She got wind of the idea that things were about to change when we removed her cat food from beside the refrigerator and put it in Granny’s flat downstairs.
However, someone needed a puppy sitter, so yeh, okay. MaeMae will survive.
Cat: No, I freaking WON’T! When will this disaster leave??
Puppy: there’s a disaster where I don’t see one
He’s a black lab, beautiful, almost six months old, so laid back he’s horizontal (most of the time) with a limp on his front right paw, not sure why. It really looks like his leg is longer than the other three and it’s sending him off kilter.
At any rate, he goes down stairs very gingerly, poor lad, after tumbling down them when he misjudged.
It doesn’t seem to bother him, though, he’s mellow and happy as a clam.
And totally, totally fascinated by MaeMae. Which kinda negated the mellow.
Puppy: Holy heck what is THAT I need to investigate
MaeMae: Back. Off.
Puppy: It TALKS how can it talk
MaeMae: Oh, for gods sake.
As a result, he was on leash whenever we went to get busy. He’d pretend to be calm then lunge at the cat, choking himself in the process. MaeMae trusts (mostly) I’m gonna keep the pup in check, and sits and glowers at him, but she sure wasn’t coming upstairs. She likes to sleep on our bed, and it was pissing her off that she couldn’t.
He’s decided I’m the person he wants to be around most (which is weird, it’s always Beloved they want to be with).
It was insanely hot the week he visited, so we were inside most of the time, unless he needed to piddle. However, on Saturday we went to the local LGBTQ pride parade, at which we stayed for an hour due to the heat.
He wasn’t impressed at ALL with the fact we had to walk a bit of a distance from the parking lot to the site, even though it was grassy most of the way – not asphalt or cement. It took a number of treats to cajole him to keep walking.
Not that I’m complaining, he’s a love bug. The one thing I would change is his insistence on morning routine. He was only with us a little over a week, but he decided he and I needed to be downstairs no later than 5:30am, preferably 5:15 after going out to wee at 3am or so.
This was contrary to his raiser’s statement that he sleeps until 8am. However, he was being put to bed a bit earlier than his usual 10pm (oh, heck, no, pupper, that’s primo sleepy time for me.)
After a few nights, we started leaving him out of his crate (okay, not “we”… me…) after his early morning piddle. That way, when he wanted to go downstairs at half past sparrowfart he could just start nuzzling me rather than barking to raise the dead.
I’d go downstairs and sit on the sofa, and he’d sit on a mat next to me. For the most part I dozed for another hour, and he sacked out.
Why? Why must I be on the sofa when my nice warm bed was waiting for me?
The puppy did not explain himself. He simply made it plain we were to go downstairs. However, I suspect it was because he’s a chewer and lost the privilege of having anything in his crate because he’d eat it. By the sofa he had a pad to sleep on.
Except the last morning… he got me downstairs and I nodded off. Woke up half an hour later, chilled and dogless. Puppy? Puppy?
MaeMae, from downstairs: Check by the bed.
Me: Excuse me?
MaeMae: He dumped you like last week’s leftovers. Took off upstairs.
What?? He made me go downstairs and…???
Sure enough, he was curled up on a pillow next to Beloved’s side of the bed, snoring gently. Ratbag.
Examining Misadventures 