Doggie Blog…. Stevenson Style No.3 by Gabrielle Stevenson

No. 3: Dog fighting in my house

Stanley and I got into a fight last week.

It was pretty ugly – fur flying everywhere and Lucy doing her excited “I’m a tiny dog” bark as she scrambled close, but not too close, to the action.

Before you picture me wrestling the Great Pyrenees down to the ground, I think I should explain the extent of dogfighting in the Stevenson household.

Allow me to set the scene: Lucy and I were playing a little staring contest of “WHO WILL BLINK FIRST” and I was determined to win (this time).

Stanley was doing a perimeter check from his bedroom window.  At the time, there weren’t any bad guys, mailmen, unleashed dogs or garbage trucks, so all clear.

When I heard the dog door being pushed open and a furry creature walking into the house, I didn’t blink an eye (I didn’t dare, I had lost the last several rounds to this 12-pound monster and the streak needed to end) or give two shakes.

Stanley, however, was quite disturbed. Before Heathcliff could take two slow and snobby cat steps into the living room, Stanley had pounced. Lucy immediately jumped off the couch and into (OK, near, she was NEAR) the fray. Heathcliff, knowing he likely did something to provoke Stanley, immediately went on the defensive. He rolled on his back, hissed and then swiped out a chunk of Stanley fur before running away.

The chaos quickly moved to my bedroom as Heathcliff hid behind a large lounge chair. Stanley barreled to the backside of the chair to get the kitty as Heathcliff made a run for underneath the bed.

Bad call there, as that’s Lucy’s favorite “secret” hiding place (difficult to call it secret when she goes under the bed, always leaving her entire tail peaking out). Lucy ferreted the cat out in no time.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I have been “watching” Heathcliff for my younger brother, Tim, for years. I make jokes about when Brother Tim wants his cat back, but he’s part of the pack and has swiped at the dog’s feet and mine for so long, we hardly notice anymore.

That night, however, Stanley DID take notice. It didn’t take long for me to grab Stanley, calm him down, redirect Lucy’s attention to a soft blanket and open the front door for Heathcliff so he could take it out on nature.

I was so disappointed in Stanley. I decided he needed immediate punishment. So I said, with a low tone, the meanest thing to him yet:

NAUGHTY BOY. OH STANLEY! NAUGHTY BOY.

I also wagged my finger at him and shook a disapproving head nod SEVERAL TIMES. Yep, I was THAT upset.

I sent him to his room after I made him sit and calm down for a few minutes. I really was upset with him, but more bothered because I didn’t know what triggered this sudden outburst of Kitty-Pouncing-Anger. Sometimes they chase each other around the house, but there is a big difference between a friendly game of chase and a round of “Pound Kitty Into the Ground.”

Anyone who has had the privilege of living with a Great Pyrenees knows they are very gentle…. Until made to protect. They love almost all animals and can live with just about any creature peacefully …. Until they are forced otherwise.

Side note: If you think you would like to adopt one, please know the only thing they love more than doing perimeter checks is barking. And the hair roundup will take years off your life. Just throwing that out there.

But this is a G Stevenson household. Unlike the Mama Lucia household that serves up warmed cream to the cats, I run a very low maintenance ship. Hungry? Eat from the free-feeding bowl that gets filled in the morning. Gotta pee? Escort yourself out the dog door. Want to roll around in the leaves outside? You have to SHAKE before you come back in from outside.

So I decided to take the problem head on.

I called Stanley into the living room (Lucy was already there and it’s much easier bringing the show to her than the other way around). I went outside and grabbed Heathcliff.

I sat on the couch with wine in one hand, petting kitty with the other. Lucy sat on my lap while I rubbed Stanley’s belly with one of my feet. I may not be able to rub my belly and pat my head well, but I juggle three furry babies and a glass of wine on a regular basis with gusto.

Then, before mining the DVR for a recorded gem, I gave the furbies a quick reminder: This is OUR kitty. Be SOFT. Be SOOOOOOOOOFFFFT.  But I got the impression that somehow, this was still all Heathcliff’s fault, so there were Temptations passed around and the night went on as smoothly as the wine.