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sometimes…

Four months in.

Brin would still guard doorways and, despite the house becoming a little like the visiting room of the local prison due to the ever-increasing number of stair-gates, we all were getting used to his quirks and quibbles.

Brin was never going to be easy but there were brief glimpses of him relaxing more and becoming less demanding on my time.

I was also getting used to walking him out in the forest and I seemed to have developed a 6th sense of what was around the corner. Small dogs were never a problem even if they chose to hang off his top lip and this led me to believe that sometime, in his past, he either was around puppies or had fathered some.

Big dogs remained a problem and around here there are many and sometimes I would be so tired and physically exhausted after a walk I would cry.

People were often very good when they stopped long enough to hear his story. Some were not and, often at a time when I felt particularly low, their words would hurt. It often felt very lonely.

Everyday I would take him out, rain or shine, and I learnt to swiftly dive into the thick undergrowth when the enemy according to Brin’ would appear over the horizon. I took to taking him out mid-afternoon as this time was the quietest and the people walking their dogs were often more sympathetic to a woman hanging on for dear life to a dog who had a bark loud enough to wake the devil.

Sometimes it felt that life would have been easier had I decided not to take him on.

My home would be gate free and my nerves, having to cope with the growling every time someone came up the stairs or if one of the dogs decided to amble innocently into the room, would be less frazzled.

I seemed to spend all my whole time trying to avoid situations and, to be quite honest, I was often at the end of my tether. I adored him but the feral in him was tough to break and it seemed, at times, we would always be living on a knife-edge with Brin with me in tow trying to keep things together.

It became a huge responsibly caring for Brin as he also now had many people following his antics on his Facebook page. I didn’t share the tough times except through private messages to Sue and other Afghan rescue dog owners. But it seemed we all were going through similar situations and this helped so much knowing I was not alone.

Brin was also raising much-needed funds for Nowzad through his antics…and one in-particular caused quite a stir…

 

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trials and tribulations…

Brin had now been at home for just over three months and everyday brought new challenges, lessons but above all laughter.

Brin was becoming a real character and his confidence to cope with many new things were developing well.

One major problem, however, was rain.

Afghanistan is known for torrential downpours and these downpours are short, sharp and severe. The rain comes down so hard is actually hurts causing man and beast to run for cover.

Living in the UK Brin was going to have to learn a lot about rain!

The amount of ‘accidents’ in the house increased with every wet day as his refusal to go outside became a serious problem. I decided to meet this head on and, during one of the wettest days since his homecoming, I donned hat, mac and boots and took him to the forest. Sensible people were at home and, as I sat in my car in the totally vacant car park, I wished I could do the same.

Rivers were literally pouring down the tracks and despite my coverings the rain seeped in to soak everything underneath. With one miserable looking dog by my side we ventured on our way.

One thing I did notice was his coat. He looked rather like a duck in the way the water would form into beads and run off his body leaving his undercoat totally dry. My other dogs would have been thoroughly drenched by now.

Arriving at the pond we turned to walk along a sheltered path and Brin seemed to relax and accept his fate of coping with the downpour and started to enjoy his outing.

Suddenly, from nowhere there came a dog from the bushes and with that Brin became super charged and started giving chase. Holding on with all my might, the mud beneath my feet became the perfect medium for land-surfing and, yet again, pain shot up my arm. Landing on my backside I managed to keep hold by using two hands and my feet, but still travelled along the ground at speed. The dog had long disappeared into the undergrowth and Brin had become entangled in scrub bringing him to an abrupt halt. Slowly standing up I noticed that, by a miracle, I had just missed a huge pile of fresh horse manure and, although it maybe great for roses, laying in that would have certainly clinched the deal on what had turned out to be yet another nightmare moment.

My hand was throbbing badly and fears of yet another break came to mind.

As it turned out I had dislocated my little finger which took 6 weeks to heal.

After that, Brin coped with rain and the accidents in the house decreased, apart from now and then.

 

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