Not always is this blog a positive, fun and kinky reflection of my life, and today’s post reflects that. 

Yesterday I was accused of animal cruelty by my mother, after she saw Huxley still in his covered crate. His crate was covered with the front flap down and zipped up. 

I can only describe what happened as a clusterfuck of a situation: I’d woken at about 7AM, found myself spiralling (there’s more here and we’ll get to that in a moment) and listened to some ASMR to calm me down. I’d then drifted back off to sleep for two whole hours, and my mother arrived before I had let Huxley out. I didn’t know until after my mother arrived that Master Levi had gotten confused over crate cover logistics and zipped poor Huxley into his own tiny pup tent. 

Now I agree: the situation was unkind, but we ourselves are not cruel people. There is no intention in either of our hearts to do Huxley any harm at all.

Which is why being accused of animal cruelty was incredibly hurtful for us. That my mother then proceeded to treat me like the worst dog parent in the world and made me feel guilty for how I treat Huxley, despite me arguing that everything he is given — the covered crate, the calming treats, the belly bands to manage his sometimes bedwetting — are all vet-encouraged and vet-approved, only made it worse. Nope! I was a bad dog mom, condemned.

The one part that I am proud of myself for was that I told her very flatly that she is “entitled to your opinion” — it doesn’t mean I agree with it, it just means that she is entitled to have it. I agree that Huxley hasn’t had the best life — we escaped a domestic fire when he was barely out of puppyhood, and he had to adjust to life in lockdown, only then to have Mummy and Daddy go back to work. But you know what? He adjusted pretty good, and he gets love, fuss and playtimes when we’re around in the afternoons and evenings. He’s not abandoned or abused, he’s just.. Sometimes left alone with an enrichment toy, or a comfy space to nap. 

I’ll admit that I did tell Mum that I’ve also known her to be cruel to animals too — whenever one of our quail flock got injured by fighting, she would decapitate it with a pair of scissors, rather than the recognised humane method of cervical dislocation (wringing its neck). I also told her that I’d never told her that I felt she was sometimes cruel before, out of respect for her. The truth hurts sometimes, and we try not to hurt the people we love. 

It all ended with me telling Mum that I “do my best for him (Huxley)”, and I don’t appreciate her judgements of me. I do do my best for him, but I admit, I don’t always get it right. Sometimes my best is he does have a later start to his day, or playtime is Daddy-only because Mummy is laid up in pain or with a bad case of IBS-related bloat. In all of it though, we do do our best to do what is right by him, as any responsible pet parent would. 

Mum offered to leave, and I had already been considering asking her to go home. So instead, I simply said “I think it’s for the best”. She left in tears, apologised to Huxley (who was very confused in all the commotion), and left without another word. 

Mum then apparently text Master Levi, told him simply that she’d upset me, was sorry and would stay away for a while. That annoyed me: she didn’t tell him how or why she’d upset me, just that she did. Had she not considered that not only had she judged me, but she’d judged him, too? 

I have messaged my brother today, just to ask him to keep an eye on her. I’m not breaking the silence though: she wanted to give us space, so, I’m letting her have it. In fact, and rather naughtily, this has been my anthem for today. 

I did notice on her Facebook last night — that I checked because I wondered if she’d posted anything about regretting her actions etc — that she’s shared numerous Reform UK posts, along with the line “if you don’t like what I share, unfriend me, block me etc”. I smiled to myself. 

“You know if I actually unfriended her, she would be on the phone so fast?” I ask to Master Levi. 

“And my Dad” he replies. I agree.

Both of our parents share racist views, and neither of us support them in it. Both of us also know that our parents would be completely and utterly beside themselves if we actually went ahead and unfriended them. 

So about my spiralling. 

I shared a funny moment on my Facebook on Monday, and one of my husband’s colleague’s, R, reacted to it. She then privately messaged me and mentioned a gathering on Saturday. 

One problem: I couldn’t remember any plans for a gathering on Saturday.

So after being reminded, needless to say, I remembered: a gathering of Master’s colleagues at R’s flat. 

 Immediately I’m filled with anxiety — if I thought I’d escaped meeting these people, I was wrong. Not being able to meet them the last time had only prolonged it: they’re still keen to meet me. 

So Monday night and in the shower, I practised those first greetings — so profusely, in fact, that at one point my husband even knocked on the door because he wondered who on earth I was talking to. Little did he know that before and after my shower, I’d had messages from R. 

And when R went quiet, I spiralled hard: maybe she thinks I’m weird? 

That turned out to be an inaccurate assessment, and in fact R fully understood life with motion sensitivities — her mother gets them too. 

So I’m still a bit nervous, but I know one thing now: I’m meeting with a woman who actually gets me.