1988 got off to a rather painful start for Sollee. On New Years Day he was looking rather sorry for himself and the next morning he was at the vets with an abscess on his bum. Apart from vaccinations and his neutering this was Sollee's first 'proper' trip to the vet. To say he didn't like it is something of an understatement. Well, who can blame him? It can't have been much fun having your bottom inspected and that painful lump squeezed, which is what the vet did. Just a little pressure and a foul smelling torrent shot up his arm.... he hadn't intended that to happen! 

Sollee came home a rather subdued dog, who throughout the day would check his bottom then give me dirty looks... it was obviously my fault and he wasn't very forgiving until the pain went.

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In February Father was finally granted Attendance Allowance and I officially became his carer. As a result we persuaded the landlord that something needed doing about the chimney situation at the cottage: light a fire in the dining room and the smoke filled the sitting room and vice versa. The only way to prevent the place filling with smoke and fumes was to have a fire going in both rooms all the time or leave the back door permanently open. Neither was an agreeable solution. Who can live with an outer door permanently open? Crazy! As for two fires going 24/7? Well, we couldn't afford that. But we had to have a fire going all day, every day in the sitting room which, because of his ill health, I had converted into a kind of bed-sit for Father.

It had taken years to get this situation sorted. The problem lay with the fact that our landlord was not the owner of the property. He was a Tenant Farmer and the cottage was part of the farm he rented. This meant he was not responsible for structural repairs, his landlord was. So, I badgered my landlord and he, in turn, badgered his. Finally we had a result, builders came and gave their 'experienced opinion' and a few days into March they came back and the chimney breast in the dining room was torn out and new flues installed; then the scaffolding went up, the old pots came down and a pair of H pots were fitted. I hated/hate them. It looks like a damned space ship has landed on the stack and there was only a marginal improvement on the smoke situation. We could now get away with one fire and a smoke free home as long as one bedroom window was kept open (it depended on the wind direction as to which window we needed open).

Sollee loved all the building work, and the builders ... they always had something tasty in their lunch boxes. While they worked in the dining room he parked himself on one of the benches under the south window and scrutinised all they did. He could have become a Master Builder the amount of attention he paid; well maybe a Master flu installer. I was amazed at how patient he had suddenly become, the whole operation apparently fascinated him and at the end of the first day, when the men had gone home, leaving a large section of new flu pipe exposed, I caught Sollee with his paws in the grate gazing up into the gaping shaft above. His brow was puckered, his eyebrows bristling more than usual. Clearly he had a lot of questions ... but who to ask?  I wondered if perhaps he had been a builder (or a chimney sweep) in a past life!

The outdoor work didn't quite hold his attention in the same manner. I guess he was a paws-firmly -on-the-ground kind of dog (when he wasn't leaping off landings that is). He gave the impression that he didn't entirely approve of men up on the roof, but he found the old pots rather intriguing as they were lowered to the ground, yet one sniff and a nose full of soot convinced him it wasn't worth the effort. He retreated indoors and sat by the lads lunch boxes.

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We recovered from the invasion of the chimney builders and I got the dining room redecorated, and, having caught the bug, I carried on up my step ladder, decorating the kitchen and utility room as well. Sollee kept himself busy during this time and got his tail decorated in three different colours .... very fetching! 

Thus spring passed in a sea of paint and emulsion and it was summer before we knew it. Sollee had recovered from the indignity of the abscess and was enjoying life to the full. He had found a whole new group of admires at our local council run Nursing Home where Father visited a Day Centre every Friday, and sometimes had the odd weekend of respite care. Sollee made his debut visit to lots of 'Oohs and Aahs' and lapped up all the fuss and petting with such good-natured grace that he was invited back. He soon knew Friday's meant an afternoon visiting Father's friends with lots of cuddles and doggy chocs, and I fretted that now, as a middle-aged, neutered dog he would start to pile on the pounds. But all the goodies went straight through on the trusty Airspring conveyor belt without an ounce sticking to his ribs.

He really was a very popular dog, welcomed in half a dozen pubs in the area and now the Nursing Home. His circle of friends was greater than mine ... I was just the woman who 'did-for' him. My own friends continued to welcome him into their homes albeit not until they had closed all the necessary doors. But one little occurrence did serve to stretch his welcome at one house.

Phyl was one of my oldest friends, she had been a part-time mum to me when my own Mother had been too ill to show much interest. It had been a sad day for me when she and her husband and young son had left the village. We had kept in touch and when I grew up and eventually passed my driving test, she had been the first person I had visited. Both Phyl and her husband were animal mad and they welcomed Sollee with open arms and he loved visiting them. They had a large, securely enclosed garden and on hot summer evenings he was allowed to roam as he pleased.

It was a on a remarkably lovely evening in the summer of '88 that Sollee tested Phyl's good nature to the hilt. We had dropped Father off to visit an old work mate and Sollee and I had gone on to see Phyl. The time had passed happily as we made the most of the sunshine in her garden, chatting and swilling tea (not my favourite tipple, but the company made that irrelevant). Sollee was free to satisfy his spaniel curiosity by nosing over every inch of available ground. Then, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, he did a disappearing act. 

I called and called and yelled, and muttered deadly oaths. No Sollee. We began a systematic search, Phyl checking the sheds and the green house, me walking the boundary.  I had just finished a thorough inspection of the stout, seven foot tall, wire fence and was approaching the house when I heard Phyl's scream.

Rounding the corner of the house I stopped dead in my tracks. Phyl was standing by her back door facing a rather shocked looking Sollee. Judging by the angle of his drooping tail it had been in mid-wag moments before. I rushed up wondering what the Devil was wrong. Phyl looked quite pale.

Then it happened. Sollee thrust his head forward, opened his mouth and projectile vomited what was obviously a second heap of something grey-white and heaving onto my friends feet.

Maggots!

Hundreds of maggots. Alive and wriggling and allover Phyl's feet. 

Where he had found them and what they had been feasting on, goodness alone knows. I didn't go looking to find out and I'm certain sure Phyl didn't want to know. She glowered at me and said just three words in a tone I knew better than to argue with,

"Take him home!"

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The drive home with Sollee sitting shot gun in the passenger seat was not particularly happy and relaxed. I was more than a tad scared that there might be a third helping of maggots destined to land in my lap and he did rather stink of stagnant water and ....  something dead! 

Oh well, another of the joys of living with Sollee. Unlike other dogs he never retched before vomiting. He just open his mouth and .... yuck! And it seemed he liked to share ...

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Autumn was upon us again and as the tints fell I noticed something odd happening to Sollee's coat. He was developing two bald areas, one on each side over his loins. Within a matter of a couple of weeks each patch was the size of my hand. He was perfectly fit and full of himself, eating as well as ever, playful and happy but there had to be something behind his alopecia. It was a case for the vet, which in itself raised a problem. Our regular vet had left the area and I wasn't really very impressed with his replacement; I had been considering moving to another practice and now I did.

Sollee's new vet came highly recommended. He was said to be the best man with dogs in the county,  but I had been warned he had a strange sense of humour .... so what? So had Sollee.

The diagnosis was Hormones, or rather a deficiency of the female hormone estrogen.  We came away with a three month course of tablets and instructions to take him back if there was no improvement in his condition after six weeks.

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After three or four weeks there was a light covering of what Father called 'bum fluff' on Sollee's patches. It gradually thickened and began to blend in with his coat. The bald areas were shrinking and after seven weeks they were the size of 50p coins. But then Sollee began to act very strangely.... even more so than usual.  

At first I thought it was because Father had gone away with his Day Centre friends on a weeks holiday to the coast. Sollee was wandering from room to room seemingly looking for him. He appeared rather anxious and fretful. Then things got worse. He began carrying one of his toys around, whining and desperate for ... for what? I watched him and puzzled.... if he had been a .... yes, if he had been a bitch I'd have said it was a phantom pregnancy!

The penny dropped. Estrogen! I bundled him, teddy and all, into the van and headed for the afternoon surgery. His vet was laughing fit to kill as Sollee trailed in carrying teddy and whining like a lost puppy.

Yes, it was the estrogen. The tablets he had been taking were what is commonly known as the canine pill. The hormone tablet given to bitches to con their systems into thinking they're pregnant and so delaying their coming into season. A prolonged course had made Sollee 'think' he was pregnant and about to whelp ... he even had a rudimentary kind of milk!

We went home, my poor distressed boy who wasn't sure whether he was Arthur or Martha, and myself, a rather peeved owner. His vet had provided us with another course of tablets that he assured me would sort out Sollee's sexuality issues and resolve the pregnancy problem.

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Bloody Nora! Two days after taking the first of the tablets I didn't know what to do with my dog. The phantom pregnancy was over, there was nothing more certain than that. I now had a rampant MALE sex fiend on my hands. Even before he was neutered, when he was so frustrated he attempted to hump my friends sofa, Sollee hadn't been this bad. I stood at the kitchen sink, doing the washing up, very much aware of him standing behind me.... humping fresh air!

I was on the phone to the vet as soon as lunch was over asking what the Hell had they given my dog?

Oh yes, Sollee's tablets .... yes, testosterone .... male hormones .... they should counter act the estrogen tablets .... are they working?

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Photo:The cottage showing the H pots.

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