Pet Peeves At The
Quack Of Dawn
When my husband Bob
read this column, he said, “Nobody will believe you.” Well, it’s all
true. We have 2 ducks, 4
cats, 1 dog and some fish. Our ducks hate us. They always have. When
Bob tends to them, they bite him. If he’s wearing his yellow hooded
rain slicker, they think he’s a gigantic duck and maniacally flee
away squawking, eventually slamming themselves into their
fence. Bob’s typical morning:
At sunrise, our cat Murphy licks Bob’s eyelids to wake him to get
fed. Our cat Eddie pulls the covers down with his claws. Then he
goes for skin. Bob pretends to sleep so he doesn’t reinforce these
behaviors (that have been occurring for 9 years). Eddie then bugs
the 50 pound terrified dog, who panics. She jumps on our bed, plunks
herself on Bob’s stomach and whimpers. While the decaf’s
perking, Bob feeds the dog, who cries while eating because of 4
swarming cats. He feeds Eddie in the bathroom and Josie (cat) in the
office. She needs Maalox on her food because she has gas. He feeds
Murphy and Persy on opposite kitchen counters. They insist the
other’s getting better grub, and jump continuously between counters
to get the “best” food. Bob is constantly picking them up and
putting them back. But the cat that’s not in his arms takes this
opportunity to re-do a counter jump. Now the oriole, whose
orange is empty, taps his beak on the window. Truly!
When Bob’s decaf is
ready, he puts it in a thermos and makes me real coffee, because he
knows that without caffeine, I’ll kill
him. Where am I? Getting
dressed. I’m disabled and can barely move in the morning. My
disability has good points. When I’m dressed, the chores are done. I
secretly question what else I can get out of it.
Our cats eat twice
daily. They each need different foods. Eddie has irritable bowel
syndrome. He gets a prescription protein diet. The protein? Duck.
Some mornings, I’ve got a real good alternative for purchasing
Eddie’s duck food.
Our cats don't scarf
down their food like, say, I do. They alternate eating with playing.
During this hour, Bob cleans 4 litter boxes. (Cats are freaky about
bathrooms. They’ll only “go” in their own. I’m the same
way.)
He feeds the fish,
picks out the dead ones, then heads to the ducks. But remember they
despise him. So they smash their bodies together while frantically
exiting their coop, as Bob gets their food
bowl.
When he comes in, we
hug. But I’m lame so I fall down. He helps me (I’m dead weight) by
holding onto my pants and slowly hoists me up like a two ton
elephant. By then we’re laughing so hard that he plops me on the
couch so I don’t keep falling back down from laughter.
How lucky I am to have
a wonderful man who adores taking care of us. He’s right that nobody
will believe all this. But he means his tasks. What I think is
unbelievable is that Bob has enough love in his heart to pick me up
when I’m down (in many ways) and make sure everyone’s happy - even
if they claw him, bite him, have gas (Josie, not me . . . well) or simply hate his
guts.
