Kym's Tale - Chapter One - The Beginning and Potty Training
We'd not been married very long when we decided to get a dog. Bob had always had a dog when he was younger - his dad often had working German Shepherds at home.
I was never able to have a dog, which made me want one nearly as much as I wanted a pony. My brother was violently allergic to anything remotely furry or feathered - even keeping a budgie was a challenge, as he could never have it near him.
 Poor Tweetie. Not that I was over-interested in the budgie; I couldn't ride it or take it for a walk, so what was the point in having one? I used to ask Mum irritably why we couldn't get rid of Tony and have a dog instead - you could imagine what her answer was. I don't think I was a very easy child to deal with...every Christmas she had to pretend to be Santa and reply to my abject, pleading letter begging for a pony by explaining gently, yet again, that it was just not possible to keep one in our garage.
I have to admit that Bob and I didn't think very carefully before we threw ourselves into dog ownership - we both worked full-time, for a start. Both of us wanted a decent-size dog; he would have gone for a German Shepherd pup, but I didn't fancy the idea of all the hair on the carpet. Neither of us cared for Dobermanns.
We ended up agreeing on a Rottweiler, as one of my friends had one and it was a lovely dog - there weren't many Rotties around all that time ago, and they didn't have the terrible reputation that they have now. I didn't take into account the fact that their Rottie had been properly trained and brought up by her father who used to breed them!
Looking back now, with the benefit of twenty years dog experience, we needed our heads examining! In the course of a single wet Sunday in February, we made the life-altering decision to get a pup, agreed on a breed that we knew rock-all about and started telephoning breeders that we'd never heard of. Oh, the foolishness of youth!
Less than two weeks later we brought our puppy home. A Rottie bitch aged eight weeks and two days, with a pedigree as long as your arm and a fancy name. Oh, and a price tag to match. They saw us coming.
"Spirit of The Storm" was a bit much for everyday use. We named her Kym.
Rottie pups are just beautiful - like little bears, with round tummies and ears that are too big. We loved her to bits, even though she howled for three nights solid at first.
We read all about how to potty train a puppy, and armed ourselves with tons of newspaper. We had her properly vaccinated and wormed, boiled up minced steak on the stove for her and filled the freezer with goats milk. The house smelt like a transport café and there was no room to keep any food in for us. But we felt we were doing the Right Thing.
On the eighth day we both went back to work.
Mistake Number One..
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