Well, that was fun. I was barely awake this morning, and if you know me, that means I'm communicating with a series of grunts, at best, and my eyes are still at half mast. Do not - NOT - bother me yet. But herecome these annoying little children that dare to call me mama.
"Mama, Mama, I hear Mazie barking but can't find her! I think she had her puppies!"
I grunt. GO AWAY. She won't go away. I tell her to go look for Mazie. That got rid of her for a little while, but she came back. Ugh.
"I can't find her anywhere, Mama! She had the puppies and what if someone eats them?" I can understand eating your young sometimes. She enlists the older kids to help her look. Nothing. No Mazie.
My day is off to a cuh-rappy start. I haven't even had a full Dr. Pepper and I'm facing the loss of my Buddy Puppy. The whole reason we got Mazie was to breed her to Buddy and get a puppy from him before we did a snip snip on his boy stuff. I hate to sound harsh, but there you have it. Mazie's going under the knife too, after I get my way with her. The puppies aren't due until Tuesday, so they shouldn't be born yet.
I lift my carcass off the couch and pull on my blue Fat Babies. Don't tell me you don't know what Fat Babies are, because I know you're just jealous that I have them and you don't. They're the coolest boots ever and I have them and you don't, so there. We've looked everywhere and decide the only place left is....
Under the trailer. And guess who gets to climb under the trailer to find her? Yes, me. Kids ain't good for nothing when it comes to fire ants and spiders, I tell you what. I grabbed a hat, Peter's favorite - sorry, dear, but better than my hair - and one of those headband lights, and through the dirt I crawled.
Let me say this: NASTY. Next time a dog wants to give birth under my house, she can rot for all I care. I wasn't doing this for her; this was for my Buddy Junior. On the upside, I found out that we have not one, but no less than three leaks under the house. I hope Peter plans on fixing it, because I'm not going back under there. No, I'm not. I had to belly crawl, as apparantly my butt is too big to fit under the cross beams on my hands and knees. Zero points for my ego. Did you know that black widows love to congregate under trailers? True story.
No Mazie, not anywhere. As I lay there ruminating, imagining multiple spiders and ants, and the odd snake, slither up my jammie leg, Pierson peeks through the hole in the skirting and says, "You can come out. I found Mazie. She's sleeping under my bed."
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