Pets
Periodically, Ninepatch proposes various themes for contributors letters. Here are the letters we received in response to the 'Pets' theme...
MORE ABOUT
BERKELEY
My dog, Berkeley, is a member of our family. Here's an idea of our family dynamics. I'm the one who found and bought the dog. My kids had been BEGGING for a dog for years and I couldn't hold them off anymore. At that time they were eight and nine, finally old enough for some responsibility.
I had never had a dog before because I grew up in apartments. My husband had had many dogs. His only objection to getting a dog was that he would get attached and then it would break his heart when the dog died.
Anyway, Berkeley, the little stinker, immediately bonded with my husband and has ever since worshiped the ground that man walks on. (I thinks it's an alpha male pack behavior thing.) Berk even went through a phase a couple years ago when he growled at me and my kids if we tried to get physically between my husband and him! Anyway, Berk and my husband have a mutual admiration society.
As a member of the family, he travels with us. When we took a family vacation to Yellowstone National Park in 2002, my husband made Berk a special perch out of wood (completely upholstered with foam & material.) It fits onto the inside of the driver's side door of the car. Berk likes to lay in that exact space so he can see out the window as we go down the road.
Now that I think of it, maybe Berk is the alpha male!
Maeve ( Feb. '04) adds, "One more thing: Berk is sooooo cute (I should send you a picture! ) He adds to the esthetics of my life! Anyway, I'll stop now before you have me committed"
STINKER
I've had many dogs over the years, but my favorite was a knee- high, black-haired mutt accidentally named "Stinker." Actually, he got his name one day when I had him outside and all of the kids came to see him. He was chewing on my shoe and I called him a little stinker. The kids picked it up and kept calling him that. No matter how hard I tried to call him something else, he never answered to anything but Stinker. Later, he really earned the name. He'd come home after a visit to a nearby sheep pen wreaking of dung. After chasing the animals around their field, he would roll in their pen. Then he'd strut into the house like he had on Chanel #5!
One day Stinker became angry because I had been gone all day. When I came home, I found my baby's dirty diapers all chewed up and strewn about the house. Needless to say, I was furious. I yelled at him constantly as I stomped around slamming non-breakables in the process of cleaning up.
Still enraged, I realized Stinker hadn't been 'outside' yet. I opened the door and shouted down the hallway, "The door's open! Get 'outside'." He looked like he was in one of those combat movies where the guys crawl around on their bellies to avoid being shot. (I didn't know the dog could run with his belly on the ground!) When he hit the door, he took off full tilt.
An hour later, Stinker still hadn't returned, but that wasn't unusual, as he commonly explored the country side. I ate supper and then walked up the road to visit my friends. When I walked in everyone was subdued and trying not to laugh out loud. I asked them what was going on. Their response was, "Maybe you should tell us!"
Confused, I asked," Why?"
They informed me there had been a noise at their door and when they answered it, there was Stinker. He was looking some what forlorn, sitting up and begging. They invited him in and he slinked in on his tummy, his head low. One friend was petting him in another room when Stinker heard me come in. At the sound, the dog scrambled and hid under their couch. He stayed there the entire time I visited them.
When I left, I called to him, but he didn't respond so I said good night and left. Stinker stayed with my friends for three days. Then one evening there was a scratching on my door. When I opened it, there sat Stinker begging while shaking and trembling. It seemed all was forgiven so I invited him in. Anyway, I always thought Stinker was a pretty smart dog to run away to a safe place and wait until I had calmed down sufficiently to return home.
Pam (Nov.-Dec. '03) "My neighbors always loved to tell the story about the time Stinker ran away from home."
WILLIE
When I first got my Cairn Terrier "Willie," everything went wrong. For starters, the guy at the pet store told me that he would always have that short soft coat. I hadn't researched the breed in any way --just picked out the cutest puppy in the window. You can imagine how shocked I was when, in only a few weeks, he grew a long thick wiry coat similar to Toto's in the "Wizard of Oz!"
An extra fluffy coat and dog hair everywhere turned out to be only a small inconvenience compared to what happened next. Within a few hours of coming home, Willie began to cough. At first we thought it might be the stress, but by the next day I took him to the vet and found out he had kennel cough - a relatively common condition among dogs that are grouped with others. Or so we thought. But one round of antibiotics and two weeks later my precious little puppy that I'd fallen madly in love with wasn't any better. In fact - he was much worse. He'd taken to coughing almost constantly by then and never wanted to do anything but lay in his kennel and sleep. I was beside myself when we returned to the vet.
They asked that I leave Willie for the day to accommodate ex-rays, so I dropped him off in the morning and went off to work. When I returned, I expected to find my puppy happy with a new bottle of pills that would fix him. I wasn't prepared for what followed.
When I told the receptionist that I was there to pick up Willie she escorted me into an exam room and said, "Dr. will be in to speak with you shortly." I said, "Well, where is Willie?" She replied, "Dr. will bring him after he speaks with you." By the time the doctor arrived (five minutes --?-- later) I was a wreck.
When he explained that Willie had a tumor in his lung, and that there was no cure - euthanasia was our only option - my eyes filled with tears. I told the doctor that I had grown to love Willie already - and that he was so young - how could this be possible? When the doctor saw how distraught I was, he offered to send Willie's ex-rays to Texas A&M University to get a second opinion. He cautioned however that I should not get my hopes up. We agreed that I would take Willie home for the weekend, and that we would wait until we heard back before following through.
That weekend, I spoiled him and held him close in every imaginable way. Thank God - Monday brought the most marvelous news - the tumor wasn't solid!! The vet drained it and put Willie on a very strong round of antibiotics. I took my spoilt little hairy dog home, thrilled to death that he was alive - and he was mine!
Sherryl (Jan.'04) adds, "Willie was the most emotionally sensitive creature that I have ever known. When I was sad, he would always jump in my lap and nuzzle my arm in a very specific manner. Often, I'd be shocked when he nuzzled in that familiar way. I'd stop and ask myself - "What am I sad about?" And of course, every single time - there would be something lurking just under the surface that I was trying to ignore. How did he know? I've read that our pets become master detectives when it comes to our subtle non-verbal cues. But Willie is still the most amazing empath that I've ever known!"
OUR MAINE COON CAT
How my husband and I got our Maine Coon cat, Andrew is a complicated story. It was about five years ago. I had gone to pick up my grandson at his mother's house. There I was greeted by this lovely Maine Coon cat. My grandson called the cat, "Sassy."
He said Sassy appeared on the back porch one morning, crying at the back door.
He and his mother both like animals. However, her new husband did not like cats. So, Sassy stayed, but outside. They fixed up a warm, dry place for the cat in their shed and fed the cat on the back porch.
After about a year, I got a phone call from my ex- daughter-in law. She was brokenhearted. She and her husband were moving and he was not going to take Sassy along. She asked me if I would consider taking the cat. I already had two cats and did not think I wanted another. Still, I talked it over with my husband, who said, "Go get the cat. We will find a home for it."
When approached by a person, this cat jumped up softly on you and wanted to be picked up and babied. Sassy also came when you called. It reminded me of a dog in cat's fur. I had made an appointment with the vet to have the animal examined and groomed. I had also changed the cat's name to "Anna." When I called in to see if "Anna" AKA "Sassy" was ready to be picked up, the groomer said I might want to consider changing "Anna" to "Andrew" since the cat was a neutered, declawed male. So, Andrew, it was.
I took Andrew home and let him in the house. Immediately, he jumped up beside my husband who was sitting on the couch and crawled into his lap.
Remember my husband said we would find a home for this cat? That was five years ago and Andrew is still with us.
Patricia (Jan.'04) adds,"Andrew is a great cat. He's not an outdoor cat with us. He lives in the house. But, Andrew loves to go out with my husband. He follows Bob out to the garden and hangs out there while Bob works with the plants. "
MAKE EACH DAY YOUR PET
Approach each day
as you approach a pet.
As a pet gives
Unconditional love,
So each day provides
Unconditional love.
James (Feb.'04) adds, "Make each day your pet is the phrase I wrote on ten sticky notes for the February'04 issue. Writing that message encouraged this further comment."
CLEO AND OTHERS
Pets are very dear to me, and I've had them most of my life. My earliest memory is of an angel fish named Cleo. I loved it dearly. One morning my mother found Cleo dead under a sea shell. When she showed me, I felt more wonder than grief. It was my first experience with death.
My first bird was a parakeet named Chee-Chee Choo-Choo. That poor creature endured me pulling out some of its long wing and tail feathers. She became very tame in spite of it. She even laid an egg, but it never hatched. Chee-Chee met her end when my baby sister corralled her under a blanket and sat on her. THAT gave me real grief!
Following Chee-Chee's death, I had another parakeet and named him Papaya, because he was green. One morning I took Papaya out of the cage while I was drinking orange juice. I perched him on the edge of my glass to see how far he could lean over to sip the juice. As you might guess, he fell in head first. I panicked and hollered. Fortunately, my mother was right there. She dumped the juice on the table, picked up the bird, rinsed him off at the sink and put him back in his cage. I was ashamed of myself.
I learned wonder at life's changes, grief of death and shame with my first pets.
Carol (Oct. '03) adds "I also had a series of cats, and now I have my daughter's cat, because she has moved away from home. This cat is a male long-hair, white with black ears, tail and spots. (He's sitting on my lap as I type this.) Wrigley is extremely affectionate, He follows my husband and me up and down the stairs, and writhes on the floor until he gets his tummy stroked. One of his favorite tricks is to walk nonchalantly towards the front door when he hears the doorbell ring, and dash outside when the door is open and my attention is diverted. Now, I've learned to expect this and thwart him."
WELCOMING
I believe a pet, like a child, has mirror-like qualities that reflect its feelings. After an absence, a dog cannot welcome you back with open arms, so it contents itself with a loving wagging tail and smiling face.
A cat welcomes with friendly purring, a trip to your lap or a happy caressing of your leg. Such responses help one to relax, and give a warm feeling of acceptance and love.
James (Nov.-Dec. '03) adds, "Happiness is contagious."
MAIZIE - THE CAT WHO CAME BACK
Before my husband, John, died of cancer in August 2001, we took in a young stray /outside cat who lived in a friend's yard. I named her Maizie for the brilliant yellow color of her coat . It was I who fed, watered, brushed her and took care of her litter box, but she instinctively clung to John.
Now, John was not exactly the biggest cat lover. Looking back, I swear that the reason the cat was so devoted to him is because she "sensed" his cancer before either of us knew about it. Later, the doctors told us the tumor they removed in 2000 was probably there five years, undetected.
After John passed, I went to stay elsewhere a while and returned four days later. Maizie seemed perfectly normal for my initial return, but ...within an hour, she started jumping to the window and looking out over and over again.
Next, she proceeded down the hall producing an eardrum-splitting caterwauling. She cried up and down the house from the living area to the bedroom. Back and forth, she went, back and forth. I was sure she was looking for John.
It had been our custom to allow Maizie to go out to the front yard and romp around with us. Above all this wailing, I asked her if she wanted to go out. I held open the door, she bounded out and I followed. But, to my surprise, she didn't play -- she took off! She just ran into the deep woods at one side of our country property. She didn't return that night-- or any night soon.
Over the next few weeks, there were sightings by neighbors. (Keep in mind neighbors are half a mile away.) From time to time at night when I went out and called her, I actually thought I "felt" her near.
One day in December, (over three months later) I opened the door to sweep some new fallen snow off the front walk ...and there she was!
"PURPPPP!" she greeted me!
" MAIZIE!!!" I cried, dropping the broom, "You came back!" I gathered her into my arms.
A cat psychologist friend suggested Maizie was mourning John's passing just like me. When I returned without John, she may even have gone out to actually search for him. During her absence, neighbors and other locals pinpointed her for me. Using an arc pencil to plot the sightings, I could almost draw a circle with a one-mile radius around our house.
It seems that when Maizie couldn't find John, she finally returned. She was pounds lighter by then-nearly three- paws in the grave. Apparently, she was ready to live with the fact that it was just the two of us.
It's amazing what some cats will go through and still manage to survive.
CaT (Nov.-Dec. '03) up-dates this story." While Maizie was away, one month to the day after John's passing, his youngest sister passed away. I inherited her cat, Jessica. Maizie immediately discovered she now had to share the house with a new boarder. I think she could sense healing this time. She joined right in grieving and mending with Jessica and me. It was great to have her back."
BERKELEY
I have a beloved four-year-old Maltese who nearly caused a family feud among my husband, daughter, son and me at Christmas. I insisted that the dog go with us to Colorado on a ski getaway. However, the condo we rented would not have dogs.
Our little fellow is only nine pounds. Berkley travels very nicely, and he doesn't shed, dig, chew, and hardly ever barks. As my breeder told us, his species was bred to sit on laps and love people.
After some "discussion," I got my way. We had a nice relaxed vacation and have not been charged the $250 fine for having an animal. Peace has returned to the family.
Maeve (Feb. '03) adds, Maybe I didn't get caught but, I have to admit that I was being deceptive, and sneaking the little guy in and out…It was not a good lesson to teach my children..."
A RED TALE
Our family once owned an Australian Shepherd named Red, because of his beautiful russet coat. He was a smart, sweet, totally housebroken dog. Red loved everybody but he knew he was my husband's dog. Milton drove a pick-up truck and took him almost everywhere he went. He would say, "Load up, Red!" and the dog would jump into the back of the truck.
Red was very intelligent and well-behaved, so we had only a few rules for him. His constantly shedding hair caused problems in several ways. So I didn't take Red in my car with its velour upholstery; and he was not allowed on any of the household furniture. For the same reason, and to avoid his toenail scratches on the hard-wood floors, he was not permitted to go into the living and dining rooms. He was very obedient 99% of the time--but that remaining one percent could be surprising.
After Milton died, Red seemed to understand that we were on our own and he attached himself more closely to me. I talked to him as a human and he understood. One Sunday afternoon as I prepared to leave for a meeting, Red waited at the back door, all set to go with me. I explained to him, "No, Red, you can't go. You'll have to stay home this time." He gave me a baleful look and turned away--his feelings were hurt!
When I got home, Red was lying nonchalantly in the kitchen. It was unlike him not to greet me at the door so I knew he was still peeved at me. Later, in the living room, I saw that he had left a deposit on the oriental rug. We understood each other perfectly!
Red had a sense of humor, too. Late one night as I was closing the house, checking door locks and turning off lights, I patted him on the head and said, "Time for all red dogs to go to bed." When I went into my bedroom, there he lay; on my bed, with his head on my pillow! I had to laugh-it didn't seem right to scold him for being on the furniture, when he was such a clown!
June Poucher (Jan '04) adds: "I miss old Red; he was a faithful friend. He spoiled me for owning another dog."
ALL I CAN SHARE NOW
Being a pet-person from way back, I'd been looking forward to our Ninepatch talk of pets. Then, on Wednesday evening, Rudy, my beloved dog-friend, suffered a most untimely passing. Now, I'm caught between avoiding the topic for fear of bursting into a new bout of grief and wanting to talk about this dear, dear friend. So, as a middle ground, I'll share this.
Until now, I'd thought that years of alone time had taught me to deal well with some inner loneliness. Now though, as I stare out at the field where Rudy and I once played, I think of all the days that stretch ahead of me -- empty without him -- and I realize that I've been fooling myself.
I haven't learned to deal with my loneliness. As long as Rudy was around I was never really alone.
TROR ( Oct.'03) adds: Rudolf Valentino Van Doherty was an awfully big name for such a tiny puppy, but he was one of the truly great 'loves' of my life. Rudy was a great comfort through all the years my hubby was in the military and away so often."
PRETTY IN PINK
Sometimes I wonder about the surges of cause and effect that ripple about in this world; how one little happenstance sets in motion a force that tugs, diverts, even picks up and drops in another place. When that thought sequence occurs, I inevitably ponder the case of Charlene -- the wild piglet brought to our family compound, and how she adapt-ed, survived, and even created a joyous world in the unlikely situation in which she found herself.
Charlene, a mere two handfuls, was lifted from a wild litter with no mother. She arrived, and immediately made her mark. Put on the ground, she fearlessly squealed her way into the melee of dogs, cats, puppies and kittens and snuggled up with the littlest ones. With that, a wild creature defined herself in an alien setting using only her instincts and her intelligence. Charlene quickly dominated the yard. She could turn on a dime, out-run and out-think all of the others. If one of the much larger dogs nipped at her tempting tail, she could wheel around and butt the offender almost before the offense was committed. In retaliation, squealing, she would shove her head under the back legs of the dog, and flip it over. In no time at all, wherever Charlene went, she had a coterie of animals around her, enveloped in her incredible force field. We, too, were honored when she trotted up for a head-scratch.
Then Charlene started to grow, biiiiig, her appetite became voracious, formidable, even fearsome. She never had enough to eat, and complained loudly, rooting up the lawn and garden. Soon she began to forage in the woods, and discovered the RV park down the road where she began mooching from sympathetic campers. She raised a ruckus there and I was afraid that someone would not realize she was a pet and shoot her, so I bought her a wide neon pink collar. We soon realized, however, that Charlene was simply getting too big. We were in trouble with the RV park authorities and now none of our pens would hold her. Life in the wild was out of the question, as she was fearless of humans. We felt like parents of a nearly three-hundred pound, out-of-control adolescent daughter. We fretted and argued about what to do.
Finally, a soft-hearted friend with a ranch offered to take her. Upon her arrival there, she flipped all of the dogs and quickly established her leadership role. Everyone rejoiced. Then, another crisis loomed. The owner, a deputy sheriff, found that Charlene's wild scent was interfering with his training of attack dogs for his department. He apologetically told us he had to take her to a wild-animal rescue shelter.
She was accepted, and cared for. Missing her, we went looking at the shelter. There was a pen full of wild, squealing hogs, but no Charlene. The shelter manager explained that wild hogs tear up the habitats of native Florida animals, and have to be killed to keep them under control. As a matter of fact, he had just had a wild hog barbecue to raise money for the shelter. When I sadly informed him that one of those hogs was our erstwhile pet, Charlene, he laughed. No, she was still alive. She was so personable, with her pink collar, always coming up and offering her head to scratch, that he had given her to another shelter on the east coast that needed a "star" attraction.
Joan H. (October '03) adds, "I keep thinking about the moral of this story. Is it: 'Leave helping the displaced to the experts?' or, 'We can learn from the wild and the free?' Maybe, 'Seize the moment because it won't last?' How about, "Sometimes there's no clean moral to every event in life.' I know one thing for sure. No matter the pros and cons of attempting a wild-animal rescue, I would not want to have missed the opportunity to meet a delightful pig with a pink collar named Charlene. "
DOGGONIT
Lassie, Shep, Sport, Duchess I, Duchess II, Gretchen Gidget, Tassie and Maddie; a Collie, an English Shepherd, one of questionable parenthood, a German Shepherd… make that three German Shepherds (plus a dozen puppies)…., a Miniature Schnauzer and two Wire Hair Fox Terriers.
These are dogs I have owned and loved. They were baby sitters, herders, "Circus" per-formers, hiking partners, home security guards and all companions of the first order. Perhaps "owned" is an ill-chosen word much as one does not "own" one's children, spouse or best friends.
"Which is your favorite?" people always ask. It's like asking "Which is your favorite child?" I guess, if pressed, it's the one nudging my leg for her walk as I type these words. Or, perhaps it's the one whimpering for a snack as I pass her kennel. No, it must be the one begging for my lap as I settle in for a TV movie. Well, you get the idea.
Now in my 76th year, I have known wonderful friends, family and lovers, but none more loyal and faithful than my four-legged tail-waggers. Excuse me now, gotta' go, someone's crying for a game of catch.
Don (Jan.'04) says, " If you really want to know about dogs, read first Jon Katz', A Dog Year, then his, The New Work of Dogs."
MISTRESS GAIL
by Miss Kitty Good Girl
.....the garage door! She's home.
I'll meet her at the door --
my curiosity, you know.
She always says, "Hi Miss Kitty Good Girl!"
A little high cry will tell her
"I'm helpless here alone.
Where have you been?"
She's mine. I rub her legs, her feet, her shoes,
sprawl seductively in front of her.
I nibble her feet, lick her toes,
wrap my soft furry white legs around her ankles.
She will reach for me, pick me up,
snuggle my face, and I'll wriggle away.
We like a quiet place.
I'm always alert and full of fright
for unpredictable squealing grandchildren.
Is there a cat who has not felt the pain
of a child fascinated by a swishing tail?
I have been known to do a pirouette mid-air,
and streak out of sight.
Gail (Jan.'04) gives us an update, "Since beautiful and healthy No. 10 grandchild arrived on January 3, my life has not been my own. I love it, but I'm grateful to return to Miss Kitty and my own bed."
Write and we'll add your 'Pets' letter too!