Grunt, Snort, Purr…

When I stepped outside this morning to accompany Miss Piggy in the backyard for her morning peepee, the air was cool, not the slap -in-the-face mugginess of the past several days.  I didn’t even mind her waking me this morning.

Dearly Beloved had, as usual, wandered into the guest bedroom sometime during the night and closed the door.  He says it’s so he won’t hear the snoring, but I think Miss Piggy’s early morning potty requests are a factor.

I get to let the dog out in the morning.  Fair enough, because she will not go for mid-morning walks with me any longer.  She prefers to walk with her Lord and Master so that he can pick up her poop.  Proud of it,  I suppose, since DB always comes back grumbling, “You wouldn’t believe the size of that…!

Lately, it is no longer my nocturnal noises that disturb DB, but the dog’s.  My snoring seems to have abated–temporarily, at least–but Miss Piggy’s can sometimes vibrate the bird plates on the wall above her.   On a few plate-rattling occasions,  I have joined DB in the guest room behind that closed door.  It feels a little wicked, somehow, slipping into the arms of the man in the guest room.

The Little Psycho’s morning routines are fascinating, if you’re into watching dog behavior instead of enjoying coffee and the morning paper.  She is 14 and rarely runs except after her morning potty.   She bounds up the steps and spins out in her haste to round the turn into the sunroom on her way to her food bowl in the laundry room.  I can almost see the bubble over her head– Did the food fairy come?

I have changed her water and put dry food into her bowl.  She ignores it and sulks into the kitchen and watches me fix my coffee and toast, making her little piggy noises.  I give in and mix a tablespoon of canned dog food with some warm water to make a gravy and pour over the food.   She loves that stuff, but nevertheless leaves it uneaten, returning to sigh and grunt at my feet as I try to enjoy my toast.  I know exactly what she wants.

Finally I give in and go stuff her Don’t-pee-on-the-floor pill and her glucosamine into a Pill Pocket.  Never mind that they’re both chewables.  She won’t touch them unless they’re enfolded in a Pill Pocket.  It’s the highlight of her day, the cherry on her breakfast sundae.

Now can I enjoy my coffee and toast?

I look out the sunroom window and a damnsquirrel is hanging onto the tubular bird feeder, sucking the seeds out like it’s a baby bottle.   I yell at him and return to my coffee.  Before I can take a sip, the damnsquirrel returns.  Audacious little bastard was watching me!  I take a rock out of a potted plant and sling it, actually hitting the squirrel baffle (AS IF!) and the sumbitch ignores me.  I run outside in my nightgown which shrunk to mid-thigh when I washed it, hoping I don’t step in dog poop as I run barefooted across the grass, waving my arms and screaming.

The fifth time it happens, Miss Piggy actually leaves her napping spot and comes out on the screened porch to observe.  She makes her throaty grunts and I hold the door open in surprise.  She’s actually going to chase him?

“Go get him, Girl!”

She doesn’t move,  just looks at me and continues her noises.  I follow her inside.  She sits down by my chair and looks at my empty toast plate,  upset that I did not leave her a toast crust.

“Deal with it,” I tell her.  She returns to her napping spot, burping and scratching, no doubt, as she settles in to sleep it off.

I take my coffee back into the sunroom.  The damnsquirrel is sitting on the baffle, the bird feeder turned up to his greedy little mouth.  I rush, screaming,  down the hall to the closed guest room door.

“DB, I can’t take it any more!”

He is by my side in seconds.

“What?”

I drag him back with me and point outside where a damnsquirrel is already back on the pole. DB steps out onto the porch and yells.  The squirrel runs.

When he comes back, he says with a grin, “I didn’t know what you couldn’t take any more.  I thought you were leaving me.”

He knows better.  I’d be tougher to get rid of than a hungry squirrel.  I know a good thing when I see it.

He looks outside.

“THAT DAMN SQUIRREL!” yells he who never cusses as he runs out the door.  Miss Piggy wags her stubby little cocker spaniel tail as he passes her.  She knows his routine.  He’ll make coffee (Lazy Mary used instant) and then take her for a poop walk.

I smile and pick up the newspaper.  DB is now greasing the feeder pole.  I’ll warm my coffee with his freshly brewed, after he makes it.   Miss Piggy makes a happy little grunting noise.

Oh wait. . . I think that was me.

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7 thoughts on “Grunt, Snort, Purr…

  1. LOL! After spending a week at my son’s house picking up dog poop so my grandson could play on the grass in the backyard I am even a more affirmed cat lover.

    I have ended feeding the birds this summer as a neighbor in the middle of my block spotted a rat at her bird feeder and let out the red alert! UGH! I’d die is I saw one of those hanging off my feeder!

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