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Terri's Homecoming 1/2
The Reluctant Dog Lover
Tracy had never liked dogs. Not really. For years she couldn’t even touch one without wanting to scrub her hands. But life, as it often does, had other ideas. By the time Terri arrived, Tracy was a retired police officer living with her wife, Lisa — orderly, tidy, and fastidious about cleanliness. Then a same-sex couple moved into the building, and with them came a tiny catalyst for change: a dachshund — the classic sausage dog with the long body, floppy ears, and comic little legs.
Tracy spotted the dachshund in the car park and, to her own surprise, felt herself drawn in. She stroked the little dog for the first time; it licked her hand; something changed. When the neighbours mentioned the dachshund was pregnant, Tracy began helping, visiting, and — quite against her lifelong instincts — falling in love.
The Puppy Who Never Came Home
When the puppies arrived, Tracy and Lisa chose a chocolate-and-tan boy and, half-joking, named him Brian. Tracy held him once — tiny, warm, perfect. She had already bought a crate, beds, food, toys, and even booked a vet appointment in preparation. But when she checked the breeding details, things didn’t add up. It was a puppy-farm situation. She challenged the neighbours, retrieved her money, and within days they vanished. She never owned Brian; she only held him.
The loss still left a mark.
Devondax Daiquiri (and a Name That Meant Everything)
Heart set on doing it right, Tracy contacted the legitimate Kennel Club-registered breeder linked to the pups’ sire. There was a litter down in Devon — one puppy left, a silver dapple girl whose official name was Devondax Daiquiri. Photos pinged through, and her heart melted.
They needed a name that felt like theirs. Both Lisa’s dad and Tracy’s late dad were called Terry, and Tracy’s late brother had been Terry too. They wanted something to honour all three while still feeling right for a girl. So they chose Terri — same sound, an “i” instead of a “y” — a gender-neutral girl’s name that carried every piece of love they meant it to.
Love at First Wag
They drove for hours to Devon. The breeder introduced them to Delilah (Terri’s black-and-tan mum) and to the chocolate dapple dad; it mattered to Tracy to see both parents this time. Then out trotted the smallest silver dapple, tail going like a metronome. Terri ran to Lisa first, then to Tracy.
Tracy cried with joy.
Paperwork, microchip transfer, Kennel Club registration — all neat and proper — and they headed home.
Lisa sat in the back with Terri, safely cradled in her little crate. They stopped for wees. They almost made it to Colchester without incident — almost. A small, inevitable poo in the basket on Cowdray Avenue. At home, as planned, a gentle first bath: warm puppy smell, cheesy little paws, and a fresh blanket. Tracy set up the crate, baby gates, and a heartbeat toy for comfort. Suddenly there was a lively presence in the house, around which everything began to evolve.
Zoomies, Carpets, and Training Triumphs
Then came reality. Toilet training in a flat is an art. Puppy pads helped — until Terri decided a rug was basically a giant pad. There were accidents. Tracy became very familiar with her Kärcher spray-and-suction carpet cleaner, using it daily. After 12 months of constant scrubbing, the rug had to go. It took 18 months before the little wee-wee accidents finally stopped.
Outside, they built a rhythm: “Do wee-wees!”… “Yes!”… treat. “Do poo-poos!”… “Yes!”… treat. Little wins, big cheers.
Bedtime was its own saga. Terri’s zoomies kicked off just when Tracy and Lisa wanted sleep. Those razor-sharp baby claws skittered across the carpet; teething meant she tried to eat it too (goodbye, old carpet). Tracy and Lisa camped on the bedroom floor, one at each end, while Terri thundered back and forth until, finally, that tell-tale big sigh — the surrender to sleep. They’d tiptoe into bed like burglars, only for Terri to wake at 4 a.m., ready for another wee-wee trip outside.
There were training classes every Saturday on Mersea Island with an IMDT (positive reinforcement) trainer. Sit, stand, stay, recall — reward, reward, reward. On walks, they stuck to the rule of thumb: five minutes per month of age until her bones were stronger. The first proper wee outside, the first tiny walk to the bridge — each one felt like a medal.
And one habit they accidentally reinforced: Terri loved sleeping on them. On Tracy’s lap, then longer, and longer still, until she stretched from thigh to ankle. Independence could wait; this was love, pressed warm against their legs.
In Part Two: Tracy’s police-style vigilance that shaped Terri’s walks, the epic Alsatian chase retold with a laugh, and how Terri quietly became the centre of gravity for them both. Read part two here: https://shadesofpooch.co.uk/terris-homecoming-2-2/