Babies of the Animal Sort

And I’m beginning to wonder why…

Why am I wondering why?  It has given Lars, our eldest dog of 11 years, a complex.  Today, as it has been for the last few days, he has been chasing the diddles, trying to eat them.  Add that to Goldie, our pup, chewing everything in site.  Add to that, Lars fighting Goldie over both his food and her food.  We have a mess on our hands… and we’re adding another baby to the mix in a few days – of the kitten variety.

Goldie and her mess.

I’m exhausted today.  Above you see Goldie and her mess.  She tore up our waders (fortunately they already had holes), the girls’ sidewalk chalk, a toy bunny from the sandbox, and somehow she got the girls’ snow hat from inside and tore it up outside.  Oh, and tearing into the food bags.  Ugh…

But, you know… I expect that.  She’s a pup.  They do those things.  Lars destroyed our couch and my pewter statue collection when he was a pup.  Yes, he chewed up soft metal.  What I didn’t expect was Lars to be fine for the first couple of weeks with Goldie around, but now that we have 9 diddles, and they are getting older, he has decided that he is nuts and doesn’t care about the rules.  He has turned on Goldie during mealtimes, yelps coming from the front porch as he puts her in her place.  And, after the last few days, I’m beginning to wonder if our joy with the diddles (“peeps” as Deladis calls them) will last.

The diddles have a mother.  A good mother.  She free ranged and set 9 eggs through hatching, and has made it with all 9 babies through a week as of today.  They are adorable, and we enjoy them like proud grandparents, giving them back to their mother for the complicated part of rearing.  This afternoon, however, as I fell into the peace of yoga, I was interrupted by an upset Deladis.  “A peep is under the house and she is stuck!”

“What!” I jumped out of my crescent moon lunge and we were out the door in a second.  Then, I see Lars – dirt smeared across his face and I see the evidence of him as the culprit of this mess.  Deladis confirmed it, as she had watched it from her swing.  The diddle jumped under the house for protection as the hen and the rest of her brood scattered around the side of the cabin.  The baby was left under the house without the capability of figuring out how to get back out.

First, I go under the cabin.  It’s dark – really dark.  Then, I see where the sound of the peeping is coming from, and that the floor joists are so low that I will have to army crawl to get to the diddle.  Not to mention the diddle is a black one, and I can’t actually see it, just hear it.

I hunt a flashlight.  The only one I find is a toy one of the girls’.  Tinker Bell.  I go back under and realize that this flashlight won’t cut it.  I also realize what I have suspected for some time.  I am a little put off by tight squeezes.  I go back out and call John for a better light and encoragement.  He tells me there are no flashlights within a reasonable proximity to me.  The diddle’s cries are louder now, and I know I have to suck it up and save that baby.  I take the Tinker Bell flashlight and put Deladis on guard outside one of the vent holes in our cinderblock foundation.  I take deep breaths and crawl, only hitting my head once, to the diddle.  It jumps and runs to a nearby corner.  I catch it between the block and a piece of plastic, pick it gently up, and hand it to Deladis who is still waiting outside the vent hole.  She then returns the baby to its mother.  We are all pleased after the minor freak out.

Then, I just get plain mad.  Lars needs to get over himself!  He’s well feed, gets plenty of attention, and has all the room and comfort he needs.  He is being a party pooper and is disregarding the rules of this family.  I guess he thinks he’s old enough now to do what he wants.  Well, you know what happens to grown kids when they get old enough to do what they want… ok, just kidding.  I won’t make him get his own place.  So, I’m left with having to respect his age and realize we a peers now.  And, that leaves me where I started, being mad.