Well what a crazy morning! Looked in on Bella this morning at 5am while getting ready to take my small son to his Ice Dance class. Well as I opened the door, Bella was there like a shot and bolted for the door. The puppies were squeaking, and if they had been like that all night perhaps it was reasonable that she had had enough. What mother hasn’t felt like running away.
I followed her into the bathroom where she ran into the dog crate, dug rapidly, nesting. Back she darted, dragged one poor little mite out of bed and dumped him in the crate. Off she went then back into the bedroom, and dragged the other out. Back to the bathroom, into the crate, but they still squeaked. After trying to settle down she was off again, dragging one and then the other out of the crate and abandoning them on the bathroom floor, before padding off downstairs to curl up with Thomas in the downstairs bathroom. Puppies now forgotten lying spread-eagled on the white tiled floor.
Alarmed I followed her around picking up very cold puppies. Getting colder they cried more. When we put them back with her in their whelping box their crying by now seemed to be driving her crazy. To solve the problem, eventually Kevin, now as wide awake as small son and I, got in the bed in the spare room, with the bedclothes over him, with her and the pups on his lap on top of the duvet with a dog fleece over the top. Eventually things quietened off and I took small son off to his class. I arrived home an hour later, to find Kevin still pinned to the bed, scarred to move incase the madness overcame her again. I lifted them inside the covers that they were all curled up in, and put the whole bundle into the whelping box. They have to be at floor level as they crawl away all the time and will eventually fall off any surface other than the floor.
I’ve just checked again, and she was there with one of them, the other had crawled away and was apparently lost to her, until I lifted the cover. She spotted it and retrieved the offending puppy. She carried him, dangling precariously by one leg back to where she had been sitting. I have sympathy for her having spent years managing one very difficult hyperactive son, and she has twins – double trouble.