Many thanks to those of you who have asked how the new addition to the Wrightington household is, especially following her recent operation. We thought, therefore, that we’d make the first post on our shiny new website one with shamelessly doting photos!

NB Don’t worry. We don’t intend to make this a space for frequent twee self-indulgence! But in the absence of anything history-related, and because I need to try out the blog facility on the website… I’m assuming that anyone who has no interest whatsoever in this sort of thing will have stopped reading long before now!

As some of you will know, Robert and his parents had dogs for as long as he can remember, until the demise of Bob (the legendarily irrascible-but-fun terrier) in 2015, which left a sad dog-shaped hole in the home. Still more sadly, other things soon developed, which meant that a new dog wasn’t an option (and yes - for those of you who have been with Robert a while now, that is indeed his late mother, Vonnie, beaming behind him in the photo [right]!).

When Robert and I got together, I knew that it was but a matter of time before the D-word would be mentioned. What I didn’t expect was that it would be me who mentioned it seriously first! We knew that during lockdown wasn’t the best time - not least because the whole world was apparently going pet-crazy - but we were both so smitten by Duffy’s profile on The Dogs Trust website that we couldn’t not at least try to meet her. There were, apparently, many applications, but the lovely Amy at the Trust decided that we might be a good ‘fit’ for her, and fortunately Duffy seemed to agree when we met her, with encouragement all round from the lovely Jason.

As a sidebar… many of you will know this already, but it’s worth saying regardless. Absolutely everyone whom we’ve met at The Dogs Trust has been utterly amazing. They so clearly care about each individual dog in their charge, with apparently boundless energy and kindness - and they’ve also been brilliant with Robert and me as new adopters. If you’re considering giving a dog a home, do please consider getting in touch with them.

NB In addition to the reasons already mentioned, I shall also forever love and admire the Leeds branch of Dogs Trust particularly, because of the apparent willingness to enjoy the ‘…but cats don’t’ signpost recently installed (presumably stealthily and anonymously) on the A64 as much as all passing punctuation pedants must.

But back to Duffy… The poor thing has clearly had horribly difficult times in her four-and-a-half years. She’d arrived at the Trust pregnant - hence her name, i.e. she was up the duff (I’m ashamed to admit that it took me longer than it should have to twig that. Until Robert pointed it out, I’d been wondering whether we might give her a new name, as she’d only been Duffy for a few weeks, and I thought we could come up with something better. I instantly saw the error of my ways) - and very anxious. We learnt that she had been even more anxious than we’d initially known when we took her back to the Trust to be spayed, four weeks after she’d come home with us, and met the lovely Kevin. He had, it transpired, spent many hours hunkered down with her in her cage, patiently reassuring her that not all people are mean to dogs. We had, however, known from the outset that she’d experienced cruelty - not least because she was utterly smitten by Robert at all times except whenever he came into a room through any door, at which point she was utterly terrified. We don’t want to think about what might have happened to the poor mite when another particular man came through a door, but it’s clearly left a painful scar. Fortunately, Robert and doors were soon no longer frightening - as those of you who have seen Duffy happily pottering about in the background of his Zoom classes will have seen!

We all settled into our new home life far more easily and happily than we’d expected. Robert had forgotten that dogs came in an amiable, mostly well-behaved, and affectionate option. He has got over his initial dismay that not all dogs want to go outside, let alone for long walks (and has learnt to not even think about it if it’s raining!), and Duffy has revealed more and more of her character almost by the day, and learnt, slowly but surely, to play - initially with Robert, and eventually on her own as well.

It was soon clear that Duffy has a good memory. We were both concerned that the trust we’d built up over four weeks would be dissipated by our ‘abandoning’ her to be spayed back at the Trust (“et tu, Brutes??” kept echoing around my head). Fortunately, we were wrong. She was so delighted to see Kevin and Jason again that we almost felt guilty for not having brought her back to see them sooner. I fear that she may not have been quite so deliriously happy at all that happened in the few hours thereafter, but we were both completely confident that she was in good and caring hands. During the hours until we got the call to collect her, Robert tried to distract himself with some research for next term’s courses, then came back downstairs and paced (don’t worry - the concentration blip on said research was but temporary, and it’s all coming along nicely!) while I made some chicken stock with which to tempt her when she’d be ready (yup. I’m a cliché and a feeder. Those of you who have met me may not be surprised).

When we were able to collect her just a few hours later, she was pleasingly delighted to see us. She was extremely groggy but eagerly jumped into the car, showing no sign of the sulkiness or indignation we’d feared. Despite our best efforts to keep her at floor level to avoid straining her stitches, by the end of the evening she’d determinedly made several jumps onto the sofa and only-slightly-slower-than-usual ungainly gallops up and down the stairs. (For those who, like us until recently, have not got to know a lurcher - there really is no ungainly inelegance quite so gracefully elegant as a lurcher navigating stairs. It should be the OED definition of oxymoron.)

The next few days were nowhere near as bad as they might have been. The pain relief given to us by the Trust clearly did what it needed to, she was soon able to eat with her wonted gusto, and was sufficiently deterred by the recovery suits I’d bought from worrying at her stitches, thus avoiding the ignominy of a Collar of Shame. Nearly two weeks later, she’s pretty much back to pre-op normal, although when she zonks out, she’s even more deeply and determinedly zonked out than we’d have imagined possible!

We’re looking forward to Duffy continuing to feel at home with us, and showing us yet more of her character, now that we’ve got the operation behind us. Our next Duffy-related adventure? Training classes at the Trust’s Dog School. And yes… we do both know that it’ll be us being trained rather than Duffy.

But. Before we throw ourselves into that, I have been returning my focus to another new adventure - namely, this website. It’s been a heck of a steep learning curve and not without its blips - for which I apologise! If you’ve made it thus far, thank you! And please may I shamelessly prevail upon your goodwill just a little more?

How are we doing thus far on the site? Is it of use/interest? Is it annoying - in terms of content, tone, or even its mere existence? Would you prefer it to be less discursive and more ‘bare-bones’ facts? Essentially, what would you like to see here?

We promise that we won’t keep posting doting Duffy-updates (unless we’re asked to!!). What might make you think it worth checking in with us now and again? If you have time and inclination, do please let us know via comments below this post, via email, during Zoom classes, if we bump into each other (at an appropriate distance, of course!) in Tesco… however would be best for you.