Cleo has had a difficult time adjusting to the loss of
Aslan, but she’s finally returning to her normal, happy self.
When we arrived home after having Aslan euthanised Cleo
ran to the car to us and her best friend.
When Aslan didn’t emerge from the back of the car, Cleo was confused,
but I think, expected him to show up soon.
As the days past and no Aslan appeared, Cleo began to mourn his
loss. She continually checked the back
of the car, hoping Aslan would emerge; she searched the house-yard for him and
became inseparably attached to her pink squeaky toy. She cried a great deal. Her whines only added to my sorrow and we
mourned the death of our beautiful Aslan together.
Cleo didn’t want to let us out of her sight. She spent all day inside, mostly just
sleeping with her trusty squeaky toy by her side. If she came inside without it, she wouldn’t
settle until I figured out the problem and retrieved the toy for her. Why the squeaky toy became such an emotional
crutch for Cleo I don’t know; she had spent years trying to get Aslan to play
tug of war with her and the toy, but Aslan would chase Cleo around the yard
quite happily, but never understood the role the squeaky toy was supposed to
play. Before the loss of Aslan, Graeme
or I would often have a tug of war with the toy and Cleo. She would run and find the toy and rush back
to us and the game would begin. I think
she preferred Graeme as an opponent because she was allowed to pull with all
her strength – with me she had to pull gently so as not to hurt my back. These games ceased the day Aslan didn’t
return. Graeme and I tried tugging on
the squeaky toy, but Cleo would just let go and give us a pitiful look. We stopped trying to start a game with her.
As time went on Cleo began to stop looking for Aslan, the
whining stopped and eventually the squeaky toy wasn’t her constant
companion. I can’t say she was a happy
puppy, but things were improving. Cleo’s
period of mourning lasted months. I
began looking for a Saint Bernard pup in the hope that Cleo would fall in love
with it and be happy again. Saint
Bernard pups are rare in Australia at the moment by the looks of things. I found one breeder with a long waiting list
to whom I emailed a request to be added – two months later and I haven’t heard
back from them.
I contacted Aslan’s breeder to see if she knew of any
litters for sale or due to be born. She
replied that she had a litter due in April and a waiting list of 35. She offered to put me at the top of the list
if I’d like to buy a puppy from her, as well as sizeable discount on the price
of the pup. The breeder told me that she
knew a pup that came to live with me would have a loving forever home and that
was important to her. I said yes
immediately, but it meant that there was going to be a twelve week wait. The chance to get a pup bred by the same
woman who bred Aslan was wonderful. She
breeds her dogs for the temperament and personality for which Aslan was famous
around here.
Cleo of course, had no idea a pup was in the offing. She continued to spend her days sleeping
inside and behaving in a very subdued manner.
I showered her with love, attention and treats, and so our days passed. The pups were born in early April and when
they were two weeks old, I chose Marlowe.
Their mum had had a litter of six with two boys and four girls. I chose Marlowe because he has a cute dot on
top of his head – the breeder informed me that it’s called a Monk’s Cap. She has kept me updated on Marlowe’s progress
and developing personality. Cleo and I
still have just over two weeks to go until Marlowe arrives home, but I mention
his name to her each day and tell her she’s going to love him.
Cleo has always loved puppies. When Aslan arrived here at eight weeks old,
Cleo who was one year old at the time took him to her heart immediately. She followed him everywhere, and as I said in
my last blog entry, we had to provide Aslan with political asylum in the form
of a gate over the laundry doorway so he could escape Cleo’s attentions when
they got to be too much. Cleo and Aslan soon
became best friends and he was as devoted to Cleo as she was to him. One of my favourite photos of the pair is this
one.
My cousin visited a while back and brought her new puppy,
Max with her. Max had just left him mum
and was a bit uncertain about things until he met Cleo. She immediately took him under her wing and
mothered him for the duration of his visit.
Poor Aslan, who was an adult by this time, had to take a back seat for
Cleo’s attention while Max was around.
I’m sure Cleo remembered giving birth to Max by the time he’d been in
her company for a day. She followed him
everywhere, checked he was clean in all the delicate places and slept with him
at night. Max was perfectly happy with
this situation – he might be missing his mum, but he’d found another, much
larger mum to love him.
The breakthrough with Cleo happened a couple of weeks ago
when my son Josh and his four daughters visited for a weekend. Cleo followed us around as we practised
archery, watching from the safety of behind the gate (all four girls and their
mum enjoy archer and have been teaching me the proper techniques), inspected
the garden or fed the chooks. It was
after we’d fed the chooks that I finally saw a happy Cleo again. Molly, my twelve year old granddaughter, had
just left the chook yard when Cleo came bounding over, performed that little
bow dogs make when they want to play, and challenged Molly to a race around the
house. Molly joined the game and I
almost cried. It was the first time Cleo
had wanted to play with anyone since losing Aslan. The game continued for a few laps of the
house and both Molly and Cleo returned with smiles on their faces. I just wish I’d had my phone with me.
Since then Cleo has begun playing with us again. Her tail is wagging once more. She only occasionally checks the back of the
car to see if Aslan has returned. When
he doesn’t appear, she goes back to whatever she was doing. I’m sure the day we arrive home with Marlowe
Cleo will be ready to make a new best friend and will shower him with love and
attention. Marlowe has no idea what’s in
store for him.
Marlowe aged three weeks.
