This is Corey (Korrie? Cory? Corrie? Kohree? Kumquat?). She, like numerous other strange animals (Fonzie the turtle, about a thousand cats, a little bird), took up residence in our house this weekend while we scrambled around trying to housebreak her, cleaning up our failed attempts, and keeping a close eye on her while she scampered up and down the stairs. Sandy bore this new burden extremely well, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow terrified of this two-pound rabbit-creature, as if all of its jumping and bouncing and running around was bringing her one step closer to madness.
We made several random adaptations for Corey. We walked her around on a shoelace (because she is a tiny thing), and groomed a few of the burrs out of her fur. She also sat in an anthill, but we had nothing to do with that, except for the fact that her fur is still drying from all the water we poured on it, trying to get the ants off. For the first night, we alternated the dogs between inside and outside so that — we hoped — they wouldn’t get into any trouble in the night. We were so very wrong. The first night, Corey barked non-stop for hours until my brother finally let her sleep on his bed. The second night, we finally got her to sleep outside by ignoring her long enough that she gave up barking. Both nights, I imagine, Sandy must have stayed up, all wide-eyed and panicky, hoping and praying that the strange Thing™ outside of the door wouldn’t destroy her. “IAMONLYFIVEDONOTEATMEYOUCANHAVEALLOFMYVITAMINS.”
Happily, Corey’s now back with her owners and Sandy’s not having any apocalyptic daydreams (so we think). But I’m still wandering from room to room, making sure that Corey didn’t leave any more lasting memories of her stay than her very poor survival instincts and her capacity to bury food in people’s laps and think it’s perfectly safe there. Oh Jah, I have seen enough poo for a lifetime.