Why you should adopt an older dog

A puppy's smushed up face and cartoon eyes might make your ovaries explode, but an older dog can truly make a house a home. As we found out. 

November is Senior Dogs Month, but that’s every month at our house, where 10-year-old cocker spaniel Lizzie reigns supreme. And rightly so. 

She joined our family almost three years ago, the result of a boring evening, a rainy day and a guilty husband. At the time we were living in a tumbledown villa, complete with leaky roof and unscrupulous landlady (who still owes us Dhs20,000, not that I’m bitter…) but it also had a dog flap, which was begging for a purpose.

One Friday night I was browsing Dubizzle, and saw a post about a cocker spaniel needing a home – she had been taken to a ‘doggie resort’ for boarding, but her owner had called to say he wasn’t coming back for her. Unforgivable.

I called but there was no reply, and woke up thinking about this poor dog, abandoned in a strange place during a thunderstorm. I rang again, and was told that she was called Lizzie, was five years old, and in good health – and that lots of people were interested in her.

Jeans, jumper and boots on, I drove to Ajman in the lashing rain. Lizzie was there with a boisterous bulldog, and was cowering behind a tree, shy and very overweight. She immediately came to me, nuzzling around my knees, and it felt like she chose me.

Lizzie on the day we adopted her, complete with blonde quiff.

Next, I had to call my husband, who was working on a Saturday and feeling suitably sheepish about it, which I quickly turned to my advantage. The kennels said they needed half an hour to give her a bath and get her ready, so I headed to a local mall to get cash out for the donation (her owner hadn’t even paid her boarding fees) and call Mr Farmer. I distinctly remember him saying, “If you think we can give her a good home and a better life then go for it”.

Permission granted, I returned to pick her up and buy everything we needed. The kennels passed on her previous owner’s contact details so I could ask him about paperwork and vaccinations (he even delivered her passport to our house – I couldn’t even look at him).

That journey home was tough. She shook as I lifted her into the back of the car, and was silent all the way to the vets, despite my constant chattering and singing. Once there, he said she was closer to eight years old, which her passport confirmed, but was in good health – nothing some eye drops and a diet couldn’t sort. Then it was time to get her settled, and it all fell into place. 

As I write this, Lizzie’s whiskery chin is resting on my leg, sweet little snores coming from her soft mouth, stubby tail twitching as she sleeps. And as soon she came home it was like she had relaxed. She gleefully trotted out of the dog flap to the garden, snoozed on her oversized cushion and helped herself to leftovers from the bin (naughty) and loved, and still loves, long walks and swimming in the sea.

As she approaches 11 years old, it’s fair to say Lizzie’s best days are behind her – her eyes are getting cloudy, her back legs are weakening and we’re spending a small fortune on arthritis medication. But I don’t for a day regret adopting an older dog. When I look into those brown eyes it’s pure love that shines back. 

There are a huge number of senior dogs needing good homes in Dubai because expats often don’t want the expense of transporting an older animal when they relocate (how you can abandon a family pet is truly beyond me).

Here’s why you should consider a senior…

1. They (usually) don’t need training, so you won’t spend your days wiping up wee, or mourning chewed flip-flops. And they can be taught new tricks. Lizzie can high-five. Oh yes.

2. There’s life in the old dog yet. A senior dog is technically seven years or older, and with many breeds this is relatively young, so you could have years of love and fun with your new addition ahead of you.

3. They don’t require as much exercise. Sure, puppies are adorable, but good grief they have energy. A more mature pooch, however, makes the perfect snuggle buddy on the sofa.

4. You know what you’re getting. With puppies, especially cross-breeds, there’s no guarantees in terms of size or temperament when fully grown, while you get what you see with a senior dog. And if you’re searching for a pedigree chum, then you’re more likely to find a purebreed older dog – without the eye watering price tag of a puppy.

5. It’s your chance to offer an animal happiness in its last few years. No dog deserves to spend his or her last days on the street or in a shelter.  

According to her paperwork, we’re Lizzie’s third (and final) family. And, when the time comes to say goodbye, we’ll make sure she has the best day of her life – lots of tummy scratching, a whole cooked chicken to herself and a lovely long sleep on our bed.

For more information, visit Dubai Senior Dogs Project and K9 Friends.

10 lessons I’ve learnt during weaning (so far)

Phoebe wasn’t interested in solid food until she was about six and a half months old. Before that we lovingly steamed and pureed various veg only for her to clamp her little month shut as the spoon approached. Then, during lunch one weekend, she wrestled a piece of baguette out of my hand (a carb lover, like her mother) and we were off. 

In keeping with my approach to parenting, I hadn’t read any books. Well, I’d started a Gina Ford guide to weaning for a ‘contented’ baby that held big promise, but frankly it made my head fall off. Trying to keep to her daily planner of introducing new foods on a staggeringly rigid basis was a test of patience, discipline and shopping lists that proved too much for me. I could picture Gina shaking her head at me as I closed the book for the last time. 

Since then, weaning has been a combination of purees, putting nibbly bits on her high chair table and letting her eat from our plates on occasion. In short, we’re winging it. And she’s not starving, so I’m calling it a win.

Here are some lessons I’ve learnt so far:

1. Ella is a goddess (or her father who allegedly makes those yummy pouches deserves an OBE). We use them at weekends when the thought of defrosting sloppy broccoli on the go makes my stomach turn. I’m pretty sure we’ve spent so much on them that Ella and her entire family can comfortably retire to Bermuda in 2016. 
2. What the baby doesn't eat, the dogs will. Earlier today our aged spaniel Lizzie licked up some discarded chicken casserole from the floor, while the puppy often benefits from a stray berry-flavoured rice cake, organic carrot crisp and those melty hoop things that sadly don’t taste as good as they smell. Note: descriptions of baby food make it sound delicious but they’re all rank, which quickly ended my plans of getting on Jennifer Aniston’s reported diet plan. 
3. Don’t worry about what your baby eats in a day, worry about it over a week. Sometimes distraction, teething, tiredness or whatever goes through their tiny minds means that their appetite is smaller or bigger on any given day. Don’t stress.
4. Sometimes it’s ok for a baby to eat pain au chocolat. If it keeps her quiet long enough for me to have a cup of tea in a cafe with another mum then it’s fine in my book. 
5. Don’t compare. As with crawling, talking, walking and every other developmental point of difference, what your kid eats won’t be the same as that baby over there (yes, that one happily dipping their focaccia in truffle oil with an air of sophistication). 
6. Persevere. Baby might adore your famous spag bol one day, then the next act like you've warmed up excrement in their orange plastic bowl. Chances are, they’ll like it again tomorrow. Don’t take it personally.
7. Planning helps, if you’re an organised person. I’m not. A lot of mums cook most nights and cunningly make separate portions of salt-free meals for their baby. Due to both parents working full time, at our house dinner is often cheese on toast or ordered in - and I seriously doubt Gina or Annabel would endorse me whizzing up Biryani Pot’s butter chicken or 800 Pizza’s finest pepperoni. 
8. The Nutribullet is your friend. Yes, it was bought with romantic, idealistic notions of a green juice before work leading to so much baby weight lost that friends would ask for my secret, with mock concern. It has, however, never seen spinach but is brilliant for pureeing the crap out of just about anything.
9. The contents of nappies change. I can’t say more without getting graphic, but let’s just say that you’ll yearn for the days of newborn poops once the more grown-up, umm, efforts appear.
10. Wipes. Wipes. Wipes. Great for distracting baby long enough to shove a spoon in their mouth, essential for cleaning up after and good for your handbag when you see you have Mango Baby Brekkie behind your ear in the rearview mirror on the way to work. 

Bonus tip: my very clever friend Lyndsay is a trained chef and has a blog called I Eat My Peas full of awesome recipes that can be adapted for big people and little people. Check it out here. 

Making memories

I'm a few kilos off pre-pregnancy weight and WAY off where I want to be, but is that going to stop me having photos taken in swimwear the first time Phoebe goes in the sea? Umm... NO.

In praise of The Pajero Blowdry AKA how to save time in the morning

On the scale from Slummy to Yummy, I definitely flounder at the more slovenly end of the scale. And that’s ok. I’m not one of those women who gets their hair done every week. I wish I was. But a) I can’t justify the cost (haircuts are weirdly something I really resent spending money on and my first ruling as leader of the world would be free or at least subsidised cut and blowdries, along with Tampax and the pill e.g. No More Lady Tax) and b) I’d rather be spend any spare baby-free time reconnecting with the sofa. Netflix and chill. Not like that. 

And having a baby has cut my morning routine in half. Okay, less than that. When I’m alone, Phoebe is put in the bouncer and getting ready has to be a ten-minute routine. 

Here’s the reality of my pre-work beauty regime:

Hair.

The biggest thing that saves times is The Pajero Blowdry. This involves putting the hairdryer on my fringe for 20 seconds then letting the air-conditioning in the car on the way to work do the rest. If the fringe is fine, the rest really doesn’t matter. On non-hair wash days, dry shampoo and lots of it. 

Face.

Buy foundation at Carrefour under vile bright lights so the shade is wrong. Don’t worry, it will fade by lunchtime anyway and you’ll come home looking like you’ve never worn makeup in your life. Mascara, however, will not budge - sadly it doesn’t stay on the lashes, but firmly under the eyes after you rubbed them during a mid-afternoon energy slump that only a Twix could resolve. 

Wardrobe.

Many mums, for the first year after giving birth, find themselves in no man's land when it comes to what to wear. Pre-baby clothes are off-limits until the weight is lost, maternity wear is too big (apart from those leggings that are like wearing a hug) and the thought of going shopping for bigger sizes is too much to bear. Instead you have some forgiving jeans and wear them with a series of nondescript tops, or get away with some dresses from The Fat Year (thankfully pre-Facebook and photo evidence has been destroyed but you’re glad you kept some of the clothes). 

It's not that I'm lazy, it's just... well, I am a bit lazy really. And I'd rather sleep than groom. The great thing about being a low maintenance mum is that when you do make an effort everyone says lovely things - even if they do look a bit shocked by the fact you’re in heels, wearing actual eyeshadow and don’t have sweet potato puree in your hair.

Print from Society6. 

Playing The Baby Card

I get a lot of emails. This isn’t bragging, as most of them are garbage – press releases sent to every magazine under the sun regardless of relevance, messages from mailing lists long forgotten (or desired) and invites. Loads of those. Invitations to the opening of a new clinic in Al Ain, the re-launch of a restaurant that should have closed quietly, daytime press conferences that I can’t spare the time or team member to attend.

Acres of emails. And this means endless phone calls from hapless PR people checking that I a) received their invite and b) if I’m attending.

I’m often tempted to say a) yes, because emails generally work around here and I haven’t changed my address in six years and b) if I’m interested you’ll know about it. They lose even more points for following up on an invite by phone mere minutes after it was sent.

Sometimes I’ll let them down gently, and calmly explain that it’s sadly not relevant to our title, but when they get really persistent I’ll play The Baby Card.

The Pregnancy Card was a great one – I couldn’t be in smoky environments, and would involuntarily fall asleep around 8pm regardless of location. The Baby Card is even better – you can make up tales of complex feeding and sleeping routines that no-one can argue with, or say that the husband is out that particular evening/afternoon/month so that I’m on baby duty and couldn’t possibly.

It gets a bit trickier in my social life. Having a baby DOES make going to some events more complicated/less desirable. We went on a short break to a Dubai hotel over Eid and the sheer amount of stuff (nappies, milk, food, equipment for milk and food, swimming things, sleeping things, toys etc etc etc until the car was full) made me wonder if it was worth the hassle. For the record, it was – daytime drinking, lounging with husband and baby on a blanket as the sun went down and bed at 9pm is always worth it. But some events are just too much bother. And I feel bad asking our nanny to babysit at weekends. Plus, what would I wear? At weekends generally it’s leggings on, hair up, no makeup and minimal under-wiring.

In truth, sometimes all we want to do is watch BBC iPlayer at home, where our stuff is. And that’s when The Baby Card is gold.

Note: it also works when trying to get financial advisors off the phone. “So sorry, my little one is just sleeping, so I can’t talk”. The unsaid truth being that since having her we have no finances for you to advise on anyway…

Illustration by Gemma Correll