You’d probably assume that one full-grown Labrador plus a litter of seven would be enough chaos for one family. But there is yet another Furball that resides in our house. Meet Moses, my daughter’s three-year-old Rag Doll Cat.
Moses and Amber are firm friends. But it wasn’t always this way.
When Moses first arrived on the scene (a sweet little innocent-looking kitty) he didn’t take too kindly to a large bouncy Labrador bounding over to him.
Whenever Amber came anywhere close, he would scarper up to the nearest available lofty surface, and snarl down at her with a hiss and a bat of his clawed paw.
Amber, big wuss that she is, thought Moses was terrifying. This feisty ball of fluff really gave her the collywobbles.
She would cower away in her crate and hide.
At least for a few weeks.
But over time, as Moses got more confident, Amber grew more confident about how to approach him. She learned that some friendships can’t be rushed. Respect is the key.
What a clever girl she was! Eventually, she began to edge closer. Softly. Slowly. Inch by inch. Until her gentle kindness began to win him over and she was able to give him a little sniff. Then give his ears a little motherly lick.
Then one magic day, something amazing happened. Moses clambered into Amber’s crate and snuggled up beside her! And from then on, they were firm friends!
So now, we wondered how Moses would respond to Amber’s pregnancy? Would he somehow sense that she was a mum-to-be? Would he show her (and the puppies) the same respect?
I am pleased to report that he did! Most of the time anyway…
Hopefully these pictures and videos will speak for themselves! And make you chuckle, just a bit!
Somehow, we always knew that Moses would end up being the weird uncle!
Hope you enjoyed this post! Join us next time for more puppy adventures!
We’d been forewarned. “Puppies don’t grow – they explode!”
Slightly dramatic, granted, but still, not a million miles from the truth!
A week’s growth!
With each passing week, the puppies seemed to be doubling in size. And energy. Gone were the quiet, mole-like creatures that rooted around for milk. Now the whelping box was jumping like a house party.
Every time the pups woke up (which happened every few hours), we were greeted by a pack of shrieking, whirling dervishes, demanding to be let loose.
One opened the whelping box gate at their own peril. Because the moment you did, a sea of billowing, tumbling fluff would come sweeping over the edge of that box, faster than a cork from a bottle. And then, you’d better be handy with the kitchen towel – as the pups were gradually figuring out that it was best not to do their business in the same place they slept!
The pups would explore for a bit, mainly trying to get into places they weren’t meant to be, and ultimately following Amber around like a little gaggle of geese. Actually – that’s putting it politely. Sometimes they’d even try to suckle while she was standing up!
It was then a chaotic race – trying to help Amber hot-foot it to the whelping box and lie down comfortably before the swarm descended on her! Sometimes she didn’t even make it that far. The feed would just take place any-old-where.
Amber proved to be the most patient and accommodating of mumma’ dogs, often voluntarily lying down to feed her babies with no coercion needed. But after a month of round the clock care, she was getting tired. And the pups were getting bigger – and more hungry! Their manners left much to be desired. They would tug and jostle one another and literally clamber all over her!
It was time to start weaning. Kibble is like a cereal for dogs. Biscuity-pellets that can be softened in hot water and then mashed to a gruel-like pulp. We prepared the first batch in a communal circular feeding tray.
The kibble seemed to take forever to soften. Emily was appointed chief masher. It was pretty hard work. That was before Nathan decided to try whizzing it up in the Nutri Bullet. Enough to put you off smoothies forever. Then the fun started. We set up a little feeding station in the kitchen, and brought in the puppies two by two, beginning by feeding them from a teaspoon.
Some of them took to it quickly. Others needed more persuasion. But it was a start at least.
The Newspaper Caper
A few days into this new phase – we had a new problem to solve. With the increase in food, there was an increase in…well…poop.
We were constantly clearing up little puddles and deposits! And going through packets of puppy pads like there was no tomorrow.
My thrifty husband began doing the sums. “Do you know, we’re practically going through a whole pack of puppy pads per day!” he groaned. “Can you stop changing them as much?”
“Well…not really.” we said.
He found the biggest, cheapest bundle of puppy pads on Amazon. They were gone within 2-3 days.
“This is crazy!” Nathan said calculating the potential price per month in puppy pads.
That afternoon, he came back from the local supermarket with a very proud look on his face and a bundle of local newspapers under his arm.
“Got these for free!” he said. “No more puppy pads!”
Suddenly, our lounge resembled a fish ‘n’ chip shop. The pups were let loose. The newspaper, which had absolutely no grip whatsoever, went skidaddling everywhere. The pups grabbed it in their mouths and dragged it around. It was mayhem!
The multi-coloured ink seemed to act as a slight veneer, which meant that any puddles took a while to be absorbed. If you tried to clear up immediately, the puddle would run down your arm!
“Uuugh! This is gross!” I cried.
The ink also seemed to be getting onto everything and disguised any deposits, making them harder to spot. In short, this was a low point!
We argued back and forth about this for a few hours. It was clear we needed to find a cost-effective solution.
Fortunately, we soon discovered a compromise. Washable fabric puppy pads! Phew! What a life saver! I purchased two sets of three, washing one pack every day and then rotating them! Bingo. Crisis averted.
Accommodating a litter of puppies in a family home is certainly an interesting experience, that’s for sure!
Hope you enjoyed this post! Find out about our next challenge (Help, we need a bigger pen!) in the next post!
There was no denying it, Amber, was acting strange.
“I think she’s close!” I said, googling the tell-tale signs of a pregnant dog, about to give birth.
Off her food? – Tick
Unsettled? – Up and down like a yo-yo!
Panting – Intermittently
Nesting – Obsessively
Clingy? – Like Velcro!
“But she’s still got five days to go!” objected Nathan, “It won’t happen just yet – surely?”
All the same, I slept downstairs on the sofa that night, just in case. All through the night, I kept a keen eye on Amber, curled up in the whelping box that we’d just managed to assemble in the nick of time. I don’t know who was more restless – Amber or I?
The next morning, just as I was about to go grocery shopping, at around 8:45am, I noticed a mucus-stained puddle on the lounge floor. Amber’s water’s had broken.
It just happened to be a Tuesday. My day off. Thank you Lord!
I went and collected our youngest from school – there was no way she could miss this! There are some lessons in life that simply can’t be learned at school.
As circumstance would have it, our two eldest daughters were also able to be present. It was five days earlier than expected – but it felt like the planets had aligned.
At 9:55am, the first puppy appeared, it’s tiny little mouth gaping open and shut, as it drew in its first few breaths in the outside world.
We’d seen YouTube videos of live births, and read up on every detail – from counting placentas, to cutting cords. We had all the equipment ready. The clamp. The surgical scissors. A pile of towels . A weighing scale. Even a heat lamp akin to those you see in a chicken coop! But up to now, it had all been theory. Now – this was it! Without any dress rehearsal, we suddenly had to rise to the occasion. There were no official Vetinary Surgeons present. Just us. My husband, our three daughters and me.
And of course, our star girl – Amber! This was her first time too. Nobody had briefed her on what to do. She hadn’t watched any videos. But instinctively, she knew. Licking, nudging, feeding – such a clever Mumma!
The first three pups came fairly quickly. And so we soon found our stride too. We all assumed different roles at different times. One of us clamping, another cutting the cord, one of us weighing, the other recording the details, such as gender, weight and time of delivery and assigning each pup a little colour-coded temporary collar. It was all hands on deck. It was mucky, raw, earthy. It was one of the most vivid and incredible experiences we’ve ever shared. Nothing can quite prepare you for the sight of that first pup in it’s sac – and for the sounds and the earthy smell of new life.
Fortunately, there was a gap of around 90 minutes between the birth of pups number three and four and so we were able to stop for a well-earned cuppa! I’m sure Amber needed a breather too!
And by four o’clock that afternoon – there were seven! Three girls and four boys, eyes and ears as yet unopen, rooting around like little moles – and squeaking!
We weren’t supposed to name them – (we mustn’t get too attached) – but of course, it felt clunky and impersonal, referring to them as a colour. So an off the cuff ‘nick-name’ was assigned as soon as each puppy was born. Steve, James, Rosette (Rosie for short), Holly, Leo, Sadie and Ralph.
We spent the evening happily helping them latch on, marveling at the seven little heads and tails suckling all in a row. By now, their fur had gone from newborn-slime to buffed velvet!
Amber seemed relaxed and settled – sleeping softly while her babies suckled.
We positioned a single mattress next to the whelping box and took turns on nightly puppy-patrol. It was 10th December. Instead of a Christmas Tree, we had a box full of puppies to marvel at. We sensed that we were in for an unusual Christmas.
And little did we know that the fun had only just begun!
(Hope you enjoyed this post! Look out for the next instalment, coming very soon!)
Angela Jelf 