. . . and Dog

I realised recently that it’s been a while since I wrote about Ellie even though she’s an important part of this blog, not only because of its name, but also because she arrived to live with us at about the same time I started it.

Ellie at 10 weeks old, shortly after she came to live with us

She looked like an angel, but actually she was a devil, the most difficult of the three dogs we’ve welcomed into the family. She’s a mixture of border collie and springer spaniel, both super-intelligent, hyper-active and crazy breeds. We didn’t choose her that way but we were looking for a dog as it had been about six months since our last dog (Penny) had died and when a friend said that the sister of a colleague had an accidental litter looking for homes we decided to go and have a look.

We’d been to the rescue centre but they no longer allowed you to meet the dogs in person because they felt it was disturbing to the dogs. Instead you had to look through a folder with pictures and descriptions which meant that you chose your dog with your head not your heart and that didn’t work for us. With Penny for instance, Frog and I went to the rescue centre looking for a Staffordshire bull terrier cross but saw a lurcher with her feet on the fence looking at us and fell in love, both convinced she was asking us to take her home.

Penny, shortly before she died of a brain tumour, aged only 9. She melted our hearts from the moment we saw her.

Neither of us is however sentimental about puppies. We know how appallingly difficult they can be. (‘Worse than a child,’ says our neighbour, who’s had both.) So we didn’t ooh and ah over the outrageously pretty litter. Instead, we bonded with Ellie’s mother, a large placid spaniel who came over to inspect us and pronounced us fit to take over the care of one of her offspring (or so both Frog and I felt).

After a few months of hell with puppy Ellie, we sought professional one-to-one help. ‘She’s a control freak,’ said Leanne the trainer. ‘She’s a PhD dog, not a GCSE one.’ And I could tell she didn’t think we were up to it. Nevertheless we muddled through, refusing to admit defeat, and after about two years Ellie became just about bearable.

Ellie at one year old, still trying for upper hand at every moment of every day

Now she’s nearly ten which in dog years makes her roughly the same age as me. This is a great relief as, much as I love walking, a good two hours every day for the past nine years has played hell with one of my knees and in the last year or so I’ve been able to cut that walking down and my knee has started to recover. Soon she’ll be older than me though and I’ll be the one dragging her further than she wants to go.

She’s still a control freak however – not with us but with strangers. Unlike Frog and me, she’s very gregarious, and greets everyone she meets. She doesn’t just greet them however; she tries to make them her slave. She lets them pet her, rolling on her back to let them rub her stomach, pretending she’s submissive, but when they stop she grabs their hand in her mouth – which for obvious reasons can be a bit of a problem. She always spots the people who will fall for her wiles (usually non-dog owners). ‘Oh what a pretty dog,’ they say, catching her eye. We call them her victims. We’re contemplating buying her a harness with the words, ‘Please ignore. In training.’

Ellie in the courtyard of the Rainbow's End cafe in Glastonbury on Thursday, looking relaxed.

Oh dear, she's spotted a victim (who succumbed to Ellie's charms, as they all do) 

Another of her quirks – or should I say vices – is reverting to wolf. I have written about this and how terrifying it was. Now I can deal with it, but it still makes me jump to be ambushed by a snarling snapping creature with wild eyes. Because it happens so rarely now I forget and don’t heed the warning signs – wide open spaces, wind and Ellie getting more and more excited.

On the Somerset Levels on Thursday and Ellie a speck in the distance, wildly excited by the combination of wide open space and wind. Luckily floods forced us to turn back before she went 'wolf'.

I love her dearly of course in spite of everything, and she’s a wonderful – obedient – companion on our long wild walks. I wouldn’t be able to do them without her. She makes me feel safe, and when I sit down in some forgotten patch of woodland or on top of a hill, to meditate/affirm/visualise or just be, as I try to do every day, she sits next to me, leans into me and keeps me warm.

In a forgotten patch of woodland: Ellie turning meditative in her old(er) age, like her human companion