Once in a serene rural enclave, a small community of puppies came into the world, born to a mother dog who had sought refuge in a hidden grove. The tranquility of this environment should have been an ideal setting for a family of dogs, yet their lives were far from picturesque. Their mother, a determined leader among humans, had instilled in her offspring an intense fear of the outside world, a realm teeming with peril.
Their existence was a testament to the primal forces of fear and survival in the animal kingdom. To find solace and security, they had learned to depend on one another. Occasionally, these puppies, bearing echoes of their mother’s tenacity, would venture beyond the boundaries she had set, spurred by their innate curiosity.
It was under the shelter of a massive stone that these puppies would huddle together, away from the perceived threats of the outside world. Protected from harsh elements and potential predators, they would cautiously peek out from their secure den to observe the world beyond. Safely ensconced, they would watch the world go by, their tiny hearts racing at the sight of a distant human figure.
Their presence illustrated the potent influence of fear and survival instincts in the animal kingdom. They knew that to thrive, they had to remain concealed from the outside world, their small hearts quivering with trepidation. The stone, perhaps a relic from a bygone era, became their sanctuary, shielding them from the unseen dangers lurking beyond.
Over time, the transformation of these puppies was nothing short of extraordinary. Their initial dread of humans, born of past experiences and deeply rooted fears, gradually began to dissolve. Their encounters, filled with love and kindness, altered their perspective, and happiness began to supplant their previous apprehension.
The tale of these puppies served as a potent testament to the resilience of fear and survival instincts in animals. Their initial fear of humans was a defense mechanism, forged through past experiences and a deeply ingrained instinct to shield themselves from danger.
However, the unwavering patience and compassionate efforts of individuals determined to alter the course of these puppies’ lives began to yield fruit. Slowly but surely, the puppies began to conquer their fear and apprehension, forging trust and companionship between humans and their animal counterparts.
The pet I’ll never forget: Ella the puppy threw up on me, snubbed me and after 10 years decided to love me
Mum, Dad, my brother Michael: everyone in the family got more affection from our ridgeback-staffie cross. And guess whose bed she used to poo on…
I think the tone was set when Ella threw up over me on the way back from the Dogs Trust. She was three months old, rolling around on the back seat between me and my twin brother, Michael (we’d just turned seven), and wasn’t enjoying her first trip in a car. She could have been sick anywhere – over the seat, over the floor – but for some reason she decided to climb on to me first.
It was the start of a beautiful but strangely one-sided friendship. Ella, a ridgeback-staffie cross, was the perfect dog: playful, energetic, naughty and tolerant. She would let us poke and prod her without complaint, turn her ears inside-out or dress her up in T-shirts or the thick woollen poncho my Greek Cypriot grandma knitted her for the British winter. And she was endlessly loving, at least to the other members of the family. Me? Too often it was as if I didn’t exist. If Michael and I were sitting on the sofa, she’d bound up to him. If I came home after a day out with my dad, he was the one she’d jump at. If I tried to take her for a walk by myself, she’d drag her feet and insist that I fetch my brother.
To add insult to injury, about once a year she would do a poo in the house. Not just anywhere, though: she’d climb the stairs to my room and leave it in a neat pile on top of my bed.
I can’t pretend I wasn’t offended by Ella’s attitude – I loved her just as much as anyone. But it took me a while to realise that in her eyes we were both bitches fighting for our place in the pack. I read that dogs are 98.8% wolf, even yappy little chihuahuas. Ella was a definite she-wolf and my mother (she who opened the tin of dog food every night) was the undisputed alpha female. Ella could handle that fact, but she didn’t want to be the omega female. That was me.
Working out the reasons for Ella’s lack of sisterhood, understanding that her indifference was atavistic and not just casual, didn’t make me any less jealous of my brother, who always took great pleasure in the fact that Ella seemed to prefer him. But I resigned myself to the situation. And then one day (happy ending, anyone?) everything changed. I must have been 16 or 17, we’d been away for a fortnight in France, and when we got back it was me she ran up to first, whining and twisting with pleasure at seeing me again. After that it was like all those years of competition had never happened. We were best friends for ever, or at least for the couple of years she had left. Ella finally loved me.
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