What were we thinking? In a single week, we became caregivers — albeit temporary — to a total of 15 animals. Fifteen! It’s like Dr. Doolittle time.
We’re tending to our neighbor’s flock of lovebirds, along with her adopted cat. We have new chicks, and then my brother went away and left us his dog. (I am affectionately referring to her as “Meatchunk.”)
All in the same week. How do these things happen? Why does the universe think to itself, “Let’s rain animals on the Thompsons … AT THE SAME TIME!”
I keep coming home and expecting to find a lost baby sheep or a gaggle of homeless porcupines on my front porch. “Mind if we join you, too?”
It’s not so bad — the lovebirds aren’t at our house. And actually it’s kind of fun. Besides, other people have tended to our critters, so it’s good to return the favor.
But the new dog in the house? Well, that does take a little getting used to. Her name is “Ella.” I think it’s short for, “What the ‘ella is wrong with you?!?”
Because I’ve yelled that (and a couple other things) since she arrived.
She’s a good dog, but has her quirks. Like how she wakes us up at 4 a.m. expecting to be fed. Maybe she thinks she can convince us that’s when she eats at home. But I know for a fact my brother has never woken up at 4 a.m. in his life.
She has paws with the ability to clinch handfuls of dirt so that when there are puddles around the house, she can release them and make mud. Lucky for her, there are ALWAYS puddles around. She must have holes in her chin because when she drinks from the bowl, it just pours out like a waterfall.
My dog doesn’t have a tail, so getting used to Meatchunk’s is taking some time, too. Hers is muscle-y and it’s like being hit by a baseball bat when she whacks you with it. And if you’re not being slapped with her tail, she’s busy poking you in the groin with her cold wet, Meatchunk nose. She prefers to do this when you’re at the dinner table about to take a spoonful of soup or cutting with an extremely sharp knife. The sensation reminds me of that time I touched an electrified fence. Only wetter!
With my dog, she has epic wrestling matches in the dining room as we try to eat. It’s actually quite exciting to watch, and you find yourself saying uncharacteristic things like, “Take her down!” or “Get her eye out of your mouth!”
Now I’m worried a stranger might see this through the front window and think we’re running an illegal dog fighting ring. If the cops come, I don’t know how I’ll ever explain that, or the mud puddles everywhere, or the baby sheep and the gaggle of porcupines on the front porch.