My name is: Olive
I came from: Greece
Now I live in: Richmond
My favourite things are: Fish, sleeping, and sprinting off into the distance

Olive’s story

My default narrative has always been - to my mum when I was little and more recently to my husband - “omg! Look at this poor mangey smelly old dog, pleeeeease, can I have him/her?” Which has always been met with a resounding “No”. So, imagine my surprise when, over coffee on the Fulham Rd, my husband, showing me the Underdog website adoptions page, said, “Babe, can you ask your Eve about this dog? I think we should adopt her”.

Eve knew that this was all my dreams come true - we worked really quickly to make sure there was no opportunity for him to change his mind. A month later, and we were sitting in our car at Cobham Services waiting to pick her up, me squealing with excitement, my husband telling me to calm down. 

Olive was actually Maria originally. We decided that if she knew her name, we’d keep it. But she didn’t, so we could easily change it to Olive (Ol, Shmol).

To be honest, I wasn’t completely prepared for Olive not to love me in the same way that I already loved her. She was decidedly nonplussed with my desire to cuddle and stroke her. She LOVED her new snuggly bed and just wanted to be left alone to sleep in it. We already had a resident dog - Stanley (Stan, Stoob) and I had absolutely no doubt that he would accept her, which he did - he’s the most gentle, loving, adaptable dog in the whole world I swear. But far from the love story I had pictured, they just, completely ignored each other. Ok, so if that’s as good as it gets, no problem. We knew that she probably hadn’t been handled kindly by humans before she was rescued and her flinching reinforced our view that this was most likely the case. When she first arrived she would crouch and cower if she heard footsteps behind her and pull away if anyone reached out to her. Gradually, this has subsided, not completely, but she really enjoys a head massage and a neck rub now. 

We introduced Stan & Ol on neutral ground in Richmond Park the morning after Ol arrived. Heartbreakingly, Olive dug a hole under a bench and curled up in it and went to sleep. I think she thought we were going to leave her there. In Greece she had lived in a barrel. We think she had some babies but never nursed them, sadly we think they may have been thrown in the river, this would maybe explain her acute fear of water. We don’t know any more than that, and we never will. Maybe her past explains why she’s so reluctant to accept affection, she’s extremely independent. At first when it rained, she would try and dart underneath the closest object, normally a car. She’s gradually got used the great British weather. Any patch of sunshine she finds she’ll curl up in it.

Stanley already held the title of Best Dog In The World. But Olive truly is matching him. She came along, claimed her bed, and has been precisely zero trouble and 100% a pleasure ever since. She really enjoys her food, one of my favourite things about her is that she drools when I’m making her meals, and she’s never been fussy, though we had expected she might be. She’s only ever had one toilet accident inside (we’ll gloss over the time she had a bad tummy/an off day and did a wee, a poo, and vomited on my brand new sofa). She’s off-lead, with perfect recall and LOVES loves loves her walks. Early on we went for a walk with Alex, one of the Underdog behaviourists who gave us really invaluable advice about recall training and lots of other things.

It took us more than a month to get Olive to hop up on the sofa of an evening and sit with us but now she quite enjoys this (though nothing will ever take the place of her beloved bed). She can’t abide being picked up, and will probably never cuddle us, occasionally she’ll scoot up next to me and put a paw on my leg - when this happens I cry with happiness - maybe one day she’ll sit on my lap, but if she doesn’t that’s ok. She’ll sometimes fling a toy around like it’s done something to mortally offend her, but other than that she doesn’t really play (Stan has tried his very best).

I would implore everyone who is in a position to, not just to adopt, but to adopt an old dog. Even better, an old black dog! Ol hadn’t had any enquires at all until Pete fell for her (he was heartbroken when I told him how much old, medium-sized, black dogs struggle to get attention and be rehomed). Even now when we’re out on walks people fuss over Stan or our friends’ dogs and complete ignore Olive (which is totally fine with her btw). But once people get to know her, they fall for her hard. Just like me and Pete have.

I love how loudly she crunches, I love how she knows herself to be a Queen, I love how tolerant she is of other dogs unless they try and hump her, I love how she boops her nose on my hand when she wants to go out, I love how she’ll always be a bit smelly, I love how she just lives to hang her head out of the car window and feel the wind, I love how she likes to be wrapped in a blanket when it’s chilly, I love her silky ears, I love her white socks, I love her boggly eyes, I love how sometimes I find one of my jumpers stashed in her bed.

She will never have to worry about a thing ever again and I hope she knows that. She might be aloof, but to see her run freely and sleep soundly with a full tummy makes me feel so happy for her. It’s what every dog deserves.

- Sam