Quinn really is a good sport.

Well, my little puppies have already flown the coop. Seems like just yesterday I was giving them their bottles and cleaning up their poop. Oh wait, it WAS just yesterday I was giving them their bottles and cleaning up their poop.

The animal shelter works with the prison here in town. There's six guys in the minimum security dorm that work for the shelter 5 days a week. When the kennel manager picked them up this morning she was talking to the guard about the puppies and how they needed a lot of hands on treatment. She asked if the inmates might be interested in doing some bottle feeding.

It took all day but they eventually got it cleared with the big bosses. They picked the eight inmates with the best records and told them they had been so good they were getting puppies. Half an hour after getting the okay, we showed up with crates, puppies, towels, bottles, the works. I have to say, there is nothing funnier than seeing 50 tough guy inmates cooing and cuddling puppies all while fighting over who gets to hold them next.

It was a little bittersweet to hand off these babies to strangers, but at least I won't have to wake up for 4 am feedings anymore! I'm sure we'll get updates from our regular inmates (who increased their cred with the others by being on a first name basis with the women who came in with the pups). And in another 6 weeks or so when the pups are weaned, they'll come back to the shelter for adoption. All in all, a win-win situation for everyone involved. Especially when you figure these are husky mix puppies - pretty sure a prison is the best place for them.

Of course after seeing the inmates fighting over holding them I'm pretty sure these little guys will never learn to walk. SPOILED husky mix puppies? Oh the horror!

Eyes and ears are starting to open. Not sure yet on whether we have blue eyes or not, but it looks like there may be a few. No official names for these guys, but they do have nicknames based on personality. The boys:

Wimpy - just a wimpy little guy who whimpers a lot. Also the only black & tan I have. I think there's one other with Lisa.

Click for a bigger picture

Biggie Smalls - this guy is a moose and the best eater of the bunch.

The girls:

Squeaky - rather vocal little thing and the smallest of the four I have. Possibly smallest of the litter.

The Tasmanian Devil - this one just might be the death of me.

She was such a wild child the first few days; always fighting the bottle and freaking out. Pretty sure she inhaled some formula as a result; possibly messing with her lungs. By Saturday evening she wouldn't eat, was fussy, and wouldn't sit still. I got her to eat some and for the most part got her to settle down. Of course settled down meant she had to wrap herself around my neck and tried to climb on top of my head. We sat like that until 4:30 Sunday morning when she pooped on me. I decided she was fine and put her back with her sibs. She's still not 100%, but she's eating a bit better and fighting the bottle again. Yep, I have a feeling this one is going to be my favorite.

And it seems the novelty of feeding time has worn off for my guys:

And a girl.

And another boy.

And another girl.

Long story short - people suck, everybody lies, and my bathroom is now nursery to four 2-week old husky/cattle dog mix puppies. Oh, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need a new Bruins sweatshirt by the time this is over. So if Santa Claus is reading this, put it on your list.

Could have been worse, it was almost ten 2-week old husky/cattle dog mix puppies. And it took me an hour just to feed and potty these four! We'll be doing that every 3-4 hours for the next few weeks. Instead I've got four, the kennel manager has four, a volunteer has one, and the tenth one seems to be MIA.

Of course they're not much to look at right now, but here are their first pictures:

Quinn got to meet them first:

Then all three stooges got to check them out:

The don't have names yet, so here they are in random order:

Another transport, another pitiful sight in the rearview mirror:

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This is the wild child mastiff. He was tethered in the back by a chain. You know you're in for a long ride when the inmate that loaded the van says, "If he breaks that chain, I suggest you bail out and leave the van behind." He actually did pretty well considering how crazy he usually is. I did make sure the receiving rescuer signed the paperwork before I let him out of the van. That way if he acted up, got loose, bit someone, etc. then he was her responsibility not mine. Weasly weasel weasel!

I've been fighting a cold for over a week now. Yes it's a cold and not swine flu, although I'm still not 100% certain it isn't anthrax. Anyway, by Friday I had to admit I'd lost the battle and I would be spending the weekend trying to recover.

Saturday night the only way I could get any sleep was to sleep sitting up on the couch. I woke up an hour later sweating and with a temperature of at least 112 degrees. It seems my kids decided to sweat the illness out of me.

Quinn was on the other end of the couch with his butt covering my feet. Avery had her butt in my lap and her head on Quinn's hip. Kingston was next to Avery with his butt against Quinn's butt and his upper body across my knees. And Dodger was on the other side of me up against my hip. You should have seen them all scatter when I let loose with a sneeze that shook the rafters.

Sunday I managed to venture outside for some provisions. I brought a couple bags of groceries into the house and then went out to get the rest. I was gone maybe 30 seconds. I came back inside and Amadeus had found the bag containing the cheese bread, chewed through the plastic around the cheese bread, and had already eaten the end off the bread. Apparently Amadeus believes in the "starve a cold" philosophy.

Later I left a sweet potato out on the counter to remind me to add it to the dogs' food at feeding time. Little while later I walked into the living room and Avery was stretched out on the dog bed eating the raw potato. When I went to take it from her the little bitch ran into her crate. I had to get down on hands and knees (oh my sinuses!) and drag her out by the tail (good thing she's part terrier) to recover the potato. The potato wasn't even for me but I guess she still fell into the starve a cold way of thinking.

You know, if the TLC I'm receiving from the kids doesn't kill me, I just might survive this cold.

I seriously considered adopting Phoenix myself and admit I was a little disappointed when he got adopted. In the end, I guess I really dodged a bullet on that one:

So, I'd love to embelish this up with some fabulous verbiage. but let's face this one for what it is...

Oh, I'd say about 2 weeks ago we were going to have company over. One of Noah's friends who is a film student, and was using us to do a documentary film. Amazingly, not about: 'How does one put up with a Phoenix all day?'... So I was making dinner, and getting the place cleaned up in general, and was like: "Hey, pop on over to the dollar store that is .2 of a mile away and pick up a few things while you have 10 minutes to spare"...

so I do.

Go to the store. And I pick up a few sundry items. I can't even remember what it was that was so important I had to pop out for now in the first place. And I am in the parking lot going back to my car - to go back home. When,

the phone rings.

"Honey, did you put dinner in the fridge because I stayed late visiting my parents?" (So, I'm thinking the boy is just daft; or, well, I did have the cooker on a lower setting to keep warm so maybe it seemed as if it wasn't on.) "Nooooo..." (lot's of banging and crashing sounds of pottery) Insert choice expletives here.

Phoenix

had opened the door of the oven at 250 degrees, pulled out the pyrex dish, at 250 degrees and ate 5 perfectly seasoned cajun chicken breasts, at 250 degrees and licked the pyrex dish clean of all chickeny remnants... at 250 degrees

It was 8:30 PM

And I had to remake dinner that night.

Guess I really shouldn't bitch about Avery quite so much, huh?

Too bad it kept moving on him.

Turkey dogs and toothpaste (or to be more precise, freshly brushed teeth) really don't mix. Yes it seems obvious, but I was running late this morning. May have turned me off of turkey dogs for a while, though.