There comes a time in most people’s lives when you realise, with a certain amount of shock, that you are, to all extents and purposes, a (vaguely) responsible adult. You could have an ISA, a hedge trimmer, or even a baby. But you think perhaps you better start small, maybe just knee high.
And so it begins something like this:
You tell your one friend who has a dog your brilliant idea:
You buy a (modern) dog training manual and decide that you are going to be the most Zen puppy owner in the neighbourhood, moulding your new pack member into shape by wielding your calm, assertive energy. You will be firm, but kind, and it will look up to you as it’s pack leader; it will rush to obey your commands; it will respect your rules… It won’t be allowed on the bed.
Your dog dream is a pure, shiny, innocent bubble and you don’t allow anyone to burst it.
You don’t yet know that there will be no long, sunny walks because puppies aren’t allowed more than twenty minutes exercise a day. You haven’t found out yet that if you let her run free on the beach then within ten seconds she’ll have eaten a couple’s picnic and jumped inside a pram. You have no idea that you’re not going to be able to lie down and relax anywhere, least of all on your edible lawn, whilst a puppy punishes the surrounding fauna with her natural curiosity. And, blissfully, you are yet to experience that specific shame made especially for the moment when your puppy decides to go to the toilet under the table of the family eating dinner in the pub.
For now you are in your dog dream bubble and you bounce excitedly about it like a shih tzu on a trampoline.