English Staffordshire Bull Terriers have nothing to do with mystery fiction, but it's not every day I adopt my own fur-kid. He's been with me since just after 4pm today, and the knot in my stomach still hasn't gone. I feel like I've made a mistake that will last the next 15 years... I have had a shocking week so far, and I've realised this wasn't the best time to bring a dog into my life. I don't know what to do with him! He isn't housetrained or desexed, has lived outside chained to a kennel all of his 13 months of life, has fleas which have attached themselves to me (and my car, my carpets, his bedding...), has had no obedience training, can't be left alone in the yard because all he wants to do is jump the fence... and the poor little guy obviously wants to go home (which isn't here).
At the moment he's alternating between trying to eat the face off a Winnie the Pooh toy and crying quietly. I've been up since 5:30am and all I want to do is go to bed, but if I do he'll probably pee on my bookcase and massacre my Italian leather boots. I guess I've learnt something... never take on a serious responsibility like this if you're already completely stressed out with life. It makes the small stuff so much more difficult to deal with. Hopefully I can post a more positive Bean blog entry this time next week.