(gnawing noise)
“This is a Skeeter toy.”
“This is not a Skeeter toy.”
“This is a Skeeter toy.” “Do you hear me?”
(gnawing noise)
“This is a Skeeter toy.”
(sigh, I can’t just keep moving these books higher…)
“SKEETER BESS!”
“No!”
Puppy Training 101 Read More »
When we brought Skeeter home, I specifically told the kids – DO NOT LEAVE ANYTHING ON THE FLOOR OR COUCH OR WITHIN REACH OF THE DOG. I specifically mentioned: remote controls, shoes, books, laptops, cell phones, iPads, make up, food, trash, dishes… and then said, ANYTHING, REALLY.
Today’s contraband puppy haul (and it’s only 8:30am):
1 of RJ’s shoes (I’m sure the other one will show up momentarily.)
1 remote control (for the ROKU)
1 paper towel
1 pair of finger nail clippers (that could have been a huge veterinary emergency disaster, it makes me shudder to think about it.)
1 of TW’s shoes (not the kids’ fault)
Ah yep, here’s the other RJ shoe.
Items retrieved prior to puppy hauling them off (and it’s only 8:30am):
1 plastic sandwich bag
2 remote control
1 magazine
Oh hell, she’s off to explore again. I wonder what she’s going to come back with next.
A couple of days ago, the prairie dogs were banging on the cage a lot (as they do — see the previous set of videos) and it was bugging TW. She thought it would be a good idea to give them something to play with. I thought it might be a good idea to kill her.
Yea, they are cute but… it’s hard to get work done like this.
Hard for me, not them… they got a whole lot done.
Send Telephone Books – Hurry! Read More »
(Prince J once said these were the quietest pets we’ve ever owned. We joke about it all of the time because these girls — not quiet. SO. NOT. QUIET.)
A few minutes later…
And this is why TW often works in the bedroom. And why I am rarely at my desk during phone calls.
The Quietest Pets We’ve Owned (Hah) Read More »
First, we tried a dog kennel but Wilma tried to hang herself with that within a couple of hours.
Next, we tried a pet store cat cage but the three girls destroyed that one in just a few months.
After that, we tried a small animal cage which lasted almost a year. The rust was beginning to be a problem, as was the fact that they are all three very good at getting stuck in the little holes that hold held the ramps in place. Loss of toes/feet/legs was not something we were interested in experiencing more of.
So, we have a new cage. It’s big and it caused quite a commotion today. All three have been very busy exploring it (trying to break it) and getting things all set up the way they want them.
Let’s hope this one lasts. And nobody loses a limb.
It’s wrong of me to sit here thinking about how I might convince Duncan to bark. Just once. But I’ll admit it. I’ve thought about trying it (sort of how you might think of ways to corrupt an angelic three year old by teaching her to say bullshit…) A dog that doesn’t bark is weird. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. I like it a lot. I’d like it better if I knew she could bark and was simply choosing not to. Which could be possible. She’s a very good dog, after all. Still. I just don’t know. And it’s weird.
And very unlike all of the other dogs I’ve had.
Hell. This dog slept through the dude cutting the grass today. When she finally realized he was here, she went to the porch and just looked at him and looked at me. And that was that.
What kind of dog does that? (Not TW’s mom’s dog, that’s for sure.)
In the morning, she goes out for her sniff (yes she’s really just sniffing the bush), waits til I fix her breakfast – though she is happy to lick the dog and cat food can while I fix it (and my coffee). She wolfs down her breakfast, drinks most of her water, grabs her tin cans and licks those for a bit and only if I say “Duncan, let’s go outside” and walk to the back door does she think about peeing.
Weird dog. I wonder if I can get her to pee on the floor, too. (Kidding, just kidding. Sort of.)
When she carries in the paper or the mail she doesn’t even really slobber on it very much (though on Sunday she did get the Smartsource a little drooly which was weird because she hadn’t drooled on any other piece of mail and hasn’t since. Maybe she was just really excited about the coupons?)
What kind of dog carries in the mail or the paper and doesn’t drool on it?
She doesn’t beg for food, though she will happily come and take it if you offer it to her.
She stands at the open door and waits for you to tell her she can go.
She does NOT walk on the left side like I was told she did but who the hell cares since she also doesn’t jerk my damn arm out of the socket when she’s on the leash.
When she’s in the car, she stays IN the back where she’s supposed to.
What the hell kind of dog does is this?
A mutant dog. She’s cute though. And I like her more than the dogs in Love at First Bark. If TW could find me a dog like Duncan… she could have a dog.
Dogs That Don’t Bark Read More »
Who knew petsitting was full of so many rules? Not me, that’s for sure.
When I arrived at my mother’s house at around 1am, she presented me with two typed pages of rules. OK not rules but information about how to best take care of her dog and her cat and her fish (which she had neglected to mention when she roped me into this.) Oddly enough, no mention of the plants which was what was freaking me out the most. I guess my mother realized the plants were not going to be any better off with me than they would be without me. I don’t do plants very well. I forget them. Just like I keep forgetting the fish. (I have not, however, been responsible for the blinding of any fish – yet. So that should make my stupid brother happy.)
Along with the animal sitting, I was informed that trees would be cut down while I was here. And a nice Hispanic man would come mow the lawn – if I answered the door. Oy. I hope I hear the doorbell ring. I’m not good with doorbells either.
I’ve also been sent to the post office to mail a package for my mother. And I did remember to mail the letter she asked me to mail.
So far… so good.
Nobody has died – not even when I fed Duncan her dinner 90 minutes late. Not even when Miss Priss and Duncan tagged teamed me at 6:30am to GET UP. Not even when I made my coffee before I went through the quite elaborate process of feeding the dog and cat (and forgetting to feed the fish.) Miss Priss even ate all of her food though I’m sure I did not stir it properly. Miss Priss might even be beginning to get used to me. Maybe.
Oh, it’s getting dark. I should get dressed and take Duncan for her walk. It’s in the rules.
Early last week, Wilma got her foot caught under a ramp in her cage. She screamed – a lot. TW finally was able to release her from the ramp, but not before Wilma had been hanging upside down by one foot.
The foot — it was an ugly, bloody, swollen mess.
I called around to find a vet who would be able to see her quickly and had the distinct displeasure of speaking to one very rude receptionist before I found the very nice people at Midwest Exotic Animal Hospital.
The doctor who saw Wilma has two prairie dogs of her own, how fabulous is that. The doctor who saw Wilma prescribed some antibiotic, some painkiller, and will see her again next week to determine whether she needs to have some toes amputated (probably.) In the meantime, the vet said… keep her from being too active, keep her from climbing, keep her with her siblings.
Huh.
How the hell were we going to do that? Three prairie dogs in a single level environment? We tried some tall, large rubbermaid bins. Wilma escaped quickly. We tried the bathtub. Wilma escaped, not quickly but picture her using her siblings for leverage. Yea, that wasn’t going to work.
So Michelle and I bought a big trash bin for the three to sleep in together at night and when nobody is available to watch them in the playpen (the playpen with bars that Wilma got herself stuck between a couple of days ago while trying to escape and the playpen Pebbles, the really fat lazy one, has figured out how to escape from now.)
Wilma, in particular, does not love this trash bin. The other girls will happily bed down as soon as they’re placed inside. Wilma… not so much.
I’m pretty sure she’s going to launch herself out of the bin, at 3am, and wake me up by biting my toes.
She doesn’t look like she’s in pain, does she?
It Will Take More Than That… Read More »
