Life with Flossie.

My mother died recently. As well as more grief than I thought I could stand, this also led me to acquiring sole stewardship of the family dog, Flossie.

To be fair I’ve looked after Flossie (or full name Florence, reserved for when she’s being chided,) at points for all her life. When she’s needed to go to the vets or groomers, it’s been me on whom this happy duty has fallen. It’s a surprise that she can bear to be in the same room as me.

She’s been to stay with me on numerous occasions as well, but there was a difference, it was always as temporary guest, and I think we both knew that such an arrangement would rarely last a week or more.

Now though she’s been with me for nearly 3 months and I’m starting to get used to it. The getting up at 6:30 am so she can relieve her bladder, whilst I traipse around with my pyjamas under my trousers. Her need to go out every few hours to check that nothing in the neighbourhood has changed. He insistence on keeping my mother’s hours and going to bed at 10pm prompt whether I want to or not.

But with such responsibility does come great love. I am now getting used to her squeezing against me whilst I read or watch TV of a night. How a being that could fit into a medium sized bag still is able to take up most of a double bed, and yet I find myself not minding and not sleeping as well if she isn’t there.

One thing that I have found surprising though are the amount of what I’d call extreme dog owners who seem to look down their noses are smaller designer breeds like Flossie. You know the type; they’ll jump into your local coffee shop from whatever 4×4 they happen to own pulling behind them a large black golden labro retriever water shepherd.

Dressed as if they’ve just returned from shooting a brace of partridge somewhere inaccessible in the highlands, their boots and dog equally covered in mud, they’ll take one look at Flossie and one at Rollo (or Dina, or Ollie,) and roll their eyes that someone could own such a poor excuse for a dog. After ordering a large black americano, they’ll then oil their guns and polish the binoculars before heading off to their country estate in Wimbledon and then to an exhibition of Agas through the ages.

I don’t mind that Flossie was bred for town life and is happier in the pub than the wood and is currently snoozing by my chair in a coworking space. I am just happy that I am able to give her, someone who brought so much comfort to my mother, another opportunity for a happy life. It’s still early days and it will be challenging a lot of the time, but here’s to you chin chin Flossie, thank you for everything.