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THE HECK WITH PETA
4 April 2006
Yeah...yeah. I know all about it.
I know about cute little baby harbor seals being clubbed to death in the antarctic and all the beautiful animals who have suffered terribly so that women into fashion can drape their pelts around themselves and feel all glamorous and stuff.
I'm very sympathetic to the plight of animals with pretty fur.
But dammit...I want a fur coat.
I don't want a fur coat to make a fashion statement.
I don't want a fur coat to impress the neighbors.
I don't want a fur coat to attend some fancy dress ball.
I want a fur coat because it's bloody cold in here!!!!
I don't want seal or mink or ermine or leopard...I'll settle for Lab Mix puppy fur (preferably shaved off a puppy so we don't have to kill the little buggers).
My new way of keeping the puppies is working beautifully and we are all happier for it. The puppies have a pen that gives them lots of room to play, a new bed just like Kimba's that all four of them can cuddle into together....
...and the door of the pen opens onto the patio, so when they wake up they can scamper together out onto the concrete to pee (sometimes) or to frolic in the tall grass or just to check out the dog in the yard behind ours.
Now that the puppies spend less time running loose, Sheila has started coming downstairs more, standing there looking in the pen, perhaps wondering how they are going to torment her now. She will even play with them a bit when they do come out (usually on a one-to-one basis; she disappears if all four come running at her) and she has started to eat a little bit again. The "happy dance" isn't there yet, but at least she's not going to starve to death.
Kimba has her bed back because the puppies have their very own bed. She's also being more tolerant about having one walking near her. She will sneer and growl, but she doesn't usually bark and snap now and the puppy rolls over into a classic submissive pose which seems to end the issue.
While there is still puppy excrement and puddles around, the amount in the house has decreased significantly because they do seem to be using the outside potty more often than the inside one and that makes me happy (I only washed laundry twice today--and one of those puddles was Kimba's).
You'd think that all would be well that ends well, right?
Well, that would be true in a normal spring, but this is not a normal spring. This is the coldest, wettest spring on record and while six of us living in this house wear fur coats, two of us do not. One of us spends his time upstairs or in a nice warm office downtown, and one of us must work downstairs where the temperature is in the very low 60s and the door to the cold air outside is always opened.
The one who works downstairs wants her own fur coat, dammit!
Now, of course I don't want anybody to club a baby harbor seal for me so that I can stop shivering. And of course I can put on layers of clothes to cover up most of the cold parts (even if it does make me look like a character from South Park, which I already look like without all the extra layers), but it's kind of difficult to type with mittens on and so my fingers haven't warmed up since the pen got here.
And it's going to rain again tomorrow.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
At least it's not boring. Tonight I was in my recliner and could hear Fudge eating the wicker basket behind me, but I couldn't see or reach him. I slowly lowered the footrest of the chair, trapping Blackie's head underneath it. I heard no squeals, but saw this butt wiggling frantically -- Blackie, trying to pull her head out.
I introduced the puppies to "doggie crack" -- liver biscotti, which Sheila loves. The four of them went crazy for it. They are teeny little hard baked morcels and so it took them awhile to chew through one. Fudge got the biggest piece and when the others discovered that he still had some left, after they had finished theirs, they took off after him. It was so funny watching all four of them racing around the kitchen counter (picture the chariots rounding the turns in the arena in Ben Hur), and around the chairs in the living room. Fudge finally managed to hide in a corner and finish his biscotti.
In the meantime, Curly, who had dug all of the dog food out of Sheila's bowl, spreading it all over the floor (I'll bet he's going to be a digger) and moved the bowl across the room within a matter of seconds, had ganged up with Greta and the two of them had found a new toy--the footpedal to my transcription unit. They were under my desk having a great time stepping on and off of it, because it made a fun sound. I don't have a clue HOW much they've moved the tape forward or backward.
Only one quote goes through my mind:
PHOTOS OF THE DAY