A Bit About Pets

~~I’ve had this posting ready for ages but have delayed sharing it. I’ll get into the reasons why at the end of the piece. ~~

For now, let’s get to today’s cast of characters!

For those who haven’t read my other postings, I’ve been slowly introducing some significant people who have played a part in my life, particularly those from West Virginia.

However, given the world situation, I thought we might all like a little pick-me-up.

So, I’m writing about a few of the pets (past and present) in my life! I hope it brings happy creature recollections to mind for everyone.

Bring on the dogs and cats!

((And for anyone with a nefarious nature, I don’t use pet names for passwords or prompts. Sorry, no lucrative private info here!))

Taffy

To begin, the first pet I can really remember is a calico kitten named Taffy. She was so named because of a square patch of yellow on her shoulder I thought looked like a piece of candy. I have vague memories of her being around when I was in early elementary school and I seem to recall her holding unsuccessful hunting vigils underneath our bird feeder.

It’s strange my memories of her are so fuzzy, yet I can remember that yellow patch of fur with absolute clarity. Because of her, I will always have a special place in my heart for calico cats. (Even old cranky ones. More on that later.)

Casey

My first significant childhood pet was a mixed breed tri-color dog named Casey. When I decided I wanted a puppy, mom challenged me to save money to adopt one from the shelter. Back then, it cost $50. Looking back, I wonder if she thought I’d never do it. But I did! I’m stubborn when it comes to things I want. I saved every single dollar I got my hands on, and I remember we kept the cash in a dresser drawer in my parent’s bedroom. Every so often, I’d pull it up and count it out. I was super excited when I realized I had enough.

Animal shelters have a distinct odor, and I can still remember the ammonia smell of the kennel where we found him. He was with a mix of other little doggies, and I thought he was the most beautiful puppy ever! He was bushy black and brown with white trimmings. I loved him immediately.

I handed over my savings and Casey was all mine!

I named him for the train engineer, Casey Jones, because I’d been listening to that song on my child-size record player the day we went to get him.

((For those you don’t know, my dad worked for the railroad, and I’ve always had a soft spot for anything related to trains.))

Casey’s life was a series of misadventures. I guess it had to be since his owner was a little girl growing up in a rural community. I loved him much-ly but maybe not wisely.

He got into a bad habit of chasing cars in the driveway. Stopping the car didn’t work. Honking the horn didn’t work. Inevitably, one day he got caught under the tire. He ended up with a broken leg. I remember his recovery and how we kept him snuggled up in old blankets and towels.

I also remember how normally mild-mannered Casey snapped at our veterinarian during the examination. At the time, our vet was a short and rather bountiful man, but he turned out to be amazingly quick at dodging flying teeth!

Several years later, our neighbor had a pack of dogs composed entirely of large breeds. The neighbor would let them roam around loose. On evening, they came into our yard and ganged up on Casey. There was a horrible fight. Luckily, dad noticed what was going on, despite the fact there was no barking.

Afterwards, Dad said you know dogs are in a serious fight when they’re quiet about it. That bit of knowledge has always stuck with me. I’ve always been a little leery when strange dogs get quiet and start hunkering down.

Luckily, Casey survived the attack, and our vet got to demonstrate his speedy reflexes once more. The vet mentioned the possibility of infection, warning of a bad odor if it set in. Everyday, when I would give Casey his antibiotic, I spent a lot of time sniffing all around him to make sure he was okay. Nowadays, I wonder what he must have thought of my rigorous sniffing. Did he think his human was defective? Or did he think I was finally doing what a proper creature should do?

Prize

Later on, when I was thirteen, my parents bought a teeny solid black toy poodle. Her name was Prize, which was short for Surprise.

She was a weird one!

Can dogs be hedonistic?? She sure loved over-indulging in everything!

Her favorite thing in life was to curl up directly on top of heat vents. The one behind our couch was her favorite because the back of the sofa helped trap the heat in one concentrated spot. We had to keep an eye on her when she crawled back there. If we weren’t careful she would snooze there until she’d overheat and have a seizure. She was positively grumpy when we’d shoo her away from that spot, though. Eventually, we bought a plastic guard to fit over the vent and redirect the air flow. It was the only way to keep her safe.

One time, Prize had what can only be described as a chocolate orgy.

Mom used to keep a heavy glass candy jar on top of our piano. This thing was solid! It had a music box in the lid, which accounted for the weight. One evening, when we were away from the house, Prize figured out how to climb up onto the top of the piano and knock that jar over onto the floor. It was full of Reese Cups. She ate so many of them, to this day, I still don’t know how she survived. She even ate about half the wrappers, too. Keep in mind, this dog only weighed about four pounds to begin with, and there was nearly half a bag of miniature Reese Cups in that jar. Her tummy was sooooo bloated. The thing was, she didn’t look the least little bit repentant. To my mind, she looked like a dog who would do it again, in a heartbeat, if given the chance.

At the time, I was still young enough to kind of admire her attitude. Secretly, I would have liked to pig out on chocolate the same kind of way.

((To be honest, I’d still like to do it!))

Prize was the best at night. At bedtime, she’d hop up next to me, crawl under the covers and slide all the way down to the foot of the bed where she’d curl up beside my feet. It was better than a hot water bottle! When she first started to do this, I was worried she might smother. Somehow, she was able to breathe just fine and it became a habit. In the morning, she’d wriggle back up to the top of the bed and hop down, ready to start her day.

She was also an excellent judge of character. ((We’ll let that statement stand alone. Suffice to say, if you’re reading this and you were the one person she hated…..well, she knew.))

So….those were the important pets of my developing years.

As I started writing this, Ron and I had three cats, a doggo, and several fish.

Thor

We’ll start with the elderly canine statesman, Thor.

Thor actually belongs to my middle son, Zach. When Zach moved across the country, we worried it might be too stressful for Thor, so Ron and I volunteered to keep him. Thor had long been a part of my household, because Zach had Thor from childhood (and puppyhood). Thor and I are old pals from way back, I’d guess you’d say.

Like Casey, Thor was adopted from a shelter, and it must have been a rough start to life, since he is a doggo of many fears.

His biggest phobia is a fear of water. Any water. Seriously, he drinks it very reluctantly and only from a certain small bowl. In the summer we have a real fear of his dehydration. We’ve tried laying a tarp out and letting a thin pool of water collect in a dip, thinking he could at least get his feet wet to cool off. He’s not having it.

If we pull out a water hose to water the garden, Thor immediately disappears. He can be right next to you, and suddenly POOF, he’s gone.

The funny thing is, snow is okay. He doesn’t think it’s water. In the wintertime, he loves to scoop up mouthfuls of snow as he runs. He does it so much, I wonder if he’s making up for missed hydration. All of which has lead to the decision to pull an old snow cone maker out of storage for the summer months this year.

Since he has this fear of water, in HIS opinion, baths are out of the question. In MY opinion, he is frequently stinky and in need of a good scrubbing. This difference of opinions has led to many a wet soapy mad dash through the yard! Bathing him is definitely a two-person job!

He also never forgets something that scared him.

For example, Ron’s mom (who is in her 80s) dearly loves Thor. When she visits, she plops down in the floor next to him, gently pats his ears and sings love songs to him. They go something along the lines of “Thor, I adore you. Thor, you’re so beautiful. Pretty pretty Thor.” And he eats it up! You can tell the feelings of admiration are mutual.

But one day, we were having burgers outside, and when Ron’s mom stepped out to our deck, the sliding screen door fell out of the track and crashed to the porch near Thor. Needless to say, he was shaken by it.

From that moment on, anytime he sees her anywhere near that door, he backs away. You can almost see his little doggie brain thinking, “Lady, I love you but you threw that door at me! You go on in and I’ll come along later.”

He never, ever, ever forgets.

John

As for the cats, first and foremost, we have a female calico named John. Ron wanted to give her the extremely scientific designation of “3.3” because she was the third kitten from the third litter of some Wisconsin barn cat. But his boys thought “John” would be a funny, silly name for a female kitten, and the name stuck. It definitely muddies up the water on her gender, though.

The name caused other confusion at one of her early veterinarian appointments. They mistook the dual names for a Biblical reference, and documented her as John 3:3. Despite the fact we’re not religious folks, we let it slide. Even with 9 lives, maybe it doesn’t hurt to have some heavenly connections?

And maybe someone WAS looking out for her. She once rode to work with Ron, without his knowledge, at 6 degrees above zero, 60 mph, on his engine block. He discovered this 8 hours later (when the temp had gone up to maybe 8 degrees), after driving one more block, when he heard frantic meowing from somewhere. Dreading the worst, he opened the car’s hood, only to find her totally intact and still clamped to the top of the engine. Maybe THIS is why she hates riding in cars.

John has always followed us around outside like a puppy. And for most of her life, she was an affectionate, loving cat. However, those of us who live with her now, know she has taken a turn to a decidedly grumpy old lady. Because...

Watson and Crick

Our younger cats are Watson and Crick, like the pioneers in the field of DNA. (Well, kinda. I chose the name Watson because of Sherlock Holmes, and Ron picked the name Crick to make the DNA connection.)

Anyway, little old lady John has despised the kittens from the start.

Which is a shame because Watson and Crick are adorable gray tabby cats. Ron and I have enjoyed having such happy active creatures running around the house.

Thor and John do not share our enthusiasm.

Upon the arrival of the kittens, Thor took one look and beat a hasty retreat. His policy became “avoid the kittens at all costs”. He’d tumble over his own legs trying to get away from them.

John, on the other hand, would start growling from sixteen feet away. She isn’t putting up with any foolish kitten shenanigans.

To the kittens’ credit, they immediately drop down in a submissive sitting pose whenever John displays anger. Which she does...often. But they want to be friends with her soooo much. She does not care.

These days, Watson and Crick are big cats. Especially Watson. Food is his primary motivator in life. ((Have I mentioned Watson and I exist on the same wavelength?)) So, we have these big lanky teenage cats following around behind this little mostly-white calico who takes the occasional swat at them if they get in her way. Ron likens it to an old woman swinging her purse at a group of rowdy boys, yelling at them to GET A JOB!

Nowadays, these teenage kittens have decided Thor is pretty cool. They’ll run over to him for nose boops. To Thor’s credit, he’s warmed up to them enough that he will put up with it, whilst shooting a long-suffering look at Ron and me. You can plainly see him thinking, “Why did you bring these things home?”

So, there you have it! All of the pets who might pop up in my writing from time to time.

Except…...((drumroll, please!))

Luna Mae

We have a new puppy!! Her name is Luna Mae, and she’s an Anatolian Shepherd mix (we think. Soon to be confirmed by DNA testing). She has beautiful amber eyes and such an expressive face. She’s smart and totally lovable! She’s also part of the reason for the delay getting this writing posted. We adopted her from out of state, which involved much paperwork, and then we were busy setting up for her arrival.

As for how the other animals are dealing with a large lumbering new friend...

Watson and Crick (no longer the newcomers) approach her with the utmost caution, curiosity, and – if she moves - panic.

Thor is grumpily optimistic. He seems to like her adoration, until she chews on his ears, then he grumbles loudly and escapes to pout on his dog bed.

John is currently plotting our imminent demise from somewhere around the farthest, darkest edges of the house.

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I would encourage anyone thinking of getting a new pet to take it seriously and know it’s a long term commitment. We have our wonderful animal youngsters but, remember, we also have older pets. Both are fun, in their own ways. You just have to be in it for the long haul.

Another good thing to keep in mind….pets ain’t cheap! Ron jokes that every visit to the vet costs $300, and he’s not far off the mark. Besides all the food, toys, and treats, our dogs and cats get regular medications and vaccinations. Spaying and neutering also cost a lot of money.

Then there are some costs you might not anticipate, such as boarding fees when you travel. Or the need for pet gates and fences. It all adds up.

All of which isn’t meant to discourage you from adopting a new pet. It just means go into it with your eyes open.

Despite the responsibility and cost, our pets bring us great joy!

And, before I forget, we enjoy our fish, too. Exciting fish tales usually don’t end well for the fish. We prefer they have a quiet boring life. And they do.

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~~~ If any of you have wonderful animal friends, and you want to share their stories, leave a message in the comments or contact me via Facebook. I love animal tales! (I firmly believe reptiles, arachnids, insects, and various other creatures count as pets. All that matters is the love you have for them.) ~~~

~~~ I want to give a huge shout-out to Ron for helping me with John’s story. Ron writes and edits scientific grants for a living but he has a witty streak that works well with my style. I consider myself lucky to have a talented editor on my side. ~~~

((I just noticed the page count for this piece is up to 6 pages which is two more pages than I’ve written for the actual book I’m attempting. *sigh*.))