‘Astounded at the love I have’: Frances Whiting on our connection with our pets

You do not know the meaning of rejection until a golden retriever rejects you. And I am in the doghouse with our dog, big time, writes Frances Whiting.

I never really understood the connection between people and their pets until now.

I am in the doghouse with our dog Wilson. He is not happy with me at the moment, and he is letting me know it.

He is doing so by completely ignoring me when I call him and, instead, lifting his head to look about with an expression of, “Mmm, did I hear something? No, must have been the wind.”

Either that, or when I enter a room, he exits it immediately, and believe me you do not know the meaning of rejection until a golden retriever rejects you.

Now, the reason Wilson is furious with me is because he is currently sporting one of those giant, plastic cones around his head, known by all pet owners as the Cone of Shame.

It is extremely difficult for a dog to look cool in the dog park while wearing the Cone of Shame – it is the canine equivalent of wearing a sweater vest to a party.

Frances Whiting with beautiful Wilson.

Now sadly, in Wilson’s case, he currently looks particularly uncool because the vet had none left in standard size, so he is wearing an XL cone, and looks like he is about to join a mission into space.

Also, because it is so large, he is finding it hard to navigate his way around the house without bumping into things, and every time he does bump into something, he looks at me as if I have purposely put it there, and then goes back to ignoring me again.

I take it off as often as I can, so he can have something to drink, or eat, or so I can hold his adorable, fluffy white head in mine, look into his deep, chocolatey brown eyes and beg him to acknowledge my existence.

“What about all those walks in the park, Wilson? What about all the treats I’m not meant to give you? What about all the times I let you up on the couch when nobody is watching? Does that mean nothing to you?”

It does not, apparently.

But Wilson needs that cone because he has an infection behind his ear, and he keeps scratching it red raw, and I cannot put a bandage on it because he just paws it off and goes back to scratching.

The infection is making him depressed – not as depressed as wearing the cone – but depressed nonetheless. This involves him lying on his tummy, and sighing loudly every few minutes – louder if I am walking past.

Frances Whiting. Picture: Tara Croser.

He is quite unwell, and this is the first time in his 10 years he has been so. Seeing him this way has made me think about how much we all love him, what he has brought to our family, and how one day he will not be with us anymore.

Wilson is my first family dog, and I have been astounded at how the love I have for him crept up on me gradually and then all at once.

I never really understood the connection people have with their pets until Wilson came into our lives, but I do now.

Hopefully, Wilson will be with us for a few years yet and, in the meantime, I plan to tell him as often as I can that he is that most wondrous of things, a good boy.