The Days Of Puppies And Poop
Thursday, January 21, 2010

They were born at dawn on a November morning— blind, unable to walk and closely resembling baby hamsters. 





For the first few weeks, they were no trouble since really all they ever did was eat and sleep and mew like kittens. My Julia, always a constant in their pen.



Their mother ate their poop which was disgusting to watch, but totally appreciated by me. Turns out it was about the only motherly thing she could master—poop eating. And she gets props from me in that category because I think if I were a dog, I'd be like, "Xcuse me Master Person, do you have any of those pooper scoopers and a plastic bag? Cause, you might want to pick up that mess right quick."

They grew into fat lardo puppies in just about a minute's time. Their eyes opened and they began staggering around like drunken sailors. They still spent most of their days in newborn slumber.



They had a real affinity for lounging on their pee pads, obviously a precursor to poop rolling. So thankful, I lucked out on the human thing and wasn't born as a dog. I would have been the prissiest dog ever in the history of dogs.



They began to eat real food which was a royal pain in the ass. I was your typical first-time mom and did everything by the book. My book said to buy the good kind of puppy food, the kind that is more expensive than MY food and process it in a food processor mixed with puppy formula.

That's right, formula for puppies.

And of course, thinned out with only the finest bottled spring water. 

Cause that's what my book said to do. 

I think I bought the wrong book. I think the author of my book is the kind of dog person who has a stroller and matching outfits for her and her dog. 

But, I did it anyway, jacked up my food processor with dog food and puppy formula. I smelled of puppy formula for weeks. I dug ground-up puppy food out of my fingernails constantly. 

They devoured their homemade food, with both paws in the mush. It was a blood bath of mush.



Eating solid food became their passion, often gorging themselves into drunken stupors.





And along with solid food came the Real-Dog poop. Lots and lots of Real-Dog poop.

It was about this time that their mother, Paris Hilton, took this approach to mothering.


She looked in on them from afar, never getting too close and once the real poop showed up, after one heady sniff, she never touched  it again.

Their little systems emptied out constantly. Great for them— the stuff of nightmares for me. Seriously, I dreamt about dog poop, dog crap worming its way into my subconscious.

And no matter what time I'd put them to bed or how hard I'd worn them out, when dawn came, 5 little bundles of fluff would begin their chorus of whines and yelps that the loudest volume on my sound machine could not drown out. And believe me, the waves were crashing at full blast. 

I would curse them as I threw back my covers, still in my REM sleep dreaming of Bono and Johnny Depp. But then, I'd enter the room and flick on the light and 5 little babies would be standing on their back paws, all in a row. Their front paws, impossibly tiny, lined up along the pen wall, peering out as their entire little body wagged furiously with love and adoration for me, their surrogate Momma. It melted me every time. 


I didn't know how I'd ever be able to part with them.

But then, something happened.

Like Forrest Gump, they learned to pump their legs and THEY WERE RUNNINGGGG.





Running and Pooping became their specialties.




I spent my days outside, wheezing and soaked in sweat, as 5 puppies scattered in different directions the second I put them down.

Paris Hilton didn't help much. She'd wander over to see if she could steal any good dog toys. Honestly. Not only is she a crap mom, she would steal all their toys and treats right out of their baby mouths. Never in the history of dogdom has there been such an awful mom.

The puppies would immediately try to jump up and latch on for a little nursing, something she'd given up on long ago, (thus the puppy formula) and off she'd flee. And there they were, right behind her.



Which, I know she's a lousy mom, but still, I think if fanged creatures were trying to leap up and grab onto my taa-taa's, I'd run too.

It was about this time, the creatures of the woods took notice of my runninnnng babies. At first, the only threat was the Bald Eagle that would circle as my pups raced off in 5 different directions. And, I've seen enough birds of the lake get swooped up and carted away by my majestic friends, to know, that a 6- week old puppy is no match for a bald eagle.

Then the pups discovered the crater-sized hole on one of my grandfather oaks. It's the nightclub where all the coral snakes hang out. Those baby pups were drawn to that hole like Tiger Woods to a bevy of skanks. 

The final straw was the scraggly, skin and bones raccoon who stalked my patio, getting up on his hind legs, his nose twitching in the air as my puppies romped just a few feet away.

I wasn't kidding when I said I lived in the sticks. 

I called Wildlife Control and coincidentally they had reports of a rabid raccoon in our area. They were trying to trap him, but in the meantime they suggested keeping the pups inside. 

5 Puppies. Inside. My House. 5 of them.

And the madness began. 

Here they are, with all their pent-up energy, destroying a pair of my leggings, (Paris Hilton included). 



It was Wrestle-Mania twenty-four/seven in their closed up room. Notice the utter chaotic pit-hole the room quickly turned into and also note the filthy windows, smeared by the constant lickings of puppy tongues who lusted for their outside recreation.



Note the puppy paw in the corner, lunging in for the tackle.






Here they are, eating my couch:



And here's where they captured the roll of paper towels I kept handy for the constant trail of poop, shredding it into millions of teeny, tiny pieces. All while The Hubby chose to keep snapping, instead of, let's say, TELLING THEM NO AND TAKING THE DAMN ROLL AWAY FROM THEM.





And then of course, you can't forget the woman who's fed you and cleaned up after you and bought you all those freakin' dog toys. Let's chew up her coat!



I now knew how I could bear to let them go.

They have all been adopted by their new families, but in their honor, I wanted to spotlight each of them and tell you a little something about my sweet, furry friends.

We named her Lilly. She was the gentlest one of the bunch with fur like a baby duckling, a little cowlick always sticking up on the top of her head.


And yes, that is my pajama-clad leg she is using as her ottoman.

She also went by her alias of Dawwwg-Dizzle.


You know, when she felt like pimpin'.

Lilly went to Grandma and Grandpa where she keeps abreast of all the current events while watching Fox News constantly. Her new name is Zeba, which I'm pretty sure is Aramaic for Bill O' Reilly. She has become the light of their life and we are so very glad for all of them.



Here's Grandpa, the first night we brought his new puppy to him. Before this, Grandpa hadn't bent down since 1978.



Our only boy Jake, went to our dear friends, Tim and Michelle. Jake's not your typical, fearless boy. In fact, Jake was kind of an enormous crybaby. No offense to Tim and Michelle, but he definitely showed all the others what it was like to be a wuss. Even if he is a pansy, Jake is extraordinarily handsome and the first one to understand potty training. He went to a home already occupied by a big, boisterous Lab named Riley. Riley will make a man out of Jake.


And then there was Daisy Mae. Our biggest pup and the most friendly. She loves everything and everybody and led the group when it came to wandering. She was also the one who didn't have a clue about potty training, leaving her trails of piddle everywhere she went.



She went to Bill and Ellen, Tim's parents. Ironically, for a woman who didn't want a barking dog, she got the barkiest dog of them all! No matter. She loves her Daisy, fitting her with a pink collar and matching leash. Daisy now lives on the beach where she frolics in the tides and rolls around in the seaweed and I've been thinking, perhaps I'll offer myself up to Bill and Ellen in a trade adoption. I like pink and I would definitely like to frolic in the tides all day. I'm also potty trained and I only bark at the dung beetles. So, they might just be getting themselves a better deal.

And that left two— Delilah and Sophie. And the thing was, I couldn't choose between the two of them. Just look at them. Could you?


Sophie is a curly girl, ready at all moments to lick you to death. She's smart and sweet and very attached to her sister.

Delilah has soulful black eyes that stare out at you through her shaggy face. She is lively and full of bouncy energy and she cuddles up to her sister when she sleeps.

I couldn't do it. 

I couldn't separate the two. It would have been as heartbreaking as Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice being forced to decide by the cold-hearted Nazi which one of her children she would keep. 

The cold-hearted Nazi would be My Hubby and the thing is, he's not cold-hearted or a Nazi and so, our one-dog household is now filled to the brim with three furry blobs of love, the same amount of Dung Beetles  
and a mother who never, ever gets enough sleep.

I, of course, am still picking up puppy poop.

I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Today's Definite Download: U2's, "One." For me, this is as close to gospel as it gets. "We're one, but we're not the same. We get to carry each other. Carry each other. One." Bono wrote it that way on purpose. We GET to carry each other. He said there is no bigger privilege in life than to lift each other up. 

I opened my newspaper yesterday because I'm an old-fogie like that. Even though I get my news online, I still like my coffee and newspaper in the morning.  

The newspaper read, "Over 200,000 dead." 

200,000. 

Haiti weeps and I witness it from the safety of my newsprint and my comfy home. 

200,000.

This Friday, June 22nd at 8:00 pm, Bono will join George Clooney and a bevy of other stars in a telethon to aid the utter devastation that is now Haiti. If you have any extra to give, Haiti needs us, needs us desperately. If you can find it in your heart and in your wallet, please give. 

"One love. One blood. One life. You got to do what you should. One life with each other. Sisters. Brothers. One life but we're not to same. We get to carry each other, carry each other. One...life. One."

We get to carry each other. How privileged are we. 
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7 comments:

Joanna @ The Casa said...

Still laughing at Tiger Woods and Paris Hilton.

Delilah and Sophie are adorable! Nothing like a housefull of puppy breath to keep you happy!

Shelley said...

Daisy Mae is adorable. They're all adorable, but she is my favorite.

I remember when I was a kid, my brother and I always had to pick up the dog poop in the backyard. Somehow when I now suggest that a kid pick up dog poop, they just look at my like I have two heads. Where has society gone wrong? Isn't this what I had children for?

ProudSister said...

So funny & so sweet. Those girls and boy were lucky to have you as their surrogate mother. I know you'll miss them, but its so nice that all of them will get to visit.

Jake's Mom said...

Now that he is away from his four bossy sisters and Daisy Mae is out of our house, Jake is coming into his own. (Boy, girls can be smothering!) He is still a wuss, hates riding in the car but has stopped crying at night, and, dare I say, has just about mastered house training. Which is great because I am just about done with going outside every hour on the hour, when he wakes up and after he eats. yea, pretty much all day long! Oh, and just like a typical boy, the one thing he is not afraid of is dead frogs and lizards. ( I think that they froze to death) I have taken countless numbers of them out of his mouth ( yes, gross!!!) He is as sweet as can be and doesn't growl or bark at anything, my little wuss! Anyway, hoping to be Paris Hilton soon.

Next task, mastering this Apple computer.

Aunt Becky said...

I am never, ever, ever having puppies, ever.

Organic Meatbag said...

Oh my God, how ridiculously adorable puppies! I love this post...so sweet!

Rebecca Grace said...

It is so much funnier and cuter when someone else's coat and sofa and and leggings are being chewed up than it was when it happened to me... Mine lucked to chew up underpants, for some reason, and he ate a hole through the linoleum in my college rental. *SIGH* Memories!

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