Autumn Mist asked about the resident creatures' reactions to Chopper's presence here in their domain: "Don't your own dogs get jealous? And has he met your cat?"
The poodles weren't jealous of Chopper: they still had Mom waiting on them paw and muzzle. Husband has done a fine job over the years of being oblivious to their needs for "out," and "food," and all the rest, and so is peripheral to their world. Mom, on the other hand, practically anticipates their every breath. Since Chopper was Husband's Project, we had a nice division of attention working for us all.
Angus doesn't get jealous of anybody. He's a big mellow dawg in a miniature poodle body. He likes other dogs and turns into a wiggleworm of happiness when anypuppy visits.
Max lives in a world of his own. His interest in other animals is limited to two activities:
2. chasing the cat to the stairway newel goalpost, and
1. harassing his brother.
Max looks like a Boyd's Bear and behaves like a werewolf. But only to his brother. Other dogs simply do not exist in Max's world.
The very first time Chopper entered the house, both dogs lit up with excitement. Angus wanted to know all about this big new friend. Max wanted to stop his brother from moving around and making happy sounds. It was a little bit of a circus for about ten minutes. Chopper probably felt as if he'd entered an asylum for the canine insane.
As for MiMau: All during the first weekend-long visit she stayed on the second floor of the house. Chopper wasn't allowed up there. MiMau recorded every sound of every move Chopper made. Come the next visit, she was ready.
Chopper arrived on Friday night with Husband. Late in the evening MiMau crept down the stairs, slid along the kitchen wall to the end, curved her neck around the corner and got a look at The Creature. She silently retired upstairs and stayed there all of Saturday, working out her strategy.The girl has trained six dogs in her tenure here, four of whom were permanent residents, one of whom was a semi-permanent resident, and one of whom was a weekend visitor. She is an old hand at evaluating the prospect and determining the appropriate approach. In the middle of Saturday night, or rather, early on Sunday morning, Husband got up for a brief trip to the small room. Big goofy Chopper got up to follow along. Husband went back to bed. Chopper did not return to the bedroom. He was trapped in the hall, unable to pass through the bedroom doorway: MiMau had placed herself in his path. She sat absolutely still and projected her I Am The Cat vibe. Such is her power that Husband was required to get up again and protectively escort the sixty-pound pit/lab mix past the nine-pound bundle of Cattitude.
On Sunday, MiMau came and went at will, sashaying around the rooms, daring Chopper to cast a glance at her. He did not.
It occurs to me that in many ways MiMau is the true head of this household. She is the least neurotic, the most confident, of all of us.
I live in my dream place with Husband, one beloved rescued cat and one beloved rescued dog, and the warm memories of many other treasured pets.
I rarely sleep for more than four hours at a time and would happily nap/wake/nap/wake all day and night. I am undisciplined, a classic underachiever.
I believe that inevitable tragedy is a fork in the road, offering lessons in emotional and spiritual growth.
One of my coping skills is a quick and wicked wit and I often crack me up.
I avoid people who talk neverendingly about nothing. I cannot bear unrelieved humorless negativity.
I like people who are comfortable with silence.
I like listening to people who learn from Life.
I have received a few Blogger Awards, and while I find them momentarily gratifying, they're just too much like chain emails and I gratefully decline to receive any more of them.