Chihuahua verses cat...
I find myself this gloomy grey morning minding Etheline's nine month old chihuahua Poppy's Big Surprise -shortened to Angel- lengthened back to Poppy's Big Surprise and now currently just plain Toffee, or as the rest of the family call her- thatneuroticbarkingattentionseekerjustlikehermother.
I will be minding this dog for the next two days while my sister and that Kevin take a much deserved break over in the west of Ireland. My mother has had Toffee since Saturday, but her aged King Charles can't cope with the stress of a much younger and hyper active dog galloping about, so apparently it is my turn to share in the delight that is puppyhood.
'But I can't mind her, I have deadlines!' I cried this morning when the Lilac One arrived and handed me the basket (containing said dog) a bag of toys, a food bowl, a sheepskin bed and a sack of food that would have kept a two-man polar expedition going for a month.
'I don't care, she's driving me up the walls. I can't have her upsetting Bobby Ewing like that.'
'But what about-'
'Don't even think about it.' My mother warned. 'She has three children to run round after and this one,' she shook the basket, 'bit the boy last time she was out there.'
'But I have three cats!'
'Here.' My mother thrust the basket into my hands and scurried for the lift with nary a backward glance.
All righty then.
I peered though the basket door at a bulbous pair of brown eyes. 'Hello there Toffee. Be good for Auntie Fatmammycat now, okay?'
I put the basket down on the floor and opened the door. Out crept the tini tiny brown thing, shivering, nervous, terrified. Oh poor thing, two days with my mother will do that to a girl. Maybe this won't be too bad, I reasoned, watching her sniff the air and come running to me on her tini-tiny legs, after all, I said to myself, she's just a baby...
So far this morning I've watched that 'baby' bark and charge after the cats, attack an old and much loved leather cushion, attack the post, puke up the top of a pen, attack and destroy a roll of toilet paper, attack the red pastic ball she carries around much of the time, growl at the only plant still alive in the apartment, attack and shred to pieces a small wind up blue furry mouse belonging to the bigger of the cats, vomit up a puddle of blue furry slurm, jump on Puddy, who adores Toffee and tries to clean her when ever she claps eye on her, (Puddy loves dogs and regularly used to sit on the doberman's head and wash his whole face, don't ask) chase the bigger of the cats, who is stiff-legged with disgust and double his normal size, chase the one-eyed one, who is now on the top of my wardrobe, chase herself around in a circle and now here I am, not even showered, with this wriggling ball of energy sitting on my lap while I type with one hand and hold a Savlon covered rag to the rather severe scratch the bigger of the cats gave Toffee for mistakenly thinking sticking her big snout under the bed was a bright idea, with the other.
I"m exhausted. Two more days of this?
Is it illegal to crush of sleeping tablets and give them to very small dogs that should really live in Mexico? Does that really come under the heading of animal endangerment?