I collected the bundle of Bobji in a snow storm – an English one where nothing really settled, but it caused a mild flurry. Her first ever snow, her first journey in a motor car. Fixed by nervousness, she lay down in the cage. Kali, totally unaware of this revolution that was about to take place, sat beside me ignoring her in the back.
I remember that first night as the 9 week old life, estranged from her 8 friendly brothers and sisters, mother and aunts, cried out from her cage, high pitched, piercing, scratching. Kali, never too affectionate by nature, practically slept on my head.
‘She’s here to stay,’ I repeated to him.
Despite his obvious cold shoulder, his clear choice to ignore her and hope she goes away one day soon, she instinctively knows she has to woe him. She barks at him, she flaunts his toys in front of him. Day 3, she walked with a twig her in mouth, a deliberate copy of Kali carrying a branch in his. Oh dogs!
Meanwhile, not a jot of a response from Bob’s bothers. Surely he would be turning in his grave to know the consequences. Thank heaven for the glorious film show, for the testament of this new little life. He would have loved her, cuddled her, toasted her life in red wine.
I’ll be 70-75 when she leaves. Finding the ending in the beginning. Her legs, long, lanky, like rubber bands, she explores her new life.
Kalikellett 