Baby Animals

The puppy storm struck not long after 5:30 on a Monday morning. 

I'd woken up and set to making rice for the dogs, to eek out leftovers & sardines. My eyes were still gluey with sleep, when I opened the door and a wave of mud, fangs, fur and claws surged in...it reached my knees before receding, washing about my ankles and dragging away some of my more sensitive skin on ninety needled claws. A muddy, bloody, high tide mark left as evidence on my calves and the floors I mopped yesterday.

I got the puppies tray down, fed the remaining big dogs, and raced back into the house to rinse the cooking pot (to avoid creating an ant farm in the kitchen)...then quickly grabbed my pre-packed bag, pulled on my shoes and bolted.

It all took about 30 seconds too long, and I had to shuffle back through the pups...trying not to slam puffy paws in the door, trying not to stand on them, trying to extricate my shoe laces from mouths and paws and maintain my balance in the pre-dawn dark. 

I wondered how I was going to avoid the puppies following me out the gate and into the dangerous world outside...and as the door clicked shut, I realised I'd left my keys on the bench.

I broke back in- to cries of support from my canine fan club, and began to repeat the process. It wasn't yet 6am.

This sort of thing had been happening every morning for several weeks. But it was on this morning that I felt a horrible thing... “I hate puppies”, I thought, as I folded myself through the bathroom window and fell headfirst onto the floor.

Who hates puppies?

I did. 

I stalked to work, now late, taking no pleasure in the sun breaking above the harbour- and I wondered about the best ways to shuffle 36 tiny paws from this mortal coil.

Just stick them in a sack...simple. Tie it up, throw it in the river...you won't even have to look at them. Haven't got a sack, I thought...and I'm not sure I hate them enough to spend a months wages on 40kg of flour. Yes you do, I thought. But what about beer money? Ah...

The river's not far away. I could probably just erect some sort of catapault. Yeah, a puppy sized sligshot on my deck. I've got some coconuts of similar size and weight- for range testing...heaven forbid they don't make it to the river, and land somewhere soft...they might find their way home.

There's a bit of work in it- but the materials are available. It will have to powerful too. 

Then I realised...if I'm going to build a puppy throwing device of such power- I probably wouldn't have to throw them so far at all. Just very fast, at something near. A short, exhilarating ride to a quick death. Heck, they'd probably love it.

I thought about the neighbour's wall- it's not going to require too much accuracy. Just have to avoid the louvres. The clean-up will be a bugger though...and it may have repercussions in neighbourly relations.

So, I'll need to remove the evidence- no little bodies...

(my stomach growled...little buggers made me miss breakfast too- I didn't even get a cup of tea!)
I need a puppy solution- something quick, something simple, something satisfying...
“Something pie-like?” suggested my stomach.

And so was born, Baby Animal pie.

Pastry is the key to any good pie. I left work early...stopping to buy butter and flour.
When I got home, I was already starting to feel better...I patted one of the puppies and kicked another couple out of the way as I closed the door (gently...wouldn't want to bruise them).

I grabbed an aussie rock classic and popped it into my beat up cd player. Music to cook by.
A guitar screamed, drowning out the small yelps coming from outside.
“I wouldn't ever wanna rush you...I don't wanna lose you...I'll never fuss you...” Suze deMarchi belted, assuring me to take my time. 

Sage advice when one is making pastry, I thought. 

Batch one didn't go as planned, although I followed the recipe to a tee. It might have been the heat. My ice water and butter were temperate within moments, and my pastry resembled nothing so much as a scone dough.

Scones wont work, I thought. I haven't got any cheese. 

“Life was never meant to be painless...” crooned Suzie. 

True, I thought...I ditched the 'damper' and started again.

By the time Suzie revealed “Lookin back I must have been- working for the enemy...” I was starting to lose patience. The second batch of pastry was looking ordinary and I'd realised I forgotten to get onions.

Stick with it Stowers, I calmed myself. You're an international volunteer now- you knew there'd be challenges.

Batch 3 was the last of the butter. The pressure climbed a notch- it was now or never.

The outcome was bad- but not inedible. 

“You ain't gonna get my love tonight!” Suzie was shouting at me now. “You're getting what you're given, but you ain't got a right!...I don't like your attituuude...”

I was already frazzled when I turned to get the Gravox. I kept it handy for flavouring things the puppies didn't like- they ate almost anything, the Gravox was just for the really weird stuff...like dog biscuits. The box was empty save a dusty lining...already exhausted by ensuring the puppies wouldn't go hungry. 

No onions, no gravy, crap pastry.
Suzie stopped singing.

I gave up...breathed deeply...counted to nine (one for each of the little monsters) and deposited the lump of dough on a shelf in the fridge next to my earlier attempts. I grabbed a large, icy cold beer, and wandered outside to find a host of tiny bodies snoozing, scattered & motionless about the deck like toys. 

The sun was beginning to set as I sat and propped one foot against the balustrade, sucking back half the beer in a single draft. Something fluffy settled down on my other foot, and I looked down to see a small trusting brown body curled about it, eyes closed, breathing softly.

“Hope you little bastards like scones...” I muttered.

(Nine, eight week old puppies were successfully and carefully re-homed this week, in an exercise which raised $500 for the Animal Protection Society. Before handing them over, each was treated for worms, fleas & ticks and vaccinated. They will be desexed at no further cost to the owners. 

Mum, Constanza, is also slated to be desexed- as soon as we can catch the cunning bitch.)