I forgot what our new pup had tentatively been called before we adopted him, but anyway, we named him HUGO, as Ms.S and I had agreed in advance that was a strong/cool/masculine name for a male Dobermann.

I think Hugo was a bit tired when he first arrived at our home after the long drive, but was curious nonetheless.   He didn’t smell around much, but we assumed that his senses were still underdeveloped, being only 11 months old.

Day 1 at our home with him was okay, he more or less settled in smoothly.  He was soooooooooooo cute and we were so excited about having him!  We were just glad to be with him, and everything was new to us.

But we soon realized he was not a Hugo at all, in terms of personality/character.  He was not masculine enough to be a Hugo for some reason.

So, Ms.S decided to rename him… VERSACE.

Oh dear.

Since Mr. Gianni Versace did not have a very nice ending to his life, that name didn’t sit with me too well, but I couldn’t come up with anything unfortunately at that time.  Ultimately, I agreed, albeit reluctantly.
I would eventually shorten it and call him Saatchi.

In the first few weeks at our home, he clumsily hopped and ran around, as puppies do at that age.   We had to stop him from running up and down the staircase as it would inhibit the normal development of his joint bones according to Mrs. Alpha (the breeder).

Feeding him would turn out to be a challenge: dried dog food did not raise his interest, nor did the “mince, pasta and peas” combo recommended by Mrs. Alpha.  We had to encourage him to to eat, telling him what a good boy he was each time he sniffed the food, and put on such a show that we might as well have put on clown gear and performed a circus for him!

What shocked me was that I had never seen a dog not interested in food… I had always assumed that dogs lived for their next meal and would kill anyone who even remotely approached their dog bowl!   But no, not this one… he would just snub at the dish and try to walk off, as if it was not good enough for him.  Sigh.

Mealtime became an ongoing challenge from that day onwards.  We concluded that he must have been spoon-fed at the previous home!!

On top of that, we realized he needed to be supervised 24/7, as he was yet to be toilet trained (we didn’t want any surprises on the multicolor/patterned carpet that ironically served as a perfect camouflage for any deposits!)  That meant Ms.S taking him outside every couple of hours into the backyard, even at night.

Worst of all, he had absolutely no manners.  He was a complete ratbag, a Duracell bunny (with no stop button, of course) that would wear out anyone and everyone near him.  Leave anything on the floor, and guaranteed, the object would be relocated somewhere in the backyard, often torn/disfigured and marinated in saliva.  His favorite items were socks, slippers and shoes (and occasionally my pants).  If an electric cord was exposed close to the ground, it would soon be christened with bite marks.  Even when we caught him red-handed and told him not to do it again, as soon as another opportunity arose the recidivist in him would take over… he just couldn’t help himself!!  But what do you expect?  He was being an animal!  Rather than behaving like a domesticated pet, his actions were simply driven by pure, raw instinct.  As novices, it was really difficult for us to control him not only because we had limited training skills at this stage, but also because we knew there was no malice aforethought on his part, not to mention that he looked even cuter when he showed signs of repentance (at least temporarily and more likely only superficially).

He immediately became a full time job… especially for Ms.S.  I was working long hours everyday day, 7 days a week, so without a doubt, she bore the full brunt.

Ms.S would later admit, “he gave me post-natal depression.”