Hey! That’s mine! shouted the puppy…

The 17 week… excuse me, 18 week old pup is still with us. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he’s probably got another week or so before he goes home.

Dog: Hooray!

Puppy: A dog who plays with me? I’m so in! But I wanna get back home, too…

Cat: Excuse me, WHAT?

The favorite game involves the Red Ring of Victory. Whomever possesses it is clearly Top Dog. I’ll stand in the upper part of the garden (after pouncing on the ring when it’s been dropped or forgotten) and fling it down the stairs. Both retrievers take off at maximum velocity after it.

Readying the Ring.

We have another Tolkien epic forming in the back yard. I fully expect Froddo to materialize on the back bank.

Miss M, being a solid year older than the Little Guy, invariably wins the race. However, on one occasion he was closer to it and managed, to his glee, to nab the ring. He took off under the large dining table hoping to avoid the yellow lab barrelling after him, determined to get the Ring.

Miss M carrying the Red Ring, with the Little Guy in hot pursuit.

So, unlike the smaller table we have on the upper area, which he can slip under and avoid Miss M, she can make it under there. He wasn’t having any of it. He’s still got his puppy teeth and they are damn sharp.

Once again, Miss M proved that, despite the moniker of Ding Dong dubbed by the cat, she can be quite astute at times.

She said nothing, but started sniffing intently at something a foot away. The Little Guy dropped the toy as he went to investigate and Miss M, seeing her chance, grabbed the Ring and shot off like a rocket.

Miss M dropped the ring on this pass.

A howl of indignation arose as he realized he’d been bamboozled. A yellow streak passed me by, with a black one in hot pursuit.

This wasn’t the worst of what they’ve been arguing over. Actually, that’s not quite true, they didn’t argue.

Beloved was sitting in the upper area, and noticed the dogs were intently sniffing at something.

Dog: Dang, that smells GOOOOOOOD.

Little Guy, inhaling deeply: Wow, the crabby funny looking dog catches fresh food for you? I need to get me one of those.

Cat, spitting from the wall: I am a CAT and I do NOT catch food for her. Or you. And you cannot “get me one of those”. I am owned by NO ONE. And that bird is MINE and you need to leave it alone. Touch it at your peril.

Dog: It smells AMAZEBALLS.

Little Guy: I think I’m gonna…

Beloved, noticing something is up: What are you guys doing?

Dog: Nothing. Nothing at all. Look what MaeMae did.

Cat: What I did? You chased me away from that fresh kill! Do you know how hard those flying beasts are to get? It’s so unfair. That’s my afternoon snack! Get away from it!!

Beloved, realizing what’s afoot, hustling down to the hounds: Leave it! LEAVE IT!

Miss M sat obediently. The Little Guy, however, with his baby-puppy lack of control, couldn’t bear the thought of losing out on such a tasty morsel.


Beloved: Oh, SHIT. Miss M: Not me, not me… Cat (howl of fury)… Little guy: oof mwy gawdth delishoof!

Beloved, grabbing at the puppy: Drop it! Drop it!!

Little Guy, dancing out of the way, exhaling feathers: Noth on yourth liffth.

Dog: oh, this is bad. This is bad…

Cat, still standing a safe distance from the puppy teeth: I. Shall. Rip. Your. Eyes. Out.

Little Guy, attempting to pelican the not-inconsiderably sized avian: Thith ith MINE.

Beloved, clutching the puppy with clenched teeth: Gimme that.

Little Guy: Pffffth stoph geth offth…

Cat: STOP IT you’re getting disgusting puppy slobber… OH MY GOD HE’S EATING MY BIRD!!

Beloved, desperately attempting to retrieve the bloody, disintegrating corpse: DROP. IT.

Dog: Um… can I… can I have a nibbles?

By this point, Beloved had her hand mostly down the puppy’s throat, trying to scoop the various limbs, innards and feathers out of his wriggling puppy physique as he was repeatedly swallowing. She managed to get most of the mess out of his maw (ew. Eeeeeeeeeeeeew…), all this occurring while I was out shopping.

Me, upon returning home: Oh, honey, I’m so sorry (phew, I totally missed that bullet…)

The vet said to just keep an eye on him. And the craziness continues at the homestead.

Happy new year to all. May this year be better than the last.

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