy. But still, I was supremely happy and as always reassured by the presence of my dog who thankfully never pulled me off my feet, I’d have gone down like a ton of bricks.

My due date came and went but baby and I kept on growing. And growing. My doctors were concerned (of course) and suggested that I needed to be induced sooner rather than later because the larger he got the harder it would be on the big day. No kidding!

Soon enough the day came and soon enough our son Stanley was born. And once again our lives were to change. If I had any doubts about being part of a family before, there was really no going back this time. Would this baby fit into our lives as well as the dog had? I knew you could just about stash a dog under a bar stool, but a Moses basket? Probably not so much. And you really can’t leave kiddies in kennels for three weeks can you? Not even really nice ones with webcams.