Forty-One Mouths
Lorca is the oldest cat in the family.
Our days always start with letting the dogs out; some cats run in and some run out.
Caring for all my critters begins with standing in front of the aquarium and saying “Good morning” as I mist the six garden snails. We started with two, Flo and Griff, but they’ve multiplied so much we can no longer identify who’s who. Now we simply refer to them collectively as Flos and Griffs. I count them to make sure no one is AWOL again, look at their food bowl to see what and how much they ate, and refill their water bowl. Did they prefer the lettuce over the cucumbers, an apple slice over a piece of banana, the cooked carrots over green beans? They are ferocious eaters.
If I stay too long with the snails, the six cats start knocking pens, water bottles, and the mail onto the kitchen floor. The dogs get impatient too. Téte lets us know, loudly, that she wants to come back in. Finnegan and Ruben are also waiting when we open the door but they don’t speak up; Téte does all the talking around here.
I dip the white bowl into the never-ending bag of cat food and place it on the counter for the cats. It’s standard procedure here to dump new, smaller bags of cat food into the gigantic bag I keep in the cupboard under the counter. I have to be quick, or Téte will bury her head in the bag before I can shut the door. If that happens, the Jaws of Life would have a problem prying her head out.
Tete who likes to bark at us to hurry.
Once the cats are squared away, with a little food set aside on Dane’s desk for elder Lorca, we quickly put fresh water in their dishes. If a bowl happens to be empty, Ruben, the youngest canine, will either pick the dish up or knock it around to get our attention.
By now the parakeets, Benny and Joe-Joe, are chirping up a storm. I quickly take the cover off their cage, fold it, and place it over the arm of the couch where Téte likes to dramatically drape her body.
We take Benny and Joe-Joe’s two plastic bowls into the kitchen. One gets rinsed and refilled with cold water while the other gets a full scoop of birdseed. A boring diet, but we’ve tried fruits and vegetables with no success other than breeding fruit flies. In the spirit of livening things up, I switch the bowls’ positions daily.
During this season when the sky turns light around 4:30 a.m., I next snap the leashes on the dogs as they prance around the mudroom in anticipation of a morning walk. A morning pull is more accurate. I clutch the three leashes tightly as we hike up the hill, me still in my PJs. The dogs stop to sniff every leaf on the road, each wet spot from another animal’s urine, or someone’s poop. Raccoon, deer, and coyote poop are the most popular.
Back at home again, things get serious—and loud! Louisa is squealing for her mash, a few apples, and whatever else might appear; the three goats beg for their bananas; the eleven ducks and five geese need their grain; Diego and Carlos are braying for a chunk of hay; Téte is barking up a storm to say, Hurry up with the food; and everyone needs fresh water.
Louisa is always hungry.
Let’s not forget that eggs need to be gathered, washed, and packaged, and the chips in the Duck Hall have to be raked to keep them fresher longer.
Finnegan and Téte gulp their food like a frog does a fly. Ruben eats his the way Dane eats everything: like he has all the time in the world.
Next, the dogs go into their kennel, and Louisa and the goats come out to mosey around the yard, munching on grass, treats I’ve strewn about for them, or the marigolds when I’m not looking.
Lastly, I visit little Maude, the box turtle, and offer her hot dogs, bananas, and grub worms. I sit in a red chair nearby while she eats, take her for a short walk after, and rinse out her swimming hole.
Whoops, one more! Peter, an ornate box turtle, was gifted to me by friends a couple weeks ago. Many mornings he’s hiding, but he also tests the fence for an escape every chance he gets. He’s a feisty powerhouse and a great addition to the gang, although Maude doesn’t entirely agree with me on that yet. This morning, Peter was hiding again for the third day in a row. That’s not uncommon with turtles—Maude herself is famous for this game.
Tomorrow, if Peter shows up, there will be forty-one mouths to feed breakfast to—but that’s only the beginning of the tale. Evenings are another story!