As revealed in the last blog entry, Max is going home.
Surprisingly, considering all the rigmarole involved with getting him over here in the first place, it was an easy decision. But I think we'd been heading down that path for a while, and now the decision has been made we both just want things finished.
There wasn't one specific thing that happened to force this decision, but probably the last straw was Max getting kicked out of doggy daycare for barking too much. Friday morning two weeks ago, Linda the daycare lady called me at work, and I got a sick feeling in my stomach when I saw her name flash up on my phone because there was no good reason that she'd be calling.
She told me that her elderly neighbour had complained that, while Linda is out doing her dogwalking rounds during the day, Max barks continuously. Considering how close together all the houses are here, Linda said she couldn't keep Max on because it would ruin her relationship with her neighbour. She was extremely apologetic about it, and said she'd keep taking Max until we coud find another daycare place for him which was good.
G had spent the past three weekends building a very good fence around our patch of grass outside, and we had ultimately hoped to start leaving Max in there while we were at work or out on the weekends. However, this news from Linda put that into a spin - the chances of Max barking his head off were pretty high, and our neighbours are very, very close - one with a small baby, too, who probably needs sleep etc.
We both knew that, back in Brisbane, Max probably barked a bit while we were at work. But because we owned the house there was no chance of our landlord kicking us out, and there were no shared walls between our house and the next. Here, though, issues of space are so different, and while we were willing to try techniques to train Max out of barking, it's going to take a lot longer than our neighbours' patience will last.
Add to this the fact that the day after Linda called, we put Max in the fenced-off garden for the first time...and within five minutes he'd yanked the wire up and escaped. Not the desired result. G spent half an hour fixing that area of the fence, which was great, but Max has rat cunning and no doubt would be able to escape some other way. Seeing as our house is extremely close to a busy main road (with buses running past 24 hours a day), I know I would never be comfortable leaving Max in that area while we were out.
Of course, leaving Max in the house for a long period is unfeasible. In Australia, Max destroyed about four things, three of them while in the puppy phase (the other was about six months ago, and was a model of a dog covered in rabbit fur - clearly too tempting for him to ignore).
However, since arriving in Edinburgh, he has widened his range and frequency enormously. So far he has destroyed: the telephone cord; three television cables; a scarf (mine); a shoe (mine); letters (mostly addressed to me); plastic bags; random paper; the door mat; a huge cardboard box (in stages); my coat (partial damage); and three dog leads, including a thick leather one. He has also chewed at two doors, and left 'messages' around the house.
This is a dog who is perfectly well behaved when we are at home, and has been toilet-trained for years. When he had an upset tummy a month ago and had to keep going out during the night, he gently woke one of us up every time he needed to go outside. Clearly, he turns into a little monster as soon as he's left alone, which is incredibly frustrating. Anyone who knows Max has experiences his neurotic behaviour, so imagine trying to tame this. We didn't realise how bad he would be before we came here, but it's just untenable.
So, after talking about it for two days, we made a phone call to G's parents. G asked if they would ever possibly, maybe, consider looking after Max if we were to send him home, and they didn't hesitate to say "of course!". As soon as I heard that, I just burst into tears from all the months of stress and from the relief. I don't think I realised just how stressed Max was making me until that moment. Because my hours are strictly 9-5, I get home before G each night, and I never know what's going to greet me when I open the door. Therefore, I always have a sick feeling in my stomach when approaching home, which is really not the way things should be.
Once we knew we had the option of sending Max to Bundaberg to live, the decision pretty much made itself. The steps involved in getting Max back to Australia are manifold - including getting both an export and an import license - and we've spent the last two weeks researching what needs to be done. He will have to spend 30 days in quarantine in Sydney (there are no quarantine facilities in Brisbane), but he would need to do that whenever he came home and we knew that from the outset. Knowing Max, he'll have the quarantine staff wrapped around his little finger within two days.
It costs a lot to send your dog overseas, and we always knew we'd have to pay that, but hadn't figured on needing to spend that so soon. So we've had to rejig things that we had wanted to do in order to ship Max off, but he's all booked in to fly off on Tuesday 3 March. We will take him down to London the day before, where he'll stay overnight in some kennels. It will be sad, but a huge relief.
It feels a bit like a break-up, in a way - should we tell Max "It's not you, it's us"? But then, that would be a big lie, because it really is him.
Same bridge, one week later.
View of the castle and the Royal Mile from Calton Hill.
