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Spot the Cat

A few days after Cocoa joined the gang, my son tried to introduce the new addition to the Puppers. Fred was curious but George was jealous. He barked at Cocoa who leaped out of my son’s arms and ran to the corner of the yard, curling up on himself like a pillbug. My son was disappointed. He’d hoped they could be friends.

Since the dogs aren’t getting along, we have three walks to take in the morning, and three in the afternoon. Fred and George have priority. Then Terry, as fast as possible–Terry’s choice not ours. Finally, Cocoa. He’s small, so he doesn’t go too far, but he loves the grass. He throws himself about like a kid in a ball pit. He isn’t much interested in doing his business outside though–too many things to sniff.

Our walks have added a Where’s Waldo activity just to liven things up. The borega guy has an orange and white cat that looks like a sun-bleached Garfield. This cat has taken to my son like they are long lost buddies. It comes mewing along every time it sees us, completely oblivious to the dogs.

So each of our walks, we play Spot the Cat! Sure as anything, at some point along the walk, Garfield will appear. Sometimes it’s on a rock, waiting like the Cheshire Cat. Other times it is in the cornfield, just watching us pass. 

Fred and George are absolutely stunned at Garfield’s presence, every single time. They freeze and it takes some coaxing to get them started again. Terry, when he takes the time to notice, tries to attack. The new leash has proven its mettle. Cocoa can’t see Garfield over the clover and has no reaction whatsoever. 

We’ve recently realized that Garfield is actually a Mrs. Garfield, and a pregnant one at that. She now not only appears on our walks but follows us home meowing piteously for food. She’ll only accept food from my son for whatever reason. And since she’s eating for 23 (or so my son says) she comes morning, noon, and night for more vittles. 

I think she’s taken up residence in my sister-in-law’s house and that’s where the kittens will appear. Time will tell!

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The Great Food Heist

George on the left and Fred on the right.

The other day, it was raining, which is no surprise because we are in the rainy season after all. My son dashed out to feed the horses and left the back door open a crack. He was gone maybe five minutes and came back to find the door wide open and muddy paw prints all over the place. 

He hollered for the dogs. Fred came dashing out from the garage so fast he slid on the tile like a cartoon. George came tumbling down the stairs with the cat’s food dish in his mouth. The fact that it was George who went upstairs puzzled us because Fred is the sniffer. He’s able to smell food like nobody’s business. George, as the head dog, then appropriates Fred’s find. But in this case, it was George who immediately headed upstairs. 

After the dogs were outside and Fuzz’s food dish reclaimed, we followed the tracks to try and figure out the series of events that led to the Great Heist. It seemed Fred was sent as a lookout to the front door, while George went upstairs and found Fuzz stretched out on the bed. He must have taken a sniff or two of this recumbent feline, who paid him no mind. The muddy paw print on the blanket was left in evidence. 

Then George grabbed the food dish and hurried back downstairs when my son called. So how did George know there was food upstairs? Was it a crime of opportunity, or had deliberate planning gone into it? 

We’ve come to believe that George has been plotting this escapade for a few weeks now. You see, when Fuzz, his royal highness, isn’t happy with his food selection for the day, I drop the leftovers from the back porch to the dogs. I’ve seen George puzzling out how I come to be up on the porch and how to get there himself. With the opened door, George seized the opportunity and took it upon himself to get today’s leftovers (although Fuzz hadn’t properly finished with them yet). 

We’ll have to be more cognizant of open doors now. Once a successful heist has occurred, from now until infinity, the two scoundrels will be casing the joint, looking to take another run at it. Meanwhile, Fuzz will lay there and observe it all.

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Aesop’s Fable

While we don’t exactly have the Tortoise and the Hare in the backyard, we do have The Turtle and the Rabbit and I think that’s good enough to qualify as our own Aesop’s Fable.

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We were gifted with a new Wascally Wabbit a few weeks. She’s a cute little thing and totally at home in our backyard. We’ve named her Buster Rabbit. We’ll see how long she’s a free-range bunny though. I’m afraid the dogs might just scare her to death if they happen to find a way in the back.

She’s adapted quite nicely to life in our backyard and has plumped up considerably what with all the green grass the rainy season brings. She’s also been able to enjoy carrot tops, watermelon rinds, and other tasty tidbits that get tossed out the back door.

We also have Mr. Turtle who’s a cantankerous SOB. My son and I crack each other imagining the things he might say if he were able to speak. In our mind, his speech is full of groserías (swear words) complaining about nearly everything.

Mr. Turtle is obviously not happy to live with us. We picked him up some time ago off the main road. His shell was cracked probably from being run over. Due to the severity of his injuries, we thought we’d let him recover in the upstairs patio garden. He was fine with that for about a week then scaled the wall and dropped down to the ground and made his way to the backyard.

Since the backyard is green and lush, full of good things to eat and ample water, we let him be. Now that his shell has healed, he has decided it’s time to move on, continuing that journey across the road to wherever it was he was headed before his mishap.

So far he hasn’t reached the front gate in his escape efforts, but it is only a matter of time. He’s determined, that’s for sure.

Aesop’s fables typically had some sort of moral to them. I’m not sure what the moral is in our rabbit and turtle interactions might be. Mr. Turtle might be Keep on, keeping on. Maybe Buster Rabbit’s lesson is to eat it while the getting is good.

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