My poor dogs are having a difficult time adjusting as well. They are used to having rooms and rooms to themselves, lounging about on any old piece of furniture they decide to climb. Now, they are restrained to just my room, and occasionally my (shared) bathroom. They are so distraught by the new living situation that they routinely follow me in there, huddling behind the toilet while I'm in the shower, terrified that I might leap out and give them a bath, but even more afraid to venture out into the big scary house without me.
Brown Dog is so terrified with the new arrangements that he alternates between hiding under my desk:
And partially concealing himself in the bedding:
Apparently, he subscribes to the ostrich theory of personal defense. Fluffy Dog is much more chill about the whole situation:
So the dogs and I are trying really hard to make the best of our situation. We spend most of our time holed up in our room, listening to music at a very modest volume and attempting to ignore everything else going on in the house. It's hard, especially because of the other dogs.
The other dogs are awful, wretched creatures that are mean and loud and teaching my wonderful sweet babies bad habits. There are, as I said earlier, four of them: Old Dog, Evil Dog, Ugly Dog, and Confused Dog. They are all dachshunds. Since living here, I have discovered that I hate dachshunds. Now, I'm sure that somewhere out there are many very sweet, very intelligent, very normal dachshunds that aren't stupid and mean and evil, but these four are enough to make me hate the breed on principal.
Old Dog is about a million years old. He is partially blind, mostly deaf, and losing most of his hair.
Evil Dog is just that. Evil. He is Satan on four paws. He is wickedly smart, inhumanly (indoggedly?) strong, and apparently immune to death. I have seen this dog consume an entire pound of chocolate fudge without so much as a fart. He ate an entire box of teeth-whitening strips - and not the cheap-ass Crest ones, the fancy wax ones from Rembrandt - and while his pointed canines were oddly bright for about a month, he again suffered no ill effects. He can jump up onto the kitchen counters and open cabinets and generally cause chaos everywhere he goes.
Ugly Dog looks like a giant, long-haired rat. He is roughly the size of a shoebox and looks like a Swiffer cloth that desperately needs changing. He has red eyes. RED EYES. He also thinks tissues are the greatest snack food ever invented. He would commit felonies if it meant that afterward he could nosh on some tissues, and then vomit them up in front of the refrigerator.
Confused Dog is the least offensive of the brood. Mostly because he's the newest addition and, as such, has not yet decided what his role will be. For now, he spends most of his time wearing ridiculous sweaters and baying. I've tried reminding him that he's not a beagle or a basset hound, but he persists.
During the day, it's not so bad. Mostly because my dogs and I keep to ourselves. But at night? The true horror of the house comes to light. Old Dog no longer sleeps. Or if he does, it is in minute bursts in between the incessant clicking and thumping and barking. The roof is creaky, and I'm pretty sure it doubles as a dance studio for raccoons. When they really get going up there, Evil Dog decides to be sneaky and start barking, which causes all of the other dogs to wake up and take off running for the windows, vacating their previous spots and giving Evil Dog his choice of spots to sleep. On top of this, several of the other people in the house snore. Most of this might even be tolerable if the walls weren't so thin.
I am not used to the sheer volume of nocturnal noise here. I live in a very rural small town with fewer citizens than there are shoppers in an average Wal-Mart store at any given time of day. I expected to drift peacefully off to sleep each night, wrapped in a cocoon of quietness. Instead, I get this: