Saturday, July 19, 2008

Our Little Escape Artist

The other day, I climbed into the puppy playpen, as I do at least once a day, and I was playing with the puppies. They are of an age where they are awake for more than just feeding now and Snowdoll doesn't always want to stay in there to play with them. However, when two or three of them want to play and the others are trying to sleep, my getting in there helps to burn off some of the puppy energy while also allowing the already sleepy puppies to sleep undisturbed.

I was in there and, as usual, I counted the puppies. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

???

Recount. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

!!!

ONETWOTHREEFOURFIVESIX

I look around and sure enough I see a gap through which a diligent puppy could possibly escape. Immediately panic ensued. I started picking up puppies and plopping them up onto the bed. Maybe the missing puppy had not made a run for it but was tucked under one of the many towels I have spread out for the puppies.

No puppy under any of the towels. Snowdoll, in the meantime, having no clue what it is I am doing, jumps up onto the bed to protect her puppies from Romanov who is also in the bedroom wondering what it is I am doing and why. The puppies, in the meantime, are quite excited by their new environment, are not at all sure what to make of this new surface, and begin walking towards the edge of the bed!!!

One topples over, landing on a pillow that I had quickly tossed onto the floor. Plop goes another puppy and then a third tumbles down. This is not working. I grab the remaining three and without much ceremony dump them onto the pillow which is now free from the previous three puppies because they are now off and moving, exploring the great new world that is my bedroom.

Not knowing what else to do, I grab the puppy den-box and take that into the kitchen. I quickly relocate the six puppies to the den-box confident Snowdoll will follow. She does and begins nursing them. I can only hope that the excitement of being hauled from their domain into new worlds with edges off which they can easily tumble has tired them sufficiently and I won't find them scrambling their way across my kitchen floor. I am, however, confident that the slippery quality of the kitchen floor will keep them from getting too far.

But I can't worry about any of this now because I have a puppy to find. I close the door and listen, hoping to hear a howl or mewl or yelp or bark or something but nothing. Not a sound. Silence.

I begin tearing apart the playpen to search all the way around it, under the bookcase, all the while trying to calculate when did I last number the puppies and wondering if it is at all possible that this one puppy has been missing for longer than I care to know. What if the worst has happened and this poor lost puppy . . .

I can't think like that. Instead, I begin pulling things out from under the bed. Boots. More boots. Shoes. Books. Magazines. Books. More magazines. And I swear enough Romanov fur to make another puppy!

Still no puppy!!!

There are a few things standing up beside the bed, books and magazines I am in the process of reading. And as I am pulling these aside I am thinking to myself is it really necessary to have twenty books around the bed when I know that even I cannot possibly be reading twenty books at a time. I reach past where this last pile was and I feel the softest of puppy furs meet my fingertips.

Collapsing to shove myself as deeply under the bed as I can go, cursing the idiot who invented bed skirts and myself for buying bedding that came with one, I quickly feel that the puppy has effectively wedged itself between the bed frame leg and the wall. There is no way for me to get a firm grip upon the puppy without risking hurting her.

And there is a huff of puppy breath along my index finger that assures me she is alive. YES!

I very quickly get up and heave the mattress to a vertical position and shove it into the corner. I then do the same with the boxspring and, voila!, there she is, sleeping in her entrapment. I am able to carefully, without disturbing her, move the bedframe a couple of inches and reach down to pluck her up.

I snuggle her close, to my breast and then under my chin knowing that she is probably wondering why this crazy lady pulled her out of her nice dark corner and woke her up. I hustle her into the box and attach her to Snowdoll still not sure how long it has been since she's been fed and wanting to assure myself that she would not starve.

Over-react much? Me? Never!

Before I took the time to rebuild the puppy playpen, which included swapping out the towels for clean ones, I carried the frame into the kitchen and left it there. Our mattress and boxspring are on the floor and will stay there until the last puppy has found a new home.

In the meantime, here is our little escape artist.

This is E . . . who will heretofore be known as EA as in Escape Artist. She is one of the twins--E & F. Here they are side by side.


Of course as soon as I go to video them they stopped playing with one another! How typical. They no longer look so much like twins. The fact is, while F stayed dark black E has begun to show signs of becoming grey like her mother.

Snowdoll does not appreciate my taking videos of her puppies, apparently, as she lay down between me and the camera. Hrm . . . So I tried to get one of EA in the playpen. She was being very noisy, howling and wanting her siblings to play with her. She would pounce on first one then another but they would have none of it.

And of course, as soon as I get my phone ready to take a video she sits down and . . . nothing. It's a plot, I tell you. She and her twin are in cahoots, thwarting my attempts at taping puppy cuteness.

2 comments:

  1. What a story. I was worried with you while reading this. What adorable puppies they are.

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  2. I'm glad I was able to communicate the anxiety this experience caused me. Now every time I look in the playpen or the den-box I immeidately count. So far nobody else has escaped.

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