Pregnancy and the puppy

Military Man is sleeping with someone else. 

 His new new bed partner in question has ridiculously large ears, black ringed, dark, doleful eyes and a beautiful tan coloured body...with a few white and black patches.

 I have been supplanted from my side of the kingsize by a Beagle named Smeagol.

Let's just get one thing straight; Smeagol is cute...far cuter than his murderously skulking namesake. It's the ears that do it - all floppy and softer than velvet making me seriously consider Cruella De-Vil type plans to use his ears to make a tiny but silky soft pillow. (I never would...though I do tend to rub my cheeks up against his ears a lot. That's normal, yes?)

Smeagol has been part of our little ohana for six weeks now and he's settled in well. We've crate trained him so that he sleeps unaided and very peacefully in his cushioned crate, surrounded by toys, for several hours each night. He's toilet trained and whimpers every so quietly at the back door if he needs to go and spend a penny in the garden and he can sit on command.

Smeagol the Beagle

But before you roll your eyes and believe me to be one of those weird puppy parents who shares ice cream cones with their canine pals, let me paint you a truer puppy picture. 

Smeagol is damn hard work. 

Firstly, he doesn't get on great with the cats, Heidi and Trixie (and yes I am one of those weird cat lady people...I openly admit to letting them eat off my plate... even before I've finished eating.) Heidi, our 12 year old tortoiseshell and self proclaimed queen of the house has been relegated to the upper rooms to save herself the stress of being chased around the house by a puppy high off blueberry training treats. Trixie on the other hand is braver...perhaps more naive. She's four and is blind and deaf and I honestly believe that she doesn't know that she's a cat. She slinks in to the kitchen and lounge (now territory claimed by Smeagol) and tries to navigate her way to the windowsill, her previous perch of choice. Cue Smeagol racing towards her, back feet skidding awkwardly as he attempts to pounce on her. Trixie defends herself valiantly, boxing her paws and hissing in what she thinks is the direction of his face but is actually at my slipper. 

 Secondly, Smeagol is a 14 week old beagle, meaning he has a lot of energy. He needs two good walks a day and lots of stimulation in between in order to get him to nap long enough for me to have a shower or cook lunch. This requires more energy than I have at the moment. At nearly 34 weeks pregnant, I feel the size of a house. I can barely bend over, walking has turned in to a stiff and slightly uncomfortable waddle, fatigue defeats me several times a day resulting in naps that make me feel like a narcoleptic grandma and I need to pee every 20 minutes. All of this does not a good puppy parent make. 

 Fortunately, Military Man does most of the hard graft. He does the walks, cleans up the poop (I can't bend over to pick it up...that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it) and deals with the training, which I reinforce once the basic skill has been learnt. This has resulted in 2 outcomes: Smeagol LOVES master, Smeagol hates nasty fat hobbit (read: me). As I'm on summer holidays from work, I get the joys of a boundless pup from 8am to lunchtime when MM gets home for lunch. Not long, granted, but when I've had only four hours of broken sleep (curse you bladder!), finding the energy to play tug of war with a puppy and get up every half an hour or so to let him outside is proving difficult. Harder still is the afternoon session, after MM has returned to work and Smeagol cries...actually cries at the back gate waiting for master to return. He then vents his anger, frustration and general brattiness by chewing things. Like the remote control. Like my lip balm. Like my glasses. Have you ever chased a beagle puppy whilst carrying a freaking bowling ball in your stomach? It's hard. 

Thirdly, whilst Smeagol sleeps brilliantly at night in his crate, I may have forgotten to mention that his crate has to be in our room, otherwise he howls and bays ALL NIGHT like a bereft werewolf with a bad case of laryngitis. No amount of training and consistency has helped with this. MM doesn't see it as a problem that he sleeps in our room...but MM isn't thinking about the newborn baby that will also be sleeping with us in seven weeks time. The cherry on top of this beagle pie, is that when Smeagol wakes, usually around 6ish, he has, through no fault of his own, gotten in to the habit of getting on the bed and sleeping for the remaining hour curled up next to MM. MM has encouraged this, taking full advantage of the fact that I currently prefer sleeping in the spare room where the bed is softer and comfier on my pelvis. I discovered this delightful little secret when, at just after 6 one morning, I went to pee and decided it'd be nice to climb in to my own bed for an hour to wake up next to my husband. I walked in and found them spooning, YES, SPOONING. MM's arm was draped over Smeagol and everything. For a moment, Smeagol's eyes opened and I swear he smirked at me... 

But for all of this, I can't help but love Smeagol. He has such a playful and joyful character; he gets excited by everything and everyone, from a new bandanna or collar attachment (he looks adorable in a bow tie) to the delivery man who strokes him on the rump and makes his tail wag so hard he knocks himself over. Watching him run around on walks with other dogs is just a sheer delight and seeing other dog owners coo and fuss over his cuteness and friendliness makes me feel so proud. And despite our moments, I know he loves me. His wagging tail tells me whenever I come downstairs, his peaceful snore tells me when he rests his head on my lap in the evening. Only a few days ago, we shared an unwitnessed moment of tenderness when, whilst sat on the edge of the bed in my bra and pants attempting to put on socks (the struggle is real), he gently jumped up and rested his legs on my thighs and proceeded to lick my bump just above my belly button, once, twice, three times before sitting back down and looking up at me in quiet acknowledgement of what was happening inside my belly. 

Smeagol and me at Jervaulx Abbey

People said we were crazy for getting a puppy when I'm so far along in my pregnancy but I actually disagree. Reading over this post, I can see now how much Smeagol has prepared me for being a mummy. I don't underestimate that a baby will be so much more work than a puppy and far more challenging too, but Smeagol has shown me that I can be irritated, annoyed and frustrated as hell with him but still love him and want to care for him and teach him, even when he's eating one of my Estee Lauder lipsticks and drinking my tea out of my mug. The moments of pride I've felt when he's mastered a new skill, like being able to walk down the stairs, have made me realise that I have so much to look forward to when my baby boy gets here. If anything, I'm thankful to Smeagol helping me to be a mummy in training.

I can't wait to see Smeagol and the baby grow up together. Beagles are brilliant with children, especially when they're introduced to them at a young age. It's one of the reasons why we chose the breed, but I can tell by Smeagol's personality that he'll adore the baby. I've just got to make sure I get my side of the bed back!

J