Taz is picking up some bad habits from the other dogs -- lying down when he eats and barking at the table:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...z/DSC01074.jpg
Printable View
Taz is picking up some bad habits from the other dogs -- lying down when he eats and barking at the table:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...z/DSC01074.jpg
I saw Larry today when I went to town. He has already got himself another dog -- a Lab. According to him he has had to teach the dog to leave his chickens alone. The dog was killing his chickens, but after a few lessons from Larry the dogs seems to leave the chickens alone when they are in the immediate vicinity of the chicken house. However, if they wander too far astray from there all bets are off. I won't say what method he uses to teach his dogs, but evidently he has made some progress, at least.
My visit to the local farmer's market yesterday put me in mind of an experience I had not long ago.
Summertime is the ideal time to live in Alcorn County, Mississippi. The good country folks around here love their gardens, and the old timers can be seen early mornings tending their gardens with their 'maters and 'taters and okry and squash. There would be peas and corn, radishes and lettuce, and everybody has a "par" tree in the yard, and apple trees and fig trees. Poke salad grows wild, and every body has chickens and there are goats and cows and pigs. There is a good reason that Mississippi leads the nation's obesity rate.
I have tried my hand a time or two at gardening. I’m not bad, but proper vegetable gardening requires time, and time is something I do not have a lot of. So, I usually buy my stuff at the local farmer’s market where one can find all manner of local fruits and vegetables, or I may resort to my favorite method: stop and chat with some of the local farmers and hope that they offer me some of their harvest for free. I have learned one thing, and that is that country folk are proud of their garden vegetables and fruit trees and are only too willing to share. So, I take advantage. Lots of folks around here are very willing to give of their harvest, and it is considered rude not to accept.
With my schedule I can only go to town once or twice a month to run errands. There are several routes to town, and each time I go I try to take a different way. It was on one of these errand runs that I first saw the white dog. She was about the size of a large Labrador retriever, but she was not a retriever. I don't know what she was, but I saw her walking along a country road, head hanging low, looking lost and forlorn. Of course, I had to stop. She came to me warily but with tail wagging. She had a collar but no tag. I knew I couldn't leave her so I prepared to load her in my car.
"That's my grandson's dog!" I looked around and there in an adjacent yard was an elderly lady gathering in her garden. I walked over and after a short conversation assured myself that she knew the dog. I wasn't going to leave the poor thing abandoned, but if she belonged to someone nearby then I guess she would be okay. "Yea, that's my grandson's dog. He lives just up the road a piece."
"Nice garden you have. Do you work it by yourself?" I asked. Yes, she responded, then she asked if I'd like to take home some 'maters or okry. "Well, I don't know, I'm sure you could use all you have there."
Oh, shoot," she said. "I got more'n I could ever eat. We give it all away, or it will all spoil. Go ahead and take what you want."
"Well, I guess I'll take a couple tomatoes." She helped me load up a plastic shopping bag of ‘maters and okry, and I was on my way.
A couple weeks later I went to town a different route. Along the road I noticed a dog, and, what's this? The same dog? I was on a different road, and pulled beside the dog to have a look. It was the same dog, all right. I got out of my car and checked out the collar. Same dog for sure. Then I looked around. There was a farmer and his wife working their garden nearby and I yelled out to them, "Do ya'll know this dog?"
"Eh? What's that? Oh, yea. That's our niece's dog." I walked over to where they were. We talked for a while, and they assured me that the dog belonged to their niece who lived just down the road. Funny, I thought. That's the same dog, but their story is different from the old lady's. Before I left I had some nice squash and some good ears of corn.
A month later I was down another road when I saw the same dog! It is hard to believe, but I was seeing the same dog as the two times before. Of course, none of the locations were more than a couple miles from each other, but they were all either on different roads or different sections of the same road. The story was similar in this case, only the dog belonged to someone's sister who lived farther down the original road than the spot where the first old lady had said her grandson lived. Satisfied that the dog did actually belong to someone, I left the dog alone. This time I left with some pears and some peaches.
At least one more time I saw the white dog, and I've never seen her since. I was traveling down the same road as the first time when I saw the white dog at the opposite end of where I had first seen her. A little girl was playing in the front yard of a house nearby, and I stopped and asked if she knew the dog. She said she did and that the dog belonged to her neighbor. The little girl's mother exited the house and I asked again about the dog. "Belongs to the man next door, but we feed her sometimes, so I guess she sorta belongs to both of us." I noticed that they had a nice garden. I told her I was just concerned about the dog, and oh by the way, that's a nice garden you have there. "Would you like some peas? I got some nice corn and tomatoes, too." I was glad to receive the fruit and vegetables.
As I left the lady and her little girl I wondered to myself about the white dog. What a scalawag that dog is! I said to myself. She's a regular vagabond! I shook my head, amazed that a dog had figured out if she wandered up and down the old country roads she could always rely on finding a free meal here and there. Then as I was driving along with my bounty, the thought occurred to me that the old cur just might be thinking the same thing about me.
They grow 'em small down on the farm in North "Missippi." And yes, that is I, haggling with the farmer (well, his grandson) over the price of some "okry."
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...rmerMarket.jpg
sounds like that dog shows up whenever you "need" some produce!
hope she DOES have a good home. :)
**hugs**
Each morning just before leaving for work I tell all the dogs to "Go to your room!" At that command Cathy goes to her kennel; Sam, Oscar, and Scamp go to their kennel; Fred goes to his kennel; Bonnie, Clyde, and Lu Lu go to their kennel; and little Taz has already learned what that means: he runs to his little kennel. In the case of Taz, he has really grown over the past couple of weeks or so, and he has quite outgrown his kennel, so I have fixed him up a much larger place. He hasn't quite become accustomed to his new place yet, so this morning when I gave the command little Taz went straight for his old kennel. I saw this and stood by, yelling at Taz that he had gone to the wrong place, and imploring him to "Come here!" It eventually occurred to me to retrieve my camera, and I did just in time to snap this shot as Taz was turning to exit his former "room:"
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...z/TazCrate.jpg
[If you look closely, you can see that the gate is open. Taz had entered the kennel and was sitting there waiting for me to close the gate.]
I was born in the mid 50's, and like so many Southerners of my generation grew up during the Jim Crow era, and like so many of my generation, was taught and grew up with the impression that the Negro race was inferior to the Caucasian. Surely prejudice resides in the heart of everyone to one degree or another, and thankfully, eventually I would come to the point in my life where I would realize that the philosophy with which I grew up is all wrong. But it would take a non-human creature to help me reach that point.
At 32 years of age I had reached the lofty position of pizza delivery person. Even though I had graduated from high school third out of a class of 143 and had been offered scholarships, I had decided to take a different path. But that is a different story. During the spring of 1986 I made a decision that changed my life forever. I decided that I could do better than pizza delivery, so at the age of 32 I enrolled as a freshman at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge. Back in the day, I told my fair share and enjoyed my fair share of "N" jokes. It was all in good fun. Whereas I had been raised to believe a certain way, my parents did insist that I show respect to all people regardless of race or color. The brand of prejudice with which I grew up did not include lynchings, but it did include jokes like: "I don't have anything against blacks. I think everybody oughta own one!" Believe it or not, there are still people who tell jokes like that. Thankfully I finally got over it, and although it wasn't necessarily my fault that I grew up that way, I am very grateful that I was able to finally realize the wrongness of the way I was.
In Baton Rouge I found a very nice second floor apartment situated immediately adjacent to the LSU campus. The kitchen and one of the bedroom windows looked out onto the horse and cow pasture of the LSU veterinary college. Beyond that was the levee that held back the Mississippi river. If you've never been to that part of the United States you might not realize that the levee system of the Mississippi River has quite become Pandora's Box. Samuel Clemons wrote about this in his wonderful book, "Life on the Mississippi." Through the years, despite the efforts of engineers dredging the bottom to remove massive amounts of sediment that settle from all that is carried from upstream, the bottom of the river has steadily risen so that today the bottom of the river is where the top used to be. I saw this for myself the first time I happened to look out of my kitchen window in time to see one of those large oil tankers floating by ... above the level of my second floor window!
Anyways, I used to love to look out and see the levee, and the pasture, a gorgeous green was dotted here and there with horses or cows. I was in college now and was happy for the decision I had made. Now I could get down to doing something serious with my life. I was enjoyed college life! For me it was not all about parties, oh no. I loved studying and doing homework. I still do. Today I am a software engineer, and I spend my days reading through and writing hundreds of lines of code, developing highly complex applications or their algorithms.
It took a while to get here though. First I must pay the price of going to class, doing homework, and taking exams. But truth be told I loved all of that. During most of my college career I tried to avoid social entanglements such as close friends, especially girlfriends. I did not need nor did I want the distractions. But I did acquire one minor distraction, and that was in the form of a beautiful, golden cocker spaniel.
Shortly after moving to my new apartment two new tenants arrived. They were two of the most beautiful, tall, sleek, gorgeous beauties I had ever seen, and their beauty was breath-taking. I had never been that stunned by the good looks of a black female. As it turned out both girls were members of the LSU women's track team. I met them in the summer of 1987, and as it turned out the LSU girls track team won the NCAA outdoor track and field championships that year. Eventually, the LSU women’s track team would win 11 or 12 consecutive national titles beginning with that first one. These two girls were pioneers in that effort. One of them, and I hope I can get away with using her real name here, was Esther Jones. Esther was on one of the women's relay teams that one a gold medal in the 1988 Summer Olympics in Seoul, South Korea. I didn't get to know Esther all that well -- she was world class and was always on the road. The other girl, equally athletic, was a high jumper. She was the first to show me just how misinformed I had been regarding my prejudice against blacks -- she and her dog.
At the time I met Esther and Leslie I still felt toward blacks the way I had always felt: "show respect, but remember that they are not a good as you." Esther and Leslie moved in, and college life went on. Going to college was the best thing I ever did. At 32 I had a healthy respect for going to class and doing homework. I determined that I would make the best grades I could, and I was into my third semester before I made my first "B." Until then I had made all "A's" taking courses like microbiology, calculus, and organic chemistry. I had grown up in the South, so I had been around blacks my whole life -- but not to socialize with them. I experienced the desegregation period during the 60's and 70’s. The first blacks with which I went to school were three students that integrated my school in the eight grade. I had made friends with them, but the prejudice with which I had been raised stayed with me. Now I was sitting in class at LSU next to young people of all manner of background, color, and ethnicity. I learned early on that Orientals are extremely intelligent, as are Indians, and surprise, surprise: blacks! I still have the computer printouts from tests results. My name was most always placed at or near the top, but more often than not there would always be one or two students that consistently outscored me. I made it a point to seek these students out, and when I did would find that they usually were not Caucasian. As often or not some of these students who would outscore me on a chemistry test would be black.
I had always been taught that blacks are superior athletes to whites because they had been bred to work in the fields. I had also been taught that blacks had thicker skulls and smaller brains, with the result that whites are superior intellectually. Of course, I believed what I had been taught, so how was it that these black students were outscoring me on college-level exams? It didn't fit in with what I had been taught.
Things were great back at my apartment. They got better. One day there was a knock on my door. Leslie was there holding her dog, Abigail. She was going out of town, and would I mind watching Abigail for a few days? I knew Abigail. I had seen the little dog hanging around Leslie’s apartment and had come to pet her and hold her as did everyone in the complex. Abigail had been a gift from Leslie's boyfriend. I observed that Leslie took very good care of Abigail, and I would always say hi to the pup whenever I saw her and Leslie out and about or by the apartment pool. I had gotten to know Abigail and Leslie, and Leslie decided that she could trust me to look after her pup while she was gone.
So Abigail came to stay with me for a few days. In the beginning I was not enamored with the idea of taking on the responsibility, but Abigail quickly wormed herself into my heart. Within a few days, Leslie returned from her trip, and Abigail went home. In the mean time I had begun the practice of leaving my front door open when I was home. My air conditioner did not work very well, and it does get hot in South Louisiana. Leslie’s routine came to be that she would open her door and let Abigail out, and Abigail would run to my apartment and fly through the open doorway, scurrying about the apartment until she found me. She developed the habit of throwing herself into my lap and showing me her belly. I had earlier made the mistake of scratching her belly one day, and it was all over with after that.
Everyday after those few days I had watched over Abigail, she would come down to my apartment for a visit. In the early mornings, Leslie would open her door and Abigail would run out of her apartment, down the walkway, turn the corner and glide straight into my apartment. It became a daily routine. I am a very early riser. I would be up and at my desk studying each morning by 4:00 am, and usually sometime between then and time to go to my first class at 7:30, Abigail would come flying in, waddling and shaking and beaming all over. One morning I had stepped out early and had closed my door behind me. I happened to see Leslie open her door and saw Abigail fly through her door and down the walkway, headed for my apartment. I heard a heavy thud and heard a sharp yelp. I rushed over to see what happened. There was Abigail lying on her side just outside my closed door, her tongue hanging out as she panted. Her eyes looked at mine and for a few seconds they failed to recognize me. The look on her face said, “What happened?” When Abigail finally recognized who I was she broke into that winning smile of hers, raised herself off, and stood by patiently until I opened the door. Cautiously she proceeded to go inside.
"I gotta go to class now, Abigail. You come back and see me when I get back."
Leslie was a gorgeous girl -- tall and lean with a big smile and very pleasant personality. In the beginning she would apologize for Abigail's intrusion, but eventually she would come to accept Abigail's forays are just part of the way things are. Abigail became as much my dog as she was Leslie's. Over the course of the year or two that Leslie, Esther, and some of the other LSU track girls' lived at the complex I became friends with most of them. Quite often before a big meet, all of the girls would gather at the complex and go to a movie. They never failed to ask me to tag along. As a group we saw such movies as "Field of Dreams," and "Rain Man." These girls, world-class athletes, All-Americans, and NCAA national champions would exit the theater in tears, wiping their faces, and I, being the macho man that I was, would be doing the same.
Time moves on, and in college one semester moves into another, then another, and so on. Each morning before I would go to class Abigail would show up in my bedroom or kitchen, wagging her tail, smiling that big smile of hers, looking for her belly rub. Her “mommy” and I had become very good friends, and it was inevitable that the day came that Leslie would announce that she had become engaged to be married. Within a few weeks she was married and moved out of the apartment. Abigail went with her, of course.
College moved on and the great day of graduation arrived. I was thoroughly exhausted and ready to move on to bigger and greater things. President Ronald Reagan spoke at my commencement. On the return walk to my apartment I happened upon a couple walking through one of the several Live Oak groves around the beautiful campus. The couple had their dog with them, and as I crossed their path I realized it was Leslie and her husband. Abigail was with her, and the three of us enjoyed a brief reunion. I held Abigail for a few minutes, and she wagged her tail and licked my face, and the two of us enjoyed a few minutes embrace. I gave Leslie a hug, shook her husband’s hand, we parted and have never seen each other since.
I turned back, though, and watched as Leslie and her husband and Abigail continued on their way. Abigail would look around, but Leslie had to hold tightly to her to keep her from jumping and running back to me. But as they disappeared from view, I thought back on that day that Leslie had knocked on my door and asked if I would babysit her dog. I recalled that on that day I still held to that prejudice with which I had grown up, but that over the past three of four years of knowing Leslie and her dog, of attending classes and coming in second to students who were supposed to be “inferior,” I had definitely come to realize that those philosophies with which I had grown up were all bogus. I had learned from my time with Leslie and with her dog Abigail that among God’s creatures, “red and yellow, black and white, all are precious in his sight.”
Aww Taz, how could you know that your dad had rigged up a bigger cage for you? But I'm glad he did, because I'm sure you are growing fast. Nice he was quick enough to get a picture, too! :cool:
Willow Oak, I enjoyed your story about getting things straight on ethnicity, I can imagine (from films I've seen) how life must have been - probably still is, growing up in the South. :eek: Worlds apart from what I know.
Good for you that you got a good education and got to know Abigail. I'm sure that has had a huge influence on your later life, and the reason you're such an animal lover now. :)
Cleo came to live with mother and me in a very pregnant state. A friend of my sister had asked that she take Cleopatra off her hands, then mother asked if she could take Cleo, then after the kittens were born and had grown up she felt that she could no longer properly care for them, so they became my responsibility. When I bought Willow Oak Cleo and her crew came to live with me. Of her progeny, one sadly did not survive kittenhood, but the others include one male, Darkly, and the other two are Pinky and Lightly. Darkly and Lightly were given names by my mother. The only way she could tell the two apart when they were wee kittens was that one was darker than the other.
Cleo likes hanging out in the kitchen window right above the sink:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...CleoWindow.jpg
Cleo requires a lot of attention. Her hair gets very tangled. She is a very affectionate kitty despite the fact that she was passed around so. Please tell me why anyone would pass her on to someone else. I don't get it.
I took this shot early one morning just as the sun was rising:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i.../CleoEarly.jpg
Cleo also like to hang out in the towel closet:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...eoInCloset.jpg
Pinky likes the towel closet also:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...eo/Pinky_I.jpg
Pinky is what one might call a "bee-atch." She does not like the dogs and she does not like other cats. She would rather yell and scream at them, and chase them from her presence. If she had her way she would be the only kitty on the premises. She would also be happy if the dogs all left. She is, however, very attached to her mommy, and she definitely loves her "daddy."
Pinky really is a sweetheart:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i.../PinkyNeck.jpg
Everyday after I arrive home Lightly is among the first to demand my attention. For several years now she anticipates my bedtime and as I am preparing for bed I can hear her on the bed calling out to me, "Come on, daddy! Hurry up, daddy! Come to bed, daddy!" Lightly developed a nasty infection in her tail, which then had to be lopped off:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...eo/Lightly.jpg
Darkly is very low-maintenace. He and "Buddy" have become friends. Then again, Darkly gets along well with everybody. Darkly is suave and debonair:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...leo/Darkly.jpg
Cleo survived a run-in with the dogs, requiring several days to regain her confidence and composure. I took this shot right after her ordeal:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...fterAttack.jpg
Good heavens, look at the hair on Cleo!!! Have I mentioned Taz is adorable?:D
Ha! With all of the kitties you have - I would imagine the correct comment would be.....
LOOK AT THE HAIR ON YOU!!:D
No home should be without it!!
Sometimes I can't help myself. Sometimes it is inevitable that I cheat. Long before I had my recent heart attack I had made the decision to improve my eating habits. Several years ago I noticed how tightly my clothes were beginning to fit, so I made the decision to change my eating habits. For me, changing my eating habits simply meant eating smaller portions and drinking water instead of sodas. So I have long since returned to my normal, svelte self. But once in a while I feel the need to cheat.
So it was on a recent trip to town a few years ago. I have always loved Wendy's hamburgers, and on this particular trip to town I just had to have one. I ordered the single combo with cheese, dressed, with bacon. I also love their chili seasoning, so I always order it and pour it over the inside of the burger. I sat in the dining room and enjoyed the delicious spicy flavor of the chili seasoning, which mingled with the salty combination of the bacon and the mayonaise and ketchup and mustard with which I also like to baptize my burgers. I had their fries, also baptized in ketchup and mustard and chili seasoning. I was a good boy in one respect -- I drank water.
I returned to my truck to continue my errands, and as I passed through the doorway of the truck to be seated I heard a faint squeak. Weird sound it was, so I stepped out and quickly back in, and I heard it again. It was a very faint and faraway squeak. It sounded like a kitten, but I couldn't be sure. Anyway, you know I was going to check it out, so I stepped back outside the truck, walked around the parking lot, looked under the truck, looked in the truck -- everywhere, but I simply did not see a kitten anywhere. So I re-seated myself in my truck and drove off.
Groceries were next on the agenda, so I drove to Roger's Supermarket. I did my shopping and returned to my truck to load the groceries. If I am in my truck I always load the groceries into the passenger seat, so after having opened the passenger-side door I proceeded to grab a bag and place it onto the seat. And each time I passed the door opening I heard that squeak. Puzzling it was! I continued to load the groceries, and I continued to hear the squeak! Once again I studied the parking lot, looked underneath the truck, checked inside and outside the truck -- everywhere, yet I could see no kitten! This was a puzzle!
Anyways, it was time to get home so I seated myself and drove toward home. Before going home, though, I saw that I needed gas so I pulled into a station to fill up. I exited the truck, swiped my card, and begin to pump. I a by nature a very lazy person, so instead of standing there and holding the pump I wedged the gas cap into place and let go of the pump and walk around a bit. It then occurred to me to check the oil, so I popped the hood to have a look. I found the dipstick, pulled it out and immediately heard the squeak. I remained very still for a few seconds and listened. No sound, but the moment I moved I heard the squeak again! There was no mistaking it this time. The sound most definitely belonged to a kitten, but where? So I slid the dipstick back into place and began another investigation. I checked the parking lot; I crawled beneath the truck, I looked under the seats, I looked everywhere. No kitten!
I was very frustrated, but what could I do? Maybe I was hearing things. How could there be a kitten? I had just driven all over town and had heard the squeak everywhere I stopped. I had done a very thorough and exhaustive search of the premises and the truck, yet had not turned up a thing -- I must be hearing things. I quickly finished gassing up, hopped in the truck, and drove home.
At home I unloaded the groceries then deposited myself in my favorite chair in front of the television. Within a few minutes the dogs started up. They were really making a racket! So I went outside to see what was the fuss. They were all congregated at the fence barking in the general direction of my truck. I went to where they were, "What are you guys making such a fuss about? " When I said that they really cut loose then. "Hesh up now! Stop all that racket! Who you guys think you are! Stop that! " They dutifully obeyed -- all except for Lu Lu, who continually keeps up a racket all the time anyway. I took a look in the direction of the truck, and..., I could her something. Something very faint. I exited the fence and walked over, and ..., yes, I could definitely hear it now! Somewhere within the confines of that truck was a kitten ..., somewhere, but where?
So I retrieved my flashlight, and began the search again. Once again I checked beneath the truck, crawling around on my back in the gravel of my driveway. I looked behind and under the seat, and under the dashboard. I looked under the hood. I crawled up into the engine well for a closer inspection. I looked everywhere, and all that time I continued to hear a very faint and very distant sound, the very distinct mewing of a kitten. But for all the energy I expended in my search I simply could not locate the little creature. I was at my wits end. So I decided to shut the hood, but before I did I moved to the side to remove some debris that had gathered underneath one of the springs, and as I did that I caught a glimpse into the wheel well on the passenger side. And there in the wheel well, just out of the reach of the massive tire on that side of the truck, crouched ever so precipitously on the edge of the well I saw it. A very tiny, very scared, very frail, puffy, squeaky ball of fur.
The footnote to this story is that I delivered this little guy to the shelter. I simply had too many cats and I could not continue to collect. It was a most difficult decision, a decision that I have questioned many times. It breaks my heart to this day to recall the look on that little guy's face -- that frail, scared, little face.
But you simply cannot keep them all.
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...AndThumper.jpg
Taz and Thumper under the Willow Oak.
Gosh, that free ride kitty was very lucky to survive! :eek: I hope the shelter people found the little guy a loving home!
Now, I know that Taz is only a pup, but growing fast it seems. Thumper looks almost as big!! Nice to see they get along so well. :)
You all know Emeraldgreen (a.k.a. Lara). She has sent me the most wonderful story, which I would like to share with you. I include it here just the way she sent it to me. Warning: Have your tissue handy!
[I shall include this story in my website collection. I love stories such as this one. If you have such a story to tell I would really, really love to read it. Would you share it with me? If you would please PM me or email me at [email protected]]Quote:
One morning, just as the sun was coming up I spotted two rollie pollie puppies bounding towards me. They were racing across a street that was normally busy as a highway and was even called Speedway but at this hour there wasn’t a car around. I knelt down to receive them as if they were fuzzy footballs that someone had thrown at me. They landed on me with a thud. They were tan and black with dark ridges down their backs and couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8 weeks old. They were cute as buttons and I couldn’t understand why they were all alone but that mystery cleared up quite quickly as I spotted their mother come up over the crest of the hill. She was a Coyote and she had 4 more pups just like mine trailing right behind her. It was not uncommon for Coyotes to mate with stray dogs in Arizona where I lived and these puppies were a result of one such union. I wasn’t sure what to do so I called out to the Coyote just hoping she’d stop but she just kept going. I tried to get the puppies to go to her but they were focused on me. So, I picked them up and took them home.
I couldn’t keep them both and arranged for someone I knew to take one of them. I thought he would provide a good home but as it turned out, he failed her miserably as did I. He named her Oshea and a few weeks later I heard from someone that he was mistreating her. I tried to get her back but was told by his room-mate, a vet tech that she had been given to someone with a farm through the clinic he worked at. I never believed that story but I couldn’t prove otherwise. I think of it often and it is one of my biggest regrets that I didn’t take greater care in finding an excellent home for her.
I kept the other puppy but soon realized I couldn’t offer her enough time with work and school. I asked my mom if she would be able to give the puppy a home which she was more than happy to do. My mom is in fact the one who gave her the name Smokey, after her childhood dog that she grew up with in New York.
Smokey proved to be a real handful for her and we were never sure if it was the Coyote side or the Rhodesian Ridgeback side or the wonderful combination of the two. This young dog shredded just about everything that wasn’t nailed down in my mom’s house but her kind and gentle nature made up for all the chaos.
Smokey had a fondness for watching the world go by outside the window, especially when it involved other animals. On one occasion, two large St. Bernards were walking by the house with their owner and it proved to be too stimulating for Smokey.
She jumped clear through the closed glass window just to be with those dogs. When she reached them, she did the normal doggy thing and wagged her tail, barked a lot and greeted them with lots of sniffing. She somehow managed to avoid getting a single scratch from that ordeal. The window had to be replaced but this time it wouldn’t be single paned!
One day my mom let Smokey outside into the yard to do her nightly ‘business’. Shortly afterward, she heard a wild commotion coming from next door. She looked outside and realized that Smokey was now over at the neighbours and the husband was on top of his car stomping around, yelling to his wife to go get his gun! Smokey was running around the car in circles barking. My mother later found out that earlier in the day a storm had knocked down part of the fence that normally keeps Smokey in and this is how she made her escape. My mom raced out and tried to calm the man down telling him that Smokey didn’t mean any harm and that if he would just stop yelling, she could collect Smokey and get her back into the house. He was very drunk as was often the case and equally angry. The wife came out saying she couldn’t find the gun and Smokey ran over to her. Smokey was certainly obnoxious but she was always gentle. Her only intentions were to sniff this woman and maybe bark a few times. But without a second’s thought she started kicking Smokey over and over and somehow in this scuffle Smokey either scratched her or her mouth grazed the woman’s leg when she kicked Smokey in the mouth. My mom, a very compassionate and honest woman said that the wound seemed to be very superficial but the neighbours raced to the hospital and said they were going to sue!
The next day Animal Control left a note on my mother’s door saying that there would be a court hearing to determine if Smokey was a dangerous dog. We were devastated. When my mother arrived at the courthouse she had Smokey with her. She wanted to show the judge how gentle Smokey was but they said it wouldn’t be necessary and that they had enough evidence already. They declared her a dangerous dog on the spot and gave my mother two choices.
Either put the dog down or build a six foot fence around her entire yard with a 6 inch incline at the top and a foot of cement below the ground. If a fence could not be built, she would have to be confined to a dog run that was closed in at the top, padlocked and posted with bright yellow ‘dangerous dog’ signs on all sides. She would have to be tattooed with a dangerous dog code on her inner thigh that could be recognized by Animal Control Officers should she ever escape and she had to be muzzled whenever outside, including when walking from the house to a dog run. If she were to escape, my mother was told that she could face 30 days in jail in addition to a steep fine.
My mom called me later that day in tears and told me that she just couldn’t manage the situation and felt that Smokey would have to be put to sleep. I was beside myself because I was the one that found these two puppies and if I had only left well enough alone, this would not be happening. She probably would have been part of a wild coyote/dog pack out in the desert but at least she wouldn’t be facing this.
I called my mother back and told her that I would take Smokey and follow through with all of the conditions. Within a week, I had her tattooed, bought a 9’ x 9’ dog run, had the signs posted, bought a muzzle and a padlock for the run. I wanted to build a fence and planned to in the future but I just didn’t have the money at the time and had to settle for the run. At least she was still with us.
On my way to work one day I put her in her run as I usually did and locked the padlock, or at least I thought I had. As it turned out, I hadn’t squeezed the lock hard enough for it to click and lock completely. When I got home, I noticed immediately that Smokey was not in her run. I panicked and raced around my yard calling for her and ran right into the Animal Control officer. He had her in the back of his truck. He told me that he was taking her to the pound and that I would be going to jail and would have to pay a large fine. He said that it was in my best interest to put her down and I could have sworn he was enjoying every minute of it. I couldn’t believe it. Animal Control had come to my house on a surprise inspection visit and took her out of the run she was in and now wanted me to put her to sleep. I have never begged so much in my life and after about half an hour, he released her to me with a 500.00 ticket.
I lived in a university neighbourhood and football was huge there. I had left Smokey in the care of my then live in boyfriend. He called me at work one evening and said that she had gotten out. It was a friend of ours that didn’t realize that Smokey needed to be either in the run or in the house and opened the door to the yard and she was gone.
I looked at my watch and realized that the game was going to let out in about 2 minutes and then my street and all the streets within a 5 block radius would be filled to the brim with students, yelling, drinking and having a good time. I didn’t even tell my boss I was leaving and raced to my car and drove like a crazy person to get home. It was dark and pedestrians were everywhere. I parked my car and just started calling her name, looking for her up one street and down the other. After about half an hour, I was feeling so defeated. I prayed that she would somehow come to me which I thought was an awfully tall order since she never came when I called. Just at that moment I heard the familiar jingling of her collar and I looked up to see Smokey coming right towards me from the alley I was standing in. She waltzed up as if to say “hi mom, what are you doing here?!?” She was just over a year at that time and was the size of a German Shepherd but I wasn’t taking any chances. I picked her up and carried her like a baby for 2 blocks until we were home.
Animal Control had informed me that this sentence that Smokey was living out would last the length of her life unless I moved outside of the city limits. I thought about this often and when I had the opportunity to move back to Canada, I took it and took her with me. No more muzzles, dog runs or padlocks. The only evidence of that horrible year and a half was the tattoo she would sport forever.
Smokey and I had a great life together and she remained gentle as always the entire time. She was loyal and loving and shared these qualities with my other animals as well. She was particularly fond of the three ferrets I had and focused most of her attention on my three legged ferret named Cassidy. I could often find them snuggled up together having a nap.
She was also famous for her policing duties among the cats. She adored them and whenever a scrap broke out, she was on the scene to break it up. She would literally guide one cat to one corner using her nose to push the cat along and then do the same with the other cat. Then she’d park herself between them until things settled down and everyone was getting along again. It was amazing. She was amazing.
When she was 14 her back legs started to give her trouble and she was getting quite stiff and struggling with the stairs. The vet gave us Metacam to relieve the inflammation and dull the pain. This worked quite well for two years and she still was able to play with our other dog Muddy. On occasion she would sit down but could not get back up. I’d pull up her rear so she was standing again and off she’d go. This went on for awhile until one day we were outside and she was sitting and trying to get up. I helped her in the usual way but each time she sat right back down. My heart sank. I picked her up just like I had 15 years earlier and carried her into the house with tears streaming down my face. I knew we had come to the end of the road.
I called the vet and arranged for him to come out to our house. I saw him drive up the driveway and my stomach was filled with uneasy butterflies. I felt sick. We allowed Muddy to say goodbye and brought him over to Smokey. He refused to look at her. Muddy did the very same thing with our cat Tiger before I took him into the vet to be put to sleep. We had the dogs in the back of the truck and as I was taking Tiger into the vet clinic I brought Tiger to them so they could say their goodbyes. Finnigan was his usual excited self and slobbered all over Tiger but Muddy, who usually would do the same, kept looking away and would not acknowledge Tiger. Muddy and Tiger were very close so I guess Muddy sensed what was happening, just as he seemed to with Smokey.
My husband walked Muddy down the path away from the house and away from what was about to happen. They approached the van and just as the vet stepped out, Muddy put his ears back and began to growl. In the few years that he had been with us up until then, he had never growled at anyone.
Bu poor old Smoke was more than happy to see the vet and though she couldn’t get up to properly greet him, she wagged her tail to let him know that he was welcome. Gentle to the end. Rest in peace sweet Smokey. I hope you and your sister are together again.
I received the following contribution from a friend of mine on another forum [WARNING: Tissue Alert!]:
Quote:
(well, that's the way we spelled it) who was a gift to my Sister. Piewacket joined us at Christmas. She was about eight weeks old and a gorgeous mostly white calico. Sister's Sunday School teacher gave her this little bundle of fur, but Sister had just started college that fall and Mom and Dad promised to keep her until Sister graduated. I don't think anyone thought of how it would be for the next four years. Especially since Mom hated/despised/distrusted felines just a tad more than she did dogs. Piewacket was the second attempt at pets in our home. Who knew how successful it would be with Sister visiting only during the summer months. That same first Christmas, my son received a Hot Wheels track. Do you know how much fun a kitten can have with Hot Wheels that run in circles. Double that and you'll come close to the circus atmosphere. My Dad fell in love with this purrfect pet. Four years later, graduation. Time for Piewacket to move in with Sister, except -- of her new apartment roommates, one hated cats and the other was allergic, so Piewacket received a reprieve and stayed with Dad (and Mom.) Another three years pass and Sister marries -- a man who could not stand cats, so Piewacket remained with Dad (and Mom.) But the marriage didn't last. Piewacket was ten when they divorced and Sister would be living alone, needing cat companionship. For the one time in his life, Dad looked Sister in the eye and said "No." Piewacket was too old to move into an apartment and give up her back yard. Sister, thinking that ten was pretty old for a cat, settled for a new kitten of her own. Piewacket lived to be twenty-two years. Daddy saw to her care, just as he cared for Mom when she was diagnosed with ALS. That disease confined them a great deal to their home. Eventually, it was if to acknowledge Piewacket's age and disabilities might require that "special" vet visit would also mean facing Mom's disintegration. Sister and I were there during one of Mom's hospitalizations. Piewacket still came for her petting, but there was no playing, no energy, no brightness in her eyes, except when Dad came to her. We both told him that when he was ready, we would accompany them. But he declined. It wasn't time yet. She still ate, though she didn't play. No, it wasn't time yet. The next month he called to tell us that Piewacket had died in her sleep. It was, he said, as though when we gave up on her, she gave up, too. But in my mind, I still see that full Hot Wheels layout, in a figure eight, and small streak of calico-spotted whiite chasing cars, forever.
You gotta check this out. It is a video clip of Smokey I received from Emeraldgreen.
The fence that encloses my front yard is definitely the best investment I have made so far for my animals. For sure, I have a very beautiful 16 acres, plenty of room for the dogs to run and play, but I have had to learn the hard way that even in as rural an area as I live, it is not wise to let one’s dogs run loose. Accidents can and do happen, and I as I have said I’ve had to learn this lesson the hard way. Now with the fence I get to enjoy the pleasure of watching my dogs run and play and chase each other, without the worry of their getting lost or getting in the road. I love to watch Oscar run and run, with his tongue lolling about and that big grin on his face, and to watch Fred chasing Sam, then Sam chasing Fred The smaller dogs run and play and chase each other. Cathy runs after the bigger dogs, and they tolerate her. Taz barks at outsiders right along side the bigger dogs. Thumper is always out there with the dogs, as is Tiger and Pete. There is no greater pleasure for me or thrill for them.
For an animal lover there is no greater agony than to look outside, expecting a beloved pet to be near, only to discover it missing. The agony of not knowing, of worrying and aching over the loss of a beloved pet – dare I try to empathize with a parent who has lost his child under nefarious circumstance? The agony is not lessened when a pet is not necessarily missing – just not in the immediate line of site. This was my daily experience with Sam and Oscar before I built the fence. I had already confined the dogs to the back yard, which has been fenced in since I bought Willow Oak. The area immediately behind my house is fenced in, but not nearly as spacious as the front yard, and after a while a dog simply must stretch his legs. The other dogs were confined by the four-feet high chain link fence, but to Sam and Oscar it was just an adventure in fun, because they soon discovered that four feet to them was like one-foot to you and me – they simply jumped the fence!
No matter what adjustments I made to the fence, Sam and Oscar would simply find a week spot and jump over. So for all the time that Sam and Oscar (since he has grown up) have been with me, the fence in the back yard has been no obstacle for them. And every time they traversed the fence I had that agonizing wait until they returned to the gate to be let back in.
I made the decision to fence in the front yard, because I wanted the dogs to have more room to run and play. And, the cats needed an area away from the dogs. In the back yard the dogs and cats could mingle, and the dogs might not have had a problem with that arrangement, some of the cats prefer to not have the dogs around. With the fence, the dogs would be in the front, and the cats that didn’t like the dogs would have their own area to mingle among themselves.
So I hired Larry and built the fence in the front yard. Building the fence would solve one problem – lack of space – but I knew that I would in all likelihood still have to deal with the issue of Sam and Oscar jumping the fence. The fence in the front yard was to be the same height as that in the back: four feet. So the fence was built, and the first time the dogs were turned loose, only a few hours were required before Sam and Oscar decided to give the fence a try, and sure enough – over they went. Gone! I knew it would happen, and now after all that expense I once again had that agonizing wait until my dogs returned.
But, I had studied the matter and had anticipated the possibility of Sam and Oscar going over the top, so I invested an additional sum of money and bought the materials I needed to electrify the fence. I bought a solar-powered unit, and strung a strand of 17-gauge wire about four inches above the top of the fence – all the way around. A few days were required to complete the job, and only when it was finished would I be able test it on the dogs. To be sure I had already tested the thing on myself. Once or twice I had accidently touched the wire while touching the fence, and trust me on this one – it isn’t pleasant.
So, I finished stringing the electric wire, and waited. I wouldn’t have to wait long. Shortly thereafter, I was inside when I heard a very loud yelp followed closely behind by another very loud yelp. I went outside to see what had happened. I looked all over the yard, and sure enough Sam and Oscar were gone! Now for the agonizing wait, and if they returned safely this time, hopefully Sam and Oscar would have learned their lesson, and that would be the last time they would jump the fence.
I wouldn’t have long to wait. Within moments after hearing the two yelps my other dogs were at to the gate where Sam and Oscar would have to reenter, and they were making a loud racket. I went over to where they were, and could see that Sam and Oscar had already returned. They were there, but there was something different about them. Each dog was hanging his head in the most abject manner, and when I opened the gate each dog very slowly and carefully made his way into the yard, tail tucked between legs. Each dog crept into the house to find a quiet place of solitude in which to hide and recuperate.
Believe me, it was a day or two before either dog would venture outside again. At first only Oscar would look out, and at that all he could manage was to stare in the direction of the fence then quickly duck back in and crawl back to his place of hiding. This went on for a few days, but eventually each dog would circumspectly return to the yard, but only to sniff the grass and check out the scenery. Time would pass, and both Sam and Oscar would return to their running and chasing and playing about. Everything for those two would return to normal: chasing Fred and being chased by Fred. Every day I would let them out with the others and Oscar would run about, tongue lolling – a big grin on his face. Everything would again be all right with the world, and everything would return to normal for the dogs. Everything, that is, except that since the day I heard the two yelps, neither Sam nor Oscar has gone near the fence.
I have only had Taz for about a month, and he is still such a baby. I took this video of him, which I thought you might enjoy.
Taz, you naughty boy! What was that you got hold of to tear apart? I suggest your dad give you a treat - then I bet you'll come out and show your pretty face! :)
Dan, you sound just like a guy I know from Indiana - forgive me if that's bad! LOL!
Oh my gosh.....what a brilliant accent you have WO!!!! To me it screams out "Southern States". I love listening to other people's accents.:)...and don't let anyone ever tell you that I have a Canuck accent. ;)
I have decided that I simply cannot and will not open your thread on weekday mornings. I get all wrapped up in the content and find myself reading stories over again and getting that Leaky Eye Syndrome once more. In addition it really does make me late for work. Because your thread is like a magnet...drawing me closer and closer, I just don't even bother turning on my PC in the morning or if I do, I will not open Pet Talk....and that, Dear Dan, is a compliment.
Now Taz, get out from under the couch and take it like a man....the treats that is! :p Thanks for sharing that video and the other stories. My kleenex is always handy.
Slick :love:
I think I am out of stories. I believe I have posted all of the interesting ones anyway. I could make some up, but that would by unethical. I could write fiction, I guess, but this thread is reserved for non-fiction only.
I have a Sony digital camera, and I've known all along that I have a movie feature -- I only just thought about shooting some video. That story and video about Smokey the Coyote, lent to me by Emeraldgreen, gave me the idea about shooting some video of my own animals. So I may make a few short clips and post them here.
As for a Canadian accent, I doubt if Icould understand what you (slick) are saying anyway. :D
Randi has been working up a new siggy for me, starting with the kitties. She sent me the one currently showing. I do believe I count 14 kitties! But I thought I only had 13! Oh! I see Tumper is in there twice. Well, he deserves top billing!
I am currently listening to Candace Carnie's Madd River CD. Very soothing, very pleasant it is.
Out of stories? I think not! You could write about the weather in your part of the world and I think all of us would agree that it was the most interesting weather report we had ever had the good opportunity and fortune to read:D:D
Growing up in Baton Rouge, I did survive hurricanes Hilda (1964) and Betsy (1965). The eye of hurricane Hilda passed through Baton Rouge. It was a category 4 hurricane when it made landfall. Betsy, also a category 4 hurricane, passed through Baton Rouge.
Ironically, there were back-to-back Hilda and Betsy hurricanes in the mid 50's. Hilda, in 1955, crossed the Yucatan peninsula, making landfall in Central Mexico. Hurricane Betsy of 1956 did not make landfall in North America.
In addition to the two I've mentioned I was In Baton Rouge when Andrew made landfall in 1992. I spent more than a week completely alone in my neighborhood. For more than a week I had no electricity, no running water, no human contact, and no garbage can (it was blown away in the wind).
Beginning more than a year ago I undertook the gargantuan task of commuting one and a half hours each way to and from work. When I lived in Chicago that was no big deal, but here in rural Northeast Mississippi, that would be considered excessive. Nonetheless, one must do what one must to earn a living.
One of the liabilities of such a drive is that I must witness many wandering animals along the route. I see a lot of deer and possums and armadillos and coyotes and, of course, dogs and cats. I found Roy (missing) and Cathy driving either to or from work. I have captured other animals, which I subsequently delivered to our local humane shelter.
One such waif I acquired, however, at the very place where I work. I work in an 8-story building on the edge of Memphis and Germantown, Tennessee. As I was entering the building one morning I saw a lady with a crowd surrounding her. I could tell something was up, so out of curiosity I decided to check out the situation. She was holding a kitten. The little tyke had simply wandered up to her as she was entering the building, and did anyone know to whom the kitty belonged?
Of course, everyone was sympathetic, but all had to get to their respective offices to begin work. The lady was visibly exasperated, her eyes begging for someone to relieve her of her burden. So here I was again. I knew what was going to happen, but I was not excessibely thrilled. I volunteered to help out, and took the poor waif into my hands. He was a cute thing, very tiny, lost or abandoned, but he was definitely alone in this world.
Delaying my own ascent to my office, which is on the fifth floor, I asked to borrow the phone at the front desk. I called local shelters, animal control, and even a local vet or two. Nope. No one was in a position to help in any way, so I asked for and received a box from building security and secured the kitty. The local maintenance man allowed me to store my prisoner in a sealed room, and off I went to work.
This is how I came into possession of Pete ..., or should I say that this is how Pete came into possession of me. I had not intended to keep him -- I had too many kitties anyway -- but as I should have learned by then, my intentions to deliver don't always work out. So after Pete had come to stay with me for a few days, his stay became a permanent situation. No problem. He is a very low maintenance kitty.
Pete not long after coming to live with me:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...rPete/Pete.jpg
Pete hit it off with Thumper:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...umpAndPete.jpg
Pete is such a showoff:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...teFenceTop.jpg
Pete and Thumper share a secret:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...atsWhisper.jpg
Ah ..., Pete:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...erLazyPete.jpg
This is Pete:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...UnderDoor1.jpg
That picture of Pete in the feeder is adorable! I knew you hadn't ran out of stories.;)
I can't figure out why no birds ever come to the bird feeder ...:confused:
I posted this video in another thread, but if you need another bag of fleas, I've got one for you.
LOL! I don't think Taz takes you seriously. :p
I was just remembering that I once drove from Pennsylvania to Mississippi. It had to be about 12 years ago. I met a guy who was visiting a friend of mine up here, and he was getting out of the Navy and moving back home. Home being Jackson, Mississippi. I decided to take a long weekend and drive there. That was fun, lol. 19hrs straight I drove! I stopped a few times to get something to eat/snack on, but that was it.
I don't remember too much about the visit. I was so exhausted! I left PA on a Friday at noon time, and got back home on a Sunday night/Monday morning.
I do remember being welcomed by his family, and the brother saying "Welcome to God's country, honey!" Jackson seemed to be so expansive, and just broad and flat. That's what I remember most, lol. I was used to Pennsylvania with all the mountains and valleys and things like that. I never pictured Mississippi being broad and even.
Pete has such a sweet face, and yes, he certainly hit it off with Thumber. :D
Love the picture of him in the bird feeder, and the one where he and Thumper are sharing secrets. LOL! Thumber looks like he's in heaven, there on the blanket. It's great they get along so well! :)
So far among the cats you've met are Cougar, who had all his teeth extracted; Pete, who I found at work; Buddy, the "wild" cat that took me four years to catch and tame; Cleopatra, the beautiful Himalayan who no one seemed to want; her babies: Pinky, Lightly, and Darkly; Thumper, the "Killer Kat;" And Smokey, the lone survivor of Sheba's babies.
There are others. First there is Boots. Boots came to me from somewere. He wasn't there, then suddenly there he was. Boots has been with me for about seven years. Boots is a Tuxedo, and he is a very smart and loving kitty. Boots is a "wanderer." But he almost always shows up at bedtime. And he talks a lot. I can go outside and call "Boots!" And if he is nearby he will answer and come running. What a smart kitty Boots is!
Boots:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...Cats/Boots.jpg
Tiger's story is a sad one. He was found alive from among a litter of kittens that had been dumped on one of our country roads. All had lost their little lives except for Tiger. Tiger is the quietest animal on the premises. I never hear a peep out of him. He is sweet and calm, and he loves to snuggle with the dogs. He sleeps in my bed -- especially if Oscar is there. He loves to sleep with Oscar.
Tiger:
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...s/DSC00015.jpg
BKI and BKII (Black Kat I and Black Kat II) were born to a stray that lived with my neighbor relative. They were born there and lived there for the first few months of their lives. One day I was outside with the other kitties and suddenly BKI and BKII were there where I was. And they have been with me since. Somehow they figured that life with me would be better than life with my neighbor relative. They are both so much alike that I cannot tell them apart. Both love to talk and both are very affectionate. They are sweet and very untroublesome.
BKI or BKII?
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i.../Cats/BKII.jpg
BKI or BKII?
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...n/Cats/BKI.jpg
(Actually both pictures above could be the same cat!)
I have so many cats, that I can positively say that I have a lot of cats! Please tell me: what is there in this world that beats having a whole bunch of cats? And the best part is, I can pick any one up and love on it and it will purr and love me back.
Eat your heart out! :D
My very first pet was a dog. Oh, how I loved that dog and she loved me.
Tragically she was taken from me at far too young an age - one year.
I grieved for her for a long time.
My second pet was a cat - Sugar - the love of my life - he left me for the Rainbow Bridge at the age of 18.
I have had two kitties since Sugar and lost them both to serious illnesses which made me search for Pet Talk and answers.
Now I have three - and today a dear friend lost her kitty. It made me come home after helping her and bury my face into my love, Rascal, and tell him that I love him, and he will always have the best care I can afford to provide for him.
Through all of life's joys and tribulations I am grateful that I have always had a kitty on hand to share my life and allow me to shower them with love and care. There just isn't anything like a kitty, even one who likes to chew on my hair and scalp at 4 am!!!:D
His sisters Annie and Emma round out my tribe and make life wonderful and happy! God knew what He was doing when he created cats.
I have lost a few friends through the years. The grief is always with me. When I contemplate the pain that accompanies the unexplained disappearance of a furry friend I turn my thoughts to those parents who have lost a child through some nefarious means. I cannot begin to imagine what it must be like for them.
Pookie was found wandering the roads by a neighbor when she was a pup. I was asked to look after her, and she remained with me until just before I had the fence constructed, then she suddenly vanished. She escaped the back yard fence and I've not seen her since. I have grieved for her lately especially. She was the smartest of all my dogs.
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...ion/Pookie.jpg
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...on/Pookie1.jpg
There have been others. There was Roy. Row, a beagle, looked very much like Cathy. He is another one that I rescued, and when he arrived he was skin and bones and all-over mange. As beagles do, however, he dug his way out of the backyard fence, and I've not seen him since.
http://i264.photobucket.com/albums/i...on/RoyDoor.jpg
I miss Charcoal, a beautiful Persian kitty -- black with a silver mane. He came to me from "out of the woods." He too, was very smart and affectionate. He has been missing for a couple of years.
Biscuit came up missing shortly after I bought Willow Oak. She was a long haired, brindle-colored pup, very smart, and very affectionate.
Socks, I have already talked about. I lost him through sheer stupidity.
I had to learn the hard way with beagles. When I rescued Sally she was nothing but skin and bones. She has been missing for a couple of years. With beagles you must keep them on a leash or in a kennel.
I miss them. They are gone. It hurts.
It must be a continual heart break for you, to invest so much time and love in a dog or cat and then have it up and leave you. I think some pets just have that "wandering gene" and cannot stay in any one place for a long time period. I know some breeds are known for "moving on" or "wandering" much more often than others.
I suppose you could consider them boarders rather than residents? It would be nice if they could leave a note or something. If they could leave notes, I bet the notes would give you some comfort. ...... Dear Dad, thanks so much for the grub and warm beds and of course, for all the love and attention. I must continue on my journey even though I know what a cushy life I would have if I decided to stay here. Wish me luck.........
I don't know how you do it. You are an animal's best friend, for sure.
And it continues ..., well not the heartbreak. Not just yet.
I could call the local animal shelter and offer them $1000. They would gladly stop, drop, and roll. They would come to my house, load up all my animals, clean up the mess they leave behind, mow my grass, wash my dishes, and fill up the tank in my car, and I would be done with the whole mess. Then maybe I could go out and buy a steak; chase women; buy a boat; drive fast in a sports car; maybe even run for vice-president! ;) [Sorry! I couldn't resist!]
I could do that except for the fact that I can't do that.
So it is, and so it was that evening as I neared my house. I have a three hour round-trip to and from work each day, and was within three minutes of arriving home from work. All would be well. Feed and water the dogs and cats that I already have; give Bonnie her evening medicine; take my evening medicine; fix my dinner; sit down to watch TV or play on the computer -- just relax.
The last little community through which I pass on my way home is the obsolete town of Winnesoga. Winnesoga is within a couple of miles of my house. Basically, all that remains is a railroad crossing and a couple of weed-infested, overgrown and crumbled foundations of what had once been a country store and a post office. There are also a handful of mostly dilapidated old dwellings. People actually live in those structures. As I pass through the area I occasionally see small children playing in one of the yards; a cat or two cleaning itself on the front porch of one of the houses; or a dog or two milling about the wooded area.
On this particular day I saw something more than that. Just as I drew up to the railroad crossing I slowed down, as I a wont to do, and right in the middle of the road was a very tiny, almost too small to see bundle of chocolate brown fur. I immediately recognized it as a pup -- probably way too young to even be weaned. I stopped my car and got out. The little tyke ran to the side of the road and underneath some trash that was piled on the road's shoulder. Looking about I could see no one, but I did see the pup's mother, a black and tan, standing near one of the buildings and looking not very concerned.
I walked over to investigate the pup, and upon lifting a piece of plywood found two more pups. Well, I already knew within my soul what was coming. I pulled my car into the house nearest to where I had stopped and honked my horn. I inquired of the gentleman about the dog and the pups, and he assured me that the dog wasn't his. The dog was a stray and had been in the area for a few weeks. I should check with the lady next door.
When I honked my horn at the house next door, a lady and her two little girls exited. Yes, she had been throwing table scraps to the dog, yes it was a stray, and, oh by the way, there were three more pups under the house. The little girls retrieved the other pups. “Does anyone have a box I could borrow?”
With the help of the little girls and their mother and the gentleman next door, I managed to corral the puppies into a cardboard box, and ensconce the momma dog into my car, and then it was off to my house. The much anticipated evening of relaxation was not to be.
Four males and two females. Two black and tans; four solid blacks; one chocolate brown. And a momma dog. Plus the nine I already had ..., the next week was to be one of mostly sleep-deprivation, cleaning ..., well, you know what I was cleaning; mopping floors; extra mouths to feed; waking up through the night to sounds of crying and barking. In the meantime I called the animal shelter and they agreed to take the pups ..., would I keep them until they were weaned? I agreed, so another couple of weeks of sleep deprivation to look toward.
There is one thing though. Grace has been a real help so far. You can imagine that cleaning up after six pooping puppies is quite a chore. They tend to get in the way, so when it comes time to clean up I call Grace: “Here, Gracie! I need your help.” She already knows her name, so she comes running. She will lead the pups into another room and keep them occupied while I clean up the room they've messed up. When I am finished, she will then usher them back into the room I just cleaned. She really is a good helper!
To be continued ...
In case you were interested ...
You've all seen the movie "Walking Tall," about sheriff Buford Pusser. Well, the story takes place in Selmer, Tennessee. The row of cat houses that Sheriff Pusser busted was located on the Tennessee-Mississippi state line, which is about a quarter of a mile from Willow Oak. The area of the cat houses is within three miles of where I live.
Mary Winkler lived (and murdered) her husband in Selmer, Tennessee, which is 12 miles distance form here.
I received the following story from a friend. You'll need to have your Kleenex handy.
Quote:
My parents’ attitude towards animals was that its usefulness was only fulfilled if it provided sustenance for the body or labor for the farm. Both of my parents grew up during the Great Depression, during which time neither of them had much in the way of pets. Poor farm folk simply could not afford idle mouths to feed, so there would be no such silliness in their household. My mother’s father was a very strict, ultra-religious man who countenanced no frills. She would inherit his traits. My Father had much the same upbringing and offered Mother no argument when it came to household pets: they would simply not be allowed in their house.
I am older than my sister by a few years, and she and I grew up in a home mostly devoid of household pets. So it remained until just after my sister’s high school graduation when my sister received a kitten for Christmas, courtesy of a friend. My sister was at the time a freshman in college, living in a dormitory, so returning to college with the kitty was out of the question. I was already married with children, and had my own set of responsibilities, so I could not take on the added burden of caring for an animal, so would Mom and Dad be willing to let the kitten live with them while sister went back to college?
Mom let her objections be known, and Dad agreed with Mom, of course. In the meantime, we had our Christmas that year, and most of our family was there, all enjoying each other’s presence and the many presents! Among the presents the kids received was a race-car set my husband and I gave our son. He and my husband set it up, and we adults all sat around and watched him race his cars about the track. And so did the kitty. She was such a gorgeous little kitty – a beautiful calico with large areas of white. It was funny to watch that energetic little bundle of fur bouncing around the track after the little car. I don’t know about my sister, but as I watched the little kitty running around, chasing the car I thought about what it might have been like for us if we had been allowed to have pets while we were growing up.
Nowadays I have cats. As a matter of fact, cat reclamation is sort of a hobby of mine. Unlike the experience I had growing up I saw to it that my children had pets. Today I have a daughter who “claims” she speaks “kitten,” and …, well, that story is separate and will stand on its own. But looking back on that Christmas morning more than 40 years ago, I can still see that little ball of white calico racing around the track, chasing the little cars, wondering what was to become of her.
It turns out that I wasn’t the only one amused by the antics of the little kitty. Evidently my dad had been observing and was much amused. My dad sat there giggling like a school child as the kitty ran and jumped and entertained us all. “I don’t see what harm it would do,” he said blithely. So too, it turned out, had my mother been observing the kitty, and it came as a great relief to my sister and big surprise to me when Mom spoke up and said that the kitty could stay while my sister was away in college, but …, the kitten had to go as soon as my sister graduated. “In the meantime,” said my mother who turned and looked sternly at my father: “She’s your responsibility until then.”
And so began the saga of Piewacket and her time with the family. Sis would go off to college, and my parents would become parents all over again – albeit foster parents. I didn’t know for sure, but I figured that neither of my parents had ever owned a pet, or if they had their experience was limited, so it would be a curious thing to see how this experiment would develop. As it turned out, it went pretty well. My sister did her stint in college, and my parents fulfilled their responsibility of “foster” parenting while she was away. Of course, sister would return home from time to time during that four year period, and she and Piewacket would make their visits together. Sis would always return to college, and Mom and Dad would continue to look after the kitty, feeding her and changing her litter box.
As in this world time moves and on, and so it did for Mom and Dad. Mom was diagnosed with ALS at a relatively young age. As the years passed the disease progressed, and Mom came to be confined to her home. In the meantime Sis had graduated from college, and per the agreement she had with my parents, promptly showed up at home to get the cat and move her into my her new apartment. There was a glitch in that arrangement, however, when Sis discovered that one of her roommates was allergic to cats. Her plans were to live there temporarily and move on so she could reclaim her kitty, so my parents agreed that the cat could stay on with them a while longer. Dad had assumed the domestic duties of the household, among which included the personal care of my mother, who had gradually lost her ability to care for herself, and most of the care for Piewacket. Another few years passed, and sister made an attempt to retrieve the kitty only to find another glitch: she had gotten married, but she had forgotten to ask if he liked cats. He was adamantly opposed to having one in the house, so Piewacket continued to stay on with Mom and Dad.
Time went on, and Sis decided that the marriage wasn’t working, so she separated from her husband and got her an apartment by herself, whereupon she presented herself at my parents’ house to retrieve Piewacket, who by then was past 10 years of age, having lived her whole life at my parents’ home.
“Perhaps you ought to leave her here,” said my dad. Sis had Piewacket in her arms and was exiting my parents’ house when my dad confronted her at the door. “Reaching out and taking Piewacket from my sister, he continued, “She’s been here for these years …, she’s too old and accustomed to this place …, why not get yourself another kitten …? You would like that.”
“Well, I promised I would come back and get her …”
“No. I think she should stay. Your mother and I have decided. You’re starting over – why not just get another kitty and start over with that one?” In the end my dad insisted that Piewacket stay with him and Mom, and that was the end of that. Piewacket, would not be leaving the only home she had ever known.
As I sit here I am reminded of those days of not so long ago. Mom had begun a regular routine of hospital visits for testing. Dad would go and stay there with her, and much to our relief and parents’, Piewacket was allowed to go too. I can recall going to the hospital to see Mom. Dad would be there, sitting beside her bed, holding her hand, and in his lap there would be Piewacket. With one hand Dad would be holding onto Mother, and with the other he would be stroking Piewacket. Mother would have a need, and Dad would slowly rise from his chair and gently place Piewacket on the seat. Dad would get Mother a glass of water or see to some other personal need. Then he would return to the chair, and once again gently pick up Piewacket and sit down. Then he would reach over and place his hand on mother, while resuming his other attentions to Piewacket.
At that time, Piewacket was up in years, and she had her own personal needs that needed tending. Once during one of my visits I observed as Dad carried Piewacket into the bathroom where he had placed her litter box, so that she could tend to her “business.” On another visit I saw my dad rise up and lean over so he could hear something mother was saying to him. He then held Piewacket close to Mom where she could see and assure herself that the cat was okay. Mother reached a feeble hand to touch Piewacket’s fur, and from where I stood in the room I observed the relief that crossed my mother’s face. Dad, too, held Piewacket close as he tenderly stroked the beautiful calico fur.
Yes, I recall those days. My parents are gone now, my mother having preceeded my dad in death by five years. Piewacket died several years before my mother. My parents never had another animal in the house after Piewacket. As I said before, my parents’ attitude towards animals was that its usefulness was only fulfilled if it provided sustenance for the body or labor for the farm. That described my parents’ attitude toward pets for the most part, and for the most part they never had a pet, and they would never have one. There simply was no room in their lives for such frivolity.
That is except for those few years when Piewacket came to live in their home. A period of time that was to last for 22 years!