Manic Milk Monkeys

It's official. They are not puppies. They are instead Manic Milk Monkeys on a Mission. It's all about the milk and nothing but the milk. After more than two weeks of bottle feeding these orphaned pups, we have come to realize that we have created monsters. They can now see (eyes wide open!) and hear, and that means they are aware that the source of the milk has entered the room. And so they cry. And they run around on wobbly legs, and fall down and roll on the floor in the agony of anticipation. I close my eyes, and I can swear they are screaming "bottle, bottle, bottle!"

When one of us sits on the floor and pulls the first lucky puppy into a lap for his turn at the bottle, the others attack. They climb up pants legs and get stuck. They pull themselves into the human lap and try to dislodge the currently nursing puppy. They attempt to climb up the shirt of the human and push their noses into shirt sleeves.

The assault is relentless until each puppy has his or her turn at the milk bar and every belly is so full it appears dangerously close to popping. And then, finally, there is quiet. The only sound is the contented little grunts they make as  as they settle into their clean, dry blankets and sink deep into the land of milk coma.  And that's when they suck you back into believing they are adorable little helpless puppies, even though you know better. They are so cute and so sweet when sleeping that you buy into the puppy myth, even though you know for a fact that they are Manic Milk Monkeys on a Mission and the next outbreak is a mere 3 hours away.

Scrappy String Bean demonstrates the Milk Coma.

Full bellies and warm blankets equals sheer bliss.

Even in his sleep, he nurses an imaginary bottle.

Showering without Puppies.

Things have quieted down quite a lot in my bathroom. For the first time in over 3 months, I showered today without "benefit" of puppies.

Since the long night of birthing in October, my bathroom has been delivery room, nursery, infirmary, dispensary and playroom. The floor has long been buried under layers of newspaper and the counters have been cluttered with baby wipes, dewormer, puppy formula, bottles, and cans of puppy food. Mascara? No clue where that is, but here's a syringe for administering medications.

Lately, the toilet paper has usually been shredded and any clothing I left hanging partially out of the laundry basket has been dunked in the water bowl.

The shower, though, that's the thing. There's a whole extra step in the process called the "pre-shower poop patrol" because, well, nobody wants to step out of the shower and into unpleasantness.

Undressing for the shower is different too- lots of help with your pant legs and shoestrings. And while you are finally, blissfully indulging in hot water and soap? Well, pupies are very, very busy hiding your slippers in new spots and plotting ways to reach the clean towel and drag it across the floor.

Today, though, it was just a shower. In, scrub, out with no fan club applauding my reemergence from the steam. The puppies are all adopted into their forever homes and my bathroom is just a bathroom again- a clean one.

The shower was kind of boring.

Diving for Puppies

"DOG!!!"
We screamed it simultaneously as a red streak dashed across the highway in front of us and darted through the grass on the side of the road. I hit the brakes, pulled onto the shoulder, puched the hazard lights button and grabbed a leash. Pam was already running.

It turned out to be a puppy, and a very scared one at that. He was determined to get away from us and led us on a run neither of us is in shape for down the side of Highway 29 rural Virginia. He zigged and zagged through tall grass and then-dangerously- headed back towards the highway. Pam followed at a crawl, not wanting to spook him into an oncoming car. She got close. He made a run for it, but she got him by the tail and hung on. He screamed like he was being dismembered and made a very sincere puppy attempt at a menacing bite or two, but she didn't let go. In a few seconds she had him cradled in her arms and, out-of-breath, we headed back to our car.

There was no sign of human life (other than speeding cars) for quite a distance around us- no homes, no businesses, nothing. After looking around a bit and remarking on the amazing amount of ticks on him- in his eyes, between his toes, on his nether regions, completely covering the inside of his ears-we tossed our new friend into a crate in the back of the minivan and resumed our journey north.

"Matty" was a good little passenger apart from vomiting green peas (?) and roundworms, and he has already warmed up to humans quite a bit. He spent the night at our vet's office where he was de-ticked (better them than me!), de-wormed, checked out and vaccinated. Neuter surgery is next.

We're glad we caught him and glad he will not be road kill, but sad at the reality of this kind of life for so many puppies. Barely three months old, Matty was out to fend for himself and wouldn't have lasted much longer. He is a living reminder of the consequences of our society's failure to responsibly spay/neuter our companion animals.

Matty will be on the website soon, so look for the little runaway next week. We'll still be catching our breath...

The Dawning of the Dogs

There comes a moment in the lifetime of every litter of puppies when everything changes. All at once, they go from being unfocused little balls of fur with bobbing heads and wobbly legs to actual tiny dogs. There is no mistaking "the moment." It's the first time you walk into their room and the entire litter is sitting up staring at you like they have just woken from a vegetative state and are wondering what's next. Their eyes are focused, their legs work and they have (in the blink of an eye)developed opinions. This is the day they begin to attack pajama legs and chew on toes, the day they cry to be picked up and start growling at the toys they have suddenly noticed are scattered about about their bed. It's all uphill from here!

Hope's babies had their "moment" this week. I was working on the computer when Pam called to me from their room (aka the master bathroom). She said simply "It's happened," and I knew what she meant. I jumped up to investigate and there they were, eleven pairs of eyes clearly focused and eleven little puppy brains visibly plotting the havoc they would wreak over the next few weeks. Stay tuned, it's going to be interesting.