I’m pleased to
report all’s still going well with getting our dog used to his new life with
us.
We’re very fortunate he’s so good-natured as if he weren’t it might have given our
ineptitude away. It’s like those films where the downtrodden masses suddenly
realise they outnumber their aggressor and take over the planet, only in
dog form; we pray Elwood doesn’t cotton onto the fact he’s massive and we’re puny or someone will wind up kicking down
our front door in years to come to find our skeletons reclaimed as
dog treats.
(Sleep well,
children.)
Today, I took him
out for a good hour-long walk, which he seemed to appreciate, though it proved stressful at times because I hadn’t planned a route, so I found
myself having to negotiate tight spots and steer him away from some chavvy
looking gardens. This is the downside to him being so massive: he’s like the
canine equivalent to a lorry with a long vehicle sign at the tail-end of it; you sometimes have to orchestrate a fifteen-point turn.
 |
| Elwood looks good in blue (though he's not a Tory). |
While the whole
walk wasn’t plain-sailing (though I’m nitpicking really), it’s fair to say
we’re bonding; something that has gained in force over the past
few days. He’s very sweet and easygoing and doesn’t make much telling to do
something, save for when it’s time for bed and I want him to vacate the sofa so
I can set up camp there (something the shelter suggested we try to help him settle
in his new home); even then he moves eventually and is just trying it on. Last
night he decided to settle down on the floor beneath the sofa I was sleeping
on, so I had the honour of being guarded
and protected by my new best friend (though he barely acknowledges someone
knocking at the door, let alone savaging me).
