What it’s like with 8 week old puppies

There is a very specific kind of chaos that comes with raising a litter of puppies.

And then there is the chaos of having nine Beauceron puppies loose at the same time while you’re trying to do chores.

These are no longer tiny little potatoes that toddle around, fall over their own feet, and eventually pass out in a pile.

No.

They have legs now.

They have speed.

They have opinions.

And, most importantly, they have TEETH.

Nine mouths full of tiny, sharp, incredibly effective teeth.

Every morning I make the same mistake.

I look at them and think, They need some time to run around and play while I get chores done.

This sounds reasonable.

Responsible, even.

They have an entire area to explore. There are toys everywhere. Things to climb on. Things to chase. Siblings to wrestle with. Sticks. Leaves. Random objects that are apparently worth fighting over simply because someone else has them.

There are approximately 847 things they could entertain themselves with.

And yet…

I have feet!

Apparently nothing on this earth compares to a moving pair of human feet.

So there I am, attempting to walk across the yard carrying buckets, while nine puppies descend upon me like a poorly coordinated pack of piranhas.

One has my shoelace.

One has the back of my pant leg.

Another has decided my ankle is prey.

There’s one directly in front of me who seems genuinely surprised every single time I nearly trip over him.

Two are wrestling between my feet.

One is hanging off the side of my tennis shoe.

And somewhere behind me I can hear the unmistakable sound of a puppy doing something they absolutely should not be doing.

Do I know which puppy?

Of course not.

There are nine of them.

At some point, chores stop being chores and turn into an obstacle course.

Walk three steps.

Remove puppy from pants.

Walk two steps.

Remove different puppy from pants.

Pick up bucket.

Put bucket down because someone is eating something questionable.

Retrieve puppy.

Return to bucket.

Discover another puppy has climbed into something.

Retrieve that puppy.

Save my roses.

Attempt to remember what I was originally doing.

Get bitten on the calf.

Excuse me?!

Meanwhile, the toys remain completely untouched.

I could spend $500 on enrichment toys and apparently their review would be:

⭐☆☆☆☆

Would rather bite the lady.

And heaven forbid you try to move quickly.

Running—even for half a second—is an invitation.

Suddenly all nine puppies activate.

You are no longer the person who feeds them, cleans up after them, cuddles them, raises them, socializes them, and loses sleep making sure they are happy and healthy.

You are prey.

And the hunt is ON.

Of course, eventually they wear themselves out.

The tiny velociraptors slowly begin dropping one by one until there are puppies sprawled everywhere, looking completely innocent.

Suddenly they’re sweet babies again.

You look at their adorable sleeping faces and somehow forget that fifteen minutes earlier you were being mugged by nine tiny criminals while carrying a water bucket.

And that is the dangerous part.

Because you look at them and think:

They’re so cute. Maybe I’ll let them all out together again tomorrow while I do chores.

And tomorrow, I will apparently learn nothing.