Chloe is on a diet. Tim eats really slowly, Izzy can’t get enough and Duby wants everybody’s food. So mealtimes have been something like a military operation.
So far, none of the big ones have figured out that Duby is about the size of a free range chicken and may possibly make quite a nice snack.
My latest ploy is to dish out the grub to those who display the most patience. It’s been like a charm, they all back up now, hoping they will get to be first!
Duby the Shit(zu) is currently holidaying at Baskerville Manor. Let’s not tar him with the same brush as most small dogs, but please do take note of the expression.
He hasn’t quite figured out how small he is in proportion to any one of the three residents, so he has risked life and limb once or twice by (a) sticking his head into Izzy’s dinner and (b) attempting to mount Timmy.
(a) was the risk to life as it turns out his head is just about the correct size to fit into Izzy’s mouth, thankfully all she did was dribble all over him, but even so he was at risk from drowning.
(b) was the risk to limb as even though Timmy was lying down at the time, Duby’s legs are too short for him to do anything but attempt a sort of vaulting action which landed him half-way across Timmy’s back. The old man didn’t even bother to wake up. :)
