‘foolproof guide to Welcoming Your New Puppy’ – and, falling on the first useful piece of information she’d had since Toffee arrived, she set off round the store with it propped open, throwing in whatever it told her to: a collar and lead, puppy food, a basket, a cushion for the basket, a crate for toilet training, chews, toys, cute snuggly things to stop Toffee feeling so lonely at night.
Fifteen minutes later, she was at the till, watching in awe at the amount a puppy cost, before you even took it to the vet’s. This makes the kids look like a bargain, she thought, wondering if she’d really needed the puppy sleeping bag after all. She realised with a sinking heart that she’d have to call David anyway, for more money to pay for it. If she could get hold of him.
Zoe made herself remember how heartbreaking Toffee had been when she’d woken up in the watery morning light to find him nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder, his hot breath huffing into her ear and one paw pressed against her chest, as if she was his lost mum. They were both on the sofa, after his pitiful crying had dragged her downstairs. He was so vulnerable and soft, she’d forgiven him the puddle on the carpet.
He was adorable, she thought, stuffing the receipt into her bag without looking at it and pushing the trolley towards the exit. And how hard could it be to train a Labrador? They worked as guide dogs and turned off kettles for deaf people, didn’t they? It was just going to take some organisation.
The alarm on Zoe’s phone went off. The hour was almost up.
‘Ah! New puppy?’ asked the Australian girl standing by the noticeboards, five or six dogs clustered around her feet. They weren’t playing up, despite being surrounded by treats and food.
Zoe stared at her pile of stuff. ‘Actually, it’s a hamster. With ambitions.’
The girl laughed, and the tall woman she was with finished sticking pins in her notice. It featured a photograph of a red- and-white Basset hound wearing a tragic expression on its wrinkly, hound-dog face. It would have been tragic, had it not also been wearing a Santa hat.
‘ Is there room in your fridge for me ?’ read Zoe, unable to resist. ‘Aw! Shouldn’t that be “isn’t there room by your fireside” ’?
‘No, Bertie’s priority is the fridge. Whoever his new mum and dad are, they’re going to need to get a lock on it.’ The Australian girl smiled. ‘But I bet you could train him to do just about anything with half a bag of sausage – he’s not stupid at all! They’re the sweetest dogs, Bassets, brilliant with kids, really calm . . . I don’t suppose your puppy needs a friend?’
Zoe laughed, and it came out rather manic. ‘No! I’ve only had this one a day and already he’s running rings around me.’
‘Lovely! What is he? How old?’ She sounded genuinely interested.
‘Toffee’s an Andrex puppy. I don’t know exactly how old, actually,’ Zoe confessed, ‘he was a present.’
The two women glanced at each other, and Zoe thought the blonde girl’s forehead flickered with exasperation.
She glanced at the poster’s logo again, and realised that they must be from the rescue centre up on the Rosehill road – either Rachel or Megan, going by the phone numbers. The phrase ‘Dogs deserve a future – don’t give them as a present’ was actually printed on the bottom of the page.
‘No!’ she said hastily. ‘No, I didn’t get him as a present, my husband . . . my ex gave him to the kids. I had no idea, I mean, now Toffee’s here we absolutely adore him, I just wasn’t quite prepared for not being able to leave the house for more than ten minutes.’
Zoe’s voice trailed off. This wasn’t making her look any better. Now she’d started reading, she couldn’t take her eyes off the poster. My first owners bought me as a Christmas present, but soon got bored of me and threw me out to look after myself , she read. I’ve got lots of love to give, in return for walks,
Fifteen minutes later, she was at the till, watching in awe at the amount a puppy cost, before you even took it to the vet’s. This makes the kids look like a bargain, she thought, wondering if she’d really needed the puppy sleeping bag after all. She realised with a sinking heart that she’d have to call David anyway, for more money to pay for it. If she could get hold of him.
Zoe made herself remember how heartbreaking Toffee had been when she’d woken up in the watery morning light to find him nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder, his hot breath huffing into her ear and one paw pressed against her chest, as if she was his lost mum. They were both on the sofa, after his pitiful crying had dragged her downstairs. He was so vulnerable and soft, she’d forgiven him the puddle on the carpet.
He was adorable, she thought, stuffing the receipt into her bag without looking at it and pushing the trolley towards the exit. And how hard could it be to train a Labrador? They worked as guide dogs and turned off kettles for deaf people, didn’t they? It was just going to take some organisation.
The alarm on Zoe’s phone went off. The hour was almost up.
‘Ah! New puppy?’ asked the Australian girl standing by the noticeboards, five or six dogs clustered around her feet. They weren’t playing up, despite being surrounded by treats and food.
Zoe stared at her pile of stuff. ‘Actually, it’s a hamster. With ambitions.’
The girl laughed, and the tall woman she was with finished sticking pins in her notice. It featured a photograph of a red- and-white Basset hound wearing a tragic expression on its wrinkly, hound-dog face. It would have been tragic, had it not also been wearing a Santa hat.
‘ Is there room in your fridge for me ?’ read Zoe, unable to resist. ‘Aw! Shouldn’t that be “isn’t there room by your fireside” ’?
‘No, Bertie’s priority is the fridge. Whoever his new mum and dad are, they’re going to need to get a lock on it.’ The Australian girl smiled. ‘But I bet you could train him to do just about anything with half a bag of sausage – he’s not stupid at all! They’re the sweetest dogs, Bassets, brilliant with kids, really calm . . . I don’t suppose your puppy needs a friend?’
Zoe laughed, and it came out rather manic. ‘No! I’ve only had this one a day and already he’s running rings around me.’
‘Lovely! What is he? How old?’ She sounded genuinely interested.
‘Toffee’s an Andrex puppy. I don’t know exactly how old, actually,’ Zoe confessed, ‘he was a present.’
The two women glanced at each other, and Zoe thought the blonde girl’s forehead flickered with exasperation.
She glanced at the poster’s logo again, and realised that they must be from the rescue centre up on the Rosehill road – either Rachel or Megan, going by the phone numbers. The phrase ‘Dogs deserve a future – don’t give them as a present’ was actually printed on the bottom of the page.
‘No!’ she said hastily. ‘No, I didn’t get him as a present, my husband . . . my ex gave him to the kids. I had no idea, I mean, now Toffee’s here we absolutely adore him, I just wasn’t quite prepared for not being able to leave the house for more than ten minutes.’
Zoe’s voice trailed off. This wasn’t making her look any better. Now she’d started reading, she couldn’t take her eyes off the poster. My first owners bought me as a Christmas present, but soon got bored of me and threw me out to look after myself , she read. I’ve got lots of love to give, in return for walks,
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