Brin hated rain.
In England that would prove a problem.
Being a relatively clean dog inside the house as soon as the rain would fall he would flatly refuse to budge outside meaning accidents would happen on a daily basis.
In Afghanistan the rain can come down very hard, so hard it can actually hurt, and it was this memory that seemed to strike a deep fear in him.
The only way to tackle this problem was to meet it head on and so, donned with waterproof clothing, I would take him out to the forest in torrential down pours avoiding the stares of people sitting in their steamed up cars wondering if I was totally mad or being totally cruel to a miserable looking dog who looked as though he wanted to sink into the mud swirling around his feet and give up.
But it worked. After a few months of dragging him through acres of soggy forest Brin became used to the puddles and mud and eventually was happy to go out into the garden once more.
Next came the snow.
He had never witnessed a full snow fall before other than a shovel-full that had been placed in his quarantine kennel many months before.
I had been getting up around 2am to let him out for a while now as he was quite nocturnal when he first came home but this time he would be met with around 10 inches of fresh snow.
Instead of being tired, I felt like a joyful mum watching her child play for the first time.
I had bought him a coat but that idea was quickly eaten ending up in shreds on the floor.
Brin loved the snow and I loved seeing him run, jump and dig in it all. He was really enjoying his new discovery and instead of having to encourage him to out nothing would now get him in!
He continued to learn about all things new and with that came a lot of pleasure and joy witnessing his freedom to explore and the fun he had while doing so.
The digging of deep holes at night-time was starting to subside but with that also came his desire to be free of his bed inside the crate.
I had said goodnight to him and he settled down and appeared to be sleeping. I had got into bed and was just falling asleep when I heard a strange noise rather like a soft squeaking sound.
Getting up I walked to his room and listened through the door. The noise came again, this time followed by a snuffling sound on the other side of door. In my disbelief I entered the room to be met by Brin totally out of his crate that was still locked and with no damage whatsoever. I still to this day have no idea how he got out of it…I can only think he squeezed himself between the floor of the crate and the upper bars…it made my stomach churn as he could have so easily trapped his neck.
Brin had had enough and now resides on the end of our bed and, despite his loud snoring, we never know he is there.
And secretly, we prefer it that way.