Floki's gotcha day
Using this year's gotcha day to introduce my furry son, the Floki pup. My cheeky monkey, my idiot gargoyle, my little gremlin (and so on and so forth...).
My life completely changed on January 25th, 2018. Or more accurately, a few days before, on the 22nd.
A bit of background:
I grew up with several dogs, though none have a happy ending with me1, and I always planned to get a dog myself once I lived on my own and was in a position to do so.
However, up until July 2017 I was always living with one flatmate or another and then had to wait until the landlord agreed to let me have a dog (considering the previous flatmate had 2 cats that left the flat (esp the carpets) in a horrendous state it didn't take too much pushing on my part).
It wasn't until around November that the search started. My doggy criteria weren't difficult: I knew I wanted a Staffy2, that I wanted to adopt not shop, was looking into an older dog3, and preferably for the doggy to be black.
In December 2017, saw a potential doggo at my local shelter, so braved the hour long bus journey and nearly got lost while I was at it. Unfortunately, as I was a first-time dog-owner, they didn't want to consider me as a potential for a Staffy, as they said they were difficult4.
In comes me finding a local Scottish org that specialises in re-homing Staffies. Got in touch with them, letting them know of which of their current dogs I was interested in and my current living situation. Next step, the home visit on that fateful January 22nd, 2018.
In comes Bruce
That evening, one of the volunteers from the org comes to meet me and see the flat, accompanied with Bruce, one of their more recent rescues that she is currently fostering.
Bruce is a youngish fawn coloured Staffy with white socks and chest and a white spot on his forehead. He acts like a puppy and we spend an hour having fun with the some toys I already brought for my future pup, while I talk with the very nice lady.
The next day, or the following, I get a call from the lady in question, asking if I would be interested in fostering Bruce. While she is fostering him now, she has her own Staffy and Bruce is unfortunately dog reactive and is not doing well in a home with another doggo.
“Well, of course!” Says I. “It'll be good to look after a doggo while I wait for my forever-friend,” I continue, oblivious to fate laughing in the background.
Surprisingly, Bruce settles straight away and it's as if we were in each other's lives from the start.
Bruce is underweight5, scarred, dog-reactive, not neutered and we don't know his age6. He was found in a kennel who had no idea where he'd come from, though from his state they thought dog fighting might have been involved, which is unfortunately often the case with Staffies.
Within the first week, I know that I won't be able to give him back.
Becoming a forever-family
I let the org know that I want to keep Bruce. However, since we're in a foster contract at the moment and Bruce still needs to be neutered, etc. the adoption won't go through until a month has passed.
I'm lucky to have a coworker that has a car and doesn't mind playing chauffeur to bring the both of us to his vet appointments at the org designated vet that is too far away from my place to go by foot.
Finally, February 27th arrives. Bruce is officially mine.
First point of order though, was to change his name. As much fun as I had with jokes of me being the Alfred to his Bruce, it just didn't fit with his personality. Although a good traditional Scottish name, it really wasnae working.
Enters Floki.
Hjôrleifr's dog from Hálfs saga og Hálfsrekka.7
The rest, as they say, is history.
Now, seven years later
We've had our ups and down. As one usually does. But I have never regretted deciding to keep Floki as my own, rather than letting another family become his forever home.
We discovered he's great with kids: I babysat the aforementioned coworker's daughter and he was the most gentle and attentive dog I've ever seen. He's also good with any kids we encounter in the wild, knowing instinctively to be gentle (though obviously I always keep an eye out).
We had a horrible year and a bit from July 2022 to September 2023, when I became homeless and he had to stay in kennels and I could only go see him once a month. For lots of reasons that time was a very dark time that I now only talk about as The Horrors™...
He's still dog-reactive, though not as much. Mostly with dogs bigger than him and only if they start being aggressive first. But do it once, and you're on his shit list forever.8
He's my idiot gargoyle, as I have discovered his fondness of sitting on sofa/armchair's armrests and more recently actually climbing and walking on the back of the sofa...!).
He will eat absolutely anything! And lick everything. Even things that aren't even remotely food. He will eat it. He will eat a whole loaf of bread on the kitchen counter. He will eat Easter chocolate eggs that were on my desk.
Luckily, he's also good at listening to me when I say “enough” or “leave it”. Not so much as coming back when I call for him when outside, but that's why we will never ever do any off-leash walks, even in the garden.
He is a cuddle bug and the most couch potato to ever potato. Cuddles all the time. If available, he will stay close to me, preferably touching in one way or another. In fact, he takes up most of the double bed when we sleep. Great hot water bottle in winter, not so much in summer.9
He's my little gremlin, 'cause he has big adorable bat ears that he enjoys getting scritched.
At 10, he's starting to be an old man. He's more and more grey, but still acts like a puppy most days. I hope to have many more years with him and not just the 2 that the average expectancy of his breed gives.
There will be many more cuddles to come, times playing with laser pens10, humans to see and jump on to say hello, tail whippings when so very excited and acrobatic feats.
I leave you with a Floki cuddling, but keeping an eye on you.
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Post published on Thursday, 27th February 2025
Post last updated 6 months, 4 weeks ago
Long story short, of the 3 dogs we had: Eliot was re-homed when we left the UK, Brutus stayed with step-father #2 then was put-down, Fred was given back to the shelter as he was 'too difficult'. Yes, even decades later I'm still angry about it, though I hope Eliot and Fred found good family and lived a long happy life with their new humans.↩
Staffordshire Bull Terrier, they are absolutely wee darlings that tend to do well in flats.↩
Older dogs tend to have a harder time finding a forever-family, so I wanted to do what I could and give a doggo a good end-of-life life.↩
That's BS, but I get where they're coming from.↩
His ribs were showing a lot and I had to feed him bland chicken breasts and rice, in small quantities that I slowly increased before I could start him on dog food.↩
Two vets said two different ages (2 and 4), so I compromised and put his birthday as 2015 putting him as 3yo.↩
Etymology unclear, may be related to Modern Norwegian floke, "outspoken and enterprising". Via the Viking Answer Lady.↩
Unfortunately that includes the dog my neighbour looks after often. Bleh.↩
Fortunately, Scotland isn't known for its scorching hot summers...!↩
I think he's part cat... He goes bonkers and loves chasing a laser beam.↩