Doc looks like walking death, pallid and perpetually stooped over. Because he acquired their three pups absent consultation with his housemates, he rightfully has been assigned their care and upbringing (and has been forbidden from ever entering Melos, the store in David where they were purchased, again). Now and then Ramon and Charly will, out of pity, step in for an hour or two to relieve him, but on the whole Raphael, Matilda, and Finnegan are his charge. He reports that they awake at various hours in the morning, sometimes as early as 12:30 a.m. and usually one at a time, and demand to go out. While he lets the demander out, he continues, the other two generally see it as a sign that they are free to relieve themselves in the house as soon as the first one disappears. So in the wee hours of morning, when he's not unlocking doors and herding dogs outdoors, he's cleaning up the floor. He claims that they sleep approximately one minute for every two hours that they are awake and troublesome, and his sleeping patterns have been adjusted accordingly.
Their yard looks like the city dump. Anything that isn't nailed down, behind closed doors, or placed on a very high shelf is fair game for pilfering and strewing about. When Doc telephones to warn us that he will be visiting on one of his dog walks, Larry and I first secure everything indoors and then rush out to the gate to witness him struggling up the road entangled in three dog leashes. Once inside our house and faced with the prospect of playing with Chyna and Trudy, the pups go into high gear, whereupon we all become entangled in dogs and leashes in an effort to free them. It's an exhausting exercise, and afterwards we usually collapse on the terrace with a drink and watch them ravage the garden. They climb up the waterfall and splash about in the shallow upper pond, they dig around in the plants in search of heaven knows what, and they chew on everything in sight. Doc and canine company usually stay for about an hour, after which Chyna and Trudy take to our bed, utterly spent, and Larry and I, dazedly and confusedly, put things back in order.
Doc called this morning to report that Matty had brought a baby rodent of some sort into the house. Like their predecessor, Gus, the two cockers have an affinity for avocados. They scour the environs and return throughout the day with dozens of them, which they savor on the porch, leaving only the pits to be stepped on later by Doc, Charly, or Ramon. Charly says they've chewed through a number of electrical cords and have shredded every dish towel in the house, as well as a number of towels. Anything can occur, she maintains, if you turn your back for even one minute. It's little wonder that Doc looks so careworn and sleep deprived.
Doc is great lover of dogs and always has referred to them affectionately as "fur faces," but these he calls the "four-legged fiends." Ever the comforter, I remind him that he can look forward to their maturing at about two years of age.
Above is a picture of the little darlings in a rare, rare moment of repose.
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