The New Chronicles of Pupperino

Notwithstanding inasmuch as which we gained a new dog and lost another of long standing, although in later years mostly lying down, I have a further addition to report, in the shape and form of this adorable pupperino:

An Adorable Pupperino, Recently.

The circumstances are as follows. The loss of Heidi hit us hard -- especially Mrs Gee, who was present when Heidi had to be put to sleep. Ronnie the Jack Russell, Heidi's longtime companion, has aged noticeably and has become slightly grumpy. The atmosphere in the house has become spiky. We felt that shalom bayit could not be restored without the cuddly warmth and benign presence of a golden retriever.

Mindful of the fact that many golden retrievers suffer grievously from inbreeding (witness this case history, which you shouldn't read while eating peanuts or any other choking hazard); and that Heidi suffered from hip dysplasia and came from a slightly-less-than-reputable breeder; we resolved to do it better this time.

Offspring#2, who has sourced most of our pets on the internet, looked for any golden retriever pupperinos advertised by the Kennel Club. Just before Christmas she found a litter, born on 2 December, less than two hours drive from Cromer. (This is itself quite a feat as most destinations of note are at least two hours drive away from Cromer.) The breeder had gone to great pains to ensure the genetic health of her charges. The litter of four pupperinos has a pedigree that includes every ancestor back to the great-great-great grandparents -- more complete than most human pedigrees with the possible exception of royalty.

For example, although I know the identities of each one of my four grandparents, I know the names of only three of my eight great-grandparents and just one of my sixteen great-great grandparents.

But wait - there's more. Although the dogs in the pedigree came from a necessarily restricted range of registered breeders, no individual dog makes more than a single appearance in this extensive chart. This means that the pupperino is as outbred as the albeit limited breeding stock allows. The pedigree of a golden retriever that adorned my teenage years, on the other hand, contained a number of repeat appearances. As I recall, his father, grandfather and great-grandfather might have been the same dog. As for Heidi, her ancestry is a blank. We never received her pedigree as the breeder hadn't paid the fee to the Kennel Club to register her.

The breeder of the adorable pupperino shown above, had gone even further to ensure that her charges were as outbred and healthy as possible. She had commissioned detailed veterinary checks (including DNA tests) on the pup's mother and father to eliminate risks of the skeletal and eye problems that afflict this breed.

So it was that between Christmas and New Year we travelled to visit the litter, a tumble of lively pups attended by her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. The density of golden retrievers was gorgeously overwhelming -- and on Sunday 26 January we went to collect the latest addition to the menagerie. She is just a shade over 8 weeks old.

Now, I know parents like to boast about the accomplishments of their Offspring (and pets), but even on the first day in her new home she answered to her name, which is Posy, and three days later is beginning to have some idea that one goes outdoors to commit elimination and egestion.

She is a playful bundle of energy and floof who is growing almost as one watches and is likely to be quite a big dog when she grows up. I mean, just look at those feet. I suspect that the father was the size of one of those bears in His Dark Materials: you know the ones, like polar bears only much bigger, and wearing bicycle helmets.

She has the golden retriever's uncomplicated attitude to food, and, like Heidi, loves ripping up pieces of paper (something we missed this year, as we opened our Christmas presents for the first time in more than a decade in the absence of Heidi's Festival of Ripping Up Wrapping Paper.)

She wants to play with Ronnie and Lulu, but they are currently aloof, as they are progressing through the stages of disruption from Anger, through Bemusement, to Resignation and, hopefully, Participation. In the meantime, Posy interrupts bursts of frenetic activity with long periods of lying at my feet in the Home Office.

She is still young for walks, or visiting the beach - she hasn't had her vaccinations yet -- but the summer will be something to look forward to. We have so many memories of Heidi on the beach. Because that's where golden retrievers belong.

My Reads of 2019

This year I only managed to read 18 books, which is pitiful given my reading record in earlier years, especially 2018. In mitigation I'd like to offer that for some of 2018 I had been immobilized by a broken ankle so had little else to do except read; and this year I had planned to do more writing.

I did indeed finish the first draft of a book provisionally entitled John Maddox: His Part In My Victory, but on advice from those in the know, I am recasting it as something more saleable, mainly by taking out all the jokes.

But I digress.

Given the smallness of my list, which lacks entries from favorite authors such as Gaiman, Simmons, Dickens and LeGuin, I don't feel I can select a top ten, so this year you'll have to make do with a top five instead.

As they don't say in all the best game shows ... in no particular order ...

Tombland by C. J. Sansom. Imagine my pleasure when I learned that C. J. Sansom was going to resurrect his fictional Tudor barrister and sleuth Matthew Shardlake, whom we'd last seen as the personal lawyer to Catherine Parr (in Lamentation) and thought, that with the death of Henry VIII, we'd never see again. Tombland is set during the reign of Edward VI, but is rather different from the other Shardlake books. First, it's less a detective novel (although there is indeed a whodunit) and much more a straight historical piece. Second, it's set in Norwich, a city I know very well, and which still retains much of its Tudor street plan - increasing my enjoyment. Third, it's all about Kett's Rebellion (much of the action of which took place in Norwich and the Lands Adjacent), a period of history concerning which I knew little, and was thus considerably informed; and finally, it's a whopper of a book. So enjoyable, though, that I didn't want it to end.

Circe by Madeline Miller is a retelling of Greek Mythology from the point of view of one of its minor characters - Circe, the witch who ensnares Odysseus on the island of Aiaia in the Odyssey. It's a poignant tale of love and loss, with a great deal of fantastical elements as you'd imagine, and even if you think you know your Greek myths, there are some surprising twists.

The Crystal Cave by Mary Stewart is, like Circe, a novel twist on a mythological theme. This time the fictional autobiographer is the wizard Merlin, born a prince in South Wales; exiled to Brittany to join the army of Ambrosius Aurelianus, and returns to engineer the conception of Arthur. The author admits that it all comes from The History of the Kings of Britain by that deranged fabulist Geoffrey of Monmouth but it's none the worse for all that. And given that Britain in the fifth century is almost as entirely free from actual history as is the Odyssey, it's a wonderful playground for a good historical novelist. Which, of course, Mary Stewart is.

This Is Going To Hurt by Adam Kay is a memoir by a young man from a family of medics who follows the well-worn path into medicine, makes it to Senior Registrar, and burns out. It is killingly funny, even though you think it shouldn't be. The message is that we expect our health service professionals to be superhuman, working impossible hours at the cost of a great deal of things the non-medic world takes for granted, such as family life, relationships and the ability to take a holiday. (Add Kay's Twas the Nightshift Before Christmas as a seasonal addendum).

And finally....

My Read of the Year is...

The Vorrh by Brian Catling. The Vorrh of the title is a vast, dark forest somewhere in Africa, and the effects it has on a cast of characters who are either intimately connected with it, such as the cyclops Ishmael -- raised in a secret basement by robots -- or observe it only as a dark shadow on the edges of their consciousness -- such as the real-life-yet-fictionalized pioneer of photography Eadweard Muybridge. I have to say that it is one of the strangest books I have ever read -- and also one of the most beautiful. The events described are weird, astonishing, ghastly, fantastical and compelling, driven by writing of a quality and texture I have never seen before: muscular, synaesthetic and quite original. Comparisons made between The Vorrh and the works of Mervyn Peake are entirely justified. I am at a loss to say what The Vorrh is 'about', or even to summarize the plot, if any. What I can say is that The Vorrh is a book that will live long in the memory. Approach The Vorrh at your peril - once you are ensnared by it is hard to emerge, and if you do, you will be irrevocably changed.

A Recent Arrival

I am ashamed to say that I have been less than immediately alacritous in announcing a relatively new arrival chez Gee, although she did get a walk-on part in an earlier post. Here it is -

Her name is Lulu. She is nearly 3, and came to us six months ago (!) from friends who were unable to look after her, through pressure of work. She is a cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and a Dachshund (Dachs Russell, anyone?).

As you can imagine this a dynamite combination.

Lulu is loving and loyal. Although rather fierce with other dogs, she is intelligent and eager to learn, and is calming down under the benign influence of Ronnie (now aged 12) ...

Ronnie, on receipt of the news that we shall be about to commit perambulation. Recently.

... and as she came to us when Heidi was still with us, she received some Golden Retriever calmness vibes. When Lulu first arrived, Heidi woke up, gave Lulu a lick, and went back to sleep. Taking all three of them for a walk simultaneously all together and at the same time was, how shall we put it ... fun.