At the end of March we bred Lassie to Sambo, and Lassie delivered her pups right on schedule – 31st of May, 2012. She went into labour the night before, and I had a sleepless night as she tore up the bedding in her whelping box. I went to bed at 11pm, dozed off and on until 4am, when Lassie’s scrabbling claws were making too much noise. By 6am I’d given up all hope of going back to sleep. The other dogs were exercised, trained, and fed by 10am. Lassie sat miserably in her box, panting, in between frantic ripping of the newspapers. Just before 2pm we took our dogs out for a game of fetch. Not five minutes later Mummy yelled out, “Have you seen Lassie?” We hadn’t. “Isn’t she with you?” I shouted back across the field. Negative. Oh boy. We raced off in different directions, forgetting our own dogs. Sparkie sensed my panic and followed me. I was the one who found Lassie, lying in a hollow having just given birth to her first puppy. “She’s here!” I shouted to the others, and ducked through the fence. Lassie had no idea what to do, and simply lay there totally freaked out. The puppy was still in its sac. I rushed over, got a foot full of prickles, and Mummy arrived. “Get a towel!” I yelled to Chantel, who was standing with Chana on the other side of the fence. “And some scissors!” Mummy added. Nobody moved. I repeated the order, louder this time and urgent. They moved, fast, banging into each other. Lassie panicked and tried to run off. “Hold her!” Jessica appeared out of nowhere and held Lassie’s collar. Mummy fumbled with the sac, fingers slipping. A quick slice from a finger nail and I had it open. The puppy was still, too still. A towel sailed towards me and I grabbed it. I wrapped the tiny limp body in it and started rubbing vigorously. There was no time to panic, no time to doubt my ability to do this. It all had happened to fast. The cord was cut. Finally the puppy woke up and started crying. I’d never been so happy to hear a crying puppy in my whole life. It was a beautiful cream and white girl. After we got Lassie inside and put the little puppy in a smaller box just outside Lassie’s whelping box, the rest of the puppies came thick and fast. I got lumped with midwife duty. No, I’m not complaining. Five puppies later, and Lassie seemed to relax. When no puppy had been born for nearly an hour, I left Jessica on dog watch and grabbed some lunch. I hadn’t taken three mouthfuls when Jessica yelled out,“She’s having another puppy!” I dropped my plate on the bench and raced back to the box. It was a mad scramble to get the puppies unlatched from Lassie’s teats and into their little box before the next one was born. It was a gorgeous black and tan, the only black and tan so far. She was spitting image of her dad. No time to fuss over her, though. I had barely started drying her when Lassie pushed again and the next puppy was born. I passed the black and tan to somebody, I dunno who, and got back to work. When Lassie finally closed her eyes and we gave all the puppies back to her, she’d had nine in total. Nine fat, wriggly puppies. All alive. All healthy. A mix of tricolours, brown tricolours, cream and white, a black and white, and a black and tan. Six girls and three boys. And I can proudly say I helped birth them all, and they all survived.