It’s not a Puppy. It’s a Monkey

Remember the cute little puppy we rescued five weeks ago? It’s not a puppy. It’s a comedian dressed up like a puppy. A terrorist with cute eyes. She is a biting machine with a suicide wish. She bites into everything that comes her way, and I mean everything…but me.

She tried that once. Well, she didn’t try—she succeeded. I felt her sharp baby teeth, and without thinking, I put her little cute face between my hands and said, “NEVER – EVER AGAIN, or I bite your head off.”

No telling why, but this little puppy brain got the message. In her world now, it’s o.k. to bite everything and everybody but me.

Maybe she wants to live?

Luna is a monster puppy. She has the energy of five Energizer bunnies, runs… and runs… and runs, and when the ACU is empty, she drops and, within two seconds, is asleep. The deepest of all deep sleeps. The kind where you dream loudly. Her little paws move. She makes cute baby noises.

No. Let’s not go there.

She is just recharging for another round of running, biting, jumping.

She eats dirt. She tries to eat rocks and sticks, and everything else that fits in her mouth. She chases our dogs through the yard to her liking. She jumps on them, bites their tails, their feet—not even the ears are off-limits.

I feel sorry for our dogs.

But I stay in hiding. Better them than me.

We changed her name to No No. It seems easier that way. We seem to say it a hundred times a day. It was nice to call her Luna, but that became to time-consuming.

“No-No” is more efficient.

Our dogs are dog-tired. Vader looked at me the other day, like he was saying, “Why, Mom? What did we do?”

I had no answer.

Our living room looks like a daycare. Little stuffed animals everywhere. Wiggly ball, bells, and squeaky toys. She plays with all of them. I pick them up in the evening. Tired, I go from room to room collecting everything that belongs to this monster puppy.

I wish aliens would land in our yard and take No-No. Not forever, just until she is grown.

…

…

She tore her pee pad to shreds. Then she looked at me with those cute, brown eyes like she was telling me we don’t need them anymore.

She doesn’t need them anymore?

Ten and a half weeks old and housebroken? That can’t be right.

She wears a little bell on her collar. It was my brilliant idea. I call her “Jingles” sometimes, when I don’t call her “No-No.” At least we have an early warning signal. Right now it’s quiet; the terror puppy is sleeping. I need to get off the line. This is when I can get stuff done.

No-No is already looking over her playpen.

May the force be with us.

Another week, and she will somehow manage to climb over it.

I am tired.
I want to sleep through the night, please.
I am too old for this.
I was already too old for this the last time, four years ago, and eleven years ago.

Apparently, I learned nothing.