We are currently enjoying that particular stage of doggie development I have lovingly entitled, “The Asshole Stage”. It usually begins around 6 months old and, provided you don’t kill them, usually gets better at about 15 months old. Puberty generally turns everything into an ass. So our precious 8-month-old-hell-monster (aka Sam-puppy) has been having trouble settling down at night which is rough, but the other night was exceptional in its roughness:
22:10 – lights out, happy sleepy time.
00:07 – FoodLady, FoodDude, Life(dog), Herbert(dog) are all happily still asleep. SamSam (hell-puppy) says, “Bark! Bark! WakeUpEveryone! Bark! I’mBored! Bark! IFoundTheCatAgain! Bark! DidYouKnowWeHaveACat? Bark! (he rediscovers the existence of the cat daily) iFartedAndWeShouldAllEnjoyMyAroma
Bark! WakeUpHumans!!!”
The bipeds wake up, gag at the smell, settle everyone back down, attempt further sleep.
01:34 – SamSam “DangerBark! DangerBark!” And then Herbert joins in, “DangerBark! WeHaveASituationHereFoodLadyGetUpBark!” and with that I am UP. I do a quick look through the house and nothing is on fire, no person has invaded, and as I blink blearily and walk around…..there is just nothing. The brindles (Herbert & Sam) are dancing around me but not showing me anything so I think, “oh well,–I’ll just use the restroom and attempt this sleep thing again”. Given the frequency of critters invading my bathroom (spiders, blue crabs, bugs of all kinds, etc.) I have learned not to pee in the dark. I flip on the light and when I try to walk in the two brindled dogs bump and push and squeeze me against the wall and I’m all grumpy and thinking many bad words about annoying brindle-colored dogs and after grumpily fighting my way to the toilet I sit to pee. Sam-puppy flees and Herbert flips around into a guard position and I see it. Now, centipedes are a fact of life in the tropics and even though they are creepy as hell, they don’t normally freak me out but this one was FREAKY. It was only about 6 inches long but it was about 1 1/2 inches wide and it was PISSED. It was rearing (which is just extra creepy, btw) and headed for Herbert (and me) I made Herbert get in the shower (he wasn’t happy with this plan but did it) and put the bathroom trash can on top of it and pressed down with both hands–it wouldn’t squish. *shudder* Okay then. I wake up FoodDude and he gets the machete and after chopping it to bits we check the pups. Herbert seemed okay but Sam was limping and couldn’t put weight on one paw. Well, crap. So, yeah….the brindles kept me from getting stung and I was grumpy about it at the time and QUE THE GUILT. Good Brave Sam-puppy! Good Brave Herbert! I feel it is important to share that Sam is not a stoic dog. He proceeded to let us know in a melodramatic display of floppery that he was a HERO! and now that he was dying! he would need to be snuggled and carried and he needs ALL of the biscuits so he can go on. So, due to the guilt, we piled the poor boy into the bed and I spent the rest of the night awake making sure he was okay and wishing I had an organic vapor respirator because the farting…..well, it was bad. It was incredibly bad. In the morning it was easy to see poor Herbert had also gotten stung because he was stiff and sore–poor stoic Herbert (more guilt). But what about poor short-legged Sam-puppy, you say? Yeah, at sunrise he was joyously perky and full of all of the happy vigor! (It is a bright new day! I found the cat! Did you know we have a cat?! I like destroying things!) He leapt around the front yard happily destroying something foam-based and barking at anyone who dared to use the road in front of his yard. Meanwhile, the FoodPeople prepared to zombie through the day. I’m not sure how, but Sam-puppy wins. ♡
Food Lady Chronicles 