Allie is still eating in her crate, and spending most of her time it it. She can see the family as we work and play, so it's a good way for her to have her "take part" in family life without the worries of her running to hide or get stepped on.
But it's been hot and the older Divas have been fighting fleas like crazy. Dulcie, especially. Her thick coat makes it hard for me to comb for fleas, and the flea repellent doesn't seem to be working. Of course, our neighborhood is filled with feral cats, so it's to be expected that flea management will be difficult, if not impossible. My next door neighbors feed them, trap them in a humane trap, and have them fixed so that the population stays under control. Sort of.
In other words, everyone is cranky. I make popcorn and settle in to watch a movie. It's tradition that I make enough salt free popcorn to share with the Divas. They have a great time playing "find the popcorn" on the floor. I toss handfuls of it on the floor, and miss the cue that Dulcie is not in sharing mode. The next thing I know, Rimba and she are in a snarling swirl of a fight about a foot from Allie's crate.
Of course, it sounds worse than it is, and a 30 second tussle seems to last forever. But in this household, I've stopped the rare fights with the simple command, "ENOUGH!" (I've been told I have the voice of a drill sergeant when I need it.) Dulcie knows she's in trouble, so she slinks off to a corner while I examine the trembling Rimba. Her ear leather is punctured, so I swab medicate it before turning to Dulcie, who is injury free.
I forget to check in with Allie, but the repercussions are clear a few days later. I'm holding her while watching a movie and eating popcorn. I drop a large piece and it lands on Allie. She shoots out of my arms and off the back of the love seat before I can respond. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad.
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