Urdur

THE SWEET MILK FACTORY

From the Dutch book 'SPUUG', stories from my Icelandic Sheepdogs

Because my friend is going on holiday, I'm getting an extra Icelandic dog to stay with me.

Just before her arrival, I receive an email: "Urdur is very fat". I'm momentarily shocked. What could this email mean? I decide to call her.

"Yes," my friend confirms over the phone, "I'm not entirely sure, but if I'm right, she'll be giving birth to her pups at your place! And very soon too." I'm speechless. Yet, a sense of adventurous joy overtakes me. A birth happening with us?

When I pick up Urdur a week later, it's confirmed: SHE IS HIGHLY PREGNANT!

I once took in a stray dog, unaware she was pregnant, and she gave birth during a walk to the sea, right on the road. I mistook the emerging puppy for something else entirely! That location was only accessible on foot or by helicopter. Fortunately, it ended well.

So many thoughts run through my mind, especially whether I'm fully prepared for this. Luckily, my neighbor is a veterinarian, offering peace of mind should an emergency arise.

We all enjoy our time together, especially Urdur, who is pampered with extra tasty treats. The future 'aunts' chip in too, much like wolves do. It's all quite fascinating! Well I'm curious!

The evening of the big event, Urdur becomes restless around 7:30 PM. She clings to me, and I can feel the puppies moving wildly in her belly. I follow my instincts and gently massage her until she settles down. This cycle repeats itself until early night.

Finkers and I decide to sleep separately, as it's my project and he's not up for it, though he keeps his phone close by.

At a quarter to two, I urgently call him. He refuses to come over, joking even as I feel faint. He said, "Oh no! I'm not coming!" I begged, "But I think I'm fainting now!" Finkers replied, 'Then I'll also faint, right on top of you, hahaha.'"

Luckily, he stays on the line, and I'm overjoyed at the first sound of a puppy's whine, a sure sign of life. I am really relieved.

Throughout the night, I call him in a mild panic a few times upon hearing smacking sounds when the next puppy is on its way out, fearing what might happen next. I try not to dwell on it, despite finding the situation terrifying, disgusting, exciting, and fun all at once. By 5:30 AM, the last of the four chubby puppies is born.

The birth takes place on my bed, turning it into a makeshift battlefield. I had prepared for this, but now I'm faced with a dilemma: I can't sleep with the puppies on the bed for fear of lying on them. Gently, I lift each sticky, soiled, and blood-stained puppy into the basket next to the bed, one at a time, with their mother watching me proudly and motivating: YOUCANDOTHIS.

I insert my earplugs and attempt to sleep, yet it proves futile as every sound penetrates the plugs. Next morning, I find myself in my guesthouse, bags under my eyes, recounting my adventure to the guests, sparing no detail.

And Mr. Finkers? He's already chosen his favorite.

Urdur frá Fridarstödum