Here Puppy..

These puppies are driving me mental. Honestly, at some point this week, I began to sympathise with the people who ate dog, and wonder what it might taste like in a spaghetti sauce.

A little background on these mongrel barbarians. Bryan, looking for a dog to replace his inimitable Ace, stumbled (god knows how) across Jeevashram, a little pound outside of Delhi that houses just about everything. Hairless rabbits, blind donkeys, you name it, they've got it. In spades. Including dogs. So, being the righteous and upstanding citizen that he is, Bryan chose to take not one, but two, of the little Orphan Annies. Well, actually, a little orphan Tess and a little orphan Jack if you want to get into specifics.

Said dogs can only be described as.. "Delhi Dogs". Dubious origins (bastards no doubt), of mixed breed (there's probably like, 1/1000 french poodle in there) and certainly not of genteel nor subdued manner. In fact, Jack has adopted an adorable trait wherein when you tell him to sit, he leaps straight into the air. Oh! And Tess has her own trick too! When you yell at her, she flops over onto her back, and pees straight into the air, soaking herself and usually you in the process. The rub lies in the fact that the madder you get, the more she pees. Then you have to act like a regular Escariot and charm her with soothing tones out the door, until you give her a final what-for in the behind.

The gardener, bless his heart, almost weeps everytime he comes here to find his marigolds ripped quite heartily out of their pots and deposited neatly on the welcome mat. Or all of the dirt out of the planters, as Jack and Tess can't decide whether they buried something in there in another life; or if dirt just tastes good. It must, because they are constantly eating all of the potting soil out of the houseplants. The gardener is lucky there ARE any pots left, as I've noticed when they tire of fighting over who is going to bring me the masticated marigolds, they roll the pots around until they smash.

And they smell. God bless their little hearts, but they are just hummy. You can't wash the smell of Delhi dog off of them! My own little dogs sniffs me with some disdain when I come home now, and gives me a look equivalent to "You've been slumming it again haven't you?". I thought about giving them a bath, but honestly could only think of putting them in a garbage bag and filling it with water and let nature take it's course. It would drown the fleas too you know. Or maybe just tossing them in the washing machine. Best I can figure, I'm just going to wait until a warm day and take my revenge (for me and the gardener) with a hose full of cold water. Teach those little bastards to wake me up to pee at seven am! Like you can't hold it.

Because they do! They do hold it! They are Delhi Dogs.. they don't know anything else but to pee where they live! They go to Doggie Play Day on Sunday, and don't pee for hours, they have to do it at home! In the living room! Because god knows, that finely groomed American Embassy grass just isn't good enough - it has to be a nice beige burber, or how about some cherry hardwood? Much better.

I've got two more days to go here. Not that I'm not thouroughly enjoying the peace and quiet in the evening, or sleeping in such a big bed, or having the television all to myself.. (which, as I get older, is more important to be able to control to turn it off, not on.) There are just two snouts, eight legs, four ears adding up to two incredible pissing machines that I could do without. Until the power goes out. Then.. maybe it's not so bad. All I have to do is tell Jack to sit and yell at Tess, and we've got a full on eight legged assault. ;-) Have so much more to tell about my day, but must get to bed. The puppies will be up early, ergo so will I. Ah. Bliss.