Sun Mote Copse sleep apnea

Hour 7 of being alive. 

Quetzal had eaten far too much for her little body, but that did not stop her from doing it some more when she roused. That was until, of course, an impending sense of doom imposed its ugly features into her good vibes only energy. Live, love, eat, right? She was following that shit to a T, and now, now this malificent presence saw it fit to knock on her door and help itself inside? 

Her stomach hurt. It hurt so bad. Reviewing WebMD's server would surely tell her that she was on deaths doorstep. And it wasn't a peaceful, quiet death. It was full of squalling and screaming. WHY DO THE GOOD DIE YOUNG???? WHY??? BILLY JOEL, YOU SON OF A BITCH! Minute of passing: imminent. Quetzal, we hardly knew ye, but at least you have a cute as hell lookalike that is far superior in every way to keep the party going. Emphasis on the cute as hell, not to toot her own horn...

She thought too soon. Horn, tooted, thanks to her mother who was no amateur to a child needing to, you know, take care eof business. A blessing for Quetzal, but a curse for everyone else until the mess was cleaned up. Satisfied with her act of nuclear warfare, she was quiet... surely bringing to mind 'silent, but deadly'.

whoever can seee da puppers !

While she and Phox had spent a few hours fawning over their beautiful new babies, Niamh had spent a great deal of energy carrying and birthing them, and fell asleep for short periods of time once they had settled down. She trusted tha Phox and Bronco would mind the den's entrance, and had- as politely as she could have managed at the time- told them to make sure that no one came in unnanounced or without her permission. While she knew Phox was likely more open to having visitors, she- in a very weak, tired state- was not up for company. She wanted to retain some shred of dignity, and while most would still see beauty in her tired, post-pregnancy form, she thought she simply looked haggard and did not with to have spectators. 

When she was awake, it was more or less a routine of admiring the puppies and bathing them, and of course, cleaning up after them as well. One of the dark puppies- as she couldn't really tell the difference between them- had made a particularly smelly mess. She told herself not to try and identify one from the other based on which one pooped more, as it probably wasn't the best way to explain which was which. But, like any mother, each bowel movement was noticed and analyzed to make sure her kids were eating and passing the waste. She'd just finished cleaning one up when the other needed cleaning too. She sighed, and nuzzled the mess-maker. "You make-a beeeeeeg stink, li'l miss," She teased the pup. "Good thing Momma loves you, huh?"

That self-satisfied grin remained as her mother asked her questions, as though to say: yeah, lucky me! And, really, the stench she had passed was something that probably only a mother could love. Her twin, too, maybe—everyone did seem to love their own brand. Q's was probably a bit more on the 'toxic waste' side. 

Quetzal rolled onto her side and flailed her stubby legs around a little bit. How that happened she did not know, but her world turned upside-down. Yet another ride she hated. She squealed, what the hell is happening here??????? but all her fussing served to do was dig her a deeper hole. She was entirely on her back now. Looking like a damn turtle unable to get up. This felt Against the Law. When she found the culprit, she was definitely pressing charges. But first, her yells demanded that 911 answer the telephone right now!

There was something entertaining about watching pups figure out how to move themselves around, even if they decided for some reason or another that they didn't like what they didn't understand. Quetzal, for example, teetered over onto her side, which was understandable- with any animal that was mostly round, it was easiest for them to roll. Niamh licked her little sides, and actually helped her roll onto her back which apparently wasn't OK. She just chuckled, though- Quetzal would have t learn that the world didn't end just because she rolled over onto her back. 

"One, two, free, four," She said, as she touched her nose to each of Quetzal's little feet, snickering as her muzzle was smacked by Quetzal's feet. "My Ma woulda called you a tea-totalled-turtle. S'what happens when you go arse over tea kettle," She advised, before helping to nudge Quetzal back onto her side- which was, seemingly, what she wanted.

She had already thought the world had ended. 

But that was nothing in comparison to her mothers nose brushing against her feet. Funny at first; in fact, it earned a laugh (and a kick). But it kept happening, and Q laughed so hard she could barely breathe. Nevermind the fretting; Quetzal was dying. This was For Sure It. Panic! at the Whelping Den. Gasping for breath in her giggles, it was only when she was righted that Q was able to sober up. 

Death may have been an exaggeration. In fact, Q forgot she had been upset at all. What just happened? All was (up)right in the world, and Q waddled toward her moms leg nonethewiser that she thought the apocalypse had just struck.

Baby giggles were adorable, and Niamh was insatiable. She'd tickled children to the point of puking before, so she'd learned her lesson in that instance, so she knew when to stop and roll her daughter back over on her stomach, so as to lessen the chances that she make another mess. "There ya go," She said, as Quetzal wheezed happily, and cradled the puppy in her forelegs, curving them around so her feet touched at the toes, making a little playpen for her daughter. 

"Someday you're gonna have long legs like this too." She said, kissing the top of her daughter's head softly. "And when you got 'em, you show 'em off. Your Momma gave you lots of good looks to use," She chuckled.

Long legs, huh? As if on cue, the deaf Quetzal extended a singular tiny one for her mothers review. Model behavior. But then and there, Q was granted no such thing. Her legs were tiny and stubby, and she really had done that to streeeeetch a little bit. Her tiny paw splayed out as she did, and the puggish Q yawned loudly (as ever). 

And then she began to squirm forward. She had noticed the absence of something warm (probably Alyx), and she was huffily on the search for it. She walked right into moms foreleg though, to her irritation, and her nose began to itch before... before...

5,000 sneezes erupted at once

! At least it felt that way to her. Disgruntled by the end of that event, Q leaned her head against her moms leg, positively slumped.

Niamh smiled gleefully as her daughter (who could still not hear anything she was saying) stretched one of her short little legs out. "Exactly, just like that. You're allowed to be cute and chic for now, while you're a baby." She said. "Ma'll teach you how to strut your stuff when you get older," She said. Presently, all her child could do was wriggle around, and she moved in the space between her mother's front legs with a sort of army crawl until she bumped into Niamh's ankle. She tilted her head back, paused for a second- and then unleashed a frenzy of sneezes loud and sudden enough to make Niamh nearly JUMP OUT OF HER SKIN. 

She settled herself back down, realizing that her daughter's sneeze had made her fur stand on end. Fortunately, her two other children had been nestled together just far enough from Niamh's side that they weren't torn away mid-nursing or flipped or knocked away with her sudden jolt. "Jeepers creepers, kid," She said, sliding back to the ground, and pulling Quetzal toward herslf as she laughed. She still had no way to tell the girls apart, so she generally avoided using their names for the time being. Until they could hear her, she didn't feel it was terribly necessary that she differentiate between them. "You scared the bajeezus out of me there. Try that on your father when he comes home- I wanna see the look on his face," She goaded with a laugh.

Had Q ears that could hear then and there, she would've loved her mothers idea. Scare the proverbial pants off of dad? You son of a bitch, I'm in. But she could not; she simply smiled there, satisfied by the fact that she could in fact breathe again. 

Now, though, there was another problem. Q mouthed at her mothers fur, searching for The Good Stuff. At present, it couldn't be found... but sometimes it took her a few minutes anyway. So she wasn't too restless while she sought her whatever-hour-it-was snack, but she began to clambor "upward" to see if she could find it there. Q would probably never be a mountaineer.

Quetzal continued to nuzzle around in Niamh's fur, and even though the child couldn't hear, Niamh continued to go on her rant, just because she felt there had to have been some benefit of talking to her children, even when they couldn't hear her. "'Magine if we could prank him somehow, when he gets home...So, plan is, you sneeze right when he falls asleep, an' then-" Well...She couldn't tell them apart, so instead she went with the easier alternative. "-then your sister'll hafta projectile barf on him once he falls asleep again, and Prim-" She said, but stopped, looking down at her pale little boy. "Well. Him dun' hafta do anyfin'. Him's my sweet li'l lookalike, Daddy's already got enough on his plate lookin' after his blondie of a wife." She said, giving him a little nuzzle. Of course, in the dim light of the den, Primrose simply looked pale- leading Niamh to assume he was beige or gold, like her. 

She felt Quetzal starting to move up along her shoulder, and chuckled. "Ain't up there," She said, and gently nosed her daughter down and back, trying to guide her gently with little nudges, even though she was aware that pups didn't always like being given direction once they'd set their mind on going in a completely different direction.