Behind the closed door...

When I adopted Caesar I thought that owning a dog was all about; nice walks, fun training sessions, cuddles and companionship.  I'm not going to say it wasn't about these things.  Because I'd say these things account for around 50% of our relationship.  The rest is based around; compromise, sacrifice and forgiveness.  And these things must come from both of us.  Let me explain:

It's 3am and I'm at work tomorrow.  Caesar has just thrown up on the carpet.  I know why he's thrown up.  It's because yesterday, when I was at work, he broke down a door and ate a lot of sweets.  Sweets that I know he shouldn't have eaten.  He's been wearing a smile on his face ever since.  I know when the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile-like shape he is feeling sick and I've been waiting for this moment since 10pm.  Waiting to fall into a deep sleep.  I can't.

Caesar shouldn't even be upstairs. When I first got him, those were the rules; no coming upstairs, no going on the furniture and certainly no sleeping in the bed.  Those things changed when I realised the battle I had with Caesar.  People say 'pick your battles' and I totally agree.  It seemed important to Caesar to be close to us.  He wasn't content with sitting at our feet, he wanted to be sitting on our laps or cuddled under our arms.  At first, we would sit on the floor to give him this closeness and he was content with that.  But more for our own sake than his, it eventually became easier to allow him to come up on the sofa for a cuddle.  He began coming to bed when we realised how difficult he found sleeping alone.  He would cry and whine in the night and, although we thought he would grow out of it, it actually got worse as he got to know us more.  So here we are at 3am, Caesar and I, upstairs, in the bedroom and he's just, politely (I suppose), jumped off the bed and puked on the carpet.

From not coming upstairs to not coming in bed to sleeping by my side every night....feelings change...

It's not nice throwing up at 3am.  I, as you probably will too, know this.  So I can't feel cross with Caesar.  I'd like to say he has learnt his lesson, but know that his innate behaviour forces him to go looking for food.  He will eat foods that are poisonous to him and, what's more, if there's no one about, he will carry on eating them until they have gone.  Just read 'Saving Caesar: What about GDV?' to find out what happened the last time Caesar got hold of unlimited amounts of food.

So am I angry with Caesar?  No.  I'm angry with myself.  Clearly I'm not clever enough to outsmart him.  Immediately I'm thinking of a plan B.... Although this time it's more like a plan Z.  I've run out of letters now.  But I will keep trying.  This relationship is about compromise.  If I don't do my job properly, he lets me know by eating the contents of my kitchen and then throwing up.  Harmony is only achieved when I put in enough stops and he stops himself enough; I have no doubt that Caesar could break a door down if he needed to.

 Caesar looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth...

So last week the balance of our lives was upset when Damien was suddenly called away to France.  And all hell broke loose in our house.  I was trying to make things easy for Damien by acting as if everything was fine.  But, the longer he was gone, the less alright everything began to get.  Every day, my sister, who was staying with me, would return to the house at lunch time not knowing what she would find.  By the end of the first day, the baby gate which was supposed to prevent Caesar from coming downstairs had been broken off the wall.  And, on the third day she returned to find that the gate holding Caesar back from the dining room had been pulled over and the dining room door was ajar.

What's this???

If I had to choose a word to describe how the dining room looked it would be 'disastrous' but I don't really feel that even this does the state of the room justice.  Suffice to say that, when I returned from work that evening, I took one look into the room before shutting the door and saying, half to the dog and half to myself, "I can't cope with this now..."  It wasn't until later that I was able to bring myself to evaluate the damage.

Summary of the damage:
1 x Christmas present eaten (box of chocolates wrapped for a friend) - I found the wrappers in the garden a couple of days later...
1 x Christmas ornament broken (by trampling???)
1 x coolbox (belonging to said friend), opened and chewed around the rim
1 x coat pocket missing - chewed from the inside...
1 x poo in the corner (!!!) - embarrassingly didn't find this until days later!!
1 x rucsac missing handles and inner pockets
1 x upturned mug (thankfully not broken but nice sachet of hot drink MIA...)
1 x box upturned with contents all over the floor
Various papers of unknown origin chewed up and spat out...

Had I realised that he had eaten a whole box of chocolates including the wrappers at the time, I would have rushed him to the vet.  However, as it happened, I didn't realise that there was anything edible in the dining room until much after the incident when wrappers started appearing in piles in the garden...By which time, of course, they'd already been through his system!  That taught me to check next time.  Though, I must admit, I was a little glad that I'd missed that little bit of drama!

It's a little bit of a sore subject how many of the items got into the dining room though, that being said, I was fairly convinced that Caesar wouldn't be getting into there in a hurry with a large cage barring entry and a high door handle.  However, Caesar proves time and time again that Caesar does as Caesar pleases.  And, though these items had been months in the dining room, it seems that something as simple as Damien leaving for the week can cause a major change in Caesar's behaviour.

So; compromise, sacrifice and forgiveness.

Compromise; maybe you can come to bed if you find it so difficult to be alone.

Sacrifice:  I'll give up a nights sleep to be by your side when you're sick.

Forgiveness:  I'll forgive you for throwing up on my carpet and eating my sweets if you can forgive me for leaving them where you could get to them.

Whose house is it anyway?

It's been a busy few months here in Caesar's castle as we've been getting prepared for some pretty serious work to be done.  Basically, if we don't replace the windows fairly soon, they're going to fall out!  So we had to make a few calls.  And we knew that we were going to have to deal with salesmen coming to the house - a worst nightmare for an owner of a dog like Caesar because it means that we had to;
1.  Face salesmen alone or face salesmen being knocked over by huge bouncy staffy
2.  Spend the next few days identifying knickers/socks that Caesar has stolen and putting them in the wash/bin - depending on how badly chewed they are.
3.  Find ways around having huge bouncy dog/salesman in the same room....

When we bought the house we had no idea that we would ever end up owning a dog, let alone a slightly unhinged rescue dog who isn't entirely well behaved, particularly in the presence of strangers.  And, in the first few months of owning the place we flew through our jobs quickly.  Then, a few months later, we got Caesar and he set about undoing all of our hard work; peeing on new carpets, pulling wires away from walls, scratching sofas, scratching tables, standing on window sills and generally making the place look as much like his kennel as he could manage; a home from home if you will.

For a while, I thought I didn't really care.  After all, if my rugs are constantly covered in dog hair and my table has a few scratches, it doesn't affect my quality of life.  I enjoy Caesar and, while I wish he would refrain, I'd rather have him here than not.

So what if everything's a mess?  You only live once!

This was all well and good until a few months ago when I suddenly remembered Plan A.  Plan A started 4 years ago when I found a wonderful dorma bungalow with whitewashed walls and a conservatory.  It met every one of my criteria for a new home in its own quirky little way; yes it had a nice bathroom, but it was downstairs.  It also had 2 bedrooms, but they were smallish and unimaginative in shape and size.  It had double glazing, a conservatory, a garden and a new(ish) boiler that seemed to have been given its own little room.  And, I was very keen on the fact it sat neatly in a cul-de-sac.  After seeing it twice, we put an offer in for around £5000 below asking price which was declined immediately.

I talked about growing red roses round the door and making a sun room out of the conservatory.  I had plans to modernise it and make it appealing as a first home.  When my offer was declined, I decided to see one more house to be certain I was making the right decision.  If it were on a home buyers show it would be the 'wild card'.  It was an eighty year old end terrace with single glazed windows, a boiler that was just about still clanging away, a roof that seemed to have been there since it was built and the remains of an air raid shelter in the depressing yard.

I blame the stained glass window in the hall for the fact that 6 weeks later we owned it...

For a moment, I turned into Kevin McCloud.  We were building a conservatory, we were knocking walls down here and there.  We were having new windows, a new boiler, a new bathroom which would combine parts of the hall, bedroom, toilet and existing bathroom to create a new space.  I forgot that, unlike Kevin McCloud, I have neither the skills nor the money to put any of this into place...

And now, 4 years on, here I am sitting in front of an eighty-four year old single-glazed, stained-glass window that it looks like it's going to cost me over £1000 to replace.  And, if Caesar doesn't stop sitting on it and barking at other dogs out of the window, the time for this will come sooner rather than later!

Plan A involved buying the house, fixing it up internally and externally, and selling it on in order to do the same again in a house with more space, more land and a better location.  When I adopted Caesar I lost sight of all of this.  And it was only a short time ago that it came back to me.  A sharp shock that reminded me that I hadn't planned to be here forever.  And, that, really, a nice garden and a bit more space would do Caesar some good too.

Caesar making the most of our little yard by sitting in the planter!

This is when I desperately started calling double glazing companies.  Forget three quotes; I decided to get quote after quote until someone came back with something that was appealing enough to make our ears prick up.  Then I realised the consequences of what I'd done.  I'd asked more than a handful of salesman into our house.  And, thus, into Caesar's lair.

Now, Caesar is lovely with people.  I would trust him to the end of the earth not to hurt them.  At least not intentionally.  However, he is a big lollopy dog who thinks he's a small lollopy dog and, despite being all of 20kg, likes to sit on peoples knees...

Salesman 1: 
Tactic: Outdoor kennel
Result:
A full hour of squealing, squawking, howling and barking that is enough to make any neighbor a little bit angry....good job we're planning to move after all this work!  Salesman spent a lot of time asking where the dog was and if he'd be able to get to him.

Salesman 2:
Tactic: Send Damien out with him for a walk
Result:
A very cold Damien after salesman stayed for a fairly long time and it was windy outside!  Finally called Damien an hour later to say he'd gone.

Salesman 3:
Tactic:  Large crate in the lounge (salesman said he 'loved' dogs)
Result:
Caesar cried and barked and carried on, causing the salesman to nervously ask why he was making those noises.  When I replied, "he's a staffy, they do, and just very excited,"he said "OK, let him out..."  2 minutes later, could I put him away again?  Perhaps at this point I should have pointed out that he actually lives here and I had warned him about the fact we had dogs and that he said he LOVED dogs and it was fine.  Perhaps he didn't expect Caesar to be that kind of dog...

Who knows, but Caesar spent the next hour or so, as he haggled and scribbled and drank tea, locked in his cage.  And, continued to make that noise for the whole time.  Can you blame him?

Salesman 4
Tactic: After previous salesman, the decision was to send Caesar for a walk with Damien again.  This didn't work as intended because the salesman was half an hour late, which meant that Caesar returned just after he arrived.  And then became very excited and very vocal at which point the man calmly said 'I'm not sure I like the look of him...'  At this point, he was still on his lead!  So, Caesar went back in the cage and the salesman steered clear of him for the most part.

Kicked off his usual snoozing spot - no wonder he was crying!

So which tactic worked the best?  Definitely, with a noisy dog, the cage is not the best option.  As, they begin to look like some scary zoo animal that nobody really wants to get very close to.  And, this becomes equally interesting when you have a salesman who is not sure he likes the look of him and Caesar, obviously pawing at the locks and attempting some kind of Houdi-style escape...

Walks are a great idea but of course that means that one person is left alone to tackle salesman speak and tea making and pointless haggling.  It also relies on the salesman being on time for the meeting otherwise, a short afternoon walk, can turn into a midday hike.  And, particularly in adverse weather conditions, this can be awful!

What about putting the dog outdoors?  This, again, depends on the dog.  It did not work with Caesar as he became very vocal and agitated, this then put him in an elevated state when he returned into the house.  And, probably didn't do us any favours with the neighbours either.

Finally, leave him roaming around the house?  I didn't try this one but I've got a feeling my window quotes may have been a few hundred pounds more had I let him bother salesmen...

What, I'm not meeting them?  But I got dressed up and everything!

Why SARA?

Choosing a rescue centre can be difficult.  And, for more unsure people, like me, intimidating.  National rescue organisations produce nerve wracking guidelines for new owners specifying the amount of time that they should be at home as well as other duties that need to be carried out.  And, this is what put me off even trying to adopt from one of these.  I felt irresponsible before I'd even spoken to the organisation about the plans I had in place for caring for the animal while I was working.  The fact was stated there in black and white, I worked full time and therefore wasn't a suitable owner.

This was disheartening.  I'd always wanted a pet and working full time was the only way of financially affording to look after a pet properly.  I was stuck and didn't dare to approach an organisation for fear that I'd be shot down with the bullet of "unsuitability".  It was my aunt who called SARA for the first time asking if I could go for a chat.  They were local and she felt would have time to listen to my circumstances and help me to make the right decision.  She also assured me that, in 2012 (as it was then), most modern couples worked and that meant that we were responsible people with a steady income who could care for a pet.  It did seem to make sense.

One of our first walks with Caesar at SARA

I found SARA (Saltburn animal rescue association) less than a mile from my home, hiding on a farm up a small track that I'd driven past a hundred times and never so much as glanced at.  I was nervous when I got there and worried that I might be shot down.  The only confidence that I felt was that I had things in place for while I was at work should I be allowed to adopt; my dad had agreed to spend time at the house or take the dog to his own home and, if that didn't work out, I could hire a dog walker.  Did that still make me unsuitable?

SARA helped me to create a care plan for Caesar and, later, when he wasn't reacting well to it, adapt it.  They did a home check but, beforehand, explained to me it's purpose; to ensure that I wasn't hoarding millions of dogs/pets and that I lived in a home that was big enough for a dog.  They laughed when I recounted internet posts that I had read about the horrors of being asked millions of questions.  They even loaned me a crate to get started with helping Caesar feel comfortable while I was away.  The seemed assured that my heart was in the right place and that I would look after this dog to the best of my ability whether I be employed full time or not.

The support from SARA didn't end when we walked through the gates with Caesar though.  Weeks after, I was still in contact with the centre as they battled to help me settle him in; they introduced me to a dog trainer and offered me some one-to-one sessions, they counselled me on the phone for hours after Caesar had had a mishap.  And, they invited me to bring him back to the centre for them to check out.  I still visit SARA now and again and the first question they ask when I get there is "how are Caesar and Gemma?"  The form that I signed on their adoption told me that, if anything should happen to me, Caesar and Gemma will have a place in their care until the next caring owner comes along.  This is the kind of reassurance that a new owner needs - the stabalisers on a brand new bike, if you like.  And it's something that can only be offered by a caring adoption centre.

Most importantly, a trip to the centre proved that SARA knew their dogs.  They genuinely cared for Caesar, I could tell that as soon as they brought him for me to look at.  This care was extended to the rest of the dogs who they would casually and warmly chat about in the offices.  The and cats lived on a farm surrounded by greenery and a lovely forest path; if I was a homeless animal, I am hard pushed to imagine somewhere better to be temporarily homed.

But, perhaps the biggest reason for my loving this rescue is that they saved both Caesar and Gemma from the pound.  Volunteers kept Caesar from being taken when there was no kennel space and staff brought Gemma from the pound to be cared for at the farm.  They then had her checked over by vets and began to investigate her weight loss.  In order to make her more adoptable as an old, scrawny looking lady with a lot of missing teeth; they offered the little dog a pension plan to cover and age-related or pre-existing medical conditions.  Since, I've seen this happen on numerous occasions.  Gemma would have sat at the pound until she could no longer because she was scrawny, ill looking and old, SARA gave her more than a second chance.

And, goodness know what would have happened had Caesar ended up there; an entire male who couldn't help himself from bouncing off the walls.  Who's hands would he have ended up in?  That being said, Caesar ended up in my hands; and SARA have been there all of the way.

Today is the last day to make a donation to SARA.  I wanted to celebrate all of the wonderful people who took part in the advent calendar project and who have donated so far.  If you can find it in your heart to give a few pounds to SARA in the name of 'Saving Caesar' please donate here:

Click here to go to Saving Caesar's SARA donation page

And, for more information about this wonderful centre, click here.

The unanswered question...

I'm sitting at my laptop with Google open in front of me.  The same questions have been spinning in my mind for months.  The problem is, I don't exactly know if I want to know the answer.  If I did ever find out, I'm not sure I'd know what to do with the information either but that doesn't seem to stop me from searching.

"Lost dogs" I type, popping the name of surrounding towns into the box one after the other.  Each one comes up blank.  "Missing dog", "stolen dog".  I don't want to believe that someone didn't want him.  I want to believe that he was taken by some do-gooder and tied to the fence at the rescue centre.  Or that he got lost and someone with the best intention took him and tied him to the gate.  The common denominator is that in all of my visions he was not unwanted.

Caesar and I built an unbreakable bond in our first few weeks of being together.

Although it might sound pathetic, it hurts me to think that someone made a conscious decision to leave him.  To tie him to that fence, to listen to him screeching so loud that he was heard at the nearby farmhouse and to turn their back and walk away.  And, although this worked in my favour in the end, I hope beyond hope that whoever they are, they realise the mistake that they made.

Could you look into those eyes and walk away?

"I don't know how you kept him," people will say, "after all he did to your house..."  Other's will imply I'm some sort of saint, "I couldn't have done it..." they will tell me.  My answer is always the same, "I couldn't have taken him back and you wouldn't have either."  But I'm not a saint.  Not even close.  You see, there's no denying that no matter how badly behaved he has been; Caesar gets under your skin.  I don't understand how anyone could let him go.