We start the month with a couple of weeks in Wareham near the south coast and Bournemouth. We love this area. We’ve spent many a happy day parked up right up on the seafront watching the waves crash onto the beach while we’re cosy in our campervan Tut with a hot cup of coffee. It’s one of the reasons we wanted a campervan – to be more in touch with the outdoors.
We go for long walks along the path by the beach, and we get to see my sister who is staying down this way too. Our plan is to move on to Cambridge next where we will be closer to our children. They are all young adults now. We have one in Norwich and three in London, so Cambridge seems like a good midway point to ensure that we get to see everybody.
Meanwhile in Portugal, the builders have finished the van shelter. This will protect us from the sun in summer and the rain in winter. It’s always better to be able to stay dry when you get out of the campervan. The builders have also widened the entrance way and rebuilt the walls where we’ll have a gate fitted. We are hoping to have mains electricity connected up so they have started to build a small breezeblock structure, that looks a little like a guardhouse, by the entrance that will house the fuse board. We decide to pause all work on the land for Christmas and until we can get out there and feel more a part of it.
Christmas is coming and we all have grand plans. Kimberley and her daughters are off to spend a sunny Christmas in Dubai. I have plans to see family and maybe play a little tournament poker – which is a pastime I particularly enjoy. All the plans are in place, and the holiday season is almost upon us.
At this point, the smallest member of our tribe decides to throw in a curve ball. Yes, Joey, our rather lovely seven-year-old Bichon Frise, suddenly ruptures the doggy version of his ACL. We have nursed him back from one of these operations before and it is a long slow process. This time it’s his other hind leg that’s given way. One minute Joey is walking fine, the next he is yelping in pain. I hate that sound. Not dislike. Hate.
Kimberley and her girls are due to fly out to Dubai on the 22nd. The vet says Joey needs surgery and she wants to schedule it before Christmas. She says he will need to be on ‘cage rest’ for eight weeks after the operation because his movement must be severely restricted ie no jumping, running, only walking allowed. We discuss the options and decide that the Dubai trip should go ahead as planned. I will stay with Joey as chief nursemaid.
The cage rest is an issue. The word cage sounds prison like. In reality, it’s meant to be a smallish, safe place with a soft bed that a dog can see out of but can’t get out of, so they feel secure. We’ve tried various cages in the past with Joey. We had one in our kitchen for three years that got more use as a kind of shelf to rest things on because we could count on one hand the number of times Joey ever went into it. He never went in voluntarily and he would jump and bark incessantly when he was in it.
We didn’t feel eight weeks in a cage would do him good mentally – or us for that matter – and he would be trying to jump in it which would most certainly damage his joint. So, we decide that, instead, we will keep him on a very short lead 24/7 and always have someone sitting right next to him supervising his every move.
On Christmas Eve little Joey goes in for his operation. We have the best possible support team set up in Kimberley’s parents, Maureen and Peter, and my good self. We have prepared ourselves to just sit with him on a short lead. I do feel for Maureen and Peter. It was probably not in their Christmas plans to have a son-in-law sitting in their kitchen with his dog for hour after hour.
Imagine poor Joey though. Desperately wanting to move around and not being allowed to. Being cared for by a complete ‘dog novice’ in myself and – to be honest – my record of pet success is neither long nor successful.
As a child our tortoise ran away. Ran away. Well, that’s what we were told. We were not allowed dogs, cats or rodents, so I entered adult life without actually really ever taking care of a pet. When my children were younger, I ventured into having a pet and got them some fish. I came down the stairs one morning, to see that that the 21 tropical fish I had lovingly kept alive for a few months had all died, for reasons I am still unable to understand.
The operation went well. We all took turns caring for Joey. Kimberley and the girls had the most fantastic trip, and we were all reminded how lucky we are to be able to support and be supported by such incredible people!
