Toffee Anniversary

Another week with an anniversary. And I don’t mean the solemn, even mournful one, when we remember the Armistice at the end of the First World War. This one, a couple of days later, was much more cheerful.

It marked the end of five years that Toffee has been with us, keeping us perpetually amused and occasionally exasperated.

Toffee coming home, back in 2016

It was all my fault that we got Toffee. Back then in 2016, I’d decided that what we needed to complete our household, which already contained Luci, our black toy poodle, was an apricot one.

Danielle kindly did the searching, and it took a while. There was a severe shortage of apricot toy poodles across the length and breadth of the kingdom (that’s the kingdom we still think of as united, at least for the moment). But then we discovered one, down in Lowestoft.

Lowestoft. Lovely spot,
but we weren’t there for the sights

You don’t know Lowestoft? Nor did I. It’s a little seaport on the Suffolk coast, looking out over the North Sea. I always think of that coastline and its beaches as being wonderful for walks, since when it comes to swimming, you really have to be a special character to think its barely molten ice offers anything remotely like pleasure. Certainly, it’s hard to see how anyone can maintain that illusion after having tried North Sea bathing once. 

In any case, we weren’t there to admire the sights or enjoy the bracing beaches. We were there to collect a puppy. A task that nearly failed before it had started.

The pleasant and cheerful couple who bred the dogs opened their front door to us, welcomed us in, and I went to step inside.

“Watch out!” came a chorus of voices.

I looked down and saw a tiny ball of orange fluff racing towards just the point where I was about to swing my leg. The fluff was clearly entirely unconcerned about the fate descending towards it – she’d have been projected right across the room, no doubt, at the cost of who knows what injury. Fortunately, I was able to interrupt my step just in time, at the cost of nearly sprawling on the floor and, instead of delivering Toffee a terrible blow, was able to start to get to know her by having my hand licked as I tried to stroke her.

Which was clearly what she was after. It wasn’t difficult to read her thoughts: “New people! New people! How exciting, how exciting, I must get to know them, they might stroke me or even better play with me!”

That excitement grew even more intense when she realised we had Luci with us.

“Play with me, play with me!” Toffee was obviously saying, as she leaped up at Luci, trying to lick her face (as she still does to me to this day).

Toffee was delighted to meet Luci
Luci was less enthusiastic

Luci was a lot more reticent. She’s always been, and remains even now, far less relaxed about making new acquaintances. Noisy, fast-moving bundles of concentrated energy worry her more than most. One of the better images of that day is of Luci backing away as far as she can while Toffee, on her hind legs, tries to persuade her that nothing could possibly give her (Luci) more delight than playing with her (Toffee).

We didn’t realise it, but the shape and style of our joint existence was set that day. 

Toffee’s the smallest of our three animals. Misty, the cat, has lost a little weight recently but at one time was close to twice as heavy. Luci too is significantly bigger and stronger. But Toffee makes up in size of character for what she lacks in physical dimensions. I like to think of her as a dog that has no reservations about cultivating her internal rottweiler. We have to keep her out of the kitchen while Misty’s attempting to eat a meal because, unsupervised, she’ll just push him aside and hoover up his food.

To be honest, occasionally she pushes him too far, and then he makes effective use of his extra weight against her.

That’s quite enough, thanks, young Toffee

Luci, because she’s stronger, finds it easier to keep going for relatively long walks. Toffee has to be picked up from time to time. On the other hand, I’m not certain that this reflects greater weakness on her part or quite the opposite: an eerie ability to impose her will combined with a total certainty that she knows what she feels like doing and what she doesn’t, with “walking a lot further” firmly in column 2.

Far enough, thanks.
You want to go further? Then carry me

As I’m trying to type this, she’s scratching my arm to get me to throw a toy across the room for her. She knows I will, as it’s the only way to get a momentary relief from the scratching (she’ll be back with the toy in no time. Yep, here she comes). Of course, deep down I know that I’m only making a rod for my own back, and that by giving in to her scratching, I’m only encouraging her to scratch more. 

“Ah, scratching his arm works,” she’s undoubtedly telling herself, “so I’m just going to keep on working it.”

To this day, of the two poodles, Toffee’s the one who knows what she wants while Luci’s much clearer on what she doesn’t. Toffee loves to meet new people, and even new dogs. Luci prefers to keep out of their way. 

To be truthful, Toffee’s become a little more careful about large dogs, ever since one or two of them, without any ill intent, have stepped on her – playing, perhaps, or just informing her, with attempted gentleness, that they have reached an age where boisterousness such as hers is a little more than they can cope with. Having received that weight a few times, she’s learned to be a little more circumspect.

At least that wasn’t a lesson she had to learn at the tip of my shoe five years ago. For that, I raise my glass in relief. And I raise it once more to the fine times we’ve had together and which, I hope, we’ll continue to enjoy for many years to come.

She found her niche in the household quickly enough