Sunday, 22 September 2013

Sophie: The Flying Sqvirrel



I don't know how she did it, but Sophie the Pug got up on the table, traversed the countertop and dropped the recyle bin onto the floor this morning.
We've taken all the chairs away and anything she can use as a platform but she still manages to get on the counters.
She steals things. We find cutlery under the couch and Gordie's thyroid pills in her bed.
I hope she isn't thinking of becoming an endocrine addict.

Sophie and Finnigan are starting to remind me of Rocky and Bullwinkle.
Sophie is the hyperactive flying squirrel with the high pitched bark.
Finnigan is the dumb accessory-after-the-fact.
I guess that means Gordon J. Blackstone is Boris



And I'm Natasha.

I can't imagine what Finn and Sophie would do if we left them together alone.
The food fight in Animal House comes to mind.
For that reason, leaving the house involves sequestering Finnigan who is now so big he can put his chin on the counter.
He can't be trusted to be left alone with Gordie. Even when I'm in the house, and in the bathroom, Finnigan tosses Gordie around like a Frisbee and Gordie, in turn, shits himself.
We can't even trust Finnigan to come with us in the car. He's already destroyed the netting between the front seat and the back and he chewed up his lead in three tasty bites. And that was when we're in the car.
I'm not about to cage the three of them. I'm just waiting for them to mature.
That stage will probably kick in about the time I become deceased.  

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