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Someone--we're not sure who--has my mother's number, alright.
She's an animal lover. Inside her house is Babes, a 14ish-year-old cat with CRF. Outside are Little Yellow, Squick, Twin, Patches, and Brother, all feral cats who live at my mother's house and eat her food. And kill all the tiny livestock in the area.
Also making an appearance every day is a large, fat raccoon that has gone against millions of years of nocturnal instincts and comes up during the day, shoulders the five cats aside, and eats their food. We haven't named him, yet, because we hateses him, my preccioussss....*ahem* Um, he has no name. Unless it's 'Damned Raccoon.'
So, in the wee hours of the morning, this morning (3:30 AM qualifies as wee), my mother hears what sounds suspiciously like a knock on her back door. Alarmed (as anyone would be at 3:30 AM to hear a knock on their carport door), she goes downstairs and hears whining.
Canine whining.
Canine, juvenile whining.
Yes, someone has dropped a puppy off at my mother's house. Dutifully, it made its presence known immediately.
I asked her what breed and she said "It looks part Airedale."
I said, "Those get...big. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," she replied. "It has big feet. But it's a 57. Very mixed." I thought, Let's hope it's a mix with something...small. Like a beagle or a terrier. An airedale actually 227 is a terrier, of course.
I sighed. "You fed it, didn't you?"
"It was hungry. It was just a piece of bread...."
"Well," I said, laughing, "at least you haven't named it. If you name it, it's yours to keep. You know that, right?"
"Well...I've been calling him 'Puppy.'" I laughed. "He answers to it." I laughed harder.
"Well, how are the cats reacting?" was my next question.
"They ignore him."
"Completely?"
"No fear."
<singsong>My mother has a do-og! My mother has a do-og!</singsong>
The only question now is how Molly is going to react. Molly is a silky terrier that belongs ostensibly to my mother's best friend Anne. Anne leaves Molly with my mother occasionally, when she goes places that don't allow Molly to stay.
Molly is...well, she's about 5 lbs soaking wet with rocks in her mouth. She thinks, however, that she is a great dane with the courage of a rottwiler. And she is very much The Alpha Dog™.
If "Puppy" acquires a better name and hangs around long enough, the introduction will have to be made. I want to be there for that one. :)
She's an animal lover. Inside her house is Babes, a 14ish-year-old cat with CRF. Outside are Little Yellow, Squick, Twin, Patches, and Brother, all feral cats who live at my mother's house and eat her food. And kill all the tiny livestock in the area.
Also making an appearance every day is a large, fat raccoon that has gone against millions of years of nocturnal instincts and comes up during the day, shoulders the five cats aside, and eats their food. We haven't named him, yet, because we hateses him, my preccioussss....*ahem* Um, he has no name. Unless it's 'Damned Raccoon.'
So, in the wee hours of the morning, this morning (3:30 AM qualifies as wee), my mother hears what sounds suspiciously like a knock on her back door. Alarmed (as anyone would be at 3:30 AM to hear a knock on their carport door), she goes downstairs and hears whining.
Canine whining.
Canine, juvenile whining.
Yes, someone has dropped a puppy off at my mother's house. Dutifully, it made its presence known immediately.
I asked her what breed and she said "It looks part Airedale."
I said, "Those get...big. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," she replied. "It has big feet. But it's a 57. Very mixed." I thought, Let's hope it's a mix with something...small. Like a beagle or a terrier. An airedale actually 227 is a terrier, of course.
I sighed. "You fed it, didn't you?"
"It was hungry. It was just a piece of bread...."
"Well," I said, laughing, "at least you haven't named it. If you name it, it's yours to keep. You know that, right?"
"Well...I've been calling him 'Puppy.'" I laughed. "He answers to it." I laughed harder.
"Well, how are the cats reacting?" was my next question.
"They ignore him."
"Completely?"
"No fear."
<singsong>My mother has a do-og! My mother has a do-og!</singsong>
The only question now is how Molly is going to react. Molly is a silky terrier that belongs ostensibly to my mother's best friend Anne. Anne leaves Molly with my mother occasionally, when she goes places that don't allow Molly to stay.
Molly is...well, she's about 5 lbs soaking wet with rocks in her mouth. She thinks, however, that she is a great dane with the courage of a rottwiler. And she is very much The Alpha Dog™.
If "Puppy" acquires a better name and hangs around long enough, the introduction will have to be made. I want to be there for that one. :)
