Demented Dogs and Midnight Marauders

Let me tell you about Luca. I think  a few years ago, we might have called him a bitzer but now he is a designer dog, part shih tzu, part maltese terrier and part miniature poodle. I have to admit that he is a pretty dog with ears that fly in the wind when he runs - like The Never Ending Story dog. He is about 6 months old and, although he has been to puppy pre-school, I think he should have gone on to kindy.

And he barks - or rather he yaps and can keep it up indefinitely. He barks at people going by. This can be a problem as Carmel lives opposite a railway station. Fortunately there are only two passenger trains an hour. He barks at dogs he can hear but not see. He barks at brooms and rakes and attacks them furiously. Once he has dragged a broom out of my hand, he drags it around, only stopping barking to bite the working end of the broom. And it doesn't even have to be in use. Carmel has to have brooms and mops behind closed doors. When he remembers where they are, he starts his routine again.

Last week, he discovered a container out the back with mops and brooms and rakes and stakes. After half an hour of listening to him, I covered them all with a beach towel thinking, 'out of sight. out of mind.' What I didn't realise that a possum would jump onto the towel, squeeze through a barely open window, push the insect screen and climb into the kitchen.  At 1.30 in the morning, this really gave Luca something to bark at.

Now, possums do look cute, except when they are on the kitchen bench, amongst everything that should have been upright, Then I realised he had almost eaten the ripe red apple I had bought for my breakfast and most of the lovely fresh bread I had deliberately left on the bench. (Once it has been put in the fridge, it no longer tastes fresh, so I like to leave it till the second day to put it away,)

My house sitting had now expanded to protecting the kitchen and all the bits and pieces from a midnight marauder. By now I had decided that possums are really not cute. They are filthy little predators with sharp teeth and lethal claws who like nothing better than attacking humans and their brave barking dogs. So filled with courage and determination, I took the dog and the cat and locked them into the bedroom with me - and I sat and listened. When I thought my unwelcome visitor had left, I returned to the kitchen, tidied up the bench, tossed my breakfast into the bin, and righted stuff that had been knocked over. As I went to replace a vase onto the top of the microwave, suddenly a little nose appeared from the cupboard above, followed by little claws, a grey body and a long curly tail. It settled itself on the microwave and stared at me.  Again feeling courageous, I opened the window closest to the creature and waited - and waited - and watched from a distance until eventually it flicked its tail at me and disappeared through the window.

I remember before my kids were born, I decided that looking after babies would be a snap. After all, I was at the top of a big family and helped with babies and kids most of my life. And as a teacher, what I hadn't learned at home, I soon learned in the classroom. I discovered that the reality of motherhood was designed to destroy all illusions of adequacy. When I offered to pet sit for Carmel, there were echoes of those feelings. I knew that friends were going to look after the dog at night, to be thoroughly spoiled by three energetic kids. When I got him back, I thought he'd be totally exhausted and easy to look after during the day - which he was as long as I took him outside to play for long periods (I had a book, so no worries!) and took him to the coffee shop where everyone knew him and made a fuss of him (and again I had a book.)

In fact I was so successful that, after a few days I decided I could keep him overnight. Baad move! (shades of Pretty Woman!)  Puppies are not like babies.  There are not long periods when they are asleep and you can get things done. They wake the minute you move and have to be within spitting distance - and they don't spit! So every time I moved, he was there at my feet, just behind, just in front, just beside me. I couldn't take a step without checking. How we both survived I don't know.  The other night he was so tired that he couldn't get to his feet. He had been sleeping in the bedroom doorway and just slithered along on his belly into the kitchen with me.

And his hours and mine were totally out of sync.  My prime sleeping time is 4 am to 9 am. Any other time I am either awake or trying to sleep. And I do not, NEVER do I, have an animal sleeping on my bed. He seemed to understand that and happily settled near the door or under the bed or on my shoes. But at 3.30 and 4.45 and 5.15  and 6.20 and 7 am, he put his paws up on the edge of the bed, pushed his chin as close to me as he could manage and whined mournfully until I was awake and then barked a demand to go outside. And yes, I hauled myself out of bed and with eyes still closed opened the back door (which has its own doggy door) and staggered drunkenly outside because he wouldn't go past the door until I did. A couple of times he had the cheek to pick up a toy and drop it at my feet. He had buckley's. I must tell Carmel that she doesn't have to keep throwing balls and toys. Luca now knows how to pick up a toy, run to the other end of the hall and drop it, Then he runs back to the original spot, checks for the toy and runs to retrieve it. When he drops it at my feet, he knows I will ignore it, so goes through the whole rigmarole again.

My kids when they were very little used to follow me to the toilet. If I was quick, I could shut the door before they got there and just listen to them whinging while I was occupied. If I was too slow, I got used to having an interested  audience. But my kids never squashed themselves between the toilet pedestal and the wall and stared at my big bare bum. It is very hard to relax, dreading what might happen. If he went in for a lick or, worse, a nip, he would have been a very dead dog, drowned in the closest water.

Today, when I dropped Luca at the friends who will care for him for the rest of Carmel's hospital stay, he barked when I left him. He was sad! He already missed me! What a lovely little puppy!

Oh, and there is also Pip. Pip is a cat. Pip comes into the house twice a day. Pip eats his food and leaves. Apart from a minor tussle when he and I wanted the same chair, Pip is quiet and obliging.
I was a good minder for Pip.

(I do love you Carmel, and I would do it all again if you really needed me, as I know you did this time. After all, what is family for!)