030: Behind the Dancing Dracaena
In our household we have three dogs. Two pureblood Chihuahuas, and one dog that is part Collie, part Husky, part Terrier, and part Golden Retriever (we all assume it was a wild night), though one would only notice the Collie and Husky parts. This last one is thirteen, and could easily demolish the Chihuahuas if he had not had a patient spirit. His name is Bilbo.
Of the Chihuahuas, the oldest was adopted by us about three years ago, when she was eight. At the time she was the size of a small barrel on sticks. Now she is more like a football on sticks. The only kinds of food she does not eat are raw onion and leafy salad. We call her Masha, Madam, and Madam Floppy-Ear (she had an infection that caused one ear to swell and bend, and although it has healed, it is still bent and bounces floppily whenever she moves).
The younger Chihuahua has, since we adopted Masha, learned to watch his food carefully. While large for a Chihuahua, he is lean and grumpy during daytime, and lean and cuddly during nighttime. His name is Toothless (though he does, in fact, have quite a few teeth), and we have on many occasions wondered if he believed himself to be a dragon.
This particular evening we were having waffles. Our dining room is combined with our living room. Through the sliding doors in the living room we can see the stairs up to the second floor. My sister was doing a physics exam paper upstairs, and had shut her door for some peace and quiet. My parents and I were eating in the dining room when my mother decided to give all the dogs one waffle-heart each.
Bilbo swallowed it whole as though it was nothing but a starter, and was already waiting expectantly for more. Masha took her waffle-heart to the carpet in the living room and chewed her way through it without dropping it. Toothless took his waffle-heart and strolled around the dining table a couple of times, before he went to the carpet in the living room, put the waffle-heart down, and sat next to the piano to watch the waffle-heart. This was regular Toothless-behaviour, and we thought nothing more of it.
After a few minutes we heard a growl. Masha had approached Toothless' waffle-heart. In an act of defence, he picked it up in his mouth and carried it through the sliding doors, into the hallway. He whirred around for a little while, head and tail raised, then headed for the stairs, presumably to hide the waffle-heart in my sister's room.
Usually Toothless sprints up the stairs with no problem. The waffle-heart, however, was easily twice the size of his mouth and dangled down so that he could not lift his paws very far very quickly. Carefully he lifted his front paws onto the bottom step, then came back down. He did a turn on the landing, then lifted his front paws onto the bottom step again, tried to pull one back paw up, but found that he would crash into the next step. He climbed back down.
After a few more tries he discovered that he could climb one step at a time, moving sideways on each step until he reached the top of the staircase. But at the top, the door to my sister's bedroom was closed.
For a while he stayed there, perhaps reconsidering his life-choices and everything that had led him to sit at the top of the stairs with a waffle-heart in his mouth, then he clambered back down and came into the living room.
In the living room we keep two Dracaenas in large clay pots. Each Dracaena is easily a meter and half or two meters tall, and looks like several narrow palm-trees stuck onto each other. One Dracaena stands in an illuminated corner, close to the windows, a reading lamp next to it. In the past, we have found dry bread crusts half-buried in the soil, and some rather unsavoury pieces of shortbread. The other Dracaena stands in the opposite corner, next to some hanging plants and piles of books, all (except for the top of the Dracaena) blocked from view by a grey armchair with a cobalt blue sheep-skin draped across it.
Choosing this second Dracaena, Toothless marched behind the armchair. From where we sat by the dining table, we heard him scratch on the edge of the pot until he managed to pull himself into it. Then it was silent. Over the armchair, we saw the top of the Dracaena tremble in fits, the long leafs brushing together nervously. It paused. Then it started to shimmy and sway as though it was doing a little improvised dance number on a half-seedy stage, the leafs bounced this way and that, brushing up against the wall or reaching for the armchair, and Toothless huffed and snorted and sounded as though he was doing the greatest excavation (or burial) of the century.
When he re-emerged from behind the armchair, the waffle-heart was nowhere to be seen. His face and front paws were black with soil, and his tail swished back and forth. He looked rather proud of himself.
Easily amused, my parents and I were wheezing with laughter.
Written by: Katrine H.
Of the Chihuahuas, the oldest was adopted by us about three years ago, when she was eight. At the time she was the size of a small barrel on sticks. Now she is more like a football on sticks. The only kinds of food she does not eat are raw onion and leafy salad. We call her Masha, Madam, and Madam Floppy-Ear (she had an infection that caused one ear to swell and bend, and although it has healed, it is still bent and bounces floppily whenever she moves).
The younger Chihuahua has, since we adopted Masha, learned to watch his food carefully. While large for a Chihuahua, he is lean and grumpy during daytime, and lean and cuddly during nighttime. His name is Toothless (though he does, in fact, have quite a few teeth), and we have on many occasions wondered if he believed himself to be a dragon.
This particular evening we were having waffles. Our dining room is combined with our living room. Through the sliding doors in the living room we can see the stairs up to the second floor. My sister was doing a physics exam paper upstairs, and had shut her door for some peace and quiet. My parents and I were eating in the dining room when my mother decided to give all the dogs one waffle-heart each.
Bilbo swallowed it whole as though it was nothing but a starter, and was already waiting expectantly for more. Masha took her waffle-heart to the carpet in the living room and chewed her way through it without dropping it. Toothless took his waffle-heart and strolled around the dining table a couple of times, before he went to the carpet in the living room, put the waffle-heart down, and sat next to the piano to watch the waffle-heart. This was regular Toothless-behaviour, and we thought nothing more of it.
After a few minutes we heard a growl. Masha had approached Toothless' waffle-heart. In an act of defence, he picked it up in his mouth and carried it through the sliding doors, into the hallway. He whirred around for a little while, head and tail raised, then headed for the stairs, presumably to hide the waffle-heart in my sister's room.
Usually Toothless sprints up the stairs with no problem. The waffle-heart, however, was easily twice the size of his mouth and dangled down so that he could not lift his paws very far very quickly. Carefully he lifted his front paws onto the bottom step, then came back down. He did a turn on the landing, then lifted his front paws onto the bottom step again, tried to pull one back paw up, but found that he would crash into the next step. He climbed back down.
After a few more tries he discovered that he could climb one step at a time, moving sideways on each step until he reached the top of the staircase. But at the top, the door to my sister's bedroom was closed.
For a while he stayed there, perhaps reconsidering his life-choices and everything that had led him to sit at the top of the stairs with a waffle-heart in his mouth, then he clambered back down and came into the living room.
In the living room we keep two Dracaenas in large clay pots. Each Dracaena is easily a meter and half or two meters tall, and looks like several narrow palm-trees stuck onto each other. One Dracaena stands in an illuminated corner, close to the windows, a reading lamp next to it. In the past, we have found dry bread crusts half-buried in the soil, and some rather unsavoury pieces of shortbread. The other Dracaena stands in the opposite corner, next to some hanging plants and piles of books, all (except for the top of the Dracaena) blocked from view by a grey armchair with a cobalt blue sheep-skin draped across it.
Choosing this second Dracaena, Toothless marched behind the armchair. From where we sat by the dining table, we heard him scratch on the edge of the pot until he managed to pull himself into it. Then it was silent. Over the armchair, we saw the top of the Dracaena tremble in fits, the long leafs brushing together nervously. It paused. Then it started to shimmy and sway as though it was doing a little improvised dance number on a half-seedy stage, the leafs bounced this way and that, brushing up against the wall or reaching for the armchair, and Toothless huffed and snorted and sounded as though he was doing the greatest excavation (or burial) of the century.
When he re-emerged from behind the armchair, the waffle-heart was nowhere to be seen. His face and front paws were black with soil, and his tail swished back and forth. He looked rather proud of himself.
Easily amused, my parents and I were wheezing with laughter.
Written by: Katrine H.
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