Sunday, May 21, 2006
It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad Zoo House
We have 4 cats, 2 dogs, and approximately 30 fish. Fortunately, only two pets are of the psycho variety, otherwise I'm sure I would have made the headlines by now.
Boris, our 3ish year old lab mix, is what we call "hyper" (read: "intense") though he really just is too smart for his own good. He needs to be someone's hunting dog or maybe sent to University to solve difficult math equations. His mind is just always going. I can't believe he doesn't have insomnia. Or an ulcer.
Our morning ritual consists of whining, going out for potty, whining, breakfast, whining and dramatic sighing, a kong stuffed with kibble, frozen peas & carrots and lots of peanut butter, whining, sighing, and wiggling, a final trip outside for potty, then an hour or so of alternately lying down, wiggling, frantically looking around, and, of course, the glue that keeps Boris who he is - the whining. Have I mentioned Boris whines?
It's slightly more pronounced on weekend mornings because El Fyd (my husband) is still asleep upstairs and Boris wants to be up there. Boris (and Vinnie, his lazy counterpart) are kept downstairs by a dog gate held together with duct tape and sheer will power (after several occurrences of dogs and cats attempting to jump over it) in the hopes of giving the cats their own dog-free comfort zone upstairs. Boris doesn't like to be out of the loop, and therefore is very upset at not having free reign to run upstairs and stare intently at the cats whenever he wants.
Doesn't he look angelic?
A related sidebar is now we are those people who say "potty." We don't have children, but we are surely close to being "those people" who talk about pee and poop almost as much as parents of babies and toddlers do. I'm proud.
Boris, our 3ish year old lab mix, is what we call "hyper" (read: "intense") though he really just is too smart for his own good. He needs to be someone's hunting dog or maybe sent to University to solve difficult math equations. His mind is just always going. I can't believe he doesn't have insomnia. Or an ulcer.
Our morning ritual consists of whining, going out for potty, whining, breakfast, whining and dramatic sighing, a kong stuffed with kibble, frozen peas & carrots and lots of peanut butter, whining, sighing, and wiggling, a final trip outside for potty, then an hour or so of alternately lying down, wiggling, frantically looking around, and, of course, the glue that keeps Boris who he is - the whining. Have I mentioned Boris whines?
It's slightly more pronounced on weekend mornings because El Fyd (my husband) is still asleep upstairs and Boris wants to be up there. Boris (and Vinnie, his lazy counterpart) are kept downstairs by a dog gate held together with duct tape and sheer will power (after several occurrences of dogs and cats attempting to jump over it) in the hopes of giving the cats their own dog-free comfort zone upstairs. Boris doesn't like to be out of the loop, and therefore is very upset at not having free reign to run upstairs and stare intently at the cats whenever he wants.
Doesn't he look angelic?
A related sidebar is now we are those people who say "potty." We don't have children, but we are surely close to being "those people" who talk about pee and poop almost as much as parents of babies and toddlers do. I'm proud.
// posted by Candace @ 10:36 AM 
