I have just called a time-out for both Savannah and Sweet Pea. There are days when Savannah just watches Sweet Pea without moving an inch from her spot, and then there are other days when this puppy constantly is on the look-out for any move that Sweet Pea makes and then she pounces. And Savannah doesn't pounce on Sweet Pea... she jumps towards him in that play-with-me pose that all puppies have, and she will do this within an inch of Sweet Pea's nose, which starts Sweet Pea meowing in such a pitiful way that one would think his whiskers are being pulled out one by blessed one. (Sweet Pea has always been a drama queen, feline style.)
So that's been going on between those two for most of the afternoon... Sweet Pea trying to walk from the kitchen to the TV room without his paws touching the floor (which is indeed possible, given the furniture placement in these rooms)... and Savannah has followed that cat's progress for the past few hours. The only break was during dinner-time when my husband and I were having shrimp quesadillas and Gary kept giving Savannah the edges of the tortillas (all bread, no shrimp or cheese). Of course, Savannah didn't leave his side during dinner, and Sweet Pea was free to come and go without interruption and without having to be a Flying Wallenda to accomplish his travels from one room to the next.
While I was clearing away the dishes, however, Savannah got really brave and jumped up on the sofa and just by the look in her eyes when I walked into that room, I knew she was planning to leap over that sofa to see if she could catch Sweet Pea on 'his' side of the TV room. No way, Savannah, no way. So I made Savannah come out into the breakfast room and I shut the door to the TV room, giving Sweet Pea some alone time to just be a cat.
Along with the rule that said 'No dogs on the furniture,' the rule about 'No feeding dogs from the table' is now history as well. My husband used to do the same thing with Gracie. There wasn't a meal that we ate that Gracie didn't get part of.... and if there was nothing left for her, my husband would (excuse this, please) let her lick the plate. I would cringe at that, especially if the licking occurred on a vintage china plate that couldn't be replaced. My husband would tell me "Germs are germs are germs, and Gracie doesn't have any more germs in her mouth than we do in ours." (Well, tell me that when Gracie was in the park and she picked up half of a dead squirrel.)
Speaking of picking things up, Savannah has started to do just that during our walks along the road. And heaven only knows what horrible things are out there in the road after all the night-time creatures have walked up and down in the moonlight. Raccoons and coyotes and foxes and bobcats, and heaven-only-knows-what-else is out there. Savannah has quickly learned the meaning of 'No!No!No!' however, and she has dropped everything out of the ordinary that she has picked up. As if there were anything at all ordinary out on that road to begin with?
Our walks up and down the road are eventful at times, especially on the days when Savannah picks up some sort of scent along the way. Her nose goes down to the ground, her tail goes up in the air, and she begins to sniff and pant and sniff and pant as if she is on the verge of discovering the tomb of King Tutankhamun's dog. (Pupankhamun?) Once Savannah is on the trail of whatever she's smelling, there's just no turning back to the business at hand. There have been times when I've had to wrap that leash halfway around my waist to get her to walk in the direction I want her to go. One thing about Savannah is that when she is bound and determined to sniff and search, it takes a lot of pulling to get her mind back to why we're out there walking in the first place.
We have not had a drop of rain since we brought Savannah home, and these frantic searches of hers have me wondering what our walks will be like if I have to walk her when it's raining. I can see myself now, soaking wet in the rain and trying to hold an umbrella in one hand and her leash in the other, telling her "Hurry up, Savannah! Hurry up!" (She has no idea whatsoever as to the meaning of that phrase.)
I also have to wonder if Savannah is going to be afraid of an open umbrella when she sees mine for the first time. My husband had suggested a couple of weeks ago that I open that umbrella on a sunny day while I was out in the yard with her, but of course I didn't remember to do that on any of the days we were out in the sunshine. As comfortable as Savannah seems to be in this house now -- and she does know exactly where she lives and will turn into our driveway on her own -- she still gets frightened of unknown or unexpected noises. My umbrella with that pop-up button that sends the top of the umbrella up into the air with a 'whooooop' sound just may have Savannah running back to our driveway at lightning speed. And if it's a windy day, I'll be out there like Mary Poppins with one hand holding a bright red umbrella and the other hand grasping a hot pink velvet leash.
The contents of Savannah's toy basket has taken a drastic population decrease.... the pink Peep bunny had to be tossed because Savannah discovered the plastic Peep label on the back and she managed to separate the label from the velvet fabric. The green rubber chicken with that horrible duck-squeak is now history because Savannah bit through one of the chicken's legs. (I won't miss that particular toy.) The fluffy white bunny is being thrown away tonight because Savannah bit off its tail and she was pulling the stuffing out of it. The pink rubber fish is gone because Savannah's adult teeth are sharper than her puppy teeth were and she was able to pull the fins right off of that pretty little thing.
I had stopped buying those very hard rawhide chew-bones for Savannah because every time she worked at one of those, I'd be picking up a puppy tooth from the kitchen floor. The supermarket had bags of pig ears for dogs to chew on (all protein, but totally disgusting) so I bought those and she loves them. When I take one out of the bag for her, I try not to think of what it really is, and just tell myself that it's only a chew-toy for a teething puppy.
It may be my imagination, but I could swear that the carpet in the TV room is starting to smell like a barnyard after a week's worth of Savannah chewing on the dried ears of pigs in there.
No comments:
Post a Comment