Day Eight, Monday AM

Potsy, the playful puppy sitter woke me up. Well, it's more like he stuck his cold, slimy, wet nose against my cheek, which startled me awake. Just what I need to get me going in the morning. Dogsnot. I have to say, I prefer coffee. The girls are awake and arguing about something. At least I had the foresight to tie the curtains up out of their reach. Buster and Buddy are curled up on the bed, oblivious to the sounds coming from the kitchen. I go out to the kitchen, and there's Dixie on top of the crate, barking and swatting at Georgia and Tara. She got up there, but she can't get down! I step over the gate, barefoot, and right into a pile of goo. Yay. First, dogsnot, now goo. The good news is, it's only one foot, the Clorox wipes are actually handy for once, and now that I am really completely fully awake, I can watch my step. The bad news is, it's a typical Monday.

The girls are HUNGRY. They are bouncing against the barricade, and Dixie is even trying to get over it as I clean my foot. I put my shoes on, step carefully over the barricade and get their food ready. I've got this down to a science. I set down two bowls, pick Tara up and get the third bowl, set Tara and the bowl down, and then get between Tara and the other two while they eat. In something less than 15 seconds, the food is gone. They've become little Hoovers. When they finish eating and I put them outside, using the handy puppy containment system from the first session of Beagle Camp. And they get outside just in time for the resident four to come down the hallway looking for THEIR breakfast, trailed by Pam, looking for coffee. (She has to make it this morning.)

Daisy makes the mistake of going outside with the puppies. They follow her EVERYWHERE. She uses her most ferocious, fearsome bark, (which, when she was younger, must have been quite a fierce and alarming sound, but now that she's older, it's lost a lot of its punch) and still the puppies are drawn to her like iron shavings to a magnet. She tries so hard to get away from them I finally go outside with a leash to guide her back into the house, because she's running (OK, waddling) blindly to get away from the girls. So, Daisy will be staying inside today. She has learned not to go outside when the pups are out there. Instead, I'll take her for a walk tonight.

And then the boys hear some kind of noise and head for the back door, barking their heads off, forgetting about the tile floor, they all lose traction and skid into each other, but they don't miss a beat. Still barking and sliding, they regain footing and out they go. And I'm off to work.

Day Eight, Monday PM

I get home late tonight. But, Pam fed ALL the dogs. The girls are outside, wrestling. I get changed into my Beagle Camp Clean-up outfit, and roll up the newspaper and the drop cloth, which again has a big hole in it from the girls trying to dig through the floor. I remembered to buy the industrial sized trash bags - those tall kitchen bags just aren't big enough. And, I also remembered to get more newspaper. I tape the dropcloth down and put the newspaper over it, and then go outside to see what the pups are up to. They are sleeping in a pile on the futon out back. They have the whole full sized futon, and they're curled in one corner in a pile. This is OK - the male residents are sacked out on the couches. I need to take Daisy for a walk. Snap on her leash, and we're ready. Normally, this would raise all sorts of alarms in Buster, and set him off barking his most forlorn, broken hearted "how could you DO this to me, Mommy" bark - but I've got a bag of trash in one hand and Daisy in the other. I must have fooled him, because he doesn't bark. We don't go far on our walks - Daisy likes to meander around trees, mailboxes, bushes, flowers - she marks EVERYTHING, even raising her leg a few times. We walk to the end of the circle and back. We get inside, and Daisy stands in the middle of the dining room, barking. She needs to go out in her own back yard. So, I need to bring the pups in. I go outside, and I pick Tara up and bring her in the house. I put her down in the kitchen, and she goes right to the crate and collapses with a sigh. I get Dixie, bring her in, and she goes to the crate, curls up next to Tara, throws a leg over Tara, and settles down with a sigh. I bring Georgia in, and she goes to the back of the crate, stepping on her sleeping sisters, who don't ever bat an eye. She sighs, yawns and then settles in. I cover the crate with a towel, and turn off the kitchen light.

It's Potsy who has made them so tired. He's become Uncle jungle gym. The girls play a mean game of "Pile on the Uncle Potsy", but they all seem to have a good time. Even the growls from Potsy are good natured. I wonder what alien presence has taken over this dog's body. But the less I wonder and accept that he's good with the puppies, the better. A little TV, then off to bed. Buster must be a little upset because he usually whines at the side of the bed for me to sit up so he can jump up and steal my pillow - tonight, he just jumps. I suppose I'll have a bruise in the morning. Lights OUT!