Me: what do you mean?
MaeMae the cat: you are suspiciously nervy.
Cat, breathing in sharply: no. NO DON’T YOU DARE DAMMIT!
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about. OWWWWW….
Our new guide dog puppy in training arrived. Miss R is gorgeous (3/4 lab, 1/4 golden) and she’s lovely.
She had quite the start to life… one of 13 puppies, and when the momma had her Caesarean section (for large litters, they operate, because… well… if you can’t imagine how much work pushing out 13 babies would be, ask any woman in your life…) they were taking her in to the vet and the poor dog couldn’t hold it in anymore. The first puppy, a female yellow, was born in the parking lot. Not sure if that was our girl or not, but 50% chance it was.
Personally, I think that poor pupper just wanted OUT. Can you imagine being mashed up in there with 12 other pups? Jeesh, I’d’a made a break for it too.
Anyway, MaeMae was less than pleased. Especially when Miss R voiced her disapproval at the use of the ex-pen on the first day.
That dog’s howls could shatter glass, they’re so piercing. Combine fingernails down a chalkboard and someone running their dampened finger around the top of a wine glass, increase the volume tenfold and you’ve got an approximation of the sound this dog puts out. Holy god.
For all that it bothered us, what it did to the cat was… well… terrifying.
I’ve never actually been afraid of a feline before. She seriously lost her mind. Normally she jumps up on the bed, regardless of canine visitors and makes herself comfortable.
She. Went. Insane.
Clawing, scratching, biting… all of which clearly said “SHUT THAT F…ING DOG UP!”
No, she didn’t attack the puppy. She went after ME.
And all the while, the puppy screeched.
Fortunately, as she’s become more familiar with our routines, she screams less… but she’s learning to bark.
Potty training is another matter.
With guide/service dogs (professional ones, at least), they’re taught to piddle on command. We start with them at eight weeks , telling them to “get busy” and praising them extravagantly when they do it. The puppets learn to “get busy” when asked. It’s rather amazing, really.
Miss R doesn’t have the hang of it yet, but she’s only just turned ten weeks old.
It would be easier, though, if MaeMae wasn’t getting involved.
Me: C’mon, R, let’s get busy! Get busy, baby!
Pup: I… smell… something…
Me: Get busy! Let’s get busy!!
Puppy, turning around: I… I think maybe…
Me: Yeah? Yeah? Let’s get busy!!
Puppy, starting to crouch: I might just…
MaeMae, sprinting past the dog’s nose close enough to touch: BAN-ZAIIIIIII!!!
Puppy, leaping up and madly looking around: what the heck was dat
Me, smacking my own forehead: MAEMAE!
Cat, sitting on the wall, satisfied: Yeeeeees? Something?
Me: You bloody cat! Why did you…
Cat: She needs to learn to focus.
Me: AAARGH. She needs to learn to pee outside, not on the kitchen floor, and you’re breaking her concentration!
Puppy: what is that anyway
Me, scowling: It’s a squirrel.
MaeMae: F😳ck you.
Examining Misadventures 