Sophington + 1

So, it’s been a while hasn’t it? I’ve not written in an age, this is not the place for the whys and wherefores of my silence, what’s most important is I’m back…. And I’ve got a secret.

Oooh, that’s all rather mysterious innit? I mean, one has to admire a good opening paragraphs and a secret confession could not be a better place to start, goodness knows I loves me a good opening line... But what could it be? What matter of intrigue am I up to now? Well I have to confess, it’s not so much a matter of intrigue, more of fear, but let me backtrack a little.

This year has been a really rotten year for me in some respects. I mean yes, am all happy and smiley, loving my job and seemingly got my life in order. Seemingly. However, like many of us out there, I’ve always had the odd flirtation with mental health issues and depression. Or perhaps it’s always flirted with me, if one can describe flirting as sneaking along behind me like my very own Uriah Heap, springing out on me when I least expect it, like one of those face hugger things from Alien. Or is it Predator? Alien’s the one with the chest burster I know that much, but the face hugger? Am not so sure. Anyways, so this year anxiety and depression paid one of its increasingly regular visits to my life, and for the first time this year, I just didn’t feel resilient enough on my own to tackle the onslaught… So this summer, I hatched a plan.

Now, I’m a planner. My mates will tell you I like a good plan. I have a soft spot for a tidy spreadsheet, and I always feel both festival packing and a trip to the local Sainsburys are enhanced by a list. But I’m not working towards a weekly shop, my issues aren’t easily solved with a pivot table, and I don’t need to pack a tent for what I’m trying to tackle. What I need is a focus, something outside of myself, a positive influence on my life, and some way to put a smile back on my face. So I’m getting me a dog.

About bloody time some would say, knowing what a dog fan I am. Others might say that I need to spend less time thinking about a dog and get a man instead. And that getting a dog would just about be the worst mistake I could ever make in the life. That mystery person may have said the same about painting my living room wall purple, and to be fair, although I retorted that by that point already made way worse mistakes than that & come out smiling, I never did paint my living room wall purple so they might’ve had a point. But the die has been cast, the biodegradable poo bags bought, deposit paid and today, I’m off to meet my boy for the first time.

I love dogs it has to be said, my family has always had dogs, goodness, my aunt is a blimmin dog trainer our fam love dogs that much. And I’ve have always wanted a dog of my own, a little rufty tufty one with a moustache, or a big lollopy loungy one that lies on my feet as I work, and as I now work from home, my timing could not be better. I guess one of the things about working from home, is it can be kinda lonely. In my line of work I’m often out and about visiting customers, but on those days when I’m within just my own 4 walls with Me, Myself and I for company, and when I flip my laptop lid down at the end of the day, what’s changed? I’ve got no one there to chat about my day with, no partner, no family, no housemates, just some houseplants and trust me, when they start talking back, you know you have problems. I want a little dude. A little dude who gets me outta bed in the morning, forces me out to exercise and socialize, and make new friends with. I want a button nosed, enthusiastic fluffball of a friend to keep me company of a day and night. I’ve dogsat enough godammnit, I want my own little chum, and I want him now. OK, maybe not quite now, as there’s still one thing left to do.

Yes, I’ve selected my breed according to my circumstances. I’ve met my breeder (and the pup’s parents in situ), I’ve been kept abreast of the puppies’ development as they grow, rough and tumbling round the breeder’s house like an explosion of cotton wool balls, and yes I’ve got my insurance policy chosen, my vet selected, my dog bed bought and I am starting to puppy proof my flat. I’ve even chosen his name… Archie. Well, technically Archibald Percival Odin O'Surname to be precise (initials APOO as you just know he's going to be a little shit at times) but Archie for short. But there is one thing left to do, and that is to tell my mother who most thoroughly WILL NOT approve. So wish me luck peeps, because once I’ve met my boy for the first time, my little 900g fluffy pal, wet nose to dry, and first collar in hand, it’s finally time to break the news to my mum that there’s a grand dog on the way, and unlike any purple walls, he’s here to stay.

POSTSCRIPT: My mother has now been informed and was 100% supportive of my decision. Turns out  1. I had nothing to be worried about and 2. a photograph of a fluffball pupster is enough to win anyone over!  So thank you mum, and now we just have to count down the days until Archie arrives! Bring. It. On.