This week has been a haze of sleep deprivation, house training and hoping that our older dog, Peanut, who is 9, comes round to the idea of having a new puppy.  For the first two days she was aloof.  If she was a human she would have shrugged and rolled her eyes when she met Jessie for the first time.  If she had a Facebook account her status update would have simply said “WTF?”

It’s like having a newborn baby again … without the breastfeeding.  She eats, sleeps and plays like clockwork … just not in line with anyone else’s schedule. On Monday night Jessie woke at 1, 3 and 5am.  On Tuesday morning when I found myself sitting on the doorstep at 4am urging her to have a wee I was thinking that I really should get some warmer pyjamas and invest in a bobble hat and ear warmers.

She’s a happy, laid back little soul though which is a blessing in this house.The children have been beside themselves with excitement and it’s a very good job that they are in school during the day, giving the puppy a break.

And Peanut?  She’s coming round to the idea of a small brown dog hanging off her tail and trying to nibble her ears. She’s started playing with her but is still wondering when she’ll be going back.

Now excuse me. I must catch up on some sleep.

During our visit she was lively,  inquisitive and very interested in chewing jumpers.  Her teeth are razor sharp and her eyes are changing from baby blue to brown. She enjoyed playing with the children, jumping on them and running around the room.

I want to call her Fudgey Wudgey Budgey but the family won’t let me.  Instead she’ll be called Jessie …

In 13 sleeps Jessie will be coming to live with us. It’s an exciting time.

We met our chocolate labrador puppy for the first time this weekend. The children fell in love instantly and spent an hour cuddling her. She’s only 4 weeks old and resembles a round, milk filled, seal pup. There’s another 4 weeks before she can come home.

It’s going to be a long 4 weeks.

We took lots of photos but the light wasn’t great. It didn’t hide the excitement on the 7 year old’s face though, her light just got brighter.

Peanut, the dog, is 9 this month, which is 63 in human years.

In the last year she’s started showing her age;  She has white beard, not a good look on a lady; She gets up slowly; Her breath smells as if she is decomposing from the inside out; She sleeps for longer and oh my god the farts … they are getting worse, if that’s possible.  Funnily enough in human years she’s the same age as my Dad, Gramps.  I must ask him if he’s experiencing similar problems.

I felt so sad about her OAP status that I googled ‘how long do labradors live for?’ . I know, I know, SIT ON YOUR HANDS … but I couldn’t. So facts are facts … and Google is never wrong.  She has a maximum of 4 years left.  That sliding noise?  That’s me on the slipping into denial.

The same day I  went to the supermarket with the children.  There was a Dog’s Trust stand outside the entrance.  Both children took great interest in the stand until I ushered them on. The 7 year old asked if we could get a puppy.  I explained that one dog was enough, but that when Peanut died, a long long long long time from now (did I tell you that I’m in denial?), we would probably get another dog. Later at home the 5 year old was snuggling up to the dog, using her as a pillow.  He stroked her,  “It’s OK, Peanut, we’ll get a puppy when you die” he said … lovingly.

She’s a bloody pain sometimes.  The moulting drives The Husband to distraction and whatever you are trying to do in the house she is there in the way, asleep, like a giant log, but I know that our house will be a very sad place without her.

I wonder how much it costs to stuff a large labrador?

According to Wikipedia : Blowing a raspberry is to make a noise signifying derision (and/or silliness), made by sticking out the tongue between the lips and blowing to make a sound reminiscent of flatulence.

We switched her food last week. Normally she has expensive stuff that you can only get in one shop in the whole world (slight exaggeration).  The Husband swears it gives her firmer stools. I’ve never questioned him further on that statement.

I couldn’t get to the dog food shop last weekend so she ended up eating the cheaper stuff this week.  Big mistake, no … HUGE.  We have spent the past seven days in a haze of dog fart.  Whichever room the children play in the dog inevitably dog wanders in to lie next to them.  Within 2 minutes of her lying down they have their hands clamped round their noses and are not only shoving her out of the room, but into the garden.

Of an evening we have watched the TV with cushions pressed firmly against our faces, watery eyes peeping over the top as another silent but deadly fart wafts through the room.  I say ‘waft’ but to be fair it’s more of a lingering haze of death.

On Friday night I took her to the shop with me (wine run).  It was 7.45 and already *shock horror* getting dark.  I tied her up outside where she sniffed the pavement happily.  When I came out of the shop I undid her lead so she was free, as I put down my shopping to put her back on the lead, she assumed the attack position and barked loudly at the shopkeeper who was standing in his doorway surveying the street, she then edged toward him.

He crapped himself, she realised it was a normal person and not, I assume, someone about to attack me and backed down as the man, in blind panic, went crashing into one of his displays.

In a sea of chocolate fingers (2 for £2.00 don’t you know) and Discovery salsa (BOGOF) I apologised for her behaviour.  He seemed fine, but that might have been the shock.  As we walked off I swear the dog rolled her eyes at me and huffed.

Maybe in her old age she’ll become famous when Mr Shopkeeper eventually sees the funny side and sends his CCTV to You’ve Been Framed. We too will laugh, from behind our cushion nasal protectors, as yet another guff engulfs the Driver living room, and we watch Mr Shopkeeper hurtling into the chocolate fingers and salsa display.

Please take your hand out of your pants.

All I want is to have a poo in peace. Is it too much to ask?

SHUT UP!

Turn off that fart machine, I can’t concentrate.

If anyone touches my knitting they are dead.

Did you really just tell the delivery man that Mummy and Daddy were still in bed?

Stop fiddling with the dog’s eyebrows.

It is VERY rude to tell someone to shut up.

If you lie on the dog like that she might stop breathing.

Did you just trump on my knee?

Daddy is having a meeting in the living room, please stop barking like a rabid dog.

No you cannot look at your brother’s testicles.

If you wave that lightsaber in my face once more I will throw it out of the window.

It is 6am, shut your eyes and count to 1000.

No, I have not just trumped.

They are not ‘bumnuts’ they are testicles.

This house is already full of happy memories.  Birthdays, parties, Watching fireworks in the conservatory with my hands over the 6 year old’s ears, dinner parties, drunken games, football in the garden and sleepovers.

You see this house is my best friend’s house, Teacher Friend Mother of 3′s (TFMo3).  The first time I visited this house was 6 years ago, I sat in the same spot as I write this post, holding my three week old baby with the rest of our NCT members. One was still pregnant.

Moving our things into this house just feels right.  The 6 year old who doesn’t do change is really happy … sleeping in her best friend’s old room.  The dog is snoring, The Husband has installed his MAHOOSIVE TV, the Teenager is texting furtively on her Blackberry and the 4 year old is snoring whilst clutching his plastic sword.

All is as it should be in the new Driver house.

Now, where did I put the gin?