If anyone is considering giving pets for Christmas, I may have two on the market.
I know, Thursday is Thanksgiving and I should be grateful for their companionship. Coming home to a barking, friendly dog is a good thing when you live alone, and the heat the cat puts out on a cold night when she curls up against me in bed can be a wonderful thing. But sometimes ...
As my Constant Readers know, I have a large Sheltie, Maggie, and a gray cat, Tabby. They have become close companions and, unfortunately, are far more in tune with each other than is good for my mental health.
Maggie’s favorite treat in the world are rawhide chews that come in a long package. Every so often, I buy a package of her Dingos, and she gets one every day or two.
My practice is to open the side of the packaging and take one out as needed, leaving the package on the dining room table.
A week or so ago, I realized Maggie had come running into the living room with something and was chewing.
That is a bad sign. She chews everything from cat toys to earrings, and useless destruction often ensues.
She had a Dingo. Odd, I thought, since they were in the middle of the table.
I went back to TV watching. A few minutes later, Maggie disappeared into the dining room and returned with, yes, another Dingo.
I investigated. Turns out Tabby figured out how to hook a claw into the edge of the twisted treats and was dropping them to the dog.
That quickly ended. The treats went into a bowl in the center of the table that held the leftover Halloween treats, a few wrapped suckers. I reminded both cat and dog that Mommy is in charge of treats and enough was enough.
That should have been the end of things. Should, you’ll notice, not was.
The next day was Sunday, and we fell into our usual routine, my youngest granddaughter and I, of church in the morning and choir practice at night.
After our return from choir practice, I fixed supper for the two of us. We settled in front of the TV,
