Wooly sheep.
May. 11th, 2005 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aquabeanI've been house-sitting for my parents since Sunday. I'll be here for two and half more weeks. It changes my routine rather a lot.
My day starts at 5:30 when the dogs* wake me up. I drag myself to the living room and dig out the dog biscuits, which are summarily divided amongst the three of them. Duncan takes his and goes straight for the couch and proceeds to contentedly ignore me. The little ones wait, bouncing around my feet, for me to head back to the bedroom so that they can eat. I’m no longer allowed to do anything alone lest I escape or some such. It’s not until I’m walking through the dinning room that I realize I’m in my underwear but no shirt. I can’t remember if the front blinds were open or not.
The snooze button on the alarm in my parent’s room goes off every 9 minutes starting at 6:00am and I manage to climb all the way out of bed, across the room and then back under the covers to turn it off at regular intervals for nearly an hour. The poodles think I’m insane.
Showering takes longer than it should but I needed to shave my legs and I’m just not awake enough to rush. Tlaloc and Stewart aren’t in the bathroom, though only because I snuck in there while they were distracted chasing the cat in the backyard. By the time I’m clean and toweling off they’re onto me and sit, scratching and whining, on the other side of the bathroom door. By the way they act when I finally step out, fogging up the hallway mirrors, you’d think I’d been gone for a year.
“I’m right here.” I say, trying not to trip on Stewart, who’s licking water drops off my foot.
Tlaloc’s look is indignant, just a little bit put out and seems to say, You could have turned the shower on then snuck out the window.
“Hmph. I’d do nothing of the kind - I’m only wearing a towel!”
The way that Tlaloc sniffs makes it very clear that he still wouldn’t put it past me.
Quaker Oats’ Sugar-cinnamon-something “Oh’s!” for breakfast. Too much milk in the bowl but I manage not to spill any of it and loose only one “Oh” over the side, but Stewart scoops it up, so nothing’s wasted. Eating and an email check happen at the same time, though I haven’t bothered to change out of my towel yet, and it’s making me feel like I should call in to work and just go back to bed.
Good office drone that I am though, I make my back to the bedroom instead trailed by furry little wardens. Through all of this Duncan has yet to move from his place on the couch and is now asleep in a patch of sun enjoying the kind of rest all good old dogs deserve.
The little ones on the other hand have made their way back on to the bed and Tlaloc is regarding me with a kind of haughty affection. He doesn’t look away when I drop my towel.
“I get no privacy around here.” I tell him as I close my bra. But he just continues to stare, his silence implying there’s nothing he sees worth getting excited about. I’m not sure if I’m insulted or not.
Stewart ignores us both and buries himself under a pillow and then wiggles back out to roll on his back demanding tummy rubs. I oblige once I’ve gotten my shirt over my head and finally Tlaloc walks over to me and tries to climb into my arms.
“Hey there baby,” and I scratch under his chin. He’s pleased and shows this by trying to lick inside my nose, which gets him dropped back on the bed. Stewart just looks smug and wiggles some more.
Leaving them is always hard. Duncan looks just as heartbroken as either of the brothers, but he’s over it the instant I hand him another biscuit. Miniature poodles are not so easily stymied and I am forced into more belly scratches and brief game of fetch before I actually make it out the door.
The last thing I see as I lock the front door is Tlaloc, standing at the front window, paws pressed to the glass. He’s standing with one back leg on Duncan’s back and the other on the sofa back; for all that he’s a stodgy old man in puppy’s body he looks quite forlorn. I’ll have to remember to give him a piece of cheese when I get home. He’s willing to forgive most of my transgressions – namely going where he can’t follow – for a piece of cheese.
True love needs only wet kisses and little bit of dairy to know that it’s real.
*I'll try and remember post some picture of the boys later. They're almost too cute not to be stuffed.
My day starts at 5:30 when the dogs* wake me up. I drag myself to the living room and dig out the dog biscuits, which are summarily divided amongst the three of them. Duncan takes his and goes straight for the couch and proceeds to contentedly ignore me. The little ones wait, bouncing around my feet, for me to head back to the bedroom so that they can eat. I’m no longer allowed to do anything alone lest I escape or some such. It’s not until I’m walking through the dinning room that I realize I’m in my underwear but no shirt. I can’t remember if the front blinds were open or not.
The snooze button on the alarm in my parent’s room goes off every 9 minutes starting at 6:00am and I manage to climb all the way out of bed, across the room and then back under the covers to turn it off at regular intervals for nearly an hour. The poodles think I’m insane.
Showering takes longer than it should but I needed to shave my legs and I’m just not awake enough to rush. Tlaloc and Stewart aren’t in the bathroom, though only because I snuck in there while they were distracted chasing the cat in the backyard. By the time I’m clean and toweling off they’re onto me and sit, scratching and whining, on the other side of the bathroom door. By the way they act when I finally step out, fogging up the hallway mirrors, you’d think I’d been gone for a year.
“I’m right here.” I say, trying not to trip on Stewart, who’s licking water drops off my foot.
Tlaloc’s look is indignant, just a little bit put out and seems to say, You could have turned the shower on then snuck out the window.
“Hmph. I’d do nothing of the kind - I’m only wearing a towel!”
The way that Tlaloc sniffs makes it very clear that he still wouldn’t put it past me.
Quaker Oats’ Sugar-cinnamon-something “Oh’s!” for breakfast. Too much milk in the bowl but I manage not to spill any of it and loose only one “Oh” over the side, but Stewart scoops it up, so nothing’s wasted. Eating and an email check happen at the same time, though I haven’t bothered to change out of my towel yet, and it’s making me feel like I should call in to work and just go back to bed.
Good office drone that I am though, I make my back to the bedroom instead trailed by furry little wardens. Through all of this Duncan has yet to move from his place on the couch and is now asleep in a patch of sun enjoying the kind of rest all good old dogs deserve.
The little ones on the other hand have made their way back on to the bed and Tlaloc is regarding me with a kind of haughty affection. He doesn’t look away when I drop my towel.
“I get no privacy around here.” I tell him as I close my bra. But he just continues to stare, his silence implying there’s nothing he sees worth getting excited about. I’m not sure if I’m insulted or not.
Stewart ignores us both and buries himself under a pillow and then wiggles back out to roll on his back demanding tummy rubs. I oblige once I’ve gotten my shirt over my head and finally Tlaloc walks over to me and tries to climb into my arms.
“Hey there baby,” and I scratch under his chin. He’s pleased and shows this by trying to lick inside my nose, which gets him dropped back on the bed. Stewart just looks smug and wiggles some more.
Leaving them is always hard. Duncan looks just as heartbroken as either of the brothers, but he’s over it the instant I hand him another biscuit. Miniature poodles are not so easily stymied and I am forced into more belly scratches and brief game of fetch before I actually make it out the door.
The last thing I see as I lock the front door is Tlaloc, standing at the front window, paws pressed to the glass. He’s standing with one back leg on Duncan’s back and the other on the sofa back; for all that he’s a stodgy old man in puppy’s body he looks quite forlorn. I’ll have to remember to give him a piece of cheese when I get home. He’s willing to forgive most of my transgressions – namely going where he can’t follow – for a piece of cheese.
True love needs only wet kisses and little bit of dairy to know that it’s real.
*I'll try and remember post some picture of the boys later. They're almost too cute not to be stuffed.
