Mid Day 2 - in which the realization finally dawns as to the reason Pam agreed to take on puppies - SHE'S NOT HERE! And I rediscover that confining the puppies to a small space does not guarantee that any mess created will also be confined to that small space. Once again, I had to clean everybody up. Thank God for crates and tile floors. On top of all that, it's raining. No outside adventures today. I've rediscovered that silence does not mean sleeping - and that beagle puppies don't sleep anyway - they recharge their batteries.

Oh, and don't waste your money on puppy pads. They shred just as well, if not better than, newspaper. Do not walk among beagle puppies barefoot, either, unless you're used to the feeling of minnows chewing on your toes - although beagle puppies teeth are a lot sharper, so it stings more than it tickles. I'm sure that whatever else I forgot about what it's like to have puppies in the house will come back to me - hopefully BEFORE I need to remember it.

The four resident beagles seem to be taking the puppies in stride, and except for the occasional rolling of the eyes and "mommy what WERE you thinking" looks, they appear to have accepted the fact that their mother is totally, completely nuts.

Day Two, evening - in which I discover what the TRUE meaning of chaos is - the definition should be "litter of beagle puppies". I put water down for them, and Heathbar walks right through it, upsetting the dish in the process, blissfully unaware of the frustration he's producing in his temporary foster mom. Warren and Garrison are fighting over a tennis ball, and Lori and Sullivan are arguing over a rope toy. I retrieve the water bowl, refill it, and set it down. I also set down three plates of food. The locusts descend. I'm looking at sheer pandemonium which lasts all of thirty seconds while the water and food are consumed. I wonder if the puppies even chew. I herd them into their crate so I can clean up the mess created by the water boy. I realize that I am out of newspaper. I make a mad dash to 7-11 for newspapers. I remember (too late) that the puppies were still in the crate when I dashed out of the house. I come home to a mess. There is no such thing as a "puppy sized" pile of goo. As I see it, the only creature capable of producing more goo than a puppy is a human baby. The crate has to be cleaned out, again. Each puppy has to be cleaned up. Newspaper has to be put out on the floor. And I am all alone. I get everyone cleaned up, get the newspapers down, and put them back in their places, and I'm about to collapse, when I realize that it's really, really late, and I haven't fed the permanent residents, who have shown an amazing amount of patience, for beagles at least. So, I get their food ready, and Daisy decides that she's not going to take her medicine, no way, no how - she spits it out of her food bowl, not once, but twice. So, we have a bit of a battle of wills. After 10 minutes, I FINALLY get her to swallow the medicine. And then, I have to rinse her mouth. Even the puppies have stopped playing and are now sitting in a row at the gate intensely watching me struggle with Daisy. Buster takes his pain medicine pretty well, and Buddy and Potsy, the veterans of the last time I had puppies in the house, have taken themselves to bed, bored by the events of the evening. I am thankful that they saw fit not to add to them. Finally, I get in bed. But the beagles got there before me, so I have no covers. Oh, well.