A Tail of Two Puppers

Apparently I married into a family of cannibals...

There is a strange theme running through my husband's side of the family.

My side of the family, we have other problems in the convention of naming our creatures. And of course I have to adhere to the strictures of T.S. Eliot, which he describes in his poem The Naming of Cats:

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,

It isn't just one of your holiday games;

You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter

When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

Yes, that would be me. I will acquire a critter, and while my husband comes up with a use-name rather quickly, I will spend months thinking about the Perfect Name for this creature. Names of this kind, I could give you a quorum - Pounceival (cat), Bloop (goldfish), Shimmer (another more different goldfish), Ssthena (gecko), Crinkle (my first monarch butterfly, who had to stay and overwinter with us because one wing was bent), Bumperfloof (rabbit), Squeaker (Guinea pig).

And, as soon as I come up with this Glorious Perfect Name, I will never use it again. Each pet is given a generic nickname: Kitten, Fishie, Fishy-fish, Izzard, Flutter, Foo Foo, Fuzz Fuzz. Heavy on F and S sibilants.

I'm hopeless. "ineffable effable / Effanineffable / Deep and inscrutable singular name"...it ain't. Eliot would have thrashed me.

My husband's family, on the other hand, went the Baked Goods Nomenclature route.

The first was the little Bichon Frise, Biscuit. My stepson named him, as soon as he came in the door. He never really explained, except that he looked like a biscuit. My stepson may be a foodie of epic proportions, and is constantly thinking about his next meal. And he is amazing at finding the best regional foods to eat whenever we're on a vacation, so I mean that as a high compliment.

I only knew Biscuit as a blind old man, and a grumpy one to boot. He had selective hearing - only was deaf when he didn't want to hear you - though there was nothing wrong with that nose or bark of his! He would find food you only thought you'd cleaned up from the couch. If one of the kids came in with a bag from work and casually flopped it on the floor before putting it away properly, the Mini Hoover would snarf up that egg and sausage biscuit you were saving for later. If you caught him, he'd casually totter away like he didn't hear you and certainly didn't see a thing. Then the dementia would kick in, and he'd follow the scent back looking for the food he could smell, but was just a memory (and a bulge in his stomach...). He also determined when the household went to bed, by standing at the foot of the recliner and howling out his little lungs like a furry alarm clock. And tried to slip his chain whenever possible, to wander the neighborhood.

Sneaky little puppers.

The next in line was Muffin. She was a stray, technically - she decided to rescue herself from the farm she no longer wanted to live on, and wandered till she found some friendly dogs and an open doggie door. The manager at my stepdaughter's job found her snuggled up with the rest of her pups, pigging out on dinner in the kitchen. Five dogs was too many for one household, so I guess we got a grand-dog.

Muffer-Duff is too bleeping clever for her own good. She was quite skittish at the beginning, and any movement of a foot near her brought on a yip and flinch. Treats and long walkies and lots of pettins and lovins have made her a less anxious puppers, who loves but is baffled by our granddaughter. When Kidlet (see, I'm doing it again) was brought home from the hospital, Muffin's maternal instincts kicked in to overtime. No One was allowed to take the baby outside, even her mother! (Taking Kidlet next door to introduce her to my aunt and uncle woke the parents with her howls, and Nothing would stop Muff-Muff but to be leashed immediately and drag exhausted Dad outside to track my scent right to the door to bring Kidlet back where she belonged!) Puppers would nudge the baby, urging her to try crawling, even maybe walking....and was confused and disappointed when we told her that humans don't work that way. We also warned Muff that once the kid could walk, there'd be no stopping her, but did Puppers listen? She regrets that lack of attention to detail today, as she is chased by a very active on-the-go turbo-toddler.

We distract Muffers with treats, otherwise, she'd take out every chicken for miles around. She's amazingly excellent at chicken dispatching; unfortunately, we have to quell those superb skills here in the heart of farmland. And she adores people food, which we must keep to a minimum. And don't get me started on her penchant for chicken patties...of course....

She likes muffins as well. Case in point, see pic.

So, are these pictures technically Halloween costumes? Of course not. Biscuit was too frail and tiny to be dressed, and with the blindness and dementia, would not have understood even if we tried. So I did the next best thing - put him aside of his namesake while he slept in the classic biscuit position, emulating said namesake, after eating said namesake.

That gave me the idea for the second pic, of my grand-dog eyeing her prize for being so photogenic. She did get a decent chunk as a reward, but we keep her treats to a manageable level. At least that's what I say when the kids are around, since technically it's their dog.

Happy Sneaky Halloween to All Good Puppers!