Hamish
While my laziness possibly comes off as arrogance to think that I can go out without make-up and look passable, my eldest daughter's age is such that for me to become a grandmother at this time is not entirely impossible. Hell, I am not that young anymore, but I digress.
The reason for this grandmotherly musings is due to the recent addition of Hamish, my daughter's brand new doggy, into our lives. Oh yes, Hamish is cute, and turning out to be this handful little riot. I am almost ready to forget the fact that I could have gotten Camillo (ala Camilla Parker-Bowles), the uglified Boston terrier birthed of my mom-in-law's Naia, instead of him, but my husband said only one new dog at a time. My daughter's choice of the half-spitz, half-schitzu runt prevailed.
Grandchildren, according to my mom and in-law, are easy to love, fun to spoil, and lovely to cuddle, and why not? The dirty job of teaching, disciplining and cleaning up after, is left to the parents, naturally.
While cleaning up after having stepped on one of the three clumps of runny poop and tiny leak puddles that Hamish left in a trail to the bathroom in the middle of the night one night, I was just thinking how my daughter had become this very unfit mother. Hamish is noisy, tiny, and unmannerful and just didn't know better than to relieve himself anywhere he pleases, the mongrel! The thing is, he seems to like parking his ass into my bedroom at night and deemed the corner of my side table his very own corner, and he isn't even mine! So what to do? To return him to where he came from seemed to be the most fitting agenda first thing the next morning, but no, he was just too cute and provides good company for our beloved Puffy. Family says he stays.
A frisky baby dog should not be let loose, at all cost, into the garden, specially if the garden happens to be perching ground for birds who get lured by my husband scattering bird seeds to feed them in the morning. Arianna, my youngest daughter, suspects that because of Hamish's outings in the garden, he might have ingested soil with bird droppings, the cause for one miserable night of poop-and-barf fest, due to parasitism which made his stomach breeding ground for worms. Eew. And so to the vet, the wretched went and stayed for 3 days. See, not even two weeks with us and he's being pesky already.
I do not know what maternal instinct is sparked into Fatima, my daughter, who is avidly wanting to have Hamish as a dog to care for. Whatever it is, it must be something fierce because after I warned of his banishment from our home if he insisted on sleeping and pooping in my room again, my daughter, like a protective lioness, scooped her cub Hamish, now being frisky again after the vet episode, and just kept him out of my sight.
I am glad that she decides to take responsibility now. House training may be a tedious process but it gets done. Of course I love Hamish for the way he has this dark brown ring around his right eye, and for nibbling on my toes and falling asleep on my feet after. Pretty soon he'd be running into the gate, along with Puffy, whenever they hear my car coming home. There is no cuter sight than your happy dogs wagging their tails and barking you a welcome. And so it is that we find ourselves a new family member and Hamish, finally, found himself a home.
Filed Under: Favorite Things
The reason for this grandmotherly musings is due to the recent addition of Hamish, my daughter's brand new doggy, into our lives. Oh yes, Hamish is cute, and turning out to be this handful little riot. I am almost ready to forget the fact that I could have gotten Camillo (ala Camilla Parker-Bowles), the uglified Boston terrier birthed of my mom-in-law's Naia, instead of him, but my husband said only one new dog at a time. My daughter's choice of the half-spitz, half-schitzu runt prevailed.
Grandchildren, according to my mom and in-law, are easy to love, fun to spoil, and lovely to cuddle, and why not? The dirty job of teaching, disciplining and cleaning up after, is left to the parents, naturally.
While cleaning up after having stepped on one of the three clumps of runny poop and tiny leak puddles that Hamish left in a trail to the bathroom in the middle of the night one night, I was just thinking how my daughter had become this very unfit mother. Hamish is noisy, tiny, and unmannerful and just didn't know better than to relieve himself anywhere he pleases, the mongrel! The thing is, he seems to like parking his ass into my bedroom at night and deemed the corner of my side table his very own corner, and he isn't even mine! So what to do? To return him to where he came from seemed to be the most fitting agenda first thing the next morning, but no, he was just too cute and provides good company for our beloved Puffy. Family says he stays.
A frisky baby dog should not be let loose, at all cost, into the garden, specially if the garden happens to be perching ground for birds who get lured by my husband scattering bird seeds to feed them in the morning. Arianna, my youngest daughter, suspects that because of Hamish's outings in the garden, he might have ingested soil with bird droppings, the cause for one miserable night of poop-and-barf fest, due to parasitism which made his stomach breeding ground for worms. Eew. And so to the vet, the wretched went and stayed for 3 days. See, not even two weeks with us and he's being pesky already.
I do not know what maternal instinct is sparked into Fatima, my daughter, who is avidly wanting to have Hamish as a dog to care for. Whatever it is, it must be something fierce because after I warned of his banishment from our home if he insisted on sleeping and pooping in my room again, my daughter, like a protective lioness, scooped her cub Hamish, now being frisky again after the vet episode, and just kept him out of my sight.
I am glad that she decides to take responsibility now. House training may be a tedious process but it gets done. Of course I love Hamish for the way he has this dark brown ring around his right eye, and for nibbling on my toes and falling asleep on my feet after. Pretty soon he'd be running into the gate, along with Puffy, whenever they hear my car coming home. There is no cuter sight than your happy dogs wagging their tails and barking you a welcome. And so it is that we find ourselves a new family member and Hamish, finally, found himself a home.
Filed Under: Favorite Things
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