Our new puppy is settling in. She has been named Juno, for the Roman chief goddess and female counterpart of Jupiter. My boys luuurrrrrve them some mythology.
Hick decreed that Juno will spend her nights in an old rabbit hutch converted to a setting hen/chick hutch. I opined that such a banishment seemed downright cruel, but Hick asked if I would rather have Juno eaten by coyotes overnight. Um. No.
The hutch has a wooden box that opens onto a wire mesh rectangular enclosure with a self-feeding canister and a water dish. The whole contraption is a high-rise affair, about four feet off the ground. Juno has her wooden bedroom to keep her dry and warm, with the afghan sent by Grandma as a soft mattress. Then she has her wire patio for lounging/eating/drinking/peeing/pooping. She chowed down on cat food last night and tonight. I'll get her some puppy chow when I do the weekly shopping.
The Pony checked on her around 7:30 this morning, before going to work at the band car-show fundraiser. Genius let Juno out at 10:00, to frolic about the grounds until he left at 2:00. At that point, he put her in the chicken pen proper. The chickens don't hang out there anymore, since the dogs stopped mass-murdering them when they free-range. It's actually a double dog pen that now has a grassy carpet and access to the chicken house in case of rain. The only chickens in the house are those who want to set. Which is one black biddy on two eggs.
Juno had a blast during morning playtime. She wrestled a stick, rolled on her back to bat a lilac leaf like a cat with a ball of yarn, took a power nap in the sun behind her pet-carrier chariot that brought her home, and explored the front porch. Genius sat on the top step to puppysit, just in case the big dogs turned on Juno.
Genius put his hand out to pet her head, and Juno stood up on her scrawny back legs to chew on his fingers. She let a tiny back foot slip over the edge of the step, and thump-thump-thump-thumped down the remaining four stairs to the brick sidewalk. From there, she hung her head and retreated to the lilac bush in shame. Genius followed her and coaxed her back.
Up on the porch, Juno discovered her first cat. She growled! Which was entirely too cute, coming from her tiny body. Then she galloped after the cat, barking. When he stopped and gave a sarcastic glance over his shoulder, Juno stopped and sat down. And pretended that she was not the one barking and chasing him. She sideways romped in the other direction, to offend Ann, the black shepherd mix, who gave her a good growling for her trouble. Juno pinballed back, only to accost the other male cat, an orange tiger-striped fellow. He yawned, twitched his tail, and shot Ann a look over Juno's head. A look much like Hick and the OB nurse exchanged over my head after a half-syringe of Stadol took effect during my 14-hour labor with Genius.
Ann retired to the sunny back porch for a nap. Juno followed. She committed a major canine faux pas by picking up the sunbleached bone which Ann ignores until 5:30 every morning, at which time she carries it around the porch and drops it to wake me from my chair nap while I wait for Hick to finish his shower. It's not a tasty bone. It's the polished shinbone of a deer. For all the flavor it has, it might as well be Bluebeard's tibia, sandblasted by the beach for a couple hundred years. Ann growled some more. Genius took the coveted skeletal treat and gave it back to Ann.
"She would never have picked up that bone again. Except that Juno wanted it. So she had a fit."
"Just like you and The Pony, where toys are concerned."
Juno is going to be a good fit for our pack.