Our Friday errands to BJ's Wholesale Club usually end with us bringing a box home for Etta. Her "perfect" box is thin cardboard, tall walls with a front opening.
They last a few weeks before going into the recycle bin for the Tuesday trash day.
The past several weeks, the pickings have been slim (we know her preference). The look of dejection on her face when we would come home empty handed was bordering on heartbreaking (she'll take it out on a Walmart bag).
Saturday, we took a ride to Ikea and I found this:
I could not resist. Brought it home, put it together, and she promptly high-tailed it out of the living room in terror... Until she realized that Goldie was too big to fit in the entrance.
All is right in the world again.
Missing Lilo; she was the property "supervisor" - good company. Always watching what we were up to, inspecting projects in progress (loved when contractors would be in working on the house). Always right there. Goldie is... trying. When he first moved in, he stayed glued to the indoors. Now he does his dawn patrol, and if I am doing something outside (weeding, gardening, etc.), he will follow me around.
Then he comes back in and sprawls. He it learning to NOT get under my feet when I am working in the kitchen, understanding what the word "MOVE!" means. The two of them are getting along, though I have to feed them separately - she's picky, he's a front-end loader. He'll buzz through his plate in about a minute then come looking for more. I give Etta 10 minutes to pick through her plate before letting him have at it.
Wednesday, the two of them are going to meet with a new vet who is located considerably closer to our home (12 minutes away as opposed to 45), and they offer vacation kenneling services (future consideration).
Onward!
R
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2 comments:
You have them well-trained. Or is it the other way around?
We feed them, they kill mice. It's a win-win.
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