My last pet was a
Tomagotchi, I purchased the blue encased electronic puppy dog from Belfast's famous toy shop, Leisure World. We all had them in our office, cheap pieces of plastic that we fed, played games with, cleaned up it's mess and constantly checked it's age, health, nutrition levels etc. When
a Tomagotchi died in the office, we relished in the fact that they had to start all over again and we were one step closer to owning the oldest 'living'
Tomagotchi in the building. The craze soon died with
Tomagotchis strewn over homes, offices and cars.
Thirteen years have passed since the days of keeping an electronic pet on your keyring and I started toying with the idea of getting a dog. My partner wanted one but all I could think of was the shit in the garden and the constant walks. I also thought of the heartbreak when my sausage dog died, our springer spaniel died, when our cross breed ate all my mummy's clothes of the washing line and went straight back to the pound. I didn't think I was ready for doggie trauma and reminisced about a simple life with a Tomagotchi.
Something got hold of me though, I started googling dogs, checking out breeders websites and daydreaming about what it would be really like to have a dog about the house. The notion inside me was building so strong that I had to make a decision but couldn't think what the deal breaker would be. It came to me on one unsuspecting evening when I turned to my partner and said "If you had a dog, what would you call it?" I had in my head, if he answers 'Max', then that was the sign and we would get a new addition to our family. Without taking his eyes of the TV he said "Max". "Funny that" I replied "me too".
I then went about my secret plan of organising our new dog, our breed of choice had been a Golden Labrador, our friend had one and her temperament was so calming it endeared me to the breed. The breeder told me that he only had a boy left and that he would hold him for me until after my birthday weekend. During the drunken birthday celebrations I told a friend about my cunning plan for bank holiday Monday and she was so excited to see my partners face that she cajoled me into telling him. The shock and delight on his face was priceless. That Monday we packed up the car to make the 3 hour journey to collect Max, excitement, interpretation and I'll give him all the love and care he needs but I'm not picking up any shit was the general aurora coming from me. Love was my department. General maintenance and shit picking up was his department.
When we were nearing the breeders hometown we got a call to say we can meet you, to save you a further hours round trip, great I thought, then I remembered the advice on one of the many websites I gleaned for information 'don't pick your new dog up in a car park it's a sign of a puppy farm!' Too late, we'd made the arrangement. The breeder met us in the car park of a McDonalds, handed the puppy to Ger. She instantly licked his face as if it were a doggie lolly pop. The connection was made, the deal was done! Max turned out to be a girl, so as good owners do, we feminised her name to Maxie.
Maxie has been in our family now for just over three months; she has brought us so much joy, love and shit. Shit, that I'm happy to clean up each and every time she deposits a new load, it's my little way of paying her back. I'm so happy you're not a Tomagotchi, Maxie.
Photo (Maxie, her first night in her new home)
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