Apparently, when people buy a puppy, there are those who like to visit their pup pre-pick-up, and those who don’t. Something about the breeder having picked out the pup for us makes us even more intrigued by the pup we are going to get. We couldn’t not go and check him out on his 6-week birthday.
When we get there, we spend a long time with the breeder and his wife observing many fuzzy pups roaming about and/or falling into sleeping piles of paws and noses, under the watchful eyes of their gruff-looking (those eyebrows, those beards) older male cousins, uncles and fathers.
The suspense is nearly killing me. I ask which one is for us. The breeder’s wife picks up one little grey bundle and introduces us to Teddy: “A lovely little boy,” she says, handing him over. “Good coat, good temperament, good bone,” says the breeder, confidently. “I would really like to hang onto him, but we can’t keep them all and his ears don’t fall properly.” With Teddy sturdily ensconced in my arms, I tear myself away from admiring the coat around his plastic button nose that appears to have had the perfect blow dry, and try to work out exactly what is sub-standard about his ears. Unfamiliar with the exacting criteria of the show ring, we happily remain oblivious and instead, fall under the spell of one calm, and terribly thoughtful-looking little dog. Am I imagining the recognition in those slate grey eyes?
We have to wait until Teddy is 10-weeks-old before our breeder will let him go. So after getting in some decent cuddles and watching him fall asleep with his family, we journey back to London, IPhones stuffed with images supposedly for the children.
