Behaving Badly

‘Well, no, not…really,’ Fiona replied, crossing her arms defensively.

I saw her husband roll his eyes. ‘C’mon, Fi,’ he said wearily. ‘You know there are. And I think it’s relevant. I’ve said so all along.’ He looked at me. ‘You see—’

‘I don’t want to discuss it!’ she hissed.

‘But it might be important,’ Miles protested.

‘But it’s private!’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Green,’ I interjected. ‘I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I can assure you that I’m bound by a code of confidentiality which means that anything you do choose to tell me will go to my grave.’

‘Okay then,’ she sighed. She opened her bag and got out a tissue; her husband gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. ‘We’ve been trying for a baby for four years,’ she explained quietly. ‘That’s why we got Sinead, actually, to distract us from the stress. This year we’ve had IVF, but our first two attempts have failed.’

‘Well, that would put a strain on any relationship, however happy,’ I said. They both nodded. ‘And dogs are incredibly sensitive to changes in atmosphere, and I think Sinead is simply picking up on that. So I think that you should try and protect her from emotional stress by having any sensitive discussions when she’s out of the room.’

‘But it’s not just that she’s depressed,’ said Fiona. ‘She’s been behaving in a peculiar way. For instance, she’s started stealing things.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Very odd things—Miles’s shirts out of the laundry basket, for example.’

‘She might find it comforting if he’s out.’

‘But she steals old egg-boxes too. And the other day she took five empty plastic flowerpots out of the garden, one by one, and put them in her bed. And she was arranging them so carefully, almost tenderly, as if she loved them. It was weird. We didn’t know what to think.’

Ah.

I got up and went over to Sinead, pushed her gently onto her side, and lifted up the feathery fur on her underside. Her tummy was slightly bloated and pink.

‘Has she been anywhere near a dog?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes—positive. And when she was last on heat we kept her in.’

‘Then she’s having a phantom pregnancy. That’s why she’s so subdued. Females that have never been mated can get very broody. They become listless, and they stay in their beds, which they carefully arrange, because basically they’re making a nest. Then they look for objects which they can put in their “nursery” and “mother”—hence the egg-boxes and flowerpots. They even show some of the symptoms of pregnancy, just as she’s doing. Look at her nipples.’

Fiona’s jaw slackened.

‘Good God.’

‘If she’d been smooth-haired you would have noticed it, but her long fur covers it up. That’s what it is. A phantom pregnancy. I used to see this when I was a vet.’

‘I see.’

‘So you don’t have to worry that she has psychological problems, or any kind of depression—she doesn’t. She just wants to be a mum.’

Mrs Green dabbed at her eyes. ‘Maybe she’s doing it in sympathy with me.’

‘We were going to have her spayed actually,’ said Miles.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ They both nodded. ‘Don’t. Or, at least not yet. Why don’t you let her have puppies?’

‘Actually…that’s a very good idea,’ said Miles slowly. He suddenly smiled. ‘We hadn’t thought of that.’

‘No,’ Fiona agreed. She stroked the dog’s head. ‘We’ve been so caught up in ourselves.’

‘And it’s nice for girl dogs to be allowed to have at least one litter,’ I pointed out, ‘otherwise, well,’ I shrugged, ‘they can feel a bit sad.’

‘Oh,’ said Fiona. ‘I see. We could have puppies. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, darling?’ Miles nodded. ‘Maybe we won’t have a baby, but we’ll have some sweet little puppies.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s what I would do if I were you.’

‘Well, that’s very good advice,’ Fiona said as they stood up. ‘I feel quite overcome.’ She gave me a watery smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘Not at all.’ I felt slightly emotional myself.

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