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Sigh.
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Published Thursday, September 19, 2013 @ 6:02 AM EDT
Sep 19 2013

I was in the middle of trying to figure out why a recursive function wasn't recursing, when my wife called me upstairs.

She was in the living room, holding a ball of matted fur. With eyes. And a tail, wagging. Furiously.

One of her son's clients was going into a personal care home. The woman had suffered a stroke a week after adopting the Shih Tzu puppy Cindy cradled in her arms. An older Shih Tzu the infirm woman owned had found a new home, but this four-month old had not been so fortunate.

"They haven't been able to find anyone to take her," my wife said.

"And if this sweet, innocent puppy that looks like something you fished out of the sink trap in the bathroom goes to the pound, it will be on your head, you heartless bastard."

To be fair, she didn't actually say that. That was the part of my brain that had just clubbed insensate the other part- the one saying "Swell. You now have three Shetland Sheepdogs, two cats, and a mutant Ewok."

I named her Pixie, after the mythical creatures who are, according to Wikipedia, "generally benign, mischievous, short of stature and attractively childlike." Insert your David Spade joke here.

We got her in to the nearest vet office, and the report was better than expected; 7 pounds, 7 ounces; good health aside from an umbilical hernia that will be corrected when she's spayed; a few fleas; some sores from her scratching off bows some idiot groomer had glued to her head; and incredibly matted hair. Until her grooming appointment, I've been using my beard trimmer- it's battery powered, and makes less puppy-scaring noise- to remove the worst areas.

I'm just afraid that once we get all the hair removed, we'll discover she's really a guinea pig.

The three Shelties think she's a puppy. We believe this because Lucy, the 15-year-old queen of the household, just sat there when Pixie got in her face and started aggressively smelling the older dog.

The cats... well, they don't know what the hell she is. Pixie's three pounds lighter and several inches smaller than Pumpkin, the "evil" cat who does not like changes in the environment. The feline watched intently as I trimmed the puppy yesterday morning. I got the impression Pumpkin thought I was engaged in the moral equivalent of chicken plucking.

So, the cat and the puppy will remain under enhanced surveillance. Especially between mealtimes.


Pixie surveys the area.


Riley watches as Pixie explores the back yard.


Riley demonstrates the mien and posture of a true herding dog.
Pixie, not so much.


Categories: Dogs, KGB Family


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