I wake up. It's pitch black. Dead of night? Or just before first light? Who knows? There is no sound. I strain my ears but apart from the odd passing car there's nothing.
It's late December now. Still cold, (relatively speaking 14 degrees) sometimes wet but essentially calm. The puppies are not howling, barking -or in fact doing anything. They are gone. Prayers answered. I lay back down and savour the moment. Tidings of Comfort and joy indeed!
This blessed rest had been heaven-sent. When puppy-pestilence - in the form of gastro-enteritis- had descended on our perfect mini dogs, our lives had equally quickly descended into Hell. Lives on hold we battled to save our furry family. By day we shovelled shit, mopped blood, administered antibiotics and drive around looking for fresh cardboard for the puppy pen. By night exhausted and often tearful, I simply prayed. Though I must confess my faith was sorely tested when two puppies died- including 'Little John', the only one that looked like Johnny, dad.
Help was finally sent in the form of Angela, an animalista. Angela regularly called us on Thursdays to inform us that she'd found another loving home. She gave us the arrival time of the animal collection van. It was all so easy. Tidings of comfort and joy indeed!
Finally on the Thursday before Christmas Eleanor- aka 'Mini Vlad' (the destroyer) was rehomed. That Saturday I could finally get onto Skyscanner and book a belated Christmas trip to Scotland in January.
Passing over the Dochart bridge into Killin that January night, everything seemed eerily calm. Over the noise of the running water I thought I heard a voice whispering: 'We're still here.We know you've been troubled but rest now. Life is as it should be. Whilst little merry men are happily playing, gentlemen must take their rest'.
This blessed rest had been heaven-sent. When puppy-pestilence - in the form of gastro-enteritis- had descended on our perfect mini dogs, our lives had equally quickly descended into Hell. Lives on hold we battled to save our furry family. By day we shovelled shit, mopped blood, administered antibiotics and drive around looking for fresh cardboard for the puppy pen. By night exhausted and often tearful, I simply prayed. Though I must confess my faith was sorely tested when two puppies died- including 'Little John', the only one that looked like Johnny, dad.
Help was finally sent in the form of Angela, an animalista. Angela regularly called us on Thursdays to inform us that she'd found another loving home. She gave us the arrival time of the animal collection van. It was all so easy. Tidings of comfort and joy indeed!
Passing over the Dochart bridge into Killin that January night, everything seemed eerily calm. Over the noise of the running water I thought I heard a voice whispering: 'We're still here.We know you've been troubled but rest now. Life is as it should be. Whilst little merry men are happily playing, gentlemen must take their rest'.
