It's been a real crazy couple of days out here on our farm.
First, Lilly didn't have puppies. I like to refer to it as a pseudo-pregnancy. She showed all the signs and symptoms of a pregnancy - most notably in the mammary glands. She was missing only one sign - the growing belly. One day she looked fatter; the following day she was skinny again.
She was playing evil mind games with me. She never has really liked me all that much. I'm OK with the idea of not having puppies around. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with puppies, while working off the farm. God only know what kind of mess I would have come home to each day.
That's not to say we don't have puppies running around our farm.
In fact, we happen to have two little terrors under our feet.
Eddie and Digger, true rat terriers to the bone, are now calling our garage home.
These two puppies are officially Steve's. It was his first chance to get puppies of his own.
Originally, because he is a simple man, Steve was going to only bring one puppy home.
I convinced him that you cannot put an eight-week-old puppy outside all alone - alone in the deep, dark, cold recesses of the garage.
"Dogs are pack animals," I stated. "They need to have pack mates. Imagine how good they will work together when they do start running around the farm, doing what they are going to do. The rats won't even have a chance to squeal."
The neighbor down the road had the puppies. I picked Eddie. He was the runt. I always have a soft spot for the odd-guy out. He's tiny, tiny, tiny. Digger is Steve's pick. He's fat and aggressive. He'll do what he's supposed to do.
The day we brought the puppies home, Lilly started taking care of them like they were her own. She actually wanted to sleep out in the garage with them. She watched over them from the dog couch, while Eddie and Digger slept in the cage. The following morning, Steve found Digger nursing on a blank nipple - and Lilly was allowing it. Imagine how hard Digger was trying to get milk.
Being the awesome mom that she is, Lilly decided after two days, motherhood just isn't for her. Now she considers the puppies chew toys. Which can be a traumatic thing to Eddie and Digger, considering with one gulp Lilly, the Great Dane, could swallow either one. I would imagine being swallowed whole could be a bit nerve wracking.
Steve is a bit concerned that I am turning his "killers" into pansies. I allow Joey and Russell to bring them into the house. OK, so I tell them to go get the puppies and bring them into the house. I feed them like kings. They had steak, mashed potatoes and beef gravy for supper the other day.
Watching them eat is quite humorous. They stretch out their little bodies to reach the food and did what Steve and the boys call "stoppies." Their back legs actually came up off the floor, while the front legs stay planted. On a motorcycle, the back tire comes up off the ground, while the front tire stays firmly planted.
(And I wonder why I had a dream that I was a professional dirt bike driver the other night?)
I love the little puppies, but I am by no means turning them into pink pansies. In fact, the other day I found them to be rather annoying. I am not allowed to potty train them - Steve says I won't keep them outside if they are potty trained. So, they pooped behind my recliner. Joey and Russell told me I had to clean it up because I asked them to bring the rascals into the house.
The jump up on the couch and attack my face, they dive for my eyeball like they want to blind me. They chew on my toes. They drag my kitchen rug into the living room and the blankets from the living room into the kitchen.
All my rugs were backwards! I don't do backwards.
It didn't take long, and the "pansies" were back out in the garage working on their "killer" skills.
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