One evening, Churchill whom we know from our many walks together came to stay. We didn’t know why. We didn’t ask. We didn’t bark at him. We just hung around as he ran into our home and looked disoriented.
Thankfully, Churchill knows us but it still did not stop him from being stressed out from the day’s events.
But Mummy had not learnt his body language yet because she couldn’t tell that he needed to go out. He let out four big piles of very soft, very dark brown stools – on the pale green and cream bedroom carpet. Mummy let out a shriek but knew it was not his fault.
All of that first night, Churchill had the runs. We think he was simply stressed from a day of uncertainty and lots and lots of commotion. At midnight, at 3am, and at 5am, every time he cried, Mummy jumped out of bed and ran out of the flat and out the courtyard where he went splat! Runny poos alright! And after the last one at 5am, 30 minutes later, he was crying again. Mummy thought – it can’t be – he can’t have anything else inside him to come out. This time he got sick and threw up – into his cone! Oy vey! Soon after that, he settled and he even came into Mummy’s bedroom, where he laid down by the side of the bed.
We were all half awake from the daylight streaming into the room but we were half asleep because we’ve all been up all night. We laid there – just waiting till it was time to get up.
Finally, the alarm went and we swung into action. The day had begun. Churchill happily gulped down his breakfast alongside us. He has been for walks everyday, like he always does with our dog walker, Joanna. That was his only routine after we met him quite by accident on the street. He does love playing with balls.
He doesn’t ask for much because he has never had a lot. But since he came to stay, he has played with our whole basket of toys, scattering them all over the hall. We have no idea how long he will be staying with us … but we can only hope that things will be worked out. In the meantime, I remember how once upon a time I had a real bed like this one. Where I did not have to curl up and squeeze into it. Ahhh, Churchill, may I use it while you’re staying with us?
But George, I’ll let him tell his side of the story. He’s not so enamoured by the idea. Maybe now he knows how I felt when he bounced into my quiet life.
May’s comment: On the first night Churchill came to stay at mine while we await the next steps for him, I looked at this little chap lying on my floor – fast asleep exhausted from the day’s event. He had no idea what was happening to him except there was a lot of commotion. He didn’t necessarily know it was about him but he must have sensed the vibes because that night he had the runs. Needless to say, we both didn’t sleep well.
I did wonder if it was switching him to raw but apparently not. After he excreted his stress, out came the most beautifully formed stools! As Joanna reported back – they looked like Darcy’s poos! LOL! We hope this will also help his eczema.
It’s been five days now that he’s been staying with us till his future is being determined. With each passing night, he feels more and more at home.I love watching him sleep so peacefully.He was never physically abused but mentally he had been anxious. We think he had however coped incredibly well. He had learnt to be independent, he had honed his survival skills. He doesn’t really get affection.
We have no idea what it will be for him. For now, between Joanna our dog walker, Darcy & George for keeping him company, and friends looking in, we give him a routine, and we give him love and acceptance. He has already been on playdates with other dogs he knows.Crumpet even shared some of his toys with Churchill. Churchill came to us with all his belongings – a bed that made sense after insisting he needed a proper bed, a stash of coats that made no sense except for the Equafleeces that we got him, packets of medication that was supposed to make him calm (we chucked them all away), pet gates that were used to keep him confined, and three toys – one that Joanna bought him for Valentine’s Day. One from me. And a tennis ball.
Wait a minute, I suddenly asked myself today. Does this classify as “fostering”? Sort of, I suppose. But it is a team effort to keep him safe, exercised, fed and loved. No, I am not keeping him but I hope wherever he goes to next, we will be able to keep in touch with him. He deserves more. He’s a good dog, not in the least aggressive. He’s not yet two.