The Mast-Head: Four-Legged Gladiators

The animal dynamics in the Rattray household got weird this week when our in-laws’ Chihuahua-mix dogs arrived for a several-day stay. Actually, the lives of our varied house pets are weird enough on any given day, but the addition of these two little darlings put things over the top.

Charlie and Delilah have it pretty good most of the time. Other than being taken out for a walk a couple of times a day, their feet rarely touch the ground. Instead, they loll around charmingly in my in-laws’ bed or make their way over to one of the sofas for a change of scene. When the pair first appeared on the scene about a year ago, they were destined for our house. I told my family in no uncertain terms that if they were taken in I was moving to the potting shed. Fine, they said.

For reasons dating, we believe, to a puppyhood traumatic experience, neither of the beige siblings like Luna, our black pug, at all. It’s war when the three are in the same room. But for the scale of the combatants, you could be forgiven for thinking you were at an ancient Roman fighting pit. For the safety of all concerned, Luna gets banished to an upstairs room when the Chihuahuas (or whatever they are) come to visit.

The ripple effects are there, however, and the canine tension level rises, even among those not directly involved. Yesterday, for example, Lulu, another small dog of dubious extraction in our menagerie, took after Leo the pig for reasons unknown, nipping his rear ham hock. Leo, who is profoundly peaceful by nature, was extremely put out and ran for safety under the kitchentable, but Lulu followed. After I was able to peel her away from her snarling attack, Lulu spent the rest of the breakfast hour in a time-out in her crate. Leo relaxed after a while and went out to snooze in the sun. And on it goes. 

Weasel, our black-tongued Lab mix, doesn’t like the dry food we picked up recently. Luna got into his leftover portion yesterday and overdid it; the mess this morning when our middle child got out of bed set off a new round of howls.

Ellis, who is 6, announced the other day that he wants us to get a finger monkey, whatever that is. If that is considered even for so much as a moment, I’m up and moving into the potting shed for good.