...unfortunately, I think he's talking to me in cat poop.
There's a radar animals have...it hones in on "suckers." I have this on my forehead: S.U.C.K.E.R. Humans can't see it, but animals are right on the signal. Apparently, I have it on my car, too, because that's how Red Dog (so named because he is such a purebred that it never crossed my mind I wouldn't find his owner) picked me up in the parking lot at the liquor store. Luckiest I ever got in an establishment selling booze ;-) And there wasn't even a band....
There are four dogs here. Two I unwittingly took in, two had no where else to go. There are...six cats. I think. Two I brought home over a ten year period. Four were...born here to a stray mama cat and I got rid of what I could and...kept the others. I KNOW.
Red Dog is a full-blooded Golden Retriever, the ultimate Southern gentleman, and has allergies. I've tried everything but the best I can do is...he scratches at night. He doesn't hurt his skin and he isn't in pain so...scratch. It works.
Tupelo (so-named because he's a Hound Dog and if you don't get that, go away) chases cars. I've hit him twice...the first time he peed blood for a week and couldn't walk for three days without crying but...he chases cars. He is a savant...believe it or not, this is a really smart dog.
Copper had a full-blooded basset hound mother and an unknown scoundrel for a father. He is ALL attitude...does not move, blink or acknowledge. He's mean, if need be.
And then there's Spike. I found him by my parent's farm, in 100+ heat with no water within a quarter mile. Brought him home SURE he had an owner. The kids named him Buddy, the neighbors took one look at him and pronounced him Spike. All short spiky feisty black&white movie dog.
And the cats.
The Big Boy doesn't do animals. I don't know why; haven't asked. Doesn't really matter...the way this works we don't adopt animals, they adopt us. But even I will admit...four dogs, six cats.
That's a lot.
Apparently somewhere in the vicinity is some more slut dog. After three years of well-mannered habitating, Red Dog has decided to get up at 2 a.m. every morning and...leave. He doesn't get pushy, he just stands on my side of the bed and....looks at me. Until I wake up and let him out. No problem...I'll use it for a bathroom break. Except the other night he didn't come home until seven in the morning.
Did I mention the allergies? At first, listening to a dog scratch at night was annoying. Now, it's what's there. So when it WASN'T there? I laid there all damn night waiting on that dog to come home. 7:30? He showed up. He was happy; me, not so much. This sort of tried to turn into a trend....depends on whether or not I can ignore him before he gives up and goes back to sleep. But it's still been at the expense of several nights sleep.
The car chasing? When Spike joined the menagerie, he met Tupelo. Who chases cars. After being hit twice, he still chases them but he knows how to dodge the tires. Spike? Not so much. So when I heard the screaming and yelping from the road, I knew what had happened. Result: one puppy with a broken leg. One absolutely hysterical driver. The dog? I took to the vet and got the okay. The driver? Is still crying. TOTALLY ruined my morning since I had to hit the ground running to wash off the vet/dog smell, get a haircut and meet my best bud for lunch. Luckily, she took a table outside so maybe the smell of old dog urine didn't permeate lunch.
Today? The housekeeper came. She didn't feel well, and as we're working on the...piles...I hit "touch up" on the dryer. Turns out? One of the younger cats, litter box trained, had been in the house and since there's no litter box? Because you don't live in here anymore? He. Pooped. IN THE DRYER. On the clean clothes.
Know what happens when you turn on the dryer, heat up some cat shit and then let it harden? The solution involves disposable gloves, most of a bottle of Clorox, a fan and a LOT of profanity. More profanity than Clorox.
All of which MIGHT say...over the top. No one needs four dogs and a running count of cats. (Don't you love that? "Running count of cats." It's what it is.) But...except for Red Dog, and maybe Spike (who needs a boy), no one wants these dogs. More personality than appearance. LOTS of personality...the lady across the street even wrote a story about them...unfortunately, she's not feeding them.
Cat poop in the dryer. Y'all, this ain't lookin' good ;-(