Our coffee date is starting early today since we have had a few incidents since four o’clock this morning. Let’s fill our mugs and I will tell you what happened. You might find it quite amusing.
It all started yesterday when my little son cut Henry’s nose with a scissors. Yes, I did say scissors. It sounds very macabre but it was a simple mistake. Munchkin (the perpetrator), decided that he wanted to remove the loose strings from his special blanket and the best way to do that was with a brand new pair of scissors. We have a rule in our house that covers sharp objects, but of course when the determined Munchkin decided it needed to be done, the rules were bent.
As he sliced through the soft strings with an over-sized pair of scissors, Henry (our puppy) decided to poke his nose closer to investigate what Munchkin was doing. In that split second the strings and a piece of nose were efficiently removed. Sad to say, hysterics ensued with a Shakespearean twist; my son threatened to stab himself because he believed that he had severely injured the dog, to the extent that he might die. My daughter saw the blood, panicked and started screaming and crying. The older daughter decided to take things in hand and gave them specific jobs to do to make Henry better (fetching kitchen towels to mop up the blood droplets flying everywhere, retrieving salt for a salt water wash for the wound and ice – for Henry, not herself).
I arrived on the scene to find them in hysterics and assumed the worst – the dog had turned on them and had bitten them. Either that or they had decided to go for a full on Sparta match and had hurt each other severely. In my defence, I couldn’t make out the squeals, cries and blubs. It sounded a bit like, “Henry blub me…loooook! I blub Henry! Waaah!” I quickly checked them for bites, wounds, black eyes, anything to warrant the torrent of panic. But, all I could see were two little children crying in my arms, pointing at arbitrary locations of the house.
It only dawned on me that something was wrong with the poor pup when my older daughter carried him to me, his little nose bleeding at the top and his little face in a state of shock. She yelled, “Henry’s been hurt. His nose has been cut off!”
That got my attention!
After examining the squiggling worm of a puppy, I established that he would live, albeit with a little piece of nose missing. The salt wash cleared any debris and we couldn’t apply anything because he kept licking the area. It looked painful, like a nick from a razor-blade. He wasn’t too fussed and wriggled away, trying to lick me and give me his paw. Whilst this intensive examination was going on, both children continued their symphony of tears and blubbing. As calmly as possible, I explained that he wouldn’t die from his wound, but would be in a lot of pain for a while until the wound closed. We went into detail about how the blood would clot and form a protective shield over the wound and that we should try to discourage his licking it off before it could dry. That shut them up. Science and a delivery of facts usually does. Pity my heart didn’t get the message. My blood pressure was sky high.
Roll on the rest of the evening. I was busy changing my bed covers when lo and behold, a mess of children and pets rumbled up the stairs. Henry transposed himself on top of my nice, clean duvet and proceeded to empty his bladder. My screams of horror did nothing to stop him. His little face quivered in fear and I resisted the urge to chase him down the stairs and out the back door so that the punishment of a few minutes outside might clear his memory on rules of ablution. My mistake. Later that night, whilst fast asleep in my cosy, freshly made bed (again!), little Henry must have been having a nightmare and released his bladder again. I awoke to the warm, wet feeling of something spreading on my side.
“Henry, wake up! You’re wetting the bed!”
Yes. I know. I was talking to a dog. A dog that seemed to understand what I was saying because he woke up and flew down the stairs with me in time to do his major business in the garden. Phew! Drenched on the side and half asleep, I went back upstairs to run a bath and change the bed. Of course, Hubble was awake and moving the wet bedding before it hit the mattress. A cacophony of cats were howling downstairs so I trudged back down, barely thinking as I opened the front door to let them out. I heard a trundle of steps coming down the stairs behind me and assumed the Hubble was bringing down the soiled bedding, but no, it was Henry. As quick as a flash he slipped out of the front door and ran to the open green at the front of our house.
“Henry, noooo!” I yelled, remembering only after that my neighbours were fast asleep. There I stood, watching this dog, this bane of my existence, relieving himself again and sniffing the air as though weighing the possibilities of freedom. Slowly, I tiptoed towards him in my pyjamas (still wet), barefoot and wild haired. The closer I crept, the more skittish he looked. I gave up. There was no way I would chase this little cretin in my dirty pj’s with no shoes on cold, wet grass. I went back inside to change into my leggings and jumper. By the time I returned downstairs, the Hubble had enticed him back inside with a slice of ham.
The Hubble giggled. He handed me a cup of tea and giggled again. I had forgotten about my hair. I did see the funny side later, after draining at least half my cup of tea. It was five o’clock in the morning; humour is in short supply at that time of day. By the time we had our baths and cleaned our bed, it was already time to get ready for work.
So, that’s why we are having an early coffee date today. I’m tired! I’m sorry I’ve hogged the time, but I just had to share this ridiculous moment of our lives.
Now, your turn, tell me about your weekend. :o)