Teeth

Snowflake has teeth. He is the biggest, fattest puppy, not counting the coat of fluff that he has sprouted in the last few days.

I wondered why sweet Miss Nell kept barking in the night. Try this. Think about your most delicate body part. Now imagine sharp, jagged, tiny baby teeth dragged across it with all the vigor of a hungry puppy. Yowwww!

Nell is still protective, but prefers to contemplate the little monsters from the next room. Time to work on weaning formula.

The puppies will be three weeks old on Tuesday. They will be moving out to the utility room—assuming that I can figure out adequate supplementary heat. They are getting more interesting to watch, and I am curious to see what kinds of trouble they will be able to create in the minimal environment of plywood pen with vinyl floor.

My big dogs, Max and Toby, continue to be terrified, whether of the brats or their mother is not entirely clear. So far, they are pretty sure they don’t want anyone to stay, not for a day, not for a month, and most certainly not forever. The big dogs require almost as much extra attention as Nell and the babies.