The Wrong Teeth

After the distress of Sunday's walk, it was a relief to return to normality on Monday. But unfortunately Monday was the last time that we had a decent outing with Bingley. On both Tuesday and Wednesday, and again this morning, I couldn't get him to leave the area of the back gates. He's absolutely refused to take the same walk which we've been doing twice a day for the past 2 months; instead we get a few feet away from the gates and he lies down refusing to move. It isn't like his usual stubbornness which can be overcome with patience and few treats; this is a genuine reluctance to leave home.

Neither of us can think of anything that might have frightened him: as I mentioned, when this happened on Sunday there was nobody else around and there was certainly nothing obviously scary.

He's teething badly at the moment, and although his energy levels, interest and appetite aren't affected, he must be in some discomfort. I can only wonder if this is the reason for his sudden agoraphobia.

In the past few days we've found a couple of his teeth: Jane's bare foot discovered one on the kitchen rug, and I spotted one in his water bowl. They're beautiful little things and suddenly the dog-tooth pattern in architecture & design is much more meaningful! But rinsing out a tooth as you have a drink of water can't be much fun. And neither is stepping on one in your bare feet! The only amusing aspect is how quickly the new teeth are appearing! Bingley's jaws hardly seem big enough for all these additions: it's as though he's popped in someone else's dentures by mistake, and now when he sits there panting at us he looks like an old cabaret singer from the local club. Put him in a rocking chair and he'd look like Val Doonican.

Poor thing. I snuck a walk out of him this lunchtime by leading him through the front door. It took a couple of attempts: the first time he just belly crawled his way to the door and then ran back inside. But after running up and down the lounge rug a few times, he was brave enough to extend that gallop and dash out into the front garden. This isn't the first time he's been out there, but that was hard to believe. After a thorough exploration of the garden he plucked up the courage to go back inside through the front door, then back out through it again. Then back in again. Eventually, lead attached, I let him walk me out of the garden and pretty much wherever he wanted. Which turned out to be Bingley's Field and the little grassy hill. Then it was back home the old way - through the yard gates, easy peasy.

Will I have to do the same thing tomorrow? I hope not, but I’ll let you know.