Recently I wrote about the death of our much loved dog Elsie. To say we were heartbroken is an understatement. Her ‘brother’, our 13-year-old pugalier, has also not been the same since, suffering the sort of separation anxiety that only comes with the death of a long-time friend. As I write this now, or more accurately as I try to write this, instead of the hum of grief, something else has descended on our house: chaos. We adopted a puppy.

The question is, of course, how soon is too soon to get another dog?

My husband Matthew was very clear that he did not want to dampen our sadness by trying to fill it with something, or someone else. But fate has a funny way of getting up in your face and after spending a long time researching and pondering if we could take on a five-year-old incontinent dog with spinal injuries who turned up in my social media feed (too long as it turns out as we missed out on adopting him), I started to think that there might be room in our house and heart for one more. 

And so Mabel arrived on Saturday. Matthew and I both had some tears Saturday night. It was clear the only reason she was with us, was because Elsie was not. I had a big 'sob your heart out' moment on Sunday morning and our other dog is wandering around with a look of absolute disdain on his face. 

But she fits perfectly in the crook of your arm and her tummy is fat and squishy and warm. She bounces around in utter joy at even the hint of some play time and looks at us with her big, brown loving eyes. Is it too soon? Probably. Is there ever a right time? Probably not.

I suspect this one is going to steal our hearts, just as she has already stolen our shoes.