Six Months of Wees

What now, Mum?  We're kind of busy, here...

The Pease Wees have been in residence at The F.A.R.M. for almost six months, and I’m often asked how I like having brother and sister micro-mutts for companions.  I was never a fan of small dogs, assuming they were yappy ankle-biters with excessive neuroses; but that’s been proven to be an unfair and discriminatory assessment.  The Wees have their quirks, for sure--but they are affectionate, cheerful and generally quiet dogs.  I’ve fallen head-over-heels for the little buggers.

Play with you, you say?  I think not....

Yep.  I love those foolish animals, practically to the point of idiocy.  I’m the Paris Hilton of Lexington…minus the youth, the sex appeal and the burgeoning bank account.   And I’m not alone.  My husband has come under the fuzzy bugs’ spell, as well.

Quite at home on the bed

I first realized the magnitude of his affection for the Wees a month or two ago.  Steven gets up at three a.m. before the rest of the household stirs.  He makes his coffee, packs his lunch, showers and dresses (not necessarily in that order)…and then heads to Stratton for his day’s work.  I usually sleep through the process, since I rarely go to bed before one a.m.  On this particular morning, I woke up to find that he’d returned upstairs to the bedroom and was sitting on the side of the bed patting the puppies and talking softly to them.  (Yes, they’ve graduated from proper ‘crate’ sleeping, to ‘snuggled up close on our bed’ sleeping.  See what I mean?  We’re Chihuahua chumps!)  Since Steven hadn’t been particularly enthralled with my birthday gift when my pal Saint first offered me the puppies, it warmed my heart to see him cuddling with them. 

Stevie holds Scruff securely while giving her a pre-chew bath.  Scruff gets an adrenalin rush by pestering the cat until he tackles (but never hurts) her.  Brother Saint  doesn't know whether to help her, or save his own neck.

For a minute or two, it did…

Giving Scruffy and Saint (the dog, not the pal) each a final stroke along their silky sides, my darling husband rose and walked toward the bedroom doorway.  The fact that he was leaving registered as he was half-way through.

“Excuuuse me???  You’re gonna love-up the dogs, but not me?”   The nerve of the man!

Saint, Scruff...and Curious

Steven stopped and turned toward me, his profile outlined in the doorway by the dim light coming from the hallway behind.

“Oh.  Sorry, honey.  I’ll come give you a kiss…”

I think that was the first time I’ve ever tried the classic “Talk to the hand!” gesture…but it was lost on the man in the gloom of a pre-dawn bedroom.   I pretended outrage, but I was secretly touched by his affection for the little devils who have wormed their way into our hearts.  Being cast aside for a bug-eyed little bitch (and her brother) isn’t nearly as painful as I thought it would be.

Saint considered eating a housefly

Today was the first day I’d been home without the Wees since they took a Delta flight up from Tennessee to Maine last December.  They had an appointment at the Carrabassett Veterinary Clinic, and I left them there this morning to receive their first rabies shots and to be spayed and neutered.  Back home and alone, I was surprised to realize that I missed the pitter-patter of their little feet.  Their temporary absence was necessary, though.  We have no intention of breeding wah-wahs, and we certainly didn’t want to risk a litter of “I’m My Own Grandpa” puppies.

Like a mother, I worried about them while they were gone and I couldn’t wait to have them home again.

What a schmuck…

To my relief, Scruffy and Saint came through their surgeries without a fuss.  At 4.5 and 5.3 pounds respectively, they are pictures of perfect (peanut-sized) health.

Saint and Scruffy--at home on my bed