Though Maisy was supposedly ‘toilet-trained’, it turns out puppies get displacement anxiety and tend to ‘go‘ just about anywhere and everywhere in their new environment (unfortunately for their new owners).

So several carpet stains later, I finally wised up and changed the confines of puppy central to exclude our carpeted family room to our linoleum floored kitchen only (ah duh… might say, and you’d be right, I know. Though if you’re following this series, I will say in my defence that I’d never owned a dog before🙂

So onwards I soldiered, in my catatonically sleep-deprived state (that’s material for another blog post, right there), trying to carve out some kind of routine in the chaotic, mixed-up household we had suddenly become.

Till one day it happened.  The thing which dare not be spoken aloud in our home, unless of course you want to see your 7-year old in floods of tears…again.

My son had left his cherished lego figures in the family room, which had been barricaded off from the kitchen with a sofa and crates. But while I was out of the room for a few minutes, clever little Maisy figured out how to nudge aside one of the crates and found the most exciting treasure of her young life – lego figures!

And how she chewed them!  She really killed those lego figures. So much so, that when we came back down to discover the mangled mess and tried to piece them back together, though many were merely crushed beyond recognition, several limbs were no more, gone to the lego sanctuary in the sky (or a dog’s intestines if you want to be more anatomically correct).

We quickly whisked away the damning evidence and placed in it a bowl away from a 7 year old’s sensitive eyes, but unfortunately while we were otherwise occupied, he found the whole sorry catastrophe and immediately dissolved into floods of heart-wrenching tears.  For these weren’t any ordinary lego figures, but the pinnacle of his truly beloved play objects, trumping all other toys and games.  And now, here they were, a chewed up, mangled and worst of all – missing in action – mess.

After consoling him as best we could and eventually stemming the unstoppable tide of tears, imagine my surprise the next morning, when peeping from the brown mire of Maisy’s mid-walk calling card, I spied the yellow lego head of his favourite lego figure.

Of course, I did what any budding candidate for mother-of-the-year would do.  I bagged the poopy treasure, then smugly congratulated myself on a job well done.  Not that I was looking forward to washing it out, mind you, but still, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Unfortunately that bridge remained stubbornly unwilling to be crossed.

Arriving home, I reached down to snatch the bag victoriously from its leash-hook only to come up empty.

Damn it!  The bag was gone.

Dark clouds loomed as I raced inside and crated Maisy, only to resurface outside to the now familiar theme of newly falling rain.  (I swear I am not making this up).

Retracing the entire, circuitous route of our previous walk at running pace, in sheets of pouring rain, I scoured every pavement and gutter for the missing little green bag.  Then at last in the distance, at the further possible point from our house, there it lay.

It formed a small island in the gushing stream of gutter water that forked its way around the little green mound.

Now sodden from head to squelching sneakers, I scooped it up–a bag or poop, or a hero’s booty, depending on your perspective–and headed for home.

The only thing missing; the sound track for Rocky Balboa.  I was a hero, coming home.


Hope you enjoyed this instalment of our life with new household addition Maisy, the labrador puppy.  To hear about the very latest in this saga, sign up for my newsletter.

Bye for now,

xxx Alexa.