Day Eight

Death by Dog - or Cat

There was a time when I thought my human kids would kill me - from worry or from tripping over their stuff. These days I'm convinced the animals I live with are out to get me. Although why they would be stupid enough to do me in is a mystery. I am very good to them. The first thing my husband will do after he puts the Tupperware container holding my ashes up on the closet shelf, will be to try to rehome the cats, bunny and hamster. The dogs are safe - he loves them.

Be that as it may, I've had some close calls. First of all, one of these days, somebody is going to either trip me or knock me into the pool. And I can't swim. So, if I fall into the deep end, it's curtains for me. Next, Fancy weaves in and out of my legs so much we look like a dance team. I have come very close to breaking my own back in an effort to not break his. Then there's the matter of Bullmastiff drool. Rooney isn't too bad - but Jack! Oh my word! His drool is activated by the sight, smell, or mention of food. Long strings of it hang from his jowls while we're eating - anything. I could be eating the paper plate my food had been on and he would still think it must taste mighty good. When the drool lands on the floor it becomes a sticky, slimy blob. When ones foot meets a puddle of drool, bad things happen. You either find yourself down on the floor or skating across it with arms flailing. I know whenever my husband has had an encounter with drool, based on the volume and severity of the expletives he emits. 

And their assassin methods can get pretty creative. One day, while I was cleaning the bathroom and Eli was watching me from a shelf, he decided it might be great fun to lob the contents of the shelf at me. When I got hit in the head with a container of cleaning wipes, I saw stars! The only thing that goes on that shelf these days is toilet paper...

It isn't just them out to get me - I also worry I might inadvertently kill one of them! I worry about a lot of things. I'm better than I used to be, but that isn't saying much. One of my big worries is that my babies will ingest a toxic substance. And Florida is full of toxic stuff. When Rooney was a puppy she found toadstools in the back yard and ate one. I made her throw up with a concoction of peroxide and milk and I'm glad I did because toadstools are very toxic. I learned more about the stupid things than I ever wanted to. Our yard is a breeding ground for every type of fungus you can imagine - in every color of the rainbow. I feel like a truffle pig scouring the yard every day for freaking "mushrooms."

When it comes to plants I am equally paranoid, especially with the cats. I won't keep any live plants in the house. Well, they would die anyway, but that's beside the point. My one exception is the orchid my kids got me for Mother's Day. To be safe, I keep it on the tub in our bathroom. So one day, Fancy decided to sneak into the bedroom as I was going in. I was keeping an eye on him, but he's very fast. I lost track of him. Sure enough, he was in the tub, convinced I couldn't see him. When he realized I wasn't going to play the stalking game, he took off. It didn't look like he had nibbled the orchid, but I wanted to make sure.  Now, the tub is huge. It's one of those Roman tubs with jets that are only turned on these days to make massive mounds of bubbles for the kids when they visit. To get to the shelf where the plant is, you have to climb into the tub. As I went to swing my left leg into the tub, my foot bumped the handle, turning the water on. The tub is marble - slippery when wet marble. (As an aside - whose idea was it anyway to make tubs out of substances that turn into lethal objects when wet!!??) My left foot hit the water and hydroplaned across the tub. My right foot was still on the tile on the other side, leaving me straddling the tub. I saw fifty shades of gray as I tried not to pass out.  With my luck I would have hit my head and drowned in the stupid tub. Andy would never have figured out why I took a bath with my clothes on.  Fancy just sat there looking at me like I was too dumb to live anyway...

People like to think humans are the only ones with feelings, and I'd like to dispute that claim. I know, in their own way, the creatures that live in this house express a wide array of emotions, including a sense of humor. I can't be 100% certain, but I swear, the last time I fell on my butt after stepping in a puddle of drool, I could hear a giggle coming from the peanut gallery.