We have many names for our dog. Mr. Poo, The Poo, The good chancellor (for his full name, you see, is Chancellor Heinrich von Fluffenstein Puppyface… He’s German).
He chose us years ago and he has been our devoted and loving Schnauzer ever since. He comforts me when I’m sick or sad, he cheers me up, he takes me for walks in the park and smiles in the sunshine. He snuggles up to me when I sleep.
Henry is a very important part of this family.
We almost lost him, we thought, last year. He lost the ability to move his back legs and no one could tell us what was wrong. He’s not quite back to normal, but he’s mostly our poo, most of the time.
We weren’t quite sure how he would react to having a baby in the house. He’d always been the centre, able to sit in the lap of his choosing, sleeping late with us on the weekends, cuddled between us. Now here was this little person who didn’t do much but make noise and was suddenly in charge.
Right now Henry is sitting at my mother’s feet while Miss Maggie sits in her lap and they read together. Even when the baby’s foot was slowly kicking him in the bum he sat there, watching over her.
When she has a bath, he sits on the mat, getting splashed, watching to make sure she is alright (he hates baths and he’s confused by how much she loves them). When she wakes up in the morning he runs in to her room to say hello and she jumps and smiles and says “puppy.”
When I take them on walks together, she leans out to watch him.
We knew they would be best friends, I just didn’t realize that he would take such good care of her and fully accept the fur pulling, ear grabbing, kicking, climbing, shoving.
He is such a good boy, our poo.