Blog readers, meet Quentin.
Quentin was born on the 11th of May 2014, into a family of 7 pugs, including his three sweet sisters, his mother Abby and step uncles and aunties. Meeting him for the first time was like a dream - it was probably the most realistic example of love-at-first-sight that's ever been recorded. He was tiny, very wiggly, and had chubby little back rolls. He played for a little bit on my lap, softly mouthing my hand, before falling asleep. My first encounter with a pug snore.
|7 weeks old|
The following week I got to take him home. The drive home was interesting. I cried a little, feeling a) guilty for taking Abby's only son away from her and b) like this was a dream coming true. (Quentin weed on me twice in the car, but I didn't care one bit.)
I've wanted a dog for the longest time. Some people fantasise about getting married and having kids, all I've ever wanted was to paint, and have a dog for company. The idea of an animal as a companion, one with which such a strong bond can be made, is just my dream. People stress me out, social situations stress me out. With a dog, it's not about your topics of conversation, or your opinions, it's about your ability to love. As cheesy as that sounds...
|The first night at home|
|8 weeks old|
|Bat dog, 10 weeks.|
Having said all that, I have to be honest and say that my first month with Quentin hasn't been quite the dream I envisioned. It's involved setting my alarm for every 2 hours through the night to take him outside. It's involved excrement, on my hands, as I reached into his bed in the middle of the night. It's involved washing the entire contents of his crate at 2 in the morning. I could go on, but I fear this would just be a paragraph about poo, and nobody wants that.
However, since turning 12 weeks this Sunday, things have got easier and I feel I'm finally enjoying having a puppy in the house. Yes, he still chews everything in sight, but he's calmer now he can explore outside, and now that he's used to the other members of the house, including my rabbit Hergé.
The idea of "a Quentin" has existed for about a year. Every time I saw a black pug (a Quentin) in the street, I would squeal behind my hands. He's just the dog for me, and I'm so happy he's finally here.