Unbeknownst to her husband, our daughter, Barbra, adopted not one, not two, but three Chihuahuas from the dog pound! One by one, he found out about each canine by way of a cell phone photo of some strange dog which Barbra cowardly sent to him. Being the brilliant young man Mark is, by the third picture, he realized Barbra’s covert meaning: I have expanded our family by three new members. Coco was the first little boy, next came Abby, a girl, and most recently Nina, a second girl. And did I mention, granddaughter Ava’s new fish, named Ruby, who likes to ride in the car in a handy-dandy travel cup? Ruby is some kind of Japanese fighting fish and kills all comers so she lives a solitary life, devouring fish food. If I took a magnifying glass to her, I expect to see choppers the size of butcher knives.
Back to the dogs—Bruce and I weren’t home when the expanded family arrived for a three-day visit. That made for quite a shock to our calico cat, Button, who has never been too friendly anyway. After eight hours of not seeing the cat and knowing she was still in the house, Bruce had the brilliant idea of flushing her out with the mini-vac, we loving call the suck machine. You see, Button is afraid of the sweeper and all noisy appliances. With the suck machine whirling away on high, zip! Button shot out of my closet like her tail was on fire. Somehow, she managed to squeeze her fat self behind our antique pump organ. Poor baby, that lasted all of twenty minutes until one of the dogs, Abby, attacked. There was barking and hissing. A lot of it. I had just entered the house, grocery bag still hanging from my arm, heard the ruckus and burst into action. I grabbed for Abby's short little tail, the only animal part visible since dog and cat were both behind the organ. Her tail slipped out of my hand and so with super strength from fear they'd eat each other up, I manhandled the heavy organ away from the wall, grabbed the dog and the donnybrook was over. To my happy surprise, there was not a scratch or bite mark on either of them. By the way, you might wonder where the rest of the family was while I was performing this heroic act of thrusting myself between two ferocious beasties. They were watching. Yes, just watching! The only remark made was by Bruce when he asked me why the shopping bag was still hanging on my arm. Oh, the passion runs deep... So, with the dogs in their corner (the bedroom), I scooped up the cat, all seventeen pounds of her, and put her in the sanctuary of the bathroom with food and water and other feline necessities. The dogs and cat could smell each other under the door and become familiar and friendly. Right? Right.
As the hours ticked away, someone yelled, "Who let the dog out?" and we all hollered back in unrehearsed unison, "Woof, woof, woof, woof." And when I said to my brother, Bobby, in a panic, "Where's Abby?", he calmly replied, "I know where she is. She's biting my right ankle..." Well, that's how the rest of that visit went.
Fast forward a couple of months. Barbra asked us if we wanted Abby for our own because she'd become so possessive over our son-in-law, she would sometimes growl at little Ava when she got near her father. We couldn't say no. So, Abby has lived with us since Thanksgiving. She barks at the cat and the cat hisses back. In the spirit of camaraderie, Barbra instructed, "Let the dog smell the cat’s bottom- This has to be done within 10 seconds. Ha, ha. She won’t bark when she is smelling the booty….When she gets a good whiff, quickly pull her away and distract her. A one time snort may do the trick." Hey, why didn't I think of that? I'll try it now that my suit of armor has arrived.
Oh, I'm working on my nail filing, not my nails, but the cat's. It may lessen the chance of a severed artery from one swipe of a paw while we wait for that cat/dog best friend thing to happen. I'm happy to report, after a box of band-aids and a cracked elbow where I tripped over the curious dog always under my feet, I only have 13 more cat toes nails to file. At least, I think that's right. It's hard to see through the small eye slot in the armor helmet.
As the hours ticked away, someone yelled, "Who let the dog out?" and we all hollered back in unrehearsed unison, "Woof, woof, woof, woof." And when I said to my brother, Bobby, in a panic, "Where's Abby?", he calmly replied, "I know where she is. She's biting my right ankle..." Well, that's how the rest of that visit went.
Fast forward a couple of months. Barbra asked us if we wanted Abby for our own because she'd become so possessive over our son-in-law, she would sometimes growl at little Ava when she got near her father. We couldn't say no. So, Abby has lived with us since Thanksgiving. She barks at the cat and the cat hisses back. In the spirit of camaraderie, Barbra instructed, "Let the dog smell the cat’s bottom- This has to be done within 10 seconds. Ha, ha. She won’t bark when she is smelling the booty….When she gets a good whiff, quickly pull her away and distract her. A one time snort may do the trick." Hey, why didn't I think of that? I'll try it now that my suit of armor has arrived.
Oh, I'm working on my nail filing, not my nails, but the cat's. It may lessen the chance of a severed artery from one swipe of a paw while we wait for that cat/dog best friend thing to happen. I'm happy to report, after a box of band-aids and a cracked elbow where I tripped over the curious dog always under my feet, I only have 13 more cat toes nails to file. At least, I think that's right. It's hard to see through the small eye slot in the armor helmet.
Abby aka Abs, Abby Girl, The Abster
