Fluffy is *finally* learning a few things. I don't think she'll ever be Grand Master at chess, but she's been getting some good doggy habits of late. Recently I read somewhere that working dogs tend to be rather dopey when they're young because they've got so much learning to go, and also that working dogs really need to have a job allocated to let them to feel happy.

Fluffy has been given the job of Doorbell. You see, we don't actually have a regular doorbell installed, and from the kitchen or lounge room, its very hard to hear a knock, particularly if the the telly is on. But we don't need to. Fluffy will alert us to someone at the front door by bolting straight to it and barking like mad.

Mind you, its not the sort of "warning" bark that guard dogs give as a danger sign, but large yips of joy because there is another person who might be willing to become her newest Best Friend at the door. If its a stranger, she'll go into a barking, jumping, tail wagging frenzy, so much so that you can actually her her tail go whomp-whomp-whomp as it hits her sides. If the person at the front door is more familiar, she'll still go straight to the door and jump and wag for all she's worth, but will only go "uff" - a "woof" without any vocalisation.

In the ideal world, she'd sound like a huge vicious dog and would deter the idiot Jehovah's Witnesses that insist on knocking on the door at 8am Sunday morning with their bright-and-happy demeanour being in direct proportion to the severity of my hangover. However, I didn't think Fluffy had a vicious bone in her body, and would just as likely lick the burglar to death as to lead him to the silverware. Its our fault in a way, because can you imagine a big, tough, strong and vicious dog with the name of Fluffy? Doesn't work does it? Now if we'd gone for "Fang" or "Satan" we might have been in with a chance, but Fluffy is just fluffy, and actually, I think I prefer her that way.

However, Fluffy can be quite protective of her little family. She'll scare away other cats in the back yard even while sucking up to Shmogg, and likes to make sure that we are all safe & sound before she goes to bed. As far as I knew this was A Good Thing.

Of course, one can have too much of A Good Thing.

I don't know why, maybe its a girl thing, but I can't leave pimples alone, particular Joel's. Truth be told, its not so much just can't leave them alone, but really enjoy squeezing them. I know its disgusting and yucky, and apparently quite painful, so Joel informs me, but I just can't help it. Although many people have pimples in this world, and I'd happily squeeze all of them, the only pimples that are in my jurisdiction are really only mine & Joel's. The fact that I grow my nails into long talons is not only because they look good, but they are *excellent* for getting into the really *hard* squeeze. Joel hates this strange trait of mine, but puts up with it, apparently because my pimple picking habits are more than made up by other habits that also shouldn't be discussed in public.

What Joel really really hates though, is when he is just sitting there, minding his own business, and I, without warning, go in for the big strike on That Blackhead That Is Bothering Me. Joel does not comprehend why on earth a pimple on *him* can possibly bother *me* (actually nor do I), but it does, and unless I dispose of it, it will bug me all night. Of course, I have to use a surprise attack because otherwise he escapes to the sanctity of the bathroom and rids his face of all my fun (but he can't see his back hehehe).

So there we are, sitting in the lounge room, all snuggled up together, Shmogg snoozing on my headrest, Fluff dozing on our feet. I spot the mother of all blackheads, in fact I've had it in my sights for a few days now, and decide this is the best opportunity to go in for the kill while the TV still has him partially hypnotised.

I warm up my two biggest weapons - my thumbnails - line up the target, and boom! My hands are attached to his cheek like a Dr Who brain-eating alien and I'm squeezing for all I'm worth. I will not write the details of the process for some of you may be eating, but lets just say that the operation is becoming very *productive*. Joel knows better than to wiggle and squirm because it just hurts him more, and if I don't get this one out, I'll just hunt for more later. (I'm allowed a maximum of one productive pimple squeezing a night, the meany).

Anyway, I'm in the middle of a most satisfying squeeze, while Joel is clenching his teeth and muttering through the pain about "bloody women" when suddenly Fluffy jumps from her sleep into full attention. She leaps at me, bares her teeth, and gives a warning growl. We aren't talking about the play growl when she really really doesn't want to let go of my tea towel, but a proper "excuse me madam, but if you continue with that course of action, I will be forced to take your f*cking arm off" - type growl.

Of course, I stop immediately. and I'm aghast. My sweet lovable puppy had turned into a snarling, snapping brute! Meanwhile, Fluffy has resumed her happy, ditzy demeanour, and licks Joel. While my jaw is still making contact with the floor, Joel is in hysterics, all the while praising his protector doggy from the Big Nasty Evil Zit Squeezer. After catching his breath, he gleefully informs me that I'll never be able to pop his pimples ever again, and then resumes giggling smugly. Fluffy of course, has no idea what all the fuss is about, sees me looking somewhat confused and hurt, and tries to comfort me with an extra layer of doggy spit and seems to be completely unaware of what she just threatened only seconds before.

Joel still likes to remind me that Fluffy protected *him* while I was attacking his face, and teases me that I'll never murder any more of his acne ever again. But I just smile, because I'm the one in control of bikkies and can opener, and I've got a secret weapon - Super Shmogg, the amazing Doggy-repelling pussy-cat, defender of the thumbnail- bearing Meowmie and all 'round attack-cat!, and Joel has to sleep sometime. Bwahahaha!

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
May 22, 2000