My bond with my rescue dog, Scruffy, allowed me to be present for the birth of a special puppy, who would be my companion for over 17 years.
I sat with Scruffy’s first-born in my lap as her second puppy was born. Scruffy gently bit open the sack and immediately nudged her puppy to me to look after while she took care of birthing her third pup. My Gran joined me on the back veranda, and she exclaimed how like her dog Sam the first little pup was. She was tiny, black all over. Blackie is a good name for that one, my Gran decided.
As Scruffy snuffled her third puppy, we both remarked he was twice the size of the two girls. So he was named Boomer. I held up the puppy that had been resting on my lap. This pup was also black, but she had a brown bottom and some unusual markings on her face.
My Gran took one look at her, screwed her face up and said, “Only a monkey’s mother could love a face like that!” As Scruffy clearly loved her puppy, Monkey became her name.
Originally, we meant to keep Blackie, both my Gran and I under the impression that the other wanted an all-black pup. By chance, I commented that I wished we were keeping Monkey, and my Gran was delighted.
I was moving house, and the plan was that I would take Scruffy with me, and Monkey would stay with Gran.
But Monkey was a scamp and on several occasions she had nearly tripped Gran over. Scruffy, on the other hand, had mastered the art of avoiding Gran’s feet. So I made the decision that Scruffy would stay to keep Gran company while Monkey moved out with me.
At my new house, Monkey decided that she was the pack leader.
Floyd, an older male bull terrier cross with a strong resemblance to Santa’s Little Helper, stood no chance against her formidable will.