Saving Caesar

Night Shift

2016-02-01T20:03:00.000+00:00

It's been a long time since I have posted. And, for those who have checked looking for a new blog post and an update about Caesar, I am sorry about that. The truth, perhaps, is that the older Caesar gets, the more accustomed to our lifestyle he gets and the less quirky things he does. Or maybe we're just getting so used to his oddball habits that they cease to shock us anymore... There's a limit to the number of times I can tell you that Caesar has broken into various rooms and made a nest of whatever he found in there.

However, just when you think that Caesar doesn't have any more surprises left in him, he develops a whole new habit. Caesar is a complex dog - there's no doubt about it. I often sit and wonder what has happened to make him how he is - if anything at all! Perhaps he was always destined to be an odd dog - I certainly haven't met another like him.

For reasons that are best left unexplained, I haven't been sleeping too well recently. This is strange for me - I'm always tired and, if there's one thing I'm good at it's sleeping. Damien will often laugh at the fact that we can go upstairs to bed at the same time and I'll be fast asleep by the time he's finished brushing his teeth. Sometimes I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow.

Or at least I didn't until the last few weeks. My sleepless nights all started with some awful nightmares. At first, going to sleep wasn't so much a problem. It was remaining asleep for the duration of the night that was the issue. I'd lie down and be asleep within half an hour most nights. However, I'd be awake again an hour or so later, shaking and feeling petrified. My restlessness began to keep Damien awake too and, eventually, I decided to move into the front bedroom alone so that I could toss and turn and kick and turn the pillows over as much as I liked without waking Damien up. Caesar, of course, came with me.

I visited the doctor after a few weeks of these bad nights as I was beginning to feel exhausted. He gave me sleeping medication and told me to come back in a few weeks. "Sleeping medication!!" I told Damien, unsure whether to laugh or cry. We both agreed that it was strange how I'd gone from a person who could fall asleep in less time than it took for Damien to ascend the stairs, and remain that way until my alarm rang at 6:30, to someone who was sleeping so badly I had visible bags under my eyes from exhaustion. So I decided not to take the sleeping pills. Instead, I decided to investigate further. I would, I thought, be better trying herbal sleeping tablets first. And then my plan was to use an app to record any sounds during the night - I was expecting to hear myself sobbing or muttering in my sleep as a result of the nightmares. What I heard was something much different....

At 11pm, the sleep recorder was activated. At 11:30pm there was definite heavy breathing (which I am refusing to call 'snoring'). Then, at just after 1am, another noise. A pitter patter of feet - claws ticking across laminate flooring.

The next morning, I played the recordings back wondering where Caesar would be going at 1pm. Due to a misunderstanding between him and Damien, I now have to sleep with the bedroom door open, else he thinks Damien will go downstairs and forget his breakfast. But why was he leaving the room at 1am?

That evening, I put the question to Damien. "You know how Caesar always sleeps with me?"
Damien looked amused, "No," he replied, "he always sleeps with me..."
I looked at Damien confusedly.
"Every night," he explained. "He comes to bed with you. Then, when I come to bed, he comes and gets in bed with me..." This did explain the pattering of feet that I had undoubtedly heard on the recording. But there were still things that didn't make sense...
"Impossible!" I told him, "He's always there when I wake up!"
Of course, to Damien that was a bit of a mystery, as he too, had no recollection of Caesar leaving his bedroom.
"He's always there when I wake up!" I told Damien, "Whatever time!"
"He's always there when I wake up too," And, of course, I realised at this point that as Damien gets up a good half an hour after me on most days, by the time he begins to wake, Caesar is already back in his bed.

It appears then, that, in our house, only one of us is not sleeping. It's the one who lies there waiting for someone to stir before sneaking out of the room and back under the covers hoping that they will never notice they were missing....

The first draft is done!

2015-07-12T09:21:00.001+01:00

Exciting times! The first draft of 'Saving Caesar' the book is complete and, thanks to my new £20 laser printer from eBay, it's printed too! So here's to me sitting and reading the 201 (exactly the number of sheets of paper I had left) pages and completing the second draft.

Are there any Caesar moments you'd like to see in the book? Or any things about Caesar that you'd like to find out? If so, let me know in the comments section.

What's the solution?

2015-03-23T18:44:00.001+00:00

Dear the me of 2012,

Please stop tearing your hair out for a second and take the time to read this letter. It might just help you out.

I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now. Frustration and worry, like pain, is a shadowy memory. And, I can look back in humour at some of the things you are suffering now. I can laugh when I think about the time Caesar destroyed the kitchen and ate a whole pack of Nutrigrain bars. What I do remember is desperation and this is what has prompted me to write to you.

Time and time again I read on forums and groups about anxious dogs. You may not realise it just yet, but this is what you have. I know you don't want to sit back and let time pass by where you're not trying to 'cure' this but there is something you need to know; you can't.

Let me tell you that in three years time, you will come home from work one night to find a Tupperware container exploded into sharp shards of plastic all over your bed. You will spend a week of your life picking these shards from your feet and body and searching for them on the bedroom floor. These are symptoms of anxiety, prompted by a change in environment or routine.

You musn't blame yourself. You have not made the dog any worse. Nor have you caused him to relive any kind of mental trauma. What you need is time. Time is the most important thing.

Therefore, when you see quick fixes, try to turn a blind eye. Try to remember how you feel when you are afraid and remember that one tablet, or coat or spray is not going to miraculously cure him of his fears. The same with you; anxiety plays a big part in your own life so you should know that nothing will instantly take that away.

More importantly still, is that you don't get angry with him for his fear. If someone shouted at you every time you were irrationally afraid of something you'd be stuck in your house shaking! Try to remember his behaviour is not against you or even a reflection on you; it is he who has come to you with these troubles.

My advice is not to ignore your issues; persist in positive training, reward the good and ignore the bad as much as possible. Keep things as consistent as possible; he will always know when tea time will be, when bed time will be and what time you will leave and arrive home. He will always be in the same room/s. If someone comes, they will always come at the same time. Attend training sessions regularly and allow him to get used to his setting and the other animals and people there and don't expect miracles straight away.

Most of all; love and enjoy him as much as he does you because you're going to have to get through this together. And that will be as hard as you make it...

Behind the closed door...

2015-03-21T20:51:00.003+00:00

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?

2015-02-24T18:49:00.000+00:00

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!

Dear Sandy Paws

2014-12-17T17:52:00.001+00:00

Dear Sandy Paws,
I am writing to inform you that a certain 'Caesar Turner' needs to be removed from your 'nice' list on a permanent basis.

It would seem that, despite luring everyone into a false sense of security by being eerily well behaved over the past few months, Caesar has now blotted his copy book with spectacular style. Not a week ago, I was feeling very proud of him for managing the excitement of the dog training Christmas party. Where, his reindeer outfit won him a first place prize.And, where, he proved that he's made great progress with dealing with other dogs - despite crying just a little.

However, Sandy Paws, you can imagine my dismay when this morning I opened the dining room door to find an explosion of nice, new Christmas presents seemed to have happened. The floor was littered with bottles of wine, bubble bath, candles, scarves, socks and woolly jumpers. And, the worst part, was that a number of these were broken!

So, Sandy Paws, I ask that you send back all of Caesar's presents and use the money to buy some new presents for all of the ones destroyed.

Yours Sincerely,
A very annoyed dog mum

To see what Santa thinks, click on the link below:
See what Santa thinks by clicking this link

Meeting your perfect dog...

2014-11-29T19:24:00.000+00:00

It seems as if a number of things have pointed me in the direction of this post. A few days ago I saw a cute photo with white type over a picture of a dog. As it happens, I can't find the quote any more; it went as quickly as it came. But essentially it said 'that moment when you realise you've found YOUR dog.' I thought a little bit about this and then, a few days later, I was reading one of my favourite dog blogs and I came across this post.

It didn't really happen like that with Caesar. In fact, when I first saw his picture on the rescue centre website, I gave a little shudder and scrolled down. He looked aloof to say the least and I chuckled as I thought 'I'll probably never sleep with a dog like that in my house'.

And I wasn't far wrong. I remember the horrifying moment when I first got him and I realised I was drifting off on the sofa. Damien was at the gym and Caesar and I were sitting together in the front room. I shot up off the sofa in terror, not believing that, not only had I taken my eyes off the dog, but also that I'd fallen asleep while he was there. He was staring at me unnervingly. I realise now he was probably feeling the same. Unsure of what I was about or what I might do to him. Unclear about what he was supposed to be doing while I was dropping into a doze on the sofa.

I remember thinking to myself 'it shouldn't be like this...' I felt stupid for being afraid of my own dog. What sort of person adopts a dog that they're frightened of?

In hindsight, perhaps I should have waited for the 'moment'. Maybe I'd have seen a dog and a lightning bolt moment would happen. I'd be struck down with love for them. I'd be overwhelmed with a desire to have them and care for them and love them. I didn't feel like that with Caesar. I was overwhelmed by an urge not to be eaten by him.

So why did I adopt a dog I was frightened of? I hear you ask. And rightly so too, of course. The pure, and not very responsible answer is, I was desperate to have a dog. Firstly, because Damien didn't want one. This was rectified when he saw Caesar and told me that if I wanted a dog it had to be 'that one'. Even though, later, he admitted that he was also frightened of the ginger mongrel - mainly because he used to sit in the lounge and stare at us; something that also unnerved me. The second issue was that, on arrival at the kennels, there were no dogs left to adopt apart from Caesar.

My issue now, though, is that I no longer believe in lightning bolt dogs. I firmly believe that Caesar was the dog for us. And I genuinely worry that there won't be another. He has challenged me in ways that I never knew I could be challenged but training him and being with him on his journey has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life so far. And yet, completely unexpected.

My visions of running around with a dog and a ball in fields. Of playing fetch, of dog shows and fun agility are all smoke. Unrealistic dreams of things that Caesar could never achieve. Yes these dreams seem to have been replaced with something more. The success of building a relationship where a dog that was so unsure before looks to you for everything.

Dogs and Fireworks

2014-11-04T21:05:00.001+00:00

Having a dog that is afraid of fireworks is no walk in the park. Quite literally. Caesar is one of many dogs who suffer from the minute the bangs and pops begin and gets gradually worse as the fifth of November approaches. Managing this time of the year has been a learning experience for us. Here's what I've learnt over the past few years about owning a dog who is literally terrified of fireworks.

To begin with, it's important to remember that every dog is an individual and different things work for different dogs. The reason I say this is because there is so much conflicting advice when it comes to fireworks. And, you know what your own dog needs. For example, where some dogs will appreciate having somewhere to hide, other dogs, like Caesar, feel comfortable being closer to their owner. If a firework goes off, 9 times out of 10, Caesar will bring himself as close as possible to us. Some advice will tell you to ignore the dog and act like nothing is happening. Again, having tried this, I find that simply giving Caesar a cuddle and talking to him normally can ease his anxiety a little - and he actively seeks contact when he's afraid.

Today, for example, I returned home from work to find the house empty and Caesar sitting in the bathroom looking petrified and shaking like a leaf. It didn't take me long to realise that, despite it only being 5 o'clock, people were letting off fireworks. I took Caesar into my bedroom and lay on the bed with him and told him about my day at work. I did feel a little boring when he fell asleep - but at least he had stopped being anxious! And you can't please everybody...

"So you'll never guess what happened this morning Caesar.....Caesar??"

Anyhow, after seeking and gathering much advice on fireworks as well as now having a little personal experience with a dog that has a phobia, here are my top tips:

1. DO NOT walk your dog on or around bonfire night past night fall. (The same goes for New Year!) - even if this means missing a walk or two. It really is worth it for your own peace of mind!
2. DO try natural calming aids such as rescue remedy, thunder shirts and plug in pheromone diffusers. However, ultimately, if your dog is still afraid, seek advice from your vet - the sooner the better!
3. DO give your dog somewhere safe to retire to - I use Caesar's castle or a crate with a large blanket over the top.
4. DO NOT attempt to pull your dog out from hiding under furniture - I know it may seem obvious but I've heard more than one case of dog bites from this from first hand.
5. DO play music or TV to distract from the sound as much as possible.
6. DO listen to your dog. And by that, I don't mean ask them to tell you what is upsetting them but follow their lead - they will let you know if they need closeness or a hiding place, some privacy or some attention. Use your initiative to decide how much of each is needed.

After following lots of advice for fear and trying my best to ease Caesar, I finally took him to the vet. He is now taking Valium for his phobia and I must admit I have seen an improvement already in that he is not shaking as much.

Further Information
Fireworks and the law - https://www.gov.uk/fireworks-the-law
Advice from the RSPCA - http://www.rspca.org.uk/adviceandwelfare/pets/general/fireworks

Have you got any advice of your own to add to the list? Comment below to add your tips.

Confessions of a dog owner

2014-10-25T23:06:00.000+01:00

I find myself regularly uttering the words; "Look at me, I'm all covered in dog hair! - How did that happen?" and know EXACTLY how it happened...

Not only do I often give up a large portion of my bed to my sleeping dog...but, more often than I'd like to admit, my pillow.

Not only are these headphones functional...but also great on COLD beach walks....and not to mention very stylish...

I spend far too much of my salary on dog toys...

....which usually end up broken.

My dog has a better wardrobe than I do!

And, if I want to sit on the sofa, I ask the dog's permission.

I have more wellies than high heels...

And the only picture hanging on my wall is...

I find lick kisses cute not gross even if I end up smelling like a bowl of ProPlan...

How many of these confessions also apply to you? Leave a comment and let everyone know.

Campervan Crisis!

2014-10-05T19:48:00.001+01:00

Our campervan is snug on a night, particularly with Caesar in there, but, in order to stop us from feeling too claustrophobic, we lift the AFT (or Auto Free Top....or in my words 'lifty-up roof'). This weekend, though, despite the weather being fairly warm during the day, the sky had no cloud cover at night leaving it very chilly in bed. So, after a successful night on Friday, where we all slept in the main cab and no one had to climb into the roof, we decided to leave the roof down on Saturday when temperatures plummeted.

We had to be up early to leave on Sunday as we'd made arrangements back at home for 10am. So, we tried to go to bed early. Tried...

Unfortunately, this camping trip did not run as smoothly as the previous one, and the second night started with Caesar barking at people passing the van and waking me (and probably others) up. Then, when things had calmed and I was beginning to drift off, he woke me up by treading on my stomach and I decided I needed the toilet again. So, I wandered over to the toilet block in the freezing cold, my hands shaking and my teeth clattering together. Finally, I came back and settled again. Caesar was excited about this and decided to jump around on the air mattress in celebration....

Can you guess what's going to happen?

You were probably right. 3am and there's a hissing sound coming from my feet and I realise that he's punctured the air bed. So, I'm back outside the van looking for my car's puncture repair kit...Can I use a tyre puncture repair kit on an air bed? 3am...and I'm trying to find out do tyre puncture kits work on air beds? It doesn't look like it. And the hissing is continuing. Forget the tyre punctuation kit then... 3am and we're trying to locate a tiny hole in an air bed before it deflated completely. And suddenly, I get my finger on a claw sized hole and the hissing stops. Great. Have we got a first aid kit with a plaster in? ....No. Have we got any sellotape?...No. Damien suggests chewing gum....no. So now what? 3am and we're swapping sides of the bed. Damien is trying to sleep with his thumb over the puncture, while Caesar, the very cause of all the mayhem, is sleeping on top of me because he doesn't like sleeping on the hard surface....

As long as you're comfy Caesar....

This weekend was spent at dog friendly campsite Hillcrest Park.

Caesar the Bongonaut

2014-09-22T21:14:00.005+01:00

So, since our trip to Wales, I've been thinking carefully about holidaying with dogs and I've finally come to a conclusion that I feel suits me.

Reasons I'm not sold on holiday rentals (static caravans, cottages, lodges or hotel rooms).

1. You cannot leave your dogs unattended

2. Many rentals like you to clean up before you leave - this means spending your holiday hoovering up dog hair.

3. Many rentals in the UK are very expensive

4. There's often a limit to the amount of animals you can take.

5. Some specify that dogs must be 'small' or 'well behaved' (define well behaved?!)

6. You cannot guarantee that your dog won't damage something - even if it's by accident.

7. Dogs are not usually allowed in certain rooms (e.g. the bedroom) for hygiene reasons.

8. You have that awkward moment when you arrive and your dog has been cooped up in a car for 4 hours and needs a wee/drink/poo/mad half hour/good bark/bit of human company. And you're worried that s/he does any or all of the above in front of the owners.

'But what about my bedtime snuggles?'

The Plan

So after travelling the 250 miles back from Wales in my lovely reliable Vauxhall Zafira family MPV, I decided that I wanted a camper van. Here's my reasoning (in relation to the above):

1. As with a car, as long as conditions are cool and dogs have water, it's OK to leave your dog in a camper van for short periods of time. I'm not suggesting going shopping for the day and leaving a dog locked inside a VW transporter but certainly a trip to the shop for milk should be fine (as long as it's not too hot outside.

2. Its your van - clean it and feel proud or leave it and hope no one asks to look inside...it's your call and you do it on your terms...

3. Barring the initial cost of buying a campervan (which I intended to swap for my permanent car) camping should not be too expensive. And you can get a pitch on a decent site for one night for as low as £10.

4. You can take as many dogs as you like to most dog friendly sites as long as they are under control.

5. The vast majority of sites that are 'dog friendly' care very little what your dog is like as long as it's not disturbing fellow campers.

6. If your dog damages something in your camper van then it's yours and you replace it if and when you want to.

7. Your can sleep with as many dogs in your bed as you wish!

8. On some sites, you can arrive and pitch up, take your dogs to the loo etc before you pay for your pitch. Although there is still the danger of someone coming over when your dog is going through there 'just been stuck in the car for 4 hours...' routine.

My Love Hate Relationship

I have very mixed experiences of camping. I remember camping all over England and France as a child in a caravan. We loved it! It was always warm and we played until the sun went down every night. Then, we came in and sat at collapsible tables with decks of cards and mugs of hot chocolate and on a Sunday morning we woke up late and had a fried breakfast. Then we played some more.

In my early 20s, my grandad donated a tent he'd found to me and my partner. Our plan was to travel Europe with only said tent and a 1l VW Polo. Actually, we got as far as Whitby and hated how cold it was. We did make one trip to France in it and after 4 days of camping and discovering that we had limited budget for food, no means of entertainment when the dark nights set in at 9 o'clock and that it wasn't as warm in Paris in August as we had hoped, I cried and said I wanted to go home. The holiday lasted 10 days. And I never went in the tent again...

I don't mind this type of tent...the type that's inside and next to a radiator...

The Van Plan

I have to admit; I've never been the most confident driver and, in recent years, my confidence seems to have dropped more. It's not because anything has really ever happened to me while driving. Mainly, it's because I tend to drive to work (2 miles away) and back a few times a week and, as risk of sounding like my gran, sometimes to the shops. So that pretty much ruled out the idea of buying a caravan because I'd be too frightened to tow it. Also, my excuse to most other people, I sometimes struggle to park my own car at my house due to all parking being on street so I certainly would struggle to park a caravan here. Therefore, I'd need to park the caravan away from home and pay for it. I didn't want to do this for 2 reasons:

1. It would cost me more money again

2. Once my parents did this and several incidents occurred: someones caravan was stolen, as it was on a farm, they came back once to find a family of field mice nesting in the overhead compartment, And finally, the icing on the cake, the farm got foot and mouth and no one was allowed to remove their caravan from it for almost a year! By which time, they'd discovered that package holidays were usually better...

OK, so I wasn't sold on caravanning and many of these limitations also applied to large motorhomes and trailer tents. And never again in my life do I ever want to attempt to camp in a tent and especially not with a dog that howls when it's cold.

So that left me looking at vans and van conversions. Firstly, VW transporters; lovely cars but totally out of my price range. Secondly, Transit Vans; I did go and see one but felt they were too wide to parallel park on a road full of cars. Also...it just wasn't cool. This is when I discovered the Mazda Bongo. For those of you who are not familiar here are a few fast facts about Bongos:

1. The Mazda Bongo is an 8 seater van which is available for purchase in Japan. They have never been officially sold in the UK so all available vans have been imported.

2. The rear 6 seats fold down into a bed.

3. On some models there is a 'pop top' which raises to make a sleeping space for 2 which can be accessed through a hatch.

4. They're around the same width as a normal car but taller and longer.

5. They have a cult-like following that makes you feel like your part of a group.

Mr Caesar and Mr Bennett

Mr Bennett the Bongo

A few weeks after making my decision to buy a Bongo and struggling wildly to get a decent one, I bumped into a nice chap online who was considering selling his. He invited me to come and look at it and I knew the moment I set eyes on it that it was my Bongo. Luckily, I persuaded him to part with it. And so my Bongo experience began. I decided to call it 'Mr Bennett' although I usually call my cars girls names because 'Bennett' means 'blessed' and because I feel that any camper van that has to house 2 adults and 3 dogs needs to be!

Mr Bennett in York

Unfortunately for me, I purchased Mr Bennett at the end of the summer and had little time to organise camping trips in him. However, the weekend past, I decided to give it a go. I wanted everything to be perfect and refused to go anywhere that had a poor forecast or bad reviews. I eventually chose a 'Wagtail Park' in York. And Caesar and I took off on our adventure. We were to meet my parents there.

The Bongo fit Caesar's XL cage in wonderfully and did not prevent the back seats from being used (as happened in my previous car). Although I did bash the plastic as I put it in (oops). I got Caesar settled with his travel bowl of water and blankets. He was quiet for the fill hour and a half journey.

All set up and ready to go...

At Wagtail Park

Arriving at Wagtail Park (<-- link), we met the owner - Caesar was whining and whimpering a bit because we stopped but shutting the doors made me realise that you can't hear him from outside the van. The owner asked me to make sure he was kept on a lead and that all 'oopsies' were picked up and put in the dog bins around site. We found a very quiet corner with no cars for miles and pitched up there. By 'pitched up' I actually mean 'parked the van' for that is all I had to do.

For anyone who is camping with dogs, Wagtail Park is a nice big site with all the facilities to meet your basic needs: nice clean toilets, washing up facilities, waste disposal and a nice small to medium sized fishing lake for anyone who is interested. Caravans, motorhomes, camper vans and tents are all welcome and pitches have lights and electricity. We paid £20 per night, which I felt was very reasonable.

What's going on out there?

On the doggy side, there's a nice little wander around the lake and lots of space on site. On the personal side; the showers are amazing and the toilet block is lovely and clean (the fishermen have their own toilet I noticed). There are even little details like washing up liquid and towels provided to make everything easier.

Caesar the Camper Van Dog

Now to the main point (sorry it took so long). Caesar. I had worried that this first experience may be a disaster. That a few weeks down the line I'd be advertising a 'Mazda Bongo for Sale' and keeping hold of my good old reliable Zafira. And, Caesar had a big part to play in this. If he doesn't like something, he can make my life a nightmare. He can cry and howl and bark and bang scratch and carry on for hours on end - he never tires!

It was partly due to this that my mum and I almost had an argument about my meticulousness about where and when to go and how warm the weather forecast must predict the weather to be before I will commit to the mini-break. The weather for York looked good. However the forecast was sadly wrong and it ended up drizzling most of the time anyway! I had been concerned that this would ruin our holiday but I was very wrong. My parents showed me that, unlike tent camping, you can get inside your van and put a heater on. Or, if you have one, you can erect an awning and sit in there away from the wind and rainy weather. We were even able to put a little heater in the awning to keep us all toasty warm. In fact, at one point, it got so warm that we had to turn it off!

Sleeping was great too. Caesar and I jumped aboard (after putting an air bed on the folding beds in the boot) and fell sound asleep. The only issue was when I needed the toilet but it was that comfortable inside, I couldn't have bribed Caesar to leave - he just stayed cuddled under the double duvet!

It's fair to say that Caesar took to camping like a duck to water. And, even made me really proud when I accidentally left the crate door open in the dark and he followed me round to the side of the van and sat by my legs - I didn't know he was there until I tripped over him!

Who would have thought it? Caesar, a natural camper van dog!

Out and About in York.

On Saturday, due to the ever so slightly dodgy weather, we caught the 'Park and Ride' bus into York. Caesar wasn't sold on the idea of bus travel but did make a lot of new friends on the bus who thought he was very cute in his sheep jumper and kept talking to him and reassuring him. The same has to be said for York city centre, where lots of people stopped me to ask about him and pat him and wonder why he was shaking - don't we all? We had dinner at a little outdoor cafe near to the river and watched members of York Rowing Club row up and down on their long boats. Caesar was great, especially considering that there were other dogs running around - sometimes off lead. Actually, he was so great that another, unsuspecting, couple with a dog decided to come and sit next to us which, as you can probably guess, caused much stress - more to me than Caesar whom I had to bribe with cake to keep quiet. Finally, we decided to go when he barked at a small terrier carrying a huge lump of wood that everyone was 'awww'ing at. And made him drop his wood and run away (oh no!).

Camping With a Dog - My Findings

The purpose of my initial camping trip was to determine the answers to the following questions:

1. Would I enjoy camping?

2. Would Caesar enjoy camping?

3. What did I NEED if I was going to go on camping holidays with the dog?

Morning weather check...looks a bit rainy...but it's warm in here!

I have compiled a list of what I feel are necessities for camping with a dog, particularly a difficult dog like Caesar:

1. A camping electric extension with a trip (for safety). Electric items could also be run from a leisure battery but my research has led me to believe that this is an easier option by far.

2. A heater - although, surprisingly for the end of September, we did not use ours for the first night.

3. Towels!!! - More than you think you need because they come in handy for things such as cleaning up cans of Coke that Caesar has knocked over all over the centre console... And also for things like drying paws before bedtime. And for putting on the floor in the showers - so take more than you think you need.

4. Baby wipes - useful for many of the above reasons and more! Also useful for cleaning mucky dogs paws quickly.

5. Some form of enclosure of crate. Caesar is a jumper and not the warm snuggly type that you wear in winter. He's the type that launches 6 foot over a fence to chase a dog. So I'm much happier having him enclosed within a crate (which effectively has a roof). Although I am also attempting to use windbreaks to create an enclosure type effect that Caesar can't see through.

6. Something to tie your dog to. Whether it be (in my case) bull bars or some type of ground peg. Something solid and safe where you know you can leave your dog while you sort out the interior of your van for bed time.

7. An awning! I came home and immediately bought one after seeing the benefit of having my parents' awning space. We managed to fit in a kitchen unit, tables, 3 large chairs and a rather large boisterous Caesar and it didn't feel at all cramped. I've fallen in love with the ease of air awnings and I treated myself to a Vango Kela (well worth it I think).

8. An open mind - When I left, I had a cold, and I was worried about rain and was feeling concerned about leaving the warmth of my lovely house to spend one of my precious autumn weekends in the back of a van. What I found is that I had an absolutely wonderful time with lots to do. And Caesar, once again, exceeded my expectations with great behaviour, minimum whining and not disrupting everyone on the site.

Conclusion: As long as you're warm and comfortable, camping is great!

Hopefully, you should hear more of Caesar's Bongo adventures in the coming months!

Thanks for reading - leave a comment or simply 'like' at the top of the post!

Manchester Dogs' Home Disaster

2014-09-14T12:21:00.001+01:00

It seemed wrong that we let a disaster that is this close to our hearts go by without comment or respect so our post this month is in response to the terrible event. For those who are unfamiliar with the horrific incident that occurred at this rescue centre, here is a link to a news article on the matter: News Report From Manchester Evening News.

It seems that the recent news has been showered with examples of how evil the human race can be. In fact, I've taken to changing the channel every time the radio announces a news broadcast; ignorance is bliss after all. And, while I'm concerned that if we don't all die of the latest infectious virus, or in a nuclear war, we'll probably be mauled by a police dog or stabbed by a junkie. And we wonder why almost 10% of the population is suffering from depression and anxiety? (The Fundamental Facts, Mental Health Foundation, Link Here, 2007).

Anyhow, no matter how I try to avoid it, the important stuff leaks it's way through. So it was through Facebook that I first heard about the disaster. The fact that over 50 dogs have died already is beyond a tragedy. However what is, perhaps, worse is that these were 50 dogs who, for whatever reason, were looking for a fresh start.

Anyone who has gone through the process of adopting a pet will know how it brings out emotions that you never expected to feel. If you get lucky, you get an easy ride. A dog that has few issues and settles into your home quickly. However the reality is that most rescue dogs bring with them their own baggage - and I don't mean a doggy suitcase with food and a blanket. These issues could be the reason that they found themselves in a kennel in the first place or it could be the result of a trauma that they suffered by being abandoned or neglected or abused.

When I visited the shelter where I adopted Caesar, I could not believe some of the horror stories. In fact, it seems that Caesar got off fairly lightly as far as some of the dogs were concerned. In the short time I was there, I saw a dog who had been living out of bins and was so malnourished that he had been brought in on the brink of death, a dog that had been found in a shed in someones back garden; unfed and uncared for. Another that had been taken by social services along with the family's children; there was evidence to show that the dog had been kicked and every bone poked through her thin skin. I'd like to tell you that these were extreme cases but you'd only have to look on any rescue centre's website to find that, unfortunately, they're not. What's worse, some pounds will sell dogs for money with no home check on the owner and risk putting them in the same position that they found themselves in before. Or, dogs are brought back into the kennels for reasons so petty that they hardly qualify as an excuse. I've bared witness to these 'reasons' and I don't even work at a rescue centre or pound.

It wasn't just 50 dogs that died in the fire. It was 50 chances to build something amazing. 50 blank slates waiting to start their lives again. Waiting for a better home, for a better life and for someone who would keep them safe and care for them. The heartbreaking thing is; they were almost there. They'd already been taken from their sheds, back rooms, skips and owners who did not have the time or heart for them. They'd made it further than some dogs could ever dream to come. They were somewhere where they were supposed to be safe and loved. They had a name and a bed.

I want to think that the incident was not further proof of the evil of which human kind is capable. I want to think that it was some horrific accident. And that an explanation will come. But, in truth, the majority of the dogs in rescue centres are proof enough that the world we hear about on the news, the world that I try to block out for my own sanity, is becoming more and more out of control. Just weeks ago, I accidentally heard a story on the news of a horse being attacked by a man with a knife. I thought to myself 'what is this world coming to?' Who would stab an innocent animal? To me, it is crimes like this - crimes that cannot possibly have a sane motive and that affect the defenseless and the innocent that make my blood boil.

So here we are. 50 dogs murdered and a charity building that works every day and night to give them a chance at a new life, burnt to the ground. I'd like to be able to offer some comforting words. Or, at the very least, some reassurance but I can't. All I can say is that I'm glad the number of good people donating, helping and of course the two men who ran into the building to save the dogs from certain death, exceeds the number of terrible people who caused such a terrible incident to occur (one). And, I hope that, wherever that person is, just like the dogs trapped in those burning kennels, he feels very very alone.

And to all the dogs that died, who have remained nameless and lost forever, we are truly sorry that you didn't get the second chance that you deserved.

If you'd like to help:
Donate to Manchester Dogs' Home here

A wonderful channel from a centre called 'Hope For Paws' in America gives some good examples of some of the work that faces rescue centres today. They have a YouTube channel and it's definitely worth a watch (tissues first)! Hope For Paws on YouTube

'No bother...'

2014-09-06T21:54:00.002+01:00

It was early evening and my Grandma was about to leave. We'd spent all day cleaning and tidying and mopping and dusting. "He's no bother, is he?" she said, gesturing to Caesar as we drained the dregs of our tea. This statement was loaded. When I say 'loaded', I don't mean in an unkind way with accusations or false sentiment. But, a reflection of the time and improvement he has made and a question hanging in the air 'when?' - when did he become so....fine?!

When did he grow up so much?

When I brought Caesar home from the shelter, my grandparents were two of the first people I took him to see. They live a short walk from my parents and it was important to me that, as dog lovers themselves, they like Caesar. So, I knocked on the back door that Sunday afternoon and greeted them wholeheartedly hoping that Caesar would make a good impression. And, to put it bluntly; he was bothersome! He would not sit still, he ran up and down their kitchen boisterously, almost knocking my gran off her feet, and then, as if that were not enough, he jumped up at units and tried to steal food.

In the dog house for being naughty!

A few months later, my Grandad had offered to come and help me plant some nice flowers in my garden. Kindly, he had donated geraniums and dahlias from his own cuttings and helped me to put them, in their pots in the soil planter at the rear of the yard. Caesar sat nicely and carefully watched as we planted each geranium and I began to feel as if he may be making a positive impression on Grandad. You see, Grandad has set ideas about things like dogs; he thinks females are more loyal and 'less bother' and so, before we adopted him, Caesar already had the odds stacked against him. But today I felt good. "Good lad," I told him as we stood back to admire our work. And then I went inside to make a cup of tea. What ensued, can only be described as 'the great geranium massacre.' In the minutes it took me to get two cups out of the cupboard and put them on the worktop, all hell had broken loose outside!

I could hear Grandad shouting so I dumped the cups and ran outside. This is what I found:

Caesar was jumping on and off the planter at an unstoppable speed! At small intervals, he was digging a hole and pulling a geranium out of the garden. Some geraniums were flying into heaps, some were buried under mounds of soil! And Caesar, was an uncontrollable mess of paws and tongue that could neither be caught or calmed. Grandad threw his trowel down in the soil and heaved a heavy sigh. I won't repeat his words about Caesar. Needless to say, he still prefers female dogs. and has never offered me geraniums since!

My garden - my planter!

Back in the present day, while we were tidying my Grandma received a phonecall. He neighbours had lost their old dog. I remember the dog well as she would often wander round for a fuss or some food on hot summer days when she was supposed to be in the garden. I was a mere 10 when the family adopted the puppy who had been found tied to a lamppost. The topic, as is natural turned to our own experiences of this, 'I will find it hopelessly hard when Caesar's time comes' I told her. What I didn't say is that sometimes I lie awake at night looking at him and worrying about it - his mere 6 years of age only making it harder as I realise the potential of our time together to quintuple! And our bond too.

We began to talk about mine and Caesar's unlikely bond. He was not the dog that I had wanted when I arrived at the shelter and I never make a secret of that. It was Damien who was set on him and would not consider any other dog. And, I'm pleased that my naivety and judgement were overpowered by my desire to have a dog...any dog. But our bond began to grow from a few days into our relationship where I felt as unsure about him as he did about me. We gained a sort of understanding 'we're both OK as long as we know where the other is.' And, as long as I go out at the same time and return at the same time, he won't destroy my house (much).

In our house he's more of a free spirit but at other houses he likes to keep me in his sights. A sort of comfort blanket I suppose. And that's OK, because I like to keep him in mine too! And, if I leave him, he'll kick up a fuss as if to say 'you broke the rules'. And so when I walked out of the door with my purse in my hand leaving him with my grandma, I completely forgot about the silent rule book. That was until I was half way to the shop. I felt a little wave of panic overcome me as I crossed the road; what if he wasn't coping? What if he was scaring my grandma with his odd noises and behaviour? What if he'd panicked?

I almost sprinted back from the shop. I'd left the pair for almost half an hour. And I have to admit I was afraid of what I might come back to. I knocked on the door and a little face appeared in the window; it was Caesar. He whined a little and looked around. I held my breath. I knocked again. When I thought about it, Caesar hadn't been left anywhere for a little while. Last time I tried to leave him with dad, he didn't like it. He whined and cried and carried on and dad got quite annoyed with him. 'I should have left him in the garden,' I thought. But it was too late. Finally, from another room, I saw Grandma walking toward me. I felt my heart return to it's normal position and I resumed breathing. "How's he been?" - "no bother."

Caesar getting comfortable at my grandparents' house

So there we have it - somewhere between the Great Geranium Tragedy of 2012 and today, Caesar has found a place where he is beginning to feel secure. Secure being left in a place other than home with someone other than me, secure in spending the day tottering around after me and my marigolds and secure in the knowledge that I will not leave him. I know that it's not a profound breakthrough and perhaps there's not much to take away from this post. They say that time is a healer and I'm sure that time has enabled Caesar to feel more comfortable. He had to work to feel comfortable around me and now he is working to feel comfortable away from me.

Going Wild in Wales

2014-08-18T08:29:00.000+01:00

A 9 day dog holiday with Caesar in Llandeilo.

Holidays are expensive. Spending a lot of money is stressful! But it's ok because holidays distress us. Right? So it was all worth it in the end wasn't it? Or that's what I hoped as I made the bank transfer of £580 and cringed. The problem or at least potential problem was that this year, for the first time, our major holiday of the year would be taken with Caesar. A very relaxing 7 days in Wales with a hotel stop-off on both ends to break up the 7 hour car ride (for all of us!)

Day 1 - Oldham

We were running very late. Very very late. It was almost three and we hadn't set off yet, despite making plans to meet family in Manchester for dinner. Caesar always knows when something is amiss and danced around our legs as we attempted to load the car. I had chosen him a special new collar off the rail for his holidays; Spongebob Squarepants in a bright yellow with lots of funny faces. Car finally packed with; dog food, dog treats, dog toys, dog towel, dog deodorant, dog chews, whistle, extension leads, spare collar, dog coat, dog bed, dog bowls, water and finally the actual dog, we were ready to go. And we set off three hours late for hour journey to Oldham.

Apart from finding myself circling the ring road like a roundabout with Caesar screeching 'it's past my tea time!' in the boot at rush hour, the journey went fairly well. And 3 hours after beginning our journey, we pulled up outside the 247 Hotel in Manchester. The room rate was very reasonable at £35 per night with a small charge for dogs added - I had prebooked it a few weeks ago on Late Rooms. And the staff were sweet about the dog. Inside, I managed to tackle the stairs with Caesar and two bags! Luckily there were only 2 floors. And then find my way to an immaculately clean, spacious room with the biggest bed I had ever seen! Damien pulled the huge cage upstairs and we put it up next to the window with room to spare.

Where are we going this time?

Then we headed out. We met my aunt and uncle at their flat in Salford and managed to negotiate tea for five in a flat for two with Caesar running between everyone's legs. And, as a bonus, the flat was still completely in tact when we left. Then, we visited 'The Star', a pub that is owned by over 60 members of the community in Salford! As it was a warm night, we sat outside with Caesar and he was made a fuss of by almost everyone who passed him. What'd great about The Star is its warm atmosphere and sense of community - almost everyone greets you as a friend and being small and at least a little furry, Caesae was receiving VIP attention. By the end of the night, he was sitting at the bench practically joining in with the cheery conversation. It was almost midnight when we all bundled back into the car and headed the 20 minutes back to the hotel.

Exhausted from the journey and a constant stream of admirers, Caesar slept soundly all night, barking only occasionally at customers choosing to take advantage of the hotel's 24 check in. But, by the time he'd woken anyone, he was fast asleep again. We didn't eat at the hotel, but 2 advantages (in addition to the room prices and dog friendliness) were the price of food on the menu and check out time of 12 o'clock.

For more information about the 247 hotel in Oldham: http://www.247hotel.com

For more information about The Star in Salford: http://www.staronthecliff.co.uk

Day 2 - Oldham --> Llandeilo

Caesar was unsettled as we climbed back into the car at 11 the following day. He bobbed around in the boot squealing; not exactly what you need when you're trying to unparallell park your car which someone has kindly parked very close to the back of and someone else has kindly parked very close to the front of and your SatNav is telling you to 'make a uturn where possible' over and over. Damien, a non driver himself, kindly told me I can be short tempered when driving but I think having a screeching dog whose noise makes you wince behind you while trying to do a turn in the road between tightly parked cars is enough to test anyone's patience to the limit.

Finally, almost 10 minutes after leaving the hotel, we were on our way. The journey took over five hours and, with the start of a migraine bubbling after the first 2, I pulled over and gave Caesar a rest. It was hot in the car and, with the temperamental fans that only work on your fourth setting, I did feel sorry for the furry guy. We both had a rest, a drink and I had some ibuprofen to soothe the pain which was partly brought in by three separate idiots with caravans all of whom almost ended our journey and possibly our lives at different points and one of whom had me throwing my car into a bush as he took a 30mph bend at no less than 50, almost turning the caravan over and, as it rocked, causing me to swerve into the shrubbery on the outside of my lane. Caesar, thank goodness, was not phased by this. But he did begin to grow tired of travelling as we hit the 3 hour mark.

We pulled into the tiny road at around 4pm. And immediately drove straight past the cottage, onto a farm track, over an ungated railway crossing at the top of a mound, finally ending up on the bank of a river where I had to manoeuvre a turn in the road between a ditch and a fast moving river. Incidentally, I am glad that I don't own or tow a caravan. Particularly as, inevitably, Caesar chose this as his time to start howling and jumping up at the windows in the boot.

As we pulled up, Caesar screeching loudly in the boot, the owner of the cottage came to greet us. I grimaced inside knowing that if I didn't take Caesar out of the boot he would simply get louder and louder. And knowing that, if I did, he would fling himself at the man with every second of pent up excitement that he had collected over the last five hours. The latter happened. But the owner seemed very understanding and we'd later see that he had two large Irish Wolfhounds of his own.

He gave us a tour of the house and showed us, the part we had all been waiting for, the 2 acre dog excercise field that was exclusively ours at certain parts of the day. The field was beautiful and I couldn't wait to get Caesar onto it for a run. But first we had all of our belongings to fetch from the car. At 7 we headed for the field which was through a gate in the garden of our cottage. Given Caesars reputation for being a fence bouncer, I didn't want to let him off his lead as the field had a fence leading directly to an enclosure where the owners kept their dogs. Even at almost 8ft I had visions of Caesar lunging over and chasing the dogs around.

Caesar loved the owner's field

He loved running in the field. And we had hoped that he would sleep all night but his separation anxiety/attachment disorder reared it's ugly head again and, by the morning, we were both exhausted from his all nighter. I resolved to ask the owners for special measures the following day.

Demoted to crate sleeping - one sulky pooch.

Day 3 - Llandeilo

Despite hardly sleeping all night, kept awake by Caesars barking and howling and whimpering, I refused to admit defeat until almost 9:30. My eyes ached a little and I felt frustrated with Caesar for crying all night. 'It was supposed to be a nice break for us all,' I reminded Damien irritably as he donned my wellies and called Caesar outside. The ginger monster jogged past as if he were cool as a cucumber. I narrowed my eyes and flopped onto the sofa.

Weather forecast for today; rain, then thunder, then a bit more rain, topped with a bit more thunder. The silver lining was that the thunderstorm had come early - my iPad weather forecast had predicted it on Wednesday and I'd hoped it might break the weather. Despite this, we made a short trip into Llandeilo. Everything was shut apart from a supermarket which boasted a grade 2 hygiene rating (!!). From which, in desperation, we bought some cream cakes (!!!!!). And which sold Fajita packs but nit the other ingredients to go with them. I stood outside with Caesar. And a nice Polish family pulled up and asked me for directions to Issac Newton's house. Less than helpfully I answered 'I didn't know he lived here' then he complemented Caesar, saying 'hiya boys,' and told me he liked him very much before driving off up a side road.

We returned to the house after finding a nice round walk from the station in Llandeilo up to a promenade with benches and picnic tables looking out to a scenic countryside view. I made a mental note that, on a warm day, it looked like a nice place for a picnic. We were home by two and just in time for the second storm to begin. Caesar had some field time at 3 but kept being told off for crashing into my legs. Then we returned to the cottage and felt warm and cosy as we watched the rain dribble down the bay window and bounce off the roof of the car.

Luckily I managed to catch the owner who nipped in to check we were ok and ask about my plan. I explained about Caesars mental state and asked if, slightly breaking the bedroom rule, I could put up a small cage at the foot of the bed and allow Caesar to sleep inside. She agreed and in turn apologised for her dogs barking. She explained one was in heat. I couldn't have been happier to say 'it's fine!' Usually I'm the one apologising for caesar's behaviour. I told her as much and said its nice that she had dogs that acted like dogs and not robotic shadows or stuffed animals. She smiled.

Day 4 - Dinefwr Castle and Park

Although the weather forecast constantly threatened bad weather for the week, the sun shone through the curtains when I turned over this morning. Caesar was in a cage at the side of the bed that was rather smaller than I would have liked but all the same did get us all a good nights sleep.

After a good hearty breakfast, we set out in search of adventure and found, a short few miles away, Dinefwr Park and Castle. The castle is owned by the National Trust so those with memberships will benefit from free parking. However it cost us £6 to park the car if you're not a member - ouch! We then took a path towards the castle which took around 40 minutes at a leisurely pace. For us, it was relieving that the park had an 'all dogs on lead' policy that meant we didn't have any unwanted visitors heading for Caesar. In fact, the only other dog that we saw on the walk seemed to be of a similarly reactive state to Caesar. It's owner wrestled it past, never looking up to see Caesar reacting in almost exactly the same way.

Dogs seemed to be welcome in the castle area and we climbed the steps with Caesar to get a good look at the view. I'd like to think he enjoyed it trying to climb up on the wall to get a look at the huge drop and giving me a tiny panic attack. The weather, although changeable, did stay fair for 90% of the day and I treated myself to a much deserved ice cream after we climbed down. However, reviews suggest that's its a good place to visit come rain or shine. We wandered back through the fields on our return to the car and found ourselves in a field of sheep. There were lots of paths heading off in different directions and I'm sure we missed lots of interesting tracks and trails to explore! For those wanting to visit, there is only the tea van at the bottom of the hill so get a drink before you go up if it's going to be a hot day. Caesar seemed to enjoy the walk and was quiet for at least some of the way home!

For those interested in visiting Dinefwr Park and Castle, details can be found here: http://cadw.wales.gov.uk/daysout/dinefwrcastle/?lang=en

In other news: I threw the only dog toy we had over a farmers fence! Since it's next to our cottage they're bound to know it was us. I found myself wondering, what's the etiquette here? I don't even know who owns the field. But I bet the owners of the cottage do. I don't feel right bothering them with such a menial matter though although I'm certain they wouldn't mind. And the fence is far too high to be able to retrieve it myself. I don't mind losing the toy. I suppose it's like kicking a football over a fence, they'll either throw it back boer or chuck it away. I just hope it doesn't cause any problems!

Day 5 - Carmarthen

Last night, Caesar fell asleep in the crate the front room. So we left him to see if he would see the night out. He must've been exhausted because we didn't hear from him until seven in the morning.

The weather wasn't great today so we decided to take a trip over to Carmarthen, a place where I had seen there was at least one pet shop where I could replace Caesar's AWOL toy. Although, he did eventually settle, Caesar was a little rowdy in the car when we set off. I'm not sure if it was the heavy rain that calmed him or simply tiring himself of crying.

There weren't many people with dogs walking the streets of Carmarthen but we did see a few. We wandered around and I went in the occasional shop, some of whom kindly invited the dogs in. The best find of the day had to be a little pet shop backing onto the indoor market. 'Pets corner,' although fairly small was stuffed with everything you could dream of for your pets; chews, toys, food, treats, harnesses, collars AND Dogmatic head collars! I've been wanting another for Caesar for some time but I'm not a good internet shopper. Every time I see one online I convince myself the one he has, though stinky and fraying somewhat, is fine and we don't need another. Faced with a smart new one in a shop though I couldn't help myself! I bought a few new toys for much less than they would cost at a more major retailer and bought a black Dogmatic; £23.99. I wasn't keen on black, but when I tried it on him, I felt he looked the bees knees so I had to treat him. I'm sure he really appreciated it. We had a good walk around the shops and found a castle too.

It was raining again when we came back so we played tug for a bit and waited for our field time.

Find out more about Carmarthen: http://www.carmarthentowncouncil.gov.uk/Carmarthen-TC-eng/Default-8116.aspx

Day 6 - Swansea, Pembrey and Carmarthen

What I learnt today: never attempt to go to Swansea with dogs. We ended up going round the ring road looking for parking only to discover dead end rows of parking spaces and having to reverse out into heavy traffic. The more I tried to find a car park, the further away from the place I seemed to get! Caesar was starting to get restless so I told my phones sat nav to take us to Swansea Bay instead. It looked like a nice place when I'd googled it the previous night. I found it much easier to park at the bay among hot dog vans and lifeguard services. And, I was just about to pay, when I noticed a sign telling me that dogs were not allowed on the beach at this time of year. In one sense, I was pleased that the car park sign told us this before we had paid to park and headed down the beach. However I was equally unhappy that I had woken up early and driven for over an hour to find that digs weren't welcome at the bay and all of the car parks were immensely hard to navigate around and then, inevitably, full. If you do decide to ever visit Swansea, the park and ride might be a better option. I didn't check it see if it was dog friendly.

I gave up on Swansea shortly after 11 and brought my phone's map up. As we were on the coast, I remembered I had read something about Pembrey beach in the visitors guide. As we live on a beach ourselves, I never find beaches too exciting. However, I do like coastal villages, so I set the sat nav to take us to Pembrey. It took another hour, despite only being 18 miles from Swansea.

When we arrived, we were charged £5 before entering the car park. Damien and I frowned at each other as we passed through, £5 lighter! Then we drove for what seemed like quite some time. It was not evident where we should be parking, it seemed to be some kind of forest. I told Damien we'd probably come to the wrong place as it didn't look as if there was a beach here but noted that we'd have to make the most of it since we had paid a not insignificant amount to come in. We passed a riding school, caravan park and Segway track all within the confines of the parking I'd just paid to enter. Each attraction was separated by rolling grassy slopes and forestry walkways.

We parked up near to the Segway track and wandered in the direction that other people seemed to be heading, finally finding a sign that read 'beach for dogs'. The path took us directly to a wonderful beach which stretched out for miles. The tide was out too and everybody was able to keep a good distance from each other. After a lovely walk and a chance for Caesar to wear his Doggles, we headed for food. Everywhere at Pembrey seems to be dog friendly and dogs were even allowed in parts of the ice cream parlour/bar/restaurant. In fact, looking around there were lots of dogs and owners. It was a truly peaceful and beautiful place with lots of things to keep everyone occupied. And, it did occur to me that not so long ago, we would not have so peacefully enjoyed lunch with other dogs in the vicinity. However, we sat in the beautiful surroundings go the park with dogs at either side and behind and Caesar never so much as batted an eyelid. Pembrey was a beautiful place with lots to do and I have a feeling that I will find myself back there at some point.

Caesar was so good while we had lunch, despite several other dogs at surrounding tables, that I let him eat the rest of my burger. He sat looking very proudly around the surrounding area and some children called their mum to come and see his Doggles.

After we had eaten, mainly because we hadn't dressed or packed appropriately for this sort of day (much to my disappointment), we bundled back in the car and headed back to Carmathen to buy something for tea and so that I could exchange some walking clothes I'd bought the previous day. While I was in a shop, Damien observed how different reactions to Caesar could be; one man shepherded his wife away from Caesar saying 'he looks like a real fighter, him' (hilarious when you actually know him) where as two old dears sat and talked to him telling him not to cry as his mummy (who was listening from inside the shop) would be back soon. Another old lady also stopped to tell Damien how beautiful he was (the dog - not Damien!). I suppose people see what they want to.

If you are interested in visiting Pembrey Park and beach (which we give 5 doggie stars) go to: http://www.discovercarmarthenshire.com/parks/index.html

I think we succeeded in exhausting him. He had much more fun than he would have in Swansea so I suppose my parking crisis turned out to be a happy accident!

Day 7 - The day of nothing...

Today the weather forecast looked more promising. However, after getting up, we soon learnt that the weather forecast here is not always to be trusted. In fact, looking at the guest book, the weather forecast can rarely be trusted. You need to live on the edge a bit. And, above all, dress for all weathers! The kind of rain was falling that makes you cringe to think about going out in it - heavy downpours that warrant the use of the highest setting of windscreen wipers. Thankfully, Caesar seemed exhausted from the previous day and was as enthusiastic about leaving the cottage as us. We even struggled to get him to go to the garden for a wee! We decided to go back to Llandeilo if it calmed and then out to a dog friendly eatery for tea. I wanted to try a shop in Llandeilo called 'Heavenly' which sold chocolate and ice cream; I'd seen it recommended in the visitors book as well as a magazine.

Actually, what happened was odd, it did turn out to be sunny on the evening. However, Damien, the dogs and I were equally shattered. And, because I sometimes have to remind myself that I'm supposed to relax on holiday, we allowed ourselves the day (which we were supposed to be having tomorrow) to recuperate before the long drive back.

Although, since we hadn't eaten out much since arriving, I did decided we should have a meal out. We drove over to the nearest pub, 'The Plough Inn' and, feeling immensely guilty for leaving the dogs in the car, we asked for a table. They had none and were completely booked up. So, we began driving around the Welsh countryside looking for somewhere to eat. I'd have preferred somewhere dog friendly. But the problem with that, for us, is that there could be other dogs there. I'll never forget the dreaded time when I took Caesar into a pub at lunch time. Of course, as we were waiting for our desserts, a person turned up with a really yappy terrier. Caesar immediately started jumping around and squealing and squirming and brought the whole pub to silence. We had to drag him past the terrier to get him out of the door. How embarassing. Needless to say, Damien ended up outside in the rain while I gulped down a boiling how apple crumble. Anyway, I digress. We drove for almost an hour, our stomachs gradually getting more and more hungry. Eventually, we gave up and ordered a Chinese takeaway from a local Chinese in Llandeilo.

We got home and sat hungrily munching our spare ribs, prawn toasts and noodles. When we had finished, Damien asked if I could help him work out the washing machine. I left to go to the kitchen and, by the time we'd realised that no one was manning the left over Chinese, Caesar had already guzzled down a plate of noodles and eaten the spare rib bones!! I'm sure this stealing food behaviour will be the end of him one day! I was quite relieved he hadn't choked on fragments of the rib bone - he probably swallowed it whole!

Day 8 - Llandeilo (when it's open) and the river

I had vowed not to do much on Friday as I had a long drive ahead of me and didn't want to tire myself out. We parked up in Llandeilo and set about looking for 'Heavenly', the little confectionary shop that I'd heard so much about. We walked past on four different occasions without noticing and I'd just about decided that it had gone! However, when I found it, it was very much there and doing very well too. It's not particularly a dog friendly thing to do although the kind shop keeper did invite the dogs in - I refused of course, imagining how much damage Caesar could do to the delicate chocolate displays - but I did think Heavenly was worth a mention. In fact, we decided to visit again the next day because it was so nice! If you're ever in that neck of the woods, I do recommend a visit - and the delicious ice cream is worth a taste. http://www.heavenlychoc.co.uk/

Llandeilo itself wasn't exactly a great place for dogs and with it's very narrow footpaths, it did make it hard to squeeze a larger dog such as Caesar past. However, I will say this for all areas that we visited; most of them were extremely dog friendly and even chocolate shops and cafes were more than happy to allow dogs to enter; something that I found a stark contrast with in the North East of England.

Not sure I love the water...

We finished the day with a walk down to the river which was about 10 minutes away from our cottage. It was warm and I'd hoped Caesar might have enjoyed a little swim (on flexi lead of course) as the river was quite fast moving). However he avoided the water like the plague, not even wanting to get his feet wet - typical!

During our river walk we had time to take in the beauty of the welsh countryside. We had seen so many rolling green hills and farms and rivers on the way to the cottage but standing by the flowing water and looking up to green fields on the other side, I had time to take in the beauty of the place. There was a longer field walk following a footpath and crossing over a bridge but we decided not to take it in favour of returning to the field for a run. Particularly because the water seemed to be making Caesar nervous and, instead of running around and enjoying himself, he chose to hide behind my legs.

Day 9 - Runcorn

We left the beautiful cottage at 10, bidding goodbye to the owners. Caesar was surprisingly quiet in the car. As my uncle and aunt were away for the weekend, we decided to split our journey into two parts and stay the night in Runcorn. The reasons for this were three fold; firstly because Runcorn was not far off the beaten track, secondly because it split our journey into two neat halves and thirdly because it was cheap - if you've ever holidayed in Runcorn you may understand why.

At the same price as the Oldham 247 Hotel, the Campenile Hotel in Runcorn set us back £50 for the night. It was dog friendly. More like a motel than a hotel, it spanned over 3 floors and access to all rooms was on the exterior of the hotel. We found ourselves situated on the top floor, which did make it difficult to toilet Caesar. And also to carry all of our belongings up two flights of stairs as well as being yanked along by our lovely mutt.

So am I allowed on this bed then?

I asked at the counter if the restaurant/bar, which was empty, was also dog friendly but was told no but we could sit outside if we liked. I looked at the graying sky and thought of the long journey. Finally, I negotiated taking food from the restaurant back to our room and the staff agreed. They seemed eager to help and I was fairly stuck as there didn't look to be too many other places to eat in the local area. Particularly given the fact that we found The Campenile by following a sign that simply said 'hotel'. I'm guessing it was the only one. The room was pretty simple, it had one towel (which was one towel not enough) and there was a slight blood stain on the quilt (I gave Damien that side of the bed). When the hot water was on in the bathroom, a rude message appeared on the mirror. This told me that perhaps the hotel wasn't as clean as it could have been. But, for ease more than goodwill, I decided to leave it. I was tired and aching and not in the mood for a room change or having someone visit and Caesar make a huge fuss. After all, it was only a one night thing and Caesar didn't seem to mind.

However, of the two hotel stop overs we made, I would recommend the 247 Hotel in Oldham over the Campenile in Runcorn. The former was clean, well looked after and the rooms were large. For a budget hotel that allowed dogs, it was great.

Never the less, if you're interested in staying at the Campenile Hotel, the link can be found here: http://www.campanile.com/en/hotels/campanile-runcorn

Details of Afallon Cottage, South Wales

Our beautiful cottage was set in a rural location but with easy access from a main road. It had a dog walking field of 2 acres and space for 4 persons + 2 dogs. And, it seems, that many visitors are so pleased with the cottage that they return time and time again - I don't think you could get better credentials than that. In true cottage form, the place is cosy. It has a large front room/dining room. The kitchen is quite small but the use of the space available maximises it's potential and we didn't struggle to cook anything. What impressed me most about the place is how well equipped it was. Everything had been thought through from fresh, clean towels and handwash in the bathroom to salt and pepper in the dining room. We even arrived to find freshly made Welsh cake, a jug of milk and a box of teabags - what more could you ask for?

Noteworthy points: With a dog like Caesar one thing did cross my mind when booking the cottage; was the dog exercise area secure and away from other animals (having a reactive dog)? Yes and no. The owners have some beautiful Irish Wolfhounds whose enclosure does border the field. They do bark if you pass close by their enclosure, which is understandable. For dogs like Caesar (who can jump high fences) and reacted to the barking, I didn't feel right about letting him off his lead. He may have done nothing but I was afraid he would damage the wired enclosure fence or try to jump to get to the other dogs (a bad habit he showed off when he was in kennels).

Overall: I would recommend the cottage to anyone wishing to visit this part of Wales. The owners were very friendly and, although living on the same site, were keen to allow privacy which was lovely. We had a beautiful outdoor space that was all ours and access to the owners' private field that is brilliant for those whose dogs perhaps can't come off the lead in wide open spaces (although do remember the dogs can see other animals including other dogs and sheep). It is brilliantly situated for main roads and also for countryside walks. Who could ask for more?

Also, we booked through Dogs Trust Cottages. This meant that 10% of the fee went to Dogs Trust which is great because the price was the same as other booking sites for the same cottage. Details of Afallon Cottage can be found here: http://www.chooseacottage.co.uk/DGP/afallon-cottage-23879

If you've been on a holiday with dogs that you think is worth a mention, why not share it with everyone by leaving a comment?

Thanks for reading! Please share with your doggy friends!

But dogs are so 'tying'...

2014-08-07T23:26:00.000+01:00

Since I can remember, I've known that I wanted to own a dog. When you tell this to people they have one of a limited number of reactions. Here are the most common:

1. I love dogs!

2. I don't like dogs...

3. "But they can be so 'tying'"

For those who don't know what I mean when I say 'tying'. These people simply believe that although having a dog might be nice it means a limited amount of:

1. Day trips

2. Mini breaks

3. Holiday's (abroad or otherwise)

'Tying? Me? Never! Now...please don't move, I'm comfy!'

There are several reasons for the above. Firstly, not all places allow you to take dogs. You may find a perfect place to take a mini-break with your dogs but then find that you cannot eat anywhere for lack of 'pet friendly' eateries. And you certainly can't take them to the spa with you! In addition, if you fancy a summer holiday with your canine companions, then that's fine but your holiday rental will have rules. Mostly these include:

1. Not leaving your pets unattended in the cottage/lodge/room. This means that you are often forced to take your dogs with you to the supermarket. And we all know the advert that says 'don't leave dogs in hot cars - ever - even with the windows down - ever ever ever!' So that leaves you a) shopping alone or b) sprinting around the supermarket like an Olympic athlete.

Caesar, please let me back in the drivers seat!!

2. Not allowing your dogs within certain areas. We recently visited a wonderful dog friendly set of lodges that had the following noticed nailed to every door 'no dogs in the bedrooms'. Fine. Except for if your dog usually sleeps in the bedroom and, finding himself in a strange place, decides to howl all night. I can understand that owners may not want a dog on the beds, however having a crated dog in a bedroom shouldn't present too much of a problem.

No more morning lie ins then!

3. The unwritten rule - keeping your dog quiet, particularly at night time. Which, now they are sitting in an icy lounge alone in a crate instead of tucked up in bed with you, isn't quite so simple any more. And, while it's unfortunate that neighbours may hear the pathetic, lonely howl of your beloved pet, you are within the confines of the same small space and looking at the ceiling deciding; do I break all rules and go to him simply to stop the dreadful noise. Or will that make it worse and, in fact, the best thing to do is to lie here wincing every time a howl starts.

Caesar is an excitable dog at the best of times. And, when on a recent camping excursion, he decided to show everyone just how excited he was by 'talking' to them and the rest of the campsite. Our closest neighbours, a few metres away, had the kind of dog that probably no longer has a lead and pottered around their tent all day looking like it had no desire to go anywhere else. The type of dog you see sitting outside a shop with no lead on waiting patiently for its owner to return - looking past everyone it sees. Do you know what would happen if I even accidentally dropped my lead? All hell would break loose! Caesar would be speeding around the campsite stealing food and charging clumsily into everyone's dogs. However, Mr and Mrs Perfect Dog did not see this. They saw that their mini-break was being spoiled by howling and I spent the two days trying not to accidentally make eye contact with them.

The question, then, is why do it? 'They're tying though aren't they?' someone commented to me recently after complimenting Caesar on his good looks. I nodded, mainly out of politeness. You see, I don't think they are. OK, so you have to be a little more organised with your schedule and, occasionally ask for a hand with letting them out. But, actually, dogs are rewarding. And, I think for every one of the handful of things I can no longer do because of Caesar, there is a new opportunity available to me; walking with friends, training sessions, agility, crufts and other dog shows (even when we're not competing!) and simply chatting with other dog owners in the park. These are just a few of the windows opened since I have owned Caesar. And, perhaps for a while I will miss my holidays abroad but, if truth be told, a holiday in England isn't so bad when the weather is good and at least then I know where he is at every second. And don't spend my holiday hoping he's OK!

Right, I'm ready to go!

So, with all this in mind, I recently booked a holiday cottage and the owner contacted me to give me the arrival drill I was mortified to hear that they 'pop round' to check you've settled in! I can only imagine what might happen - it's enough to give me sleepless nights!

The question is, with a dog like Caesar, do you make apologies before he inevitably starts squealing and knocking things over and you can't speak loud enough to be heard over the din. Do you make apologies for him before he even arrives? In which case, you risk the owners saying 'not in our lovely rural cottage thanks very much!' It's a conundrum. But recently I was proven wrong when I took Caesar swimming. I decided that the fairest option was to do the latter and make my apologies before I even brought Caesar. I explained that Caesar was a rescue dog who was 'noisy, excitable and not great with other dogs'. Thankfully, this seemed acceptable in this forum and all other dogs were moved back but still within a closer proximity than would be ideal (in the same room!). I waited until the last second to introduce Caesar to the room, explaining that if everyone valued their ear drums, it would be best to leave him outside. I also feared that he may jump straight out of the pool and onto another dog as would be 'Caesarish' behaviour. You can imagine my surprise when, on entering the room, Caesar walked through the door in silence, stood by the pool in silence and swam around in silence. He was then taken from the pool, placed within a couple of metres of dogs who were running around an enclosure playing and blow dried with a hair dryer-type device (something he runs away from at home). And, the whole time, he never batted an eyelid!

So I've concluded that I will not tell the owners of Caesar's ....Caesarishness.... and, knowing they have their own dogs, hope they're not the type that sit outside supermarkets without their leads on!

My nasty ugly dog...

2014-07-22T22:09:00.002+01:00

People have split views on Caesar. Some people will tell you he is a well-built, muscular and handsome dog. Others think he's scary. I have moved from feeling a lot of the latter to thinking that he's the most gorgeous dog I've ever seen and actively seeking dogs that look like him. But, I'd forgive those who feel that he's a scary looking dog because I know how I felt when I first saw him....

I'd gone to the rescue centre to look at a Jack Russell.

Now that I know and love Caesar though, I can see nothing scary about him; only his adorableness. Well, at least while we're in the house. What does get on my wick, though, is when I walk him and he runs around the park/beach/field/forest/... like an idiot making a ridiculous racket and having nearly everyone stare at us and think he's mental. And me even more so for owning him!

I've never been a person that likes being the centre of attention. And even less so for negative reasons such as having a screaming banshee of a dog dragging me along the road. However, my saving grace is that I do know that Caesar, despite what people may think, is a nice dog. The unfortunate thing is that I am unable to tell this to any of the people who stare at him as we struggle past; me fighting to pull him back and him wrestling with the lead to go forwards. Our energies are opposing each other so much that we appear to be having a tug of war in the street. I pray each time we leave the house that this lead is as strong as I'd hoped.

I don't disagree with the people that cross the road. Or the people that move out of the way. Or the people that stare in disbelief as I smile at them and dig my heels into the ground. I don't disagree with people asking 'is he aggressive?' or with those who assume he is and simply move away. I'd probably have been the same a few years ago - although it saddens me to think it. However, as humans, we have a need to protect ourselves and Caesar, however harmless he is, does appear to be a bit bonkers when he's squealing away to himself in the park. What, I have discovered he's actually saying is, 'OH MYYYYYYY....I'M SOOOOO EXCITED! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GO AND MEET THAT DOG/PERSON/SHEEP SO WE CAN PLAAAAY!' It did take me a good few years to finally realise that this is what he was trying to communicate. And it finally clicked when I made the connection between the noise he makes at tea time and the noise he makes on a walk; pure, uncontrollable, hysterical excitement!

He also makes it when we go to the vets. But once we get into the consultation room he's fine and so calm that, last time, I took off his lead and collar to show them something and he stood there for a good few minutes as good as gold. The problem is the part of the visit that involves making it from the door of the surgery to the consulting room without disrupting everyone in the whole building. I hate it. I cringe even thinking about it! People stare, stupefied by this horrific noise which is amplified by the bare walls. Once, another vet came out of the room and stared at me as I struggled through. I was completely mortified! But it's OK because my vet understands and she knows that inside Caesar has a heart of gold. Plus, by the time he gets to her he's pretty calm!

One day, though, I was walking Caesar through the surgery. I now wait outside the front door until the vet finds me I had entered in through the front door and my destination was a door to the left, just through the waiting room. I grimaced and hurried through with Caesar's lead as short as I could make it. As we walked through the door, a woman commented 'What a nasty ugly looking dog..." She had a small fluffy dog which she had lifted off the floor at the sight of Caesar.

I'm not sure I processed the comment until I entered into the consultation room. Nasty? Ugly? I looked at Caesar who was whining pathetically. He is 22kg of muscle and noise - I'll allow her that. He is irritating - I'd give her that too. But to judge him as nasty? Is his squealing really so much worse than her own Shih tzu's yapping and growling? I felt hurt for Caesar who is the most loving dog I've ever come across. And, I would say this because he's mine and I love him very much. But, to be fair to him, Caesar has never done anything to prove otherwise. And, until he does, I will continue to believe it.

Comments like this come with the territory of owning a dog like Caesar. And, it hurts to think that, no matter how nice he is at home, people will always think he's a 'nasty' or 'ugly' dog. I am having to accept this. I suppose I better develop a thick skin. Part of me feels angry at her for her ignorance. But another part of me feels sorry for them because, while they continue to close their minds, they will forever close their minds to bull breed dogs like Caesar. And that is very very sad.

Two and a half years ago...

2014-07-15T21:06:00.001+01:00

Two and a half years ago, the name Caesar meant a Roman Emperor who I knew little about. If you'd asked me what I thought about it as the name for a dog, I'd have said I hated it. I'd much have preferred 'Fluffy' or 'Snoopy' or 'Star'. But Caesar isn't a 'Fluffy', he's not a 'Snoopy' and I can say, in no uncertain terms, that he is certainly not a 'Star'. He just isn't. In fact, he's a 'Caesar'. And, now that I have him I can think of no other name that would suit him as well.

Two and a half years ago, the only things I had to spend my money on were for myself. I had freedom to spend on holidays, clothes and lovely things for my house. Nowadays, I spend more money on pets than I do on myself and my wardrobe is starting to reflect this - as is Caesar's!

Two and a half years ago, I knew not what the term 'separation anxiety' meant. And I knew how to leave the house without a second thought. Step out, lock door. Simple. Now, the routine is much more complex; take Caesar to toilet, scan all of house for anything edible/destroyable/precious, find toys that are durable to leave out, shut kitchen door, throw self against kitchen door to check that it is shut, leave, lock door. This adds a considerable amount of time to my morning routine not to mention general stress to my life when I'm at work and suddenly realise I've left my designer handbag hanging at the foot of the stairs...

Two and a half years ago, I believed that pets were pets and should never be allowed on furniture or in bedrooms. They should have pet beds which were theirs and be grateful too! Now I share my sofa and my bed and my life with a huge ginger mongrel and there's nothing better than snuggling up together on the sofa and watching a film!

Two and half years ago, I had enough space to sleep comfortably on a night. Now I sleep in an odd shape with my legs over, around, under or balanced on a bundle of fur and muscle. But, when it's not there, however uncomfortable it may be, I cannot sleep.

Two and a half years ago, I did not know how it felt to be greeted each night by a wagging tail. That, no matter how bad my day had been, I'd be just as special every time I walked through the door. I did not know that I could put my worries down with my bags and head out for a walk.

Two and a half years ago, I did not have the same capacity to forgive. I did not realise how the fears of others can lead them to act in a way which is irresponsible and destructive. I did not know that this behaviour was much less about me and more about them. I did not realise that I could watch parts of my world be destroyed and feel sorry for the one who destroyed them.

Two and a half years ago, I went to bed alone when I was hurt, unwell or just tired, unaware of the healing qualities of a furry companion. The calm constant lying at the end of the bed, cuddling into my legs or back. The only company I can stand when a migraine takes hold.

Two and a half years ago, I knew that I didn't want a Staffordshire Bull Terrier or any cross breed of this type. I'd heard too much bad news and wasn't willing to listen to reason. My favourite breed of dog was something small and fluffy, yet today I could not live without my Staffy cross boy - the gentlest natured and most loving dog I have ever come across.

Two and a half years ago, the name Caesar meant nothing to me. It's strange how two and half years can make such a difference.

The worst guard dog in the world...

2014-06-25T22:27:00.002+01:00

"How do you think Caesar would react if you were attacked?" asked my sister one afternoon as we sat drinking orange and chatting about a plethora of unrelated things. Allowing one aimless topic to run seamlessly into another.

If I'm honest, it isn't the first time that I've allowed my mind to ponder the subject. Caesar himself being 22kg and built like a buffalo would be a deterrent I had thought for almost any thug who might come my way. But was I sure he would protect me? I'd like to think he would but if I was being truly honest with myself - I think he'd probably just cry.

Equally, with burglars, I was sure that Caesar would frighten them before they realised what a noisy yet harmless lump of dog he is. He may scare them by being overly boisterously friendly I thought. Or by just walking into the room while they were there.

It was odd that a few days later, I noticed a post on a Facebook forum from a lady who had come in to find her back gate and door open. She assumed she must have been burgled but that they had fled when seeing the dogs as nothing had been taken. I nodded in agreement. I should hope that this would be the case should we ever find ourselves in this horrible situation.

A wolf in sheeps clothing? - probably the other way round!

I felt weird driving home at lunch time. And annoyed with myself for leaving a file that I needed on my coffee table. Cursing as I pulled up to the house, I strutted up the front drive praying that the file was where I thought it was so that I could get back to work quickly enough to get a bit of lunch. I flung open the front door and dashed in quickly to find the house in complete silence. 'Good' I thought, assured that I hadn't been annoying the neighbours with nuisance barking. After pausing for a second to think, I hurried into the front room. The file wasn't on the coffee table. Underneath? I thought desperately and began unpacking boxes and pulling things out from beneath. I banged and clattered as folders, notebooks and box files fell to the ground. Finally, I saw the file and yanked it out. I stopped to look at it. Silence.

The house felt eerie. Usually, I'm followed around everywhere by a ginger shadow. But there I was...alone. Sitting surrounded by boxes and paper that I'd rifled through. And where was Caesar? Who knows!

Was he knocking out the Zzzzz s?

About fifteen minutes after I'd come, I jumped in the car and drove back to work. As I mindlessly steered down familiar streets, I began to worry. What if Caesar was trapped somewhere? What if he was injured or ill? Not wanting to disturb him, I'd left him alone wherever he was. I hadn't even peeped around the door to see where he was.

I'm pleased to say that, at the end of the day, he was there with his wagging tail waiting for me. But, where he was that lunch time, I can only guess...

Fat face...

2014-06-07T20:07:00.000+01:00

"I'm going to have an early night..." has been the catchphrase of my week. I've said it nearly every night and managed it never. Caesar likes an early night too. I get my audio book on and we snuggle up under the duvet and I listen and he snores. Only last night, the usual comforting snores of Caesar's sleep terrified me more by the second...

This is how it happened...

We'd decided on an early tea and I was sitting with my laptop balanced on my knee on the sofa as Damien cooked up a breakfast. I lifted my hand to close the lid and Caesar, who was half on half of my leg flinched and winced. I stopped in horror. "You don't think I'm going to hit you?" I looked at him perplexed. Caesar's history has always been a giant question mark and I've always wondered if any bad memories carry with him. But he's been here two years now and I'd hope he knows that I wouldn't allow anything to happen to him. I went to stroke him a moment later and he flinched again. I called Damien.

"I don't know if something's happened to him but I think he's afraid I'll hit him..." I told him. Damien shrugged when I showed him and then suddenly his expression changed. Aghast he reached for Caesar's face. "His cheek is all swollen he said." I looked and he was right. Because I was sitting on his left side, I was unable to see that his left lip and cheek were swollen as if he's been punched by Mike Tyson. Panic set in as somewhere in my mind I remembered training about anaphylactic shock in children. One of the things we were told to look for and report as a matter of urgency was swollen lips.

Swelling to the left side of Caesar's face came up suddenly.

Caesar has a habit of waiting until just after closing time at the vets on a weekend before deciding to come down with something potentially life threatening. The first, and worst thing, I did was googled it. One good thing about googling is that there's always someone worse. And in this case, there were quite a few dogs who had seen much worse. Some had swollen eyes and weeping scabs. Others looked more like they'd been in a car accident than 'stung by a bee' which seemed to be the most common cause of the swelling.

I had two pieces of advice I was happy with. A good friend and dog trainer, Chris, had told me to pop a cold compress on his face and perhaps try some Piriton. I wandered over the the supermarket having pressed a cool towel to Caesar's face - he seemed thankful for the relief. I had two names; "Benadryl" and "Piriton". I couldn't find either! Then, suddenly, I set my eyes on "one a day" by Benadryl. I snatched them up and took them home. However, when I got them back, I realised that they contain a drug called centirizine. I googled it and got no results for whether it was safe for dogs or not - people on forums seemed to be debating it and there were many references to a 'poisoning in dogs' article which I was unable to find. I decided to leave it. Another trip to the supermarket would reveal that there was nothing safe to feed dogs.

*Very very useful note: I cleared this up with the vet on the phone and she told me that centirizine is not safe to give dogs. So for anyone wondering there's the easy answer that I could have done with last night!

Now it was decision time. "In case of a GENUINE emergency..." the vets answer phone played. As a pet owner, it's hard to make a good decision when it comes to this. I've heard many people slandered for not taking their dog to the vet fast enough yet, at the same time, vets aren't keen on you wasting their time out of hours with non-emergency problems. I looked at Caesar's face again. It was really swollen.

Poorly doggy with a swollen face.

This is when it struck me; my insurance company provide a free 'Vetfone' service. So I decided to ring this. "I'd like you to ring out of hours..." said the vet on the end of the line. "Your vet may not necessarily want to see you but I think it's best that they make that judgement..." At least someone had now told me loudly and clearly what exactly I needed to do. I called.

At first I felt panicky and spoke quite fast. "I've had another bee sting today..." the vet told me calmly. "That's what it sounds like...." Despite my calling out of hours, she was very understanding. "You sound worried." She said, "do you want to go over the the surgery and I'll meet you there? Say 10 oclock?" She thought that this could be an emergency too.
"So it's an emergency then?" I couldn't help but blurt out. Half mortified and half relieved not to have wasted her time.
"Personally.." she paused. "If it's been like this for a while...I'd be tempted to leave it until the morning. Keep an eye on him and, if anything changes, call back straight away. I think it's unlikely to change now."

Poorly sleepy head.

So that's what I did. I woke up every hour all night to look at him, prod him, call his name and wonder whether he was asleep or unconscious, snoring or struggling to breathe. I lay awake wondering what would happen if I went in the morning and it was a tumour and nor a bee sting? What if he needed and operation?

***

With his swollen face, Caesar could not wear his head collar. This made me nervous. He's hard to control on a lead and rears up at the dogs that he sees. But I knew there was no choice.

I love Caesar dearly and it's hard to explain to people who see the standing on his hind-legs barking Caesar that actually he's a massive wimp and would not hurt anyone. It's hard to believe that myself sometimes, despite seeing evidence of it all of the time. I left Caesar outside with Damien and checked us in. Another two dogless ladies sat beside me and we giggled about why we don't bring our dogs into the waiting room. "Just wait..." I told them. Another lady sat by the door with a shaking, barking ball of fluff and made comments about another persons doberman. "He's harmless!" the man said as the huge dog lolloped in but she just rolled her eyes. I dreaded bringing Caesar past her and crossed my fingers, hoping that she'd gone in by the time it was our turn, but we had no such luck. "Caesar..." called a voice and I opened the door to allow the whimpering, squealing mongrel in. The woman grabbed her dog and swore. "That looks like a nasty dog," she said. Less than quietly. She was still passing comments when we came back out with 2 bags of medication and a better understanding of how much pain our pet was in.

**Impromptu rant: I do feel that it was extremely unfair of said dog owner to pass comments about other peoples pets and I was upset that this was going on in a vet clinic waiting room. For her sake, I'm quite glad that what Caesar had didn't turn out to be extremely serious or I might have gone and given her a piece of my mind. It's a very good job that no one was bringing a larger dog in with a serious medical condition or that had reached the end of it's life. I can understand that some people are not keen on larger and stronger breeds and I can see why but it is completely unnecessary to say things about people's dogs in a vet where they might be really ill! ...I'm finished now.

So what was actually wrong with Caesar? He has an abscess. The vet is hopeful that it might go away with antibiotics (something I was not aware could happen). However, should the medication fail to work, he will need to be operated on. So all of our fingers, toes and paws are crossed hoping that he will recover. The vet is unsure what has caused it as it is on the inside of his cheek but it looks as though it has been pierced by something and become infected. The fact that it had come up so quickly suggests that it was pierced rather than just developing over time. He also has a strong dosage pain killer to help him get back on his feet.

Caesar after some pain killers. Feeling a bit better.

If you liked it, bark about it!

Apartment Antics

2014-05-13T22:09:00.001+01:00

Yesterday was my birthday and, perhaps because I'm spoilt or perhaps because I'm content, I couldn't think of what I would like. "What do you want?" people would ask me over and over, "there must be something..." I was sure there was. All year I'd spot things in shops and think "I'll ask for that for my birthday." But, when the question came, when the moment to mention all of those little luxuries came, my mind would turn absolutely blank.

One evening, my mum called. "How about a weekend away with us and the dogs?" she asked.
"Ideal!" I answered wholeheartedly. Parents and dogs. What could go wrong?

From the moment I adopted Caesar, my dad has always been on board. He had a soft spot for the ginger mongrel before I did and still refers to him as 'my pal' whenever we visit. A weekend away, though, would ensure that the pair were anything but 'pals' by the time we arrived home.

After a debate with my parents about bringing two cars or all travelling in one in which I had insisted that one would be better, not least because I don't like driving, it had been decided that Caesar should travel in the back with Damien and I and wearing his car harness. The reason for this was partly because the boot of the car will only fit a small cage if all 5 seats are up and I could not put 2 dogs in there for 2 and a half hours. Caesar, however, can usually be trusted to lie sensibly in the boot without attempting any Houdini style escapes but then there would be limited place for the cases and cool bag full of food. It was a logistical challenge but, after some time, it appeared that the best arrangement was: Caesar in the back in car harness with Damien and I, mum and dad in the front with Sat Nav and Gemma in her small cage in the boot with the suitcases. It was foolproof....

I set off at 4 from my house having frantically and independently packed the car. I had Gemma in the cage, Caesar in his harness and I was pulling off the curb when he began to cry. "Shhhh...." I told him but he wouldn't. The crying continued all the way to my dads house 10 minutes away. It was punctuated with howls and whimpers. "Shhhhhhhhhh......" I tried to stay focused on the road, wincing as the sound bounced around my head.

Caesar and I travelling in the car

"Oh dear," dad said as he took over the drivers seat. "What's all that noise about?" Caesar ignored him and continued along his road to total annihilation of my ear drums. Now sitting next to him, I stroked him, talked to him, shushed him, shouted at him, ignored him, begged him and eventually gave up on him. He was not going to stop crying, it appeared, for the whole trip. By the time we'd picked Damien and mum up from their different places of work, it appeared that the car journey would be a trial for all of us. Dad had stopped the car while I took Caesar to the toilet, I'd tried giving him water and nothing seemed to be working.

When we arrived, after 2 and a half hours of almost unbearable noise making, Caesar turned it up a notch. Dad pulled the car up at the apartment and Caesar began to screech. He had seen two dogs running around on the moorland and the excitement was more than he could take. He knocked into my face and screeched some more. He jumped up at the windows and carried on. Dad had his head on the steering wheel and his elbows over his head trying to drown out the noise as we sat in the car park. It was unbearable.

On the upside, the lodge was beautiful and, relived that Caesar had eventually stopped making use of his vocal range, we were able to settle down to a nice evening meal. Being on the Yorkshire Moors had it's advantages and we got the dogs out for a walk in the heather before the sun went down and the rain set in.

It was a tad windy on the top of the moor. Can you tell?

After a nice evening, we turned in. I'd brought the large crate folded up in the car and opened it up to create a bedroom for Caesar and Gemma. I was relieved when they climbed in straight away and curled up together on the cushion bed that I'd created. We made little fuss about going to bed and left the light on a little while until they were settled. "Phew..." I sighed loudly as I popped my audio book on and fell asleep before I'd even heard a full sentence.

When I woke, the apartment was still in darkness. Something had startled me though and it took a couple of minutes to realise what it was. Caesar was now whimpering quietly in the living room. Every few minutes, he would let out a loud bark and then begin whinnying like a horse again. "You're joking!" I said to Damien but he was fast asleep. I tried to turn over myself but I was awake and after a while it became apparent that Caesar had no plans to allow me to sleep again.

I checked my phone. 4:00am. Damien was stirring now and beginning to complain. I tiptoed to the end of the bed, slid my feet into my trainers and walked into the front of the apartment. Daylight was beginning to filter through the darkness to the tuneless song of Caesar's whines. "Shut up!" I told him impatiently as I slipped open the crate and let him onto the laminated floor. I searched for his lead and slipped his head collar on. "Thanks for this..."

It's not often that you find yourself standing on the moor at 4am. And, although the morning was beautiful, it's not something I'd like to make a habit of. I walked Caesar around a bit and then returned to the apartment. Popping him back in his cage due to the 'no dogs in bedrooms' rule, I hoped that this might settle him. In truth, if not worse, he was much the same as he had been earlier.

At 6am, after two more hours of failed sleep, I took the duvet and retreated to the front room. Perhaps if I slept with him he might calm down, I thought. This, as with my other theories, was not true. I felt completely helpless. 'At least there's no one in the apartment next door,' I found myself thinking as I shuddered in the cold room under the duvet. Caesar paced back and forth on the tiles, his claws tapping on the tiles.

Caesar at a 'dog friendly' pub - shame he decided to scare everyone by suddenly turning into a howling monster and having to be removed when he heard a puppy yapping in the bar!

I try to be patient. I really do. And, often, against my own judgement, I've been told that I am a patient person. Perhaps outwardly that may be true but, inwardly, I scream at situations like this. I lay there and felt my eyes fill. Why was Caesar determined to spoil my birthday weekend. It's hard to remember sometimes that, no matter what you have done for them, at the end of the day they're still just a dog. In a sense, like a spoilt child, they will just make a fuss and carry on when they're not happy. And, unlike children, they will never reach a point where they realise that they aren't the only being on the planet that has ever been cold/hungry/bored/tired.

I have to admit, I don't do well when I'm tired. I don't like my eyes being sore. I don't like feeling drained. I was supposed to be going out walking on the moors. Now all I felt like was having a very long nap. Or, if that failed, crying. Caesar nuzzled my arm under the covers and tried to climb on the leather sofa "no!" I told him sharply and turned over. He began to cry again.

I allowed the thought of putting him in the car and leaving him there while I had a nap to wash over me like a tide of relief and then rejected it. I couldn't do that to him as much as I felt like it...

I wouldn't normally but...
I was hugely impressed with the accommodation at the weekend. Some places claim they are 'dog friendly' because they allow dogs inside but this place was 'dog friendly' because they treat dogs as well as they treat their guests. Firstly, dogs stayed for free - no additional charges. Secondly, the owner was lovely with the dogs and came and made a fuss of them even though Caesar was being a bumbling, clumsy fool and I was worried he would knock the poor man off his feet. Finally, the place is MADE for dogs with it's very own 'dog wash' and bone stock where you can choose a free tasty treat for your best mates! The owners are clearly dog lovers and that comes across in every element of their hospitality.

Here's a link if you'd like to know more:
Westfield Lodge Website

Depressed or Grown Up?

2014-05-03T10:24:00.002+01:00

When I adopted Caesar 2 and a half years ago, he was 2 and a half. If you're a maths genius....or at the least know how to add up...you will realise that Caesar is now 5.

Five. I've repeated it to myself, to friends, to Damien. Five. Half way to 10. I suppose if you think about it like that though, I'm more than half way to 50. Five. I lay in bed one night looking at him as he lay motionless by my side. Five years old. That's still only young. Isn't it? I felt my eyes prick. In human years, he's 35. That's older than me. But 35 is the new 25, right?

I didn't feel tearful about him turning 5. Nor about the fact that, comparatively, he's lived more of his life than me, at least by the law of averages. I felt a sudden panic that, at 2 and a half he seemed so young and how quickly our time together has passed. How the moments have flown without my noticing. Yet I wouldn't turn time back. I couldn't. I don't know how I survived the months of destruction and noise and panic. The anxiety associated with opening my own front door to see if my house was still habitable. To see if Caesar was harmed. I gave everything to helping him through his difficulties. He gave everything to learning to trust me. And we've reached a point. A pinnacle at which I never realised that we would find ourselves. We have an understanding, a trust if you like; he won't destroy my house and I will always come back. We have those moments where that balance slips; I stay out too long, he bursts a can of deodorant but it is extremely rare that we return to the destruction that was before.

Caesar now spends a lot of his time on the windowsill, watching the world go by. On walks, he is still a nutter and he does like to bark at anything that moves whether out and about, in the house or in his favourite spying spot.

Caesar used to be one-hundred miles an hour about everything. He would run around from noon until night, skidding, spinning, bumping, barging and generally being a nuisance. Everybody used to complain. He meant no harm, I w
ould tell them, but he did cause it. He broke things, knocked things over, wrapped people up in his lead and was a pain wherever he went.

A few months ago, I stopped one night and looked at Caesar. We were at my parents' house and he was curled up on the floor. When did he start doing that? The following day I took extra notice of his behaviour at home. He was spending a lot of time lying on the window sill, watching. Just watching.

Right now he is doing the same except for he's gotten behind the curtain so that if I hadn't seen him climb up an hour ago then I wouldn't even know he was there. He's laid silent and still with the odd loud exhalation to remind me I'm not alone in the room. I'm unsure what he's waiting for.

"Do you think he'd depressed?" my dad asked me. I frowned. I'm not sure what Caesar has to be depressed about. He has lots of nice walks, treats, training and he sleeps every night by my side. But I couldn't deny that he's definitely slowed down considerably. At first, I thought he might be injured and choosing to move less to stop any pain but he seems fine while running around on walks.

Everyone had spent so long willing Caesar to calm down that, when he did, it almost seemed wrong. This calm, placid, quiet dog is not mine. Bring back the one that used to knock me off my feet!

Caesar keeps the wacky, loud, bustly, bumbly and clumsy version of himself locked away in a box. It's the same box that we keep the leads and collars in in fact. So, at least we get to see him when we attempt to go for a walk!!!!

Thanks for reading.

Caesar's Smelly Face

2014-04-27T15:37:00.003+01:00

There's nothing quite like going back to work after a 2 week holiday. Especially a 2 week holiday where you spent time with friends, had parties, long walks with the dogs, nice days out and so on... If I'm honest, despite the fact that, for the most part, I do love my job, it's an anticlimax.

'So you're just going to leave, is that it?'

This is only magnified by 'the eyes'. That look when you try to leave the house. The 'oh...so we're not going to hang out together today?' look. The 'how could you do this to me?' look. I lose great chunks of time when I'm at home just sitting and cuddling Caesar. He's always warm and snuggly and he can cheer me up even when it's raining outside. So it's really hard on that first Monday morning, at 7:15 to shut that door and walk away.

Of course, I like to think we've been through the worst with Caesar. And we did have it pretty bad too! We've coped with the breaking into the kitchen and eating his bodyweight in chocolate and boxes, we've had the emergency vet visit after he ate over 1kg of dog food after breaking the kitchen door, I've come home to find rooms in a state of disrepair, furniture permanently damaged, clothing ripped (my new coat did look better when it had pockets. But, for the most part, we come home now to find the house relatively unharmed. At worst, Caesar will pull a coat off the hook, nosey through a handbag or make a pile of my shoes on the bed but these things I can handle because I just need to think back to this...

...and I remember how lucky I am that this is over.

So when I stepped through the door on Tuesday and found the hall more or less how I'd left it, I wasn't surprised. We don't need to worry now. Caesar was there, as always, wagging and howling and bustling around clumsily; his way of saying 'how was your day?'

I patted him and then went into the lounge and flung myself on the sofa. "I'm shattered!" I announced before smelling Caesar's face. He smelt surprisingly good...as though he was wearing perfume. "Has he had a bath?" Damien shook his head and then bustled off to make a cup of tea. I shrugged my shoulders and sat Caesar on my knee for a cuddle, he settled down immediately.

If I hadn't been exhausted on Tuesday night, I might have been astute enough to notice that our bedroom also smelt rather fragrant that night. But I was too exhausted to think much and the unusual smell barely crossed my mind. If I had been wide awake when I stumbled up to bed that night, I might also have noticed the traveling bag that was lying upturned on the floor of the bedroom but I wasn't. I popped my audio book on, gathered the duvet around me and snuggled down with Caesar for a nice sleep. I can't remember my head hitting the pillow.

The rest of the week went in much the same way. Teaching is tiring at the best of times but after a break, it can really take it's toll! My head was sore and my throat ached most nights and I lost several hours sitting and thinking in the lounge with Caesar cuddled up on my knees.

I became human again on Saturday morning after a migraine induced early night on Friday. Caesar, of course, turned in when I did and by 7 o'clock the next morning, we were both wide awake. Fumbling about in the half-light I looked for something to wear and then some make up. "Ah! My travel bag - perhaps there's make up left in there from my visit to Sheffield," I thought and picked the bag up from the floor and looked inside. There was only one thing in the bag....

No wonder his face smelt so good!

I'm just pleased he wasn't very very sick....

Sweet Progress

2014-04-09T22:19:00.001+01:00

Over the past month, I've had little time to write and for this I do sincerely apologise. The truth is that I have little to write about. Caesar has been remarkably well behaved and sometimes I forget to celebrate that enough. Sometimes I need to remind myself of just how bad things could be 26 months ago when I brought home a jumpy, mouthy, noisy staffy who would just about scare anyone let alone the people who had signed a form committing themselves to owning him.

He's curled up by me on the sofa right now and I feel as if he's always been there. I don't have to worry about what he's doing because he's usually with me. He knows where he stands when it comes to my lunch and dinner, even, occasionally, when it's left unattended. And, by unattended, I mean more that 1m away from me - if it's in a room alone, it's anyone's!

Perhaps the biggest breakthrough I've experienced recently happened a few weekends ago on the same beach which we walked Caesar on in his early days. The beach where, after being yelled at by a man with two handsome golden retrievers, we avoided for a good few months. I cringe when I recall the noise that Caesar was making that day; the screeching, the wriggling, the howling as the two yellow dogs sniffed and nudged him. "Get your dog under control," the man yelled at me from far down the beach. I remember holding back tears as I tried to yell back an explanation. For some reason I felt apologetic. Apologetic for trying to walk this monster dog.

Naughty or misguided?

Back in the early days, Caesar couldn't walk within a few metres of a dog without causing a ruckus that was likely to make even the bravest of people think twice about walking past him. People would cross the road to avoid us and I would return from most walks feeling exhausted and tearful. Walking was not a pleasure; it was a trial. Soon, my parents began to decline beach and forest walks and, largely, I walked alone.

"She wants me to bring Caesar," I chortled as I told Damien about the sponsored walk. "Caesar!" I repeated, for dramatic effect. Chris, our dog trainer, has enormous faith in Caesar and has done for a great deal longer than I have. On our first training session, she pointed out that he was intelligent and willing to learn. I pointed out that he was noisy and kept looking like he was going to bite people.

I lured myself to the beach that Sunday morning by convincing myself that, should Caesar maul any dogs, I would return later, alone, and do the sponsored walk with Caesar. I had kept myself awake that night wondering what the outcome of the walk would be. Wondering if I could trust Caesar. I deliberated over putting his Flexi lead in the bag and then decided that it might be useful to have if we did the walk alone or held back from the other dogs.

Did I hear you say 'beach'?

Standing by the graveyard wall, looking down onto the beach, I did wonder whether it would be worth setting off alone. However, Caesar seemed surprisingly quiet and I felt a little reassured by his almost-silence. By the time we'd walked onto the sand it had become clear that, to some extent, the walk was not going to be easy. Twenty off-lead dogs darted around on the sand; chasing, playing, barking and having a whale of a time. Caesar attempted to do the same on the end of his 1m lead. It didn't quite work.

However, after around half an hour, it began to dawn on the ginger mongrel that he wasn't going to be let off his lead. And, after this realisation set in, he began to relax into the walk. I won't say he walked noiselessly but he did calm down considerably and by half way through, he was running around on his Flexi lead. I have had to become a pro at Flexi lead management as Caesar can run quite fast so needs a quick hand to stop him ploughing into people. He didn't get close enough to many dogs but he did have a little play with a lurcher who outran him by miles as they sprinted along the beach.

Fun on the beach

The walk back went much the same and, as we wandered, I looked at Caesar sprinting back and forth and felt a little tug in my heart. A sort of proud mother moment. I get them every so often. A moment where I looked down at him and wondered where that awful, naughty dog that I adopted had gone. I think I'll keep this photo forever; the moment when I realised how far we'd come...

Caesar and I (far left) on the Sport Relief Sponsored walk

The perfect collar...

2014-03-25T23:44:00.000+00:00

Accidents happen all of the time. More so, it seems, when you are constantly shadowed by an oversized and needy Staffordshire Bull Terrier cross who thinks he is a miniature poodle. I have lost count of the times that I've tripped over, been knocked over by or stood on Caesar. This is mainly because he likes to stay as close to me as is possible. Sometimes, he's so quiet that I don't even know he's there! Last night, Damien and I spent ages shouting him and looking for him when it turns out he was under the table by my feet.

Accidents happen. And, I of all people, can vouch for that fact. I've had some strange and colourful accidents in my time. Including the time when I trapped my head in the shower door and gave myself a fat lip by smashing my face off it when I sprayed myself with cold water. And I've lost count of the times that Caesar has knocked me over by running into me full pelt.

However, recently, I began on an accidental adventure that I didn't see coming at all. It all started with a shopping trip to IKEA. The same shopping trip that led to my buying Caesar's tent. A few minutes after choosing the tent, I paused for an unknown reason at the fabric isle. Standing on the end of the isle was a rather nifty looking sewing machine; small, compact and colourful. My first thought was that, for £45, I could make a nice pair of curtains for Caesar's cage. This should make it look a little more homely and mean that it has less of an impact on the dining room. So, I chose some red spotty material and picked up the light weight machine feeling pleased with myself.

Since discovering I could sew, I've moved up in the world!

A few days later, I finally pulled it out of it's cardboard box and rummaged around for the instructions. I'd put off using it because I wasn't exactly sure how to and the week had afforded me little time to learn. When I had finally followed the step-by-step guide to setting up, winding, threading and eventually sewing, I decided that a crate cover featuring a set of curtains was a little pie in the sky for my current sewing ability. So I searched around for something else to make. To begin with, I found a few scrap pieces of material and made a tiny cat face with sewn on button eyes. I smiled to myself as I completed it. Although not exactly sure what to do with the odd looking cat, I felt as though, at the least, I'd experienced a minor sewing achievement. However, still not ready to tackle the curtains and cover, I searched about for something else. I had a few pieces of ribbon left over from Christmas but nothing more.

OK so I'm a bit bonkers about ribbon...

It was around this time that Damien's gym bag decided to break. It had been looking a little worse for wear for more than a short time and, finally, the rip in the top had turned into a rather large hole. Despite his best efforts to ignore this, it wasn't long before the strap of the bag fell of completely. Damien was about to throw the bag in the bin when a thought crossed my mind. On this bag were webbing, straps and clips. I'd quite fancied having a go at making a dog collar but I wasn't sure that my little machine would hack it.

A week and several trips to the haberdashery later, I'd not only made one collar; I'd made several! And, people were asking me to make them one too. Suddenly, I was being offered money to create these collars. Armed with left over Christmas ribbon and off cuts from Boyes, I began making little collars. Suddenly, the collar world was my oyster. If there was something I fancied for Caesar; I could make it!

Hello sailor?

100% British?

.....maybe not

....surely one of these must be right?!

This led to much dithering. I kept making collars for him and then deciding to sell them or someone might simply take a shine to them and I'd feel bad for keeping them to myself. Sometimes, I'd choose a random collar for Caesar to model but none of them grabbed my attention. Now that I had a choice, I wanted a collar that defined Caesar. More than Batman and Superman. Something that spoke out loud about him and his nature.

It's alright....but is it really me?

Finally, one evening on Facebook, I spotted a post by a friend. It was perfect! The ribbon showed a simple paw pattern and 2 very important and very true words. The very collar that would define Caesar:

Rescued....Loved...

I chose yellow for the webbing because Caesar is a 'yellow dog'. For those of you who have missed the yellow dog campaign, give the website a visit (Yellow Dog UK).

Thank you to Sue at Sue's Pet Tags for the wonderful ribbon and support with the business start up. Sue provides excellent pet tags made to match collars beautifully.

STOG for your dog is now officially a business. If you would like to order a collar or discuss custom made collars, please follow the contact on the STOG website.

Test your dog's IQ...

2014-03-11T18:19:00.003+00:00

Firstly, I apologise to anyone who has found this post and does actually want to test their dog's IQ! Anyone who is a regular reader will know that, for the vast majority of the time, I offer completely moral-free tales of a dog who quite possibly has an undiagnosed special need. However, this was always the aim of the blog. To let others who find themselves in a similarly difficult situation know that they're not alone.

Wonderful and absolutely bonkers all at the same time!

When you have a dog like Caesar, the worst thing to feel is alone. Without the support of many people telling me 'this has happened to me too,' I may well have given up on Caesar within the first few weeks of ownership based on the fact that I just didn't understand what was going on! However, I've come to not only accept this but embrace it due to the fact that many others have let me know that they have experienced similar and sometimes worse scenarios with their own dogs.

It's bad...but it could be worse. Right?

Last night was the first time for a while that I'd felt alone with Caesar. It wasn't because he had done anything naughty or damaged anything or eaten anything; these things I have learnt to live with. For a change, it was my silly behaviour that had caused him damage.

To understand my behaviour at all you first need to know this fact; Caesar likes to jump. In the short time that I've owned him, I've seen him jump fences, walls, stair gates, chairs....and more. His current favourite hobby is jumping on and off the coffee table in the lounge. And, when that bores him; on and off the window sill.

Caesar likes to jump on and off of the coffee table.

Close to where we live there is a beach and on the beach there are fences that section off parts. Parts of the fences cover about 20m in width and range from 50cm to almost 2m in height. When walking Caesar on the beach, I used to allow him to jump over them until someone kindly pointed out that I didn't know what was on the other side - thankfully before I found out the hard way that people don't necessarily look after our beaches and leave broken glass or shards of metal lying around. I stopped this game as soon as I realised.

Caesar LOVES the beach.

I'd always dreamed of doing a sport such as agility or flyball with Caesar and would love to see him running a course. I'm certain he'd be great as he has a good attention span when it comes to training. There is only one problem; other dogs. When I last attempted to get Caesar to do flyball he abandoned the run in favour of jumping a fence and chasing after a load of other dogs. It's not that Caesar doesn't get enough exercise or variety because I'm constantly being told that he does. However, like a proud mother, I can never escape the feeling that he could achieve more so I'm always looking for new things to try. Failing that, I look for safe things to jump over on walks for a bit of fun.

Caesar sitting on a wall he'd jumped onto

Yesterday, on the beach I spotted a mild looking wall. It was waist height on me and so, at a jog, I pulled Caesar, on his flexi-lead, toward it. I let the lead loose and kept running as we approached. Caesar seemed to be enjoying the run and began to make headway in front. When he reached the wall, I gave the usual "up up up!" command....

Caesar can run really fast if once he gets going.

The next thing that happened was a blur. Caesar hit the wall with a thud travelling at quite a speed. He had seen the wall approaching yet somehow failed to jump and just ran face first into it and then collapsed into a pile. My first, and very unmotherly reaction, was to laugh; fancy not noticing there was a wall there. But then, having noticed the nasty looking mark on his cheek, I suddenly felt very concerned. How would you explain to a vet that you ran your dog flat out into a wall?!

Ouch! How much of a bad mum do I feel?!

In summary, to test your dogs IQ level; run them full pelt towards a wall and see if they jump. If they do they have a higher IQ than if they don't.....simple!
And, since I'm now far too aware of legal mumbo jumbo that I shouldn't be bothered about, please do not do the above...it was a joke!