I got this from an online friend... just thought I'd share some laughter! Mar ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ PET PEEVES AT THE QUACK OF DAWN By Saralee Perel When my husband Bob read this column and said, "Nobody will believe you." Well, it's all true. We have 2 ducks, 4 cats, 1 dog and some fish. Our ducks hate us. They always have. When Bob tends to them, they bite him. If he's wearing his yellow hooded rain slicker, they think he's a gigantic duck and maniacally flee away squawking, eventually slamming themselves into their fence. Bob's typical morning: At sunrise, our cat Murphy licks Bob's eyelids to wake him to get fed. Our cat Eddie pulls the covers down with his claws. Then he goes for skin. Bob pretends to sleep so he doesn't reinforce these behaviors (that have been occurring for 9 years). Eddie then bugs the 50 pound wimpy dog, who panics. She jumps on our bed, plunks herself on Bob's stomach and whimpers. Our cats eat twice daily. They each need different foods. Eddie has irritable bowel syndrome. He gets a prescription protein diet. The protein? Duck. Some mornings, I've got a real good alternative for purchasing Eddie's duck food. While the decaf's perking, Bob feeds the dog, who cries while eating because of 4 swarming cats. He feeds Eddie in the bathroom and Josie (cat) in the office. She needs Maalox on her food because she has gas. He feeds Murphy and Persy on opposite kitchen counters. They insist the other's getting better grub, and jump continuously between counters to get the “best” food. Bob is constantly picking them up and putting them back. But the cat that's not in his arms takes this opportunity to re-do a counter jump. Now the oriole, whose orange is empty, taps his beak on the window. Truly! When Bob's decaf is ready, he puts it in a thermos and makes me real coffee, because he knows that without caffeine, I'll kill him. Where am I? Getting dressed. I'm disabled and can barely move in the morning. My disability has good points. When I'm dressed, the chores are done. I secretly question what else I can get out of it. Our cats don't scarf down their food like, say, I do. They alternate eating with playing. During this hour, Bob cleans 4 litter boxes. (Cats are freaky about bathrooms. They'll only “go” in their own. I'm the same way.) He feeds the fish, picks out the dead ones, then heads to the ducks. But remember they despise him. So they smash their bodies together while frantically exiting their coop, as Bob gets their food bowl. When he comes in, we hug. But I'm lame so I fall down. He helps me (I'm dead weight) by holding onto my pants and slowly hoists me up like a two ton elephant. By then we're laughing so hard that he plops me on the couch so I don't keep falling back down from laughter. How lucky I am to have a wonderful man who adores taking care of us. He's right that nobody will believe all this. But he means his tasks. What I think is unbelievable is that Bob has enough love in his heart to pick me up when I'm down (in many ways) and make sure everyone's happy - even if they claw him, bite him, have gas (Josie, not me . . . well) or simply hate his guts. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright 2005 Saralee Perel. Permission is granted to send this to others, with attribution, but not for commercial purposes. Award-winning nationally syndicated columnist, Saralee Perel, is the author of the new novel, “Raw Nerves,” which won the prestigious Book Sense award.