I don't know if they're trying to kill me or themselves sometimes.
It's morning. I am sitting peacefully, slowly coming awake with my coffee, and I hear CRASH, THUD, BARK! coming from the hallway. That can't be good.
I go to investigate and Spike is barking at the utility room door. I try and open the utility room door and CAN'T. This is because Naamah and Saffron have got in there (and I swear that door was shut. I think I may need a bolt for it.) and pushed the boxes and the cat carrier (and very likely themselves) off the top of the freezer so that they wedge the door shut from inside. This is the second time Naamah's pulled this stunt, and I'm fairly sure it's deliberate now. I think she likes the adrenaline rush of getting inside the box and then pushing it off the five-foot drop to the floor.
It took me ten minutes to wangle the door open without crushing any cats. Naamah was especially unhelpful, because she LOVES the utility room - so many ways she can break things and hurt herself in there! - and didn't want to leave.
the cats are fine. The cat carrier, however, no longer has any of the plastic catches needed to hold its door on.
And that's only the first chapter. I put everything back, dug my socks out from behind the fridge and went to take the dogs for first morning walk.
Spike gets frustrated walking on-leash with Squish, because Squish wants to mosey along slowly, investigating every passing scent in depth, stopping to eat grass and taking up to half an hour to make up his mind where to crap. He can't crap on concrete or tarmac, but he hates crapping in long grass (it tickles his sensitive little bumhole), wet grass, wet leaves or anywhere with a trace of interesting scent that might be diluted by fresh crap.
So while CSI Squish is painstakingly analysing every inch of ground we pass, Action Hero Spike is dancing with impatience on the end of the leash, spinning in circles, kicking dirt in Squish's face, playing leash tuggy, going through my pockets and hunting frantically for anything to make those endless agonising seconds pass faster. And I am caught in the middle. Imagine being handcuffed to both Gil Grissom and Jack Bauer while they try and hunt down a criminal together - yeah. Welcome to my dog walk.
Sometimes Spike is really lucky and finds a random object he can designate as a toy. It makes his morning to grab a stick or a discarded plastic bottle and bounce at me with it, or toss it in the air and catch it in his paws and teeth, or just shred the hell out of it if he's feeling especially 'splodey. I don't really mind it; it makes me laugh and I can use those play moments to practise "let go" and give things back to him and - well, it's fun.
Except when his happy fun found object of the day is a fucking four foot long fallen fence slat studded with fucking pointy NAILS. ARRRGH.
Bless him, he put it down immediately when I told him NO. Bastard he might be, but he has an unerring sense for when I really mean what I say. Love my collie.