She's eating my hair, I'm eating my words.
I've said it many times, but the most recent was last Wednesday.
"I'll never own a dog," I said to my sister as she was driving me home from class Wednesday night.
By Saturday - a mere 3 DAYS LATER - this was the scene in my house:
Without getting into all the details, let's just say it was a Q initiative and leave it at that. One I valiantly opposed. But how can you not lovedisshweetfaaaace
Everyone was worried about the cats - Mickey in particular. Mickey would eat her for dinner with a side of chianti. They had good arguments.
How many animal carcasses have been unceremoniously dropped on my doorstep? Some the size of little Buffy!
And remember that time that I saved a golden retriever from a Mickey attack? He never saw it coming!
It was even suggested that possibly Mickey would just leave home. Like the Littlest Hobo, her work here was done.
"...maybe tomorrow I'll wanna settle down, until tomorrow I'll just keep movin on...." dodododo dodododo daaaaaaaaa
But in fact, Mickey has taken no interest in Buffy..although the only time I've heard Buffy's tiny bark was when she came face to face with Mickey. She doesn't bark at anyone else, but it's like she instinctively knew that Mickey was The Threat. The Alpha of our house.
Fang on the other hand gets right in her face, hisses, and bops her on the nose.
The first day we had Buffy, I overheard Charlie rocking Fang like a baby cooing, "It'll be ok, Fang. I've gone through this three times already." Poor little oldest child. She's so hard done by as will be evidenced by my next post about her red carpet birthday party..geesh.