Poor Mojo. Just when he thinks he has everything under control, Mom scares the weedle out of him.
The babies have learned to anticipate the weekends when Mom will be around. They start off by being absolutely rotten on Friday nights, running and snapping and rolling each other over in celebration. Saturday mornings we pile up in the big red chair with the paper and coffee and they snuggle in deep for an early morning nap. From there, every step I make for the rest of the day is accompanied by clicking toenails and rattling tags.
But today the Monster came in from the garage and Mom was in its clutches for more than an hour and poor Mojo was frantic. The Monster is the carpet shampooer. If they only knew that the reason the Monster comes in the house is because they haven't yet got the hang of doing their business outside, I think we would have that little problem solved in a New York minute.
He tried for awhile to send it away by barking his fiercest bark, but for some reason it just wouldn't turn his mom loose. Things really got bad when Mom shut him away in the bedroom with Gran and went back to fight the Monster without his help. He just knew that his mom was in terrible peril.
Oh the rapturous joy that ensued when the Monster was wrestled back into the garage and his mom let him out of the bedroom. He practically turned inside out with joy. He's been attached to my ankle ever since.
It's rough being a tiny little boy with the heart of a doberman.