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🐕VERONIQUE🐕
I was minding my own business, pottering about with some good old Sunday afternoon prep for the upcoming week. I had the back and front doors propped open; the joys of living on a quiet cul-de-sac, with my front door tucked on the side of the house so it’s not obvious. The through breeze is delicious and I just can’t help myself on a lovely day like this, no matter what they say about who could walk in when I do this and how vulnerable an old lady is when living alone. I’m in the kitchen, working my way through chopping veg for a vat of soup that will serve as this week’s lunches, while also waiting for some bread to rise in the airing cupboard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of gold at about knee height and I turn around quickly to see something I didn’t expect. A golden retriever has just come into my house through the open front door - I suppose you never can be too careful about who’s going to come in after all. I watch, honestly curious about the approach of the dog rather than concerned about it, as the creature does one lap of the living room before turning three times on the spot and curling up in front of the unlit fireplace, where it promptly falls asleep.
I’m not going anywhere this afternoon, and I’ve still got the bread to get into the oven, so as unexpected as my visitor is, it’s not hurting anything and it appears to just be here for a nap. It’s clean and has a collar, which I’ll try to inspect when I’m not concerned about waking it up to at least see if it has a name, not least because it will mean I can stop calling it ‘it’.
I pop back into the kitchen to check on the soup and start the workout of kneading the bread and getting it formed into the tins for a second prove. The dog stays silent throughout and doesn’t stir.
I’m just getting the bread out of the oven when I hear movement from the living room and a quick jingle of tags, as the dog apparently wakes from its nap and shakes off the sleep. Without a backward glance it walks back out through my still open door and leaves.
The mystery of my unexpected visitor is likely going to remain a mystery. Or at least, so I thought.
🐕NICK🐕
“Papa, what’s seven times three hundred and seventeen?” Bailey asks from across the living room.
“Waaaahhhh,” Alesia whines from over in her bouncer.
“I don’t have the answer to that off the top of my head, Bailey, do you want to try to work it out? What’s making you ask?” I call out to him, still trying to make sure that I’ve got peanut butter on the right proportions of the bread and everything cut into the right triangles so that this sandwich might actually get eaten.
“Alesia, darling, I’ll be right there, we’re going to have lunch in just a minute.” Charlie’s countering from where he’s getting apples cut up into the right little segments, along with carrots in rounds not sticks because sticks are yucky. Untrue and absolutely unfair in my opinion, but I’m not a choosy kid. We’ve already got Alesia’s food ready, we just need to launch into eating.
“I don’t know, I just was wondering. Did you know that purple isn’t actually a colour?” Bailey says, shifting his question now that he knows he’s not getting me to do mental maths just for the fun of it.
“Da Da Da Da Da Da!” Alesia whines at Charlie, standing straight up and stomping her little feet and making the bouncer rocket around, increasing frustration on her little perfect face.
“I’m sorry, Bailey, what do you mean there’s no such thing as purple?” I ask him, knowing that he genuinely wants to tell me.
“It’s not like red and blue, they’re real, purple is just our brains mixing up red and blue.”
That actually is fascinating and I want to know more, but the baby’s crying and there really is just too much going on. “Bailey, I really am curious and look forward to learning more about this. Right now, it’s lunchtime so can you come and sit at the table and eat your sandwich? Char, do you want me to get Alesia started?”
As I say this, though, Charlie is already rescuing our squirming daughter from her bouncy prison and depositing her in her high chair. We hand her her spoon and she proceeds to use her hands anyway, waving the spoon triumphantly as she smears broccoli, carrot and black beans all around her face, the tray, her hair and her outfit. We definitely should have stripped her down to her nappy for this one. Rookie move and testament to how frantic meal times can sometimes feel.
I look over at Charlie and we share a quick conversational glance.
This is nuts, what made us think two would be a good idea?
They’re amazing, you take that back!
They are amazing, but my goodness, it’s not just twice the work, it’s so much more!
I know, but it’s so much fun, even when it’s hectic.
I love you!
I love you too, sap!
Your sap, and now you’re stuck with me!
I blow him a kiss as he grins at me across the table before getting distracted as a mushy broccoli floret gets lobbed in his direction, Alesia squealing in delight.
I turn to our son. “Right, Bailey, tell me more about purple. Do you mean that it doesn’t have its own wavelength?” I ask him, now that he’s halfway through his sandwich.
“Yes, that’s right, wavelength. Blue and red have one of those, purple doesn’t. Our eyes just make up purple.”
“That really is interesting, baby, I didn’t know that.”
“I read about it in my space book.” He looks at me a few seconds longer, his head on one side before asking, “are you always going to call me baby?”
“Probably. I think so, unless you really don’t like it. You’ll always be my baby, even when you’re all grown up.” I watch his face as he processes that. “I mean it, though, if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“I don’t think I quite understand how I’ll be a baby and a grown up … but I don’t mind.”
“Thank you, darling. I don’t think it really makes sense to me either, it’s more of a feeling, from when I was holding you when you were brand new and something about that just won’t go away.”
“Okay, Papa,” he says, turning his attention back to his sandwich.
My sweet boy.
After lunch and the inevitable clean up. Alesia is settled in for a nap and Bailey is colouring at the table. Charlie and I have just managed to sit down after finding the living room again under the usual piles of random detritus that build up as the kids play throughout the morning.
I look around the room then and realise that we’ve just sat through most of lunchtime, and the chaos of prepping for lunchtime, and Daisy is not hovering around under the table. There’s simply no way that dog, new to us as she is, would not be waiting for the inevitable scraps that Alesia sprays around the circumference of her chair.
I look over at Charlie. “Have you seen Daisy?”
“Oh, you’re right, where is she? She didn’t show up to lick Ale’s feet waiting for a grab at her spoon. That’s not like her.”
We’ve only had Daisy a little while, we rescued her knowing that a puppy was out of the question with two small humans and she came with the promise that she was good with kids. This has proven to be true. She’s so tolerant of them, letting them tug on her and lying quietly when Alesia pets her rather more abruptly than would be preferable. She’s getting more mobile now, though, and Daisy has occasionally taken herself out of more vigorous play moments.
“Daisy!” I call out, but the house is really quiet. We’ve had the doors open for the breeze, and because Bailey is in and out of the back garden anyway. It saves on potential for slammed doors on tiny fingers. I get up from the table and go and check the little back garden to see if Daisy has just found a puddle of sun to bask in.
I don’t see her and I’m actually a little concerned as I start to do a quick whip around the house.
“Char, seriously, she’s not here. Did you see her leave through the front door? I knew I was taking a risk leaving that open, but we’ve done it before and she’s never shown any signs of making a bolt for it.”
“Calm down, babe, we’ll find her. It’s not a busy road, so if she did go out the front door she isn’t out in traffic. You stay here and I’ll go and see if I can spot her.” Charlie is so calm, and I know I should try to borrow that energy, but Daisy is our dog and I don’t know where she is and that’s got my heart racing.
I sit back down again, starting to pull up resources on my phone for how to track down a lost dog, reminding myself that she’s chipped and all her vet and vaccination records are in there and I’ve calmed down a little by the time Charlie comes back. He doesn’t have Daisy with him.
I’m starting to really dive into who I need to call to track down a lost dog, to find out if she’s been turned in at a police station, or the local shelter where we got her or local vets to see if she’s been run over when Daisy walks back into the house as if she was never away. She looks serene, calm in a way that doesn’t indicate that she’s had any kind of adventure, and yet she’s been gone for what must have been a couple of hours.
“Daisy-girl!” I exclaim, pouncing on her, and startling her in the process as my exuberance and relief at her return cause me to move more suddenly than I mean to. “Where did you go, Dais, you’ve been gone ages!”
She doesn’t answer. She’s a dog. The mystery may remain a mystery, but she’s home and that’s what matters.
🐕VERONIQUE🐕
It’s been a week or so since the dog arrived, napped in my living room and then left again. I think it’s about that long. Time really is an illusion when one has no work-life to define the days anymore so who actually knows. Anyway, it’s another glorious day and I’ve got the doors open as I do one of my regular full house deep cleans. I’ve got the washing line out, with sheets and towels drying in the heavenly breeze that’s floating through the air. Bringing with it the scents of the roses and the sounds of children squealing to each other in joy. Ah, to be young again.
I’m just pulling down one load of dry things, ready to hang up the next load of washing, when I glance back through the house and see the golden shape arrive at the door. I step up towards the backdoor, from where I can see into the living room, and sure enough the dog curls back up in the same spot it had used the first time and lays its head on its paws and falls asleep.
I’m more intrigued now, because this places the dog’s origins on the cul-de-sac, otherwise how’s it out in the front of anyone’s house. It’s a beautiful dog, and as long as its hair is there’s no way it’s a stray, it would be matted with debris and all sorts of muck if it had been out on the street. Its owners probably live on the street and they’re doing exactly what I’m doing and taking advantage of the quiet and the breeze to get some air through the house by leaving the front door open.
I finish with the washing and figure out my approach. Now that this has happened twice, I’m determined to figure out the backstory. I step into the house softly, put the washing basket by the stairs ready to take up with me, and head to the sideboard where I keep my notebook for shopping lists and other reminders.
I start to write and then I’m struck by the realisation that I still don’t know the dog’s gender or its name. I walk softly over to its quiet, sleeping form and gently reach for the collar, pulling enough to reveal the tag. Daisy. Okay, that’s the gender and its name sorted, or at least I’m going to assume that it is. Yes, I know, in this day and age making assumptions about gender from a name is very rude, and honestly I wouldn’t if this were someone I could ask, but reaching for her collar felt invasive enough, and reaching under her leg to check her seems extreme in the face of a name like Daisy. Maybe I should talk to the lovely boys down at the end, they’ve helped me keep up with the etiquette, even helped me make sure I knew all my pronouns.
Right, either way, Daisy it is and now I can write my note.
To Daisy’s owner(s)
I want to start by saying that this isn’t a problem, she’s not hurting anything and is absolutely no trouble. Less than no trouble in fact. Either way, I wasn’t sure that you were aware that twice now, Daisy has come around to my house and curled up in a corner of my living room. She seems to simply sleep and when she’s done with her nap she gets up and trots off again.
As I say, she’s no trouble and she just stays long enough for a snooze, but I don’t want you worrying about where she is.
Veronique - from 22 Melody Way
I folded up the note and took one of the clothes pegs from the washing and used it to attach the note to Daisy’s collar. I made sure it was on the back of her neck, thinking that placement had the best chance of staying attached until she got home, but also being visible to her owners.
It was about an hour later when Daisy lifted her head, gave her body a full stretch, and then got up and padded out of the door, taking herself, and my note, home.
🐕NICK🐕
Daisy has been gone again and I’ve tried not to panic this time. Charlie’s out at the park with the kids, while I get some work done weeding the beds out front and mowing the grass. She came back on her own last time and she came back without any negative impacts whatsoever. She actually seemed more calm, more prepared to be around the kids. It was like she went somewhere that made her feel safe. So this time, when I notice that she’s not in the house, I’m staying distracted and banking on her doing the same thing.
Nonetheless, I’m relieved when she does stroll into the house this time. Again, she looks so calm, the way she looks when she’s just woken up from a really good nap. I give her a cuddle around the neck and a piece of paper scratches my cheek. I notice the peg on her collar, and the note. Opening it, I laugh out loud, and I’m still laughing when Charlie and the kids arrive in a flurry of bags and water bottles and shoes strewn anywhere in the doorway.
“Bailey Nelson-Spring, you come back down from your room and put your shoes away, sir,” Charlie calls up the stairs to where the retreating back of our son can be seen. He slumps over and trudges back down the stairs, picking up his shoes and putting them on the rack in the hall. “Thank you. Right, off you go.”
As Bailey heads upstairs again Charlie turns to me, “I promised him a little alone time, the park was a lot today and Ale just wanted to crawl around wherever he was. I tried to keep her in the swing and that worked for a bit, but you know what she’s like with bubba, she wants to be around him all the time. I think he needs a little kid-sister free time.”
“That’s fair. Char, listen. Daisy got out again. I was out in the front garden, I’m not sure how she slipped past me, but anyway, she did. She came back just before you did and this note was attached to her collar.”
I hand it to him and wait for his face to do what mine had, and sure enough his beautiful dimples deepen as he grins and then laughs out loud.
“Sweet Veronique, of course Daisy has been going there. The house of zen, are you kidding, she’d be in heaven over there.”
“We have to do something to say thank you!” I say, utterly agreeing that Daisy has just proven how smart she is.
“Maybe we can write a note back, leave it on Daisy’s collar for the next time she goes walkabout.”
“That’s a great idea, Char. I’ll grab a pad.”
🐕Veronique🐕
I wasn’t sure what I expected to come of the note. Maybe for an owner to show up at the door to have words with me for harboring their dog, even though she’d been free to leave at any time. Maybe an apology, even though I’d said she was no trouble. I didn’t have to wait long to find out, though, as it was only the next day when Daisy showed up again. I didn’t have the door open this time, but I was coming down the stairs and saw her approaching through the frosted glass of the front door. I went over and opened the door, only for her to walk past me and straight over to her spot in the living room where she turned around three times and settled in with her head under her front paw.
I gave her a few moments to settle in and then went over and checked her collar, curious to see if the response to my note was a return note. Sure enough, using my clothes peg to secure it, was a note. I unfolded it and read:
To Veronique
We are so grateful to you for sending Daisy home with a note so that we’d know where she’s been going. It has been quite the mystery. We are also grateful to you for saying she’s been no trouble, that is also a relief. We had visions, except both times she has seemed to come back serene rather than hyper and that’s not something she’s had a lot of time for since we adopted her.
For context, and I suppose the reason that she’s also there right now to respond to your note, we have two children, as you know, and the littlest just started crawling. Daisy is her favourite thing in the world to mess with, and unfortunately for Daisy it means she gets very little in the way of peace at home.
If you honestly don’t mind her coming over sometimes for a kid-free snooze, then let us know. I know she’ll appreciate it.
Nick and Charlie from 34 Melody Drive
I smile as I read the note because so many things now make sense. The boys had mentioned that they were thinking about a dog for the kids, I just hadn’t seen her around as yet. Even the most tolerant dog has to need a break from being the best toy ever, so if Daisy is going to come over and snooze the afternoon away sometimes, that’s no skin off my nose.
Smiling softly as Daisy chases bunnies in her dream, her legs twitching as she snuffles quietly, I settle down in my armchair with my current who-done-it.