We've got to stop meeting like this, so early in the morning. People will talk... ;)
As he has all week, Mr W was up and out of the house in the wee, wee hours of the morning. Today, however, he forgot to turn off his alarm.
There's nothing like a little 4am scare from a chirping alarm clock to really make you feel alive, is there?
Who knew I was capable of a half-asleep sprint to his side of the bed, without tripping, breaking off a toe, or slamming into a dog crate? Guess those skills, once you've acquired them from running to a crying child in the middle of the night, never leave you.
And for my next trick, I had to figure out how to turn the little clock off...where is it? Oh, lord, just stop the chirping madness! I had to turn on the bathroom light, and hold it two inches from my non-focused, non-glasses-wearing eyes...and there it was, my salvation, the 'off' switch. It's a good thing I figured it out, or I might have had to give it a heave-ho out the back door. I'm sure my neighbors would've appreciated that.
Luckily, I also didn't wake the sleeping dogs. I realized in horror as I switched the thing off that should Max wake up, I'd not be getting back to bed anytime soon. Tiptoe, tiptoe, get into bed again quietly--I made it! (polite applause from the gallery--)
And I got to sleep for another whole hour!! I woke myself up with another crazy dream about Audrey falling off a freeway...and this time, the dogs got up too.
I'm thinking, let them out, crawl back into bed again...but was worried about leaving Max out, because it is also something that makes you jump out of bed in a lively fashion when there's a puppy yelping in the yard. (They can play a little rough. Max yelping and Shadow barking at whatever is also not something I'm willing to subject anyone to before a more decent hour.)
I was letting Max back in, and Shadow gave me the sad face, so she came back in too. I closed the doors to the kid's rooms and the bathroom, leaving my bedroom door open (read: left an escape route open for the cats). I set my stove's timer, just in case I nodded off in the magic chair.
Got my book, settled in, and dozed off. I could hear the dogs playing, running back and forth. As long as I can hear 'em, I'm thinking, it'll be fine. Snooze away.
If they got a bit rowdy, I'd just call Shadow, and she'd come to me and settle down, which is hard to do when there's a puppy jumping up and attaching himself to whatever piece of flesh he lands on. Poor thing! It's okay, though, she puts Max in his place when he finally exhausts her patience.
Snooze, doze, listen. Snooze, doze, listen. Snooze, dose, listen...listen...listen...hey, why is it so quiet all of a sudden?
I call Shadow, so I can let her back out. But no Max follows, so I go searching for his supreme little puppyness. Oh, I have a feeling I know where he is, and I'm not gonna like it....
Yup. There he was, in my bathroom. By the catbox. Chewing on something. You know what it is, but I'll say it, I'm not squeamish.
He's chewing on a cat turd. With gusto, because he knows I'll take it away if I get there before he's done. My sweet, cute, little puppy has a taste for cat poo.
Now it's not like I serve it up for him or anything like that. The cat box is covered, and turned toward the tub. But there's just enough room for him to get around and in it on his little treasure hunts. I'm going to try removing the little pan I have in front of it, sucking up the fact that now the cats will track litter a bit, and see if I can move it closer to the tub to keep him out.
You can bet your bottom dollar I don't let him lick my face (or anyone else's, for that matter).
Puppy breath--with Max, it takes on a whole new meaning.