Sorry. Seriously, I swore I wouldn’t turn this into a Skye sycophancy repository, but the truth is if I become any more maternal I’ll spontaneously start lactating. I’m suffering all the classic symptoms of proud parent/terrifying crush: Skye is my wallpaper, my IM picture…my north my south my east my west / my working week, my Sunday rest. My only consolation is that TA has it worse, far worse.
Last night we ate dinner camped out in the kitchen, watching him bound around joyfully and stayed up much later than usual on poo watch.
Me: [nuzzling him with my nose] He smells so cute!
TA: Er, I think that might be flea powder.
TA got up in the night ostensibly to “check” on him, but in reality to wake him up and sneak a cheeky five minutes of play and cuddle time. Then we were up at six just to look at him – cooing at him and each other. TA’s voice has become soft and buttery and he’s constantly on the lookout for opportunities to praise the pup.
TA: [spotting a widdle on the newspaper] Good boy, Skye, good boy!
Every poo the pup manages to squeeze out (all on the newspaper – GOOD BOY!) has been greeted like the treasure of Sierra Madre. He’s calling me every couple of hours to give me an update on number of poos done and meals eaten – just like in the game Black & White (one of my top-five computer games, the others being Tetris, Jawbreaker, SimCity (the first one) and, and; okay then, one of my top-four computer games). Life as we had known it up until yesterday has completely ground to a halt.
I’ve got just enough consciousness to realise that this is the utterly irrational behaviour I find so infuriating in others. I know I’m being completely ridiculous; I know my co-workers are just humouring me with their polite enthusiasm for my e-mailed photos. However, as soon as my eyes drift across to my second screen and catch a glimpse of those little ears, that cute-as-a-button nose and that adorable white fluffy head with his just-like-his-dad Mr Magika hair, I melt into a puddle. I’ve got it bad, very bad and all this after barely one day. And it doesn’t help that work is on one of its seasonal lulls so I have very little to distract me from drooling at my second monitor.
My parents, usually bastions of restrained reason, are no help whatsoever; they are gleeful at the prospect of little paw coming to stay with them when we go down for Christmas. If ever a pet could take the place of first grandchild, this pup could.
If I were you, I’d avoid the UB for the foreseeable future until the madness passes. I’m looking forward to a time when he loses some of that impossibly large helping of cute and becomes just another slightly scruffy nondescript smelly little rat dog (although I made TA promise to groom him every day, so hopefully not too ratty and smelly). I’ll probably still be inordinately fond of him, but with any luck the passion won’t be quite so all consuming. Come to think of it, that’s quite a good description of how I feel about TA these days!
For those of you who’d like to see some photos, I’ll see if I can upload a couple…