<— Part 1
Morning came quickly, but feelings of excitement help making getting up easy when the alarm sounds. Grabbing an energy drink, a breakfast bar, and the fluffy treats, you walk to the backyard. Its still early, but the sun is coming up nicely.
Supposedly fluffies are pretty tightly regulated. The pet stores that have them sell them ear tattooed, chipped, spayed and neutered already. Bringing one into Hawai’i state requires they be fixed or have an IUD, and no vet will take them out due to the penalties. So, seeing feral fluffies is a little unusual.
Kind of like illegal fireworks, somebody is probably pocketing extra cash by smuggling in regular fluffies. Hopefully people aren’t being too stupid with them. But, you frown cynically, people are about the only thing out there as dumb as fluffies. However, things have worked out alright for the past 15 years, so…
A little cool lingers in the air, bare feet walking off the concrete path along the house’s side and onto the grass. Around the mango tree. Peering at the old dog house, you see without a doubt…
The dog house is empty.
There’s a small sinking feeling of disappointment. It should be prime fluffy real estate.
A few treats get tossed into the house. One of the fluffies said it smelled like “barkie monster.” Maybe this will help their opinion of it.
Work passes by quickly. Busy season is starting to rear its head at the shop, and online orders are picking up. During lunch a mega-chain pet store’s website is checked for fluffy supplies, reading the suggested list of things they need, recommended things to get, etceteras. A quick list is made and you know what you’re getting at Costco as well as Goodwill.
It was interesting to see the site had a page of “Things You Can’t Buy But They Need.” That part of the chain’s website was nothing but pet care advice from a behavioral standpoint. That got bookmarked but their “read this first” was read over a sandwich.
Supposedly, the writer declared, fluffies have a hierarchy of needs just like people do. Not that you necessarily remembered that from school. But a strategy came to mind from reading the simplified chart.
Night falls. The back yard is mostly lit by the moon, nice and pleasant for the most part. But scattered here and there are little solar-powered yard lights, staked into the ground. They’re not super bright, meant for illuminating pathways, but being only a few inches off the ground puts them at a nice height.
Within their soft glow are a number of infant’s toys. No hard edges, no poking bits, no easily broken parts. If its safe enough for a baby, then it should be safe enough for a fluffy. In theory, you think to yourself. A few cheap dog toys are scattered about as well just in case the fluffies think they’re interesting. Nothing that makes noises, though. Balls and rope toys.
But, you think, the big thing for tonight is simply the food dishes. Well, bowls. Cheap ones with a little Costco kibble plus a sketti treat inside. It took you a while to disassemble and reassemble an old metal shelving unit from being four shelves high to being two shelves side by side, making a little shelter. Bricks underneath kept it quiet, blankets and towels to hopefully make it warm, and any fluffies who checked it out would have a full view of their surrounding area unlike the dog house.
That said, its late, and the work load you prioritized for tomorrow meant you need to get to bed. A sigh, a yawn, and the siren’s call of bed is heeded.
When you’re finally tucked in, the night air gently enters through the jalousie window, moonlight reflecting off the glass louvers. In the distance you can hear hushed little voices, barely audible. There’s a temptation to try and look out, to shine a light and see if its the same ones from last night, but for now its resisted.
Something about nummies.
Something something housie.
Geckos chirp happily, exploring the side of the house. Its a soothing sound, and helps you drift off to sleep.
Morning comes a little sooner than expected, but it usually does. A yawn, a stretch, a quick trip to the bathroom. No energy drink this time. Breakfast can wait. Slippers go on, and the back yard walked to. As the sun rises the path lights begin to flicker off, sensing they’re not needed.
A stretch. Another yawn.
The dog house remains empty and untouched, but the make-shift shelter’s blankets aren’t as you left them, bundled up in the center, exposed metal underneath. You ponder whether or not wood would be better, but that can wait.
The dishes are empty, but there’s not telling if fluffies ate the food or if it was something else like dogs, cats, even chickens. But, they’re empty. Walking around, some of the toys look like they’ve been moved. Were they played with? Maybe? Your foot squishes into something, your eyes closing partly out of disgust and partly out of amusement.
Well, its a good thing you got that standing pooper scooper and that you wore rubber slippers instead of going barefoot. Besides the one underfoot, there are two other little mounds of poop. Doesn’t look like cat poop. Or dog poop. The brown piles definitely aren’t from chickens.
You shrug, carrying the scat to the composting area. Its progress.
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