A Puppy Called Hugo. Fiona Harrison
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social media sites pleading for someone to offer him a good home. Consequently, we were inundated with people wanting to take a look at Hugo. Every time the familiar chime of the doorbell sounded, I, Hugo, Peg, Gail, Simon, Jenny and even baby Ben, held our breath as we each hoped this would be the moment Hugo would find his forever home. Yet as people shuffled into the living room and took one look at my precious boy lying in his sheepskin-filled basket they reluctantly shook their heads. They all wanted a cute little pug to trot around after them. What they didn’t want was a dog who was all paws and squished face as he grew into his body.
I tried not to take it personally, but as a father I felt so cross on Hugo’s behalf. To me, he was a beautiful bundle of joy and I knew that when he was older he would be just as perfect as his brothers and sisters.
Sadly, nobody seemed to share my view and I lost count of all the people who uttered polite thanks, but no thanks as Gail showed them the door. I couldn’t help worrying over the boy’s future. As dogs it was our purpose to serve our owners and shower them with love when we found our forever home, proving the bond between human and dog was the strongest one on earth. Thankfully, Gail had finally stepped in at the eleventh hour and said we could keep Hugo until he was bigger, and look for a home for him then.
She had done this for me even though space was tight with a new baby in the house, which had meant Simon had been forced to give up the spare room, otherwise known as his man cave that he had once treasured. I had been beyond grateful to Gail and had assured her repeatedly with plenty of loving barks that Hugo wouldn’t be a burden. However, during the four months he had been with us, much as I hated to admit it, burden was the one thing he had become. He got into trouble every single day and no matter how many times I begged him to behave, my barks fell on deaf ears.
Looking at him now, still glancing at the mess he had made with a look of sheer pride across his face it was hard not to feel a sense of failure. I had taken it upon myself to show him the ropes, teaching him how to behave in a domestic environment. After all, nobody would want Hugo if he didn’t mind his manners, something he didn’t seem to understand. I myself knew more than anyone what it was like to be abandoned, and spending day after day hoping to find your forever home. My previous owner, Javier, had left me in the local shelter or the tails of the forgotten as it’s better known amongst the dog community. Although I had been well cared for, it was by no means a substitute for a loving family and I didn’t want Hugo to suffer the same fate. I had spent days performing tricks for would-be adopters and putting a brave face on my little snout as families adopted all my friends but left me behind. I had been broken hearted, until I met Gail, which was why I had made it my new purpose in life to get Hugo to grow up so he would find his own happy-ever-after.
I felt at the end of my lead with him. I glanced at Peg hoping she would have some answers, but she looked as worn out as me with it all.
‘Come on,’ she barked eventually. ‘The least we can do for Gail is to clear this lot up. And, Hugo, you’re helping.’
‘OK, Mummy,’ he said, bounding into action.
Together we worked, quickly pushing the potpourri into a big pile in the corner, and picking up the larger portions of the cushions into the box.
Suddenly, Hugo stood stock-still in front of me fixing me with a wide-eyed gaze.
‘What is it?’ I barked in frustration.
‘I don’t feel well, Daddy,’ Hugo grumbled.
I exchanged knowing looks with Peg. Was this yet another drama created by my son to get out of cleaning up after himself.
Peg dropped the bit of cushion she was holding and glared at Hugo. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Very, very, very sick,’ Hugo replied, his little voice lacking the vim and vigour of earlier.
I looked at Hugo again. I had to admit my boy looked green and, judging by all the candle wax and potpourri he had devoured, it was hardly surprising. I shook my head, waves of despair crashing over me as I realised that not only had my son cost my owner some gorgeous house-warming gifts but she would also need to pay for a weekend visit to the vet.
It was several hours later by the time we finished at the vet’s and arrived at Doreen and Eric’s new home. To Gail’s credit she took the entire incident much better than I expected. Instead of having a breakdown when she realised Hugo needed an emergency visit to the practice, she burst out laughing, her eyes crinkling with mirth and wouldn’t stop no matter how much I barked.
At the vet’s, Gail, Simon and Jenny all had great fun explaining what had happened to Hugo. As Gemma, our vet, had a good look down my boy’s throat, I shuffled anxiously from paw to paw waiting for the diagnosis, the clinical smell of bleach making me feel even more agitated.
‘Is it serious?’ Gail asked anxiously, biting her nails as she waited for the verdict.
The vet said nothing for a moment as she tried to hold the wriggling pup still while taking his temperature.
‘Yes, does he need medication? Or even surgery?’ I barked desperately.
Gemma grinned at me as she removed the thermometer and patted Hugo gently on the head. As she turned to tap something on her computer keyboard, I pushed my anger to one side as I offered him a sympathetic howl. Even though it was clearly Hugo’s fault, he now looked so poorly lying there on the long black consulting table that my heart went out to him. Usually Hugo made a monkey of everyone when we brought him in for a check-up. He would jump in the sink, run across the computer, climb the furniture, and once he even got his head stuck in the window. But today it was as though as he was a different dog, he was so quiet and sad.
‘Well?’ I barked in frustration.
Gemma turned around and smiled reassuringly at us all. ‘The good news is, it’s not serious, Hugo doesn’t need any medication or surgery and this will all pass naturally.’
I let out a bark of relief. ‘Did you hear that, you’re going to be fine.’
Hugo cast me a baleful look. ‘I don’t feel fine, Daddy.’
Simon sighed as he looked from me to Hugo and then back to Gemma. ‘When you say pass naturally, you mean Hugo is going to be going to the toilet a lot is that right?’
‘Not necessarily a lot, but perhaps a bit more than usual,’ Gemma explained. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, although Hugo might be a bit uncomfortable. All he’ll probably feel like doing is sleeping.’
Jenny pushed her brown hair behind her ears and smiled. ‘He does that a lot anyway,’
‘Like father like son.’ Gail chuckled, ruffling my ears affectionately. ‘Do we need to do anything else?’
‘No, just keep an eye on him.’ Gemma grinned, writing something on her pad. ‘Bring Hugo back in a couple of days for me to check he’s on the mend. He shouldn’t take a turn for the worse but if he does we’ll have a poke about.’
‘I don’t want to be poked about, Daddy,’ Hugo woofed with worry, as Simon scooped him up from the table and thanked Gemma for her time.
‘Well, let this be a lesson to you,’ I barked. ‘Now, one of us will have to look after you instead of helping Doreen and Eric. Honestly, Hugo, it’s vital we dogs put humans first rather than ourselves.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he yapped as we walked outside into the sunshine. ‘It won’t happen again.’
I barked nothing as I breathed in great lungfuls of fresh air, enjoying the scent of something other than bleach. Whatever Hugo yapped in his defence, I had a feeling that this, or something very like it, would happen again.
*
An hour later, all of us, together with a sleepy-looking Hugo, were inside Doreen and