Picture this is you will . . .
Pet supper time at the Chez Emerson.
For some reason feeding the pets every day is a bit of a tug-of-war between me and Pup. He's one of the youngest in his family and I can just hear what he was like as a little kid, "But I did it yesterday!" Make sure you read that with the proper portion of whiney-voice. Ha!
I'm the oldest in my family so I'm used to bossing people around. As I've mentioned millions of times. I also remember that bossing didn't always work on my younger siblings.
I'm dawdling away at the counter, George is in the kitchen - then the dining room - then the kitchen. Getting very wound up. Whooping and barking and prancing around. We're not exactly certain, but I believe one of his prances swiped Deekers somehow. She wasn't having it. She launched an attack on George that sent him crying and yipping to the back door. Deekers had wrapped her 6 pound body - let me repeat that, her 6 pound body - around George's nose and head and had him in a death grip.
Then all hell broke loose. George yipping, Pup hollering, Barnabee calling on the phone, cat's tails puffed out, dog trying to get out back door. Even Calvin got huffy-puffy at George - I know he didn't know why.
Serious bedlam. Screaming, laughing, yipping, hissing. Pup grabbed Deekers and yelled at her. I was yelling at Pup. George was yelling to get out. Calvin was yelling just to feel part of it.
Pup was put out with me stating that if I didn't dawdle so much when feeding the pets George wouldn't get so excited. I, of course, couldn't stop laughing. None of them thought I was amusing. And Barnabee on the phone? They thought someone was being murdered.
George wouldn't come back in the house for the remainder of the day.