Willow Oak

[pitc9]

I'm enjoying all of your posts!!

Please keep them coming!

[Emeraldgreen]

Neat thread! What a beautiful property you have and your animals are so blessed to be able to call it home.
I've really enjoyed reading your posts and learning about your pets (past and present). I'm particularily fond of Fred! And the 'Old Man' also really got my attention!
Look forward to more stories about the Willow Oak family.

[Willow Oak]

I met Lu Lu one day when I heard her and her brother barking. I was on the back side of my mother's property (she lives on 5 acres next to me), and two of the dogs over there were making a big fuss at my being in their vicinity. Such barking I hadn't heard, so I walked over to take a look. In a pen behind my sister's house were a couple of dogs: one was about twice the size of the other. Big ears and lots of barking: that was their hallmark. However, as soon as I approached the fence and bent over to give a pat it was all over. I had to cross over the fence and go inside, but when I did Lu Lu and her brother Skip were all over me. Such loving and sweet dogs have hardly every existed. But otherwise they could make a racket: barking and barking all the time. Bark, bark, bark!!!

Everyday I would go over and give them some attention and a pat on the head. At this time I had also begun to help my sister with her animals, buying food and checking on water. I would go in the pen and Skip would go straight for the food, but Lu lu was more interesting in getting into my lap as I sat on the back porch. Lu Lu would stick her nose inside my shirt or inside my shirt pocket as if she were looking for a place to hide. In time I would come to realize that at her size she was very vulnerable to her much larger sibling. Skip, for some reason, had to be separated from any other dogs. I don't know what it was, but if Skip was allowed to be with any dogs of his size or larger he would do anything he could to kill that dog. We had to learn this almost the hard way -- he attacked other dogs and drew a lot of blood, but fortunately no permanent damage. He would not attack smaller dogs. And he and Lu Lu kept up their barking seemingly night and day: bark, bark, bark!!!

Eventually, I moved Skip and Lu Lu to my place where I could keep a closer eye on them. One day I went to feed them; Lu Lu came running and jumped into my lap, ignoring the food as long as I was there, but Skip, instead of going for his food, just lay around and had a lethargic look on this face. This was one of those times where I had to learn a lesson the hard way. No one had ever told me, and I had no way of knowing otherwise. Skip would be dead within 24 hours from Parvo. During the next several days I would keep a close eye on Lu Lu, picking her up and holding her close, whispering in her ear: "Don't you go and get sick on me now."

I had taken the dogs to the vet that day. Parvo was diagnosed in Skip, and Lu Lu had received a shot. Now Skip was dead, and I was holding Lu Lu and whispering in her ear each day and constantly imploring, "Don't you get sick on me now."

Lu Lu did not get sick. Oh no, she did not get sick. And she still barks and barks and barks. Just like always:

Bark, bark, bark!!!

[Willow Oak]

I have delivered way more animals to our local animal shelter than I have kept. The ones that usually end up staying with me are those that I deem to be not as "adoptable" as those that do end up at the shelter. Of course, you can't save them all. I have delivered animals to the shelter with the full knowledge that they would be euthanized.

I hate euthanization, but I don't believe it is a bad thing. One must do what is best for the animal, and with limited space and resources euthanasia is sometimes what is best for a particular animal.

I was quite sure that's where Sam was headed the first time I saw him, only I wasn't going to let the shelter do the deed. I was determined to do it myself. He had shown up at my place from out of the blue. He appeared menacing. He looked like a pit bull, and what's more, he had long saliva hanging from his jaws. He looked sick, and I said to myself, "I've got a mad dog on my hands."

I scurried about, gathering up my own animals and pulled them into the house with me, and went and got my gun. In the mean time this mad dog had moved around to the back of my house. I was scared and confused. I did not want to kill the dog right away so I called the shelter. No, they wouldn't be able to come out right away, so I called the Sheriff's department. No, that's not our job, they said. Well, great! What to do now? So I positioned myself behind an open window, took aim, let off the safety, and placed the beed squarely between his eyes. Then he lifted his head and looked at me. All I had to do was pull the trigger, and everything would be A-okay. Except that I couldn't do it. I just could not pull that trigger.

So, I went outside and placed some food on the ground. I would have to think this through.

Since then I have learned that any new acquiree should be quarantined and looked at by the vet before it gets introduced to the rest of my animals. But I didn't know better back then. I decided to take a chance and assume that the dog was not "mad." He was sick though. But some good grub and a chance to have someone look after him, plus a couple of visits to the vet, some antibiotics and some vitamins, and within a couple of weeks he was looking much better. I did not pull the trigger, and man am I glad. Sam has turned out to be the gentlest, most easy-going dog I've ever had. He is full of energy and loves to play. He is one of the prime reasons I put up the fence. He loves to chase cars and if he can get in front of them he will. I know. He got run over by a very large SUV. Lucky for Sam, the truck merely "straddled" him or he would be dead.

Sam parks himself on the concrete settee:


I know it's not a "nice" picture, but this is typically the way Sam sleeps:


Sometimes Sam just stands and looks off in the distance:


Sam is very gentle with the other animals -- even the cats:


Sam, a man's best friend:

[Willow Oak]

I guess now would be as good a time as any to relate the following. On June 23, 2008, just five weeks ago today (I think), I suffered a near-fatal heart attack. I know, I know. From looking at my photos I look like I'm in my 20's or 30's at most, but believe it or not (and I know it's hard to believe), I am at the time of this writing 54 years of age!

Anyways, my boss had talked me into doing all of the post-50th birthday checkups, so I've been going to the doctor, getting poked and prodded and having needles stuck in me and X-rays and all those nice things. A few weeks ago my back began to bother me a little bit. I complained to the doctor and he agreed with me that it was probably just muscle spasms, but let's use this as an excuse to get a Thallium heart stress test. The insurance company might not pay for it (it's expensive), without some indication of heart problems.

I scheduled the test for June 23. I was required to fast for 24 hours prior to the surgery and arrive at the hospital no later than 8:00 am. Well, the day arrived, I bemoaned the fact that I couldn't have my usual morning cup of coffee, and I drove myself to the hospital. Now listen to this: I was in the cardiac center of th hospital, hooked up to a bank of heart monitors, wires out the wazoo, surrounded by a bevy of heart specialists when BANG! They grabbed me and threw me on a gurney and had me in surgery within minutes. Turns out they only had to insert a stent, but I was discovered to have 99% blockage of the LAD, an artery in the heart that has the nickname of "the widow maker."

Doctors said that I was within mere minutes of being dead. Had I not been where I was when I was it is most unlikely that I would have survived. I had the same kind of heart attack that killed Tim Russert. I was already at the hospital, and he wasn't. I am alive and he is dead.

Well, after it was all over, I went back to visit the cardiac center personnel. They were all excited to see me. They appreciate it when one of their patients returns for a visit -- especially after scaring them the way I did. Needless to say they saved my life. But here is the interesting part: Every person there, including doctors and nurses said that while they were prepping me and asking me questions the only thing I could talk about was my animals. They said that I insisted that they call a friend of mine and make arrangements and inform me that my animals were okay. Bonnie would need to be boarded at the vet since she takes phenobarbital twice a day. The other animals would have to be checked on, and above all, if I did not make it, I needed to know that someone would look after them.

The people in the hospital told me that I would not let them operate or do anything until my orders were carried out.

Hey, I got through the surgery okay. Subsequent tests indicated that there was no serious, discernable damage to my heart. Good thing. When I arrived home and saw all my babies, were they happy to see me! And was I happy to see them! My heart was okay then.

[shais_mom]

wow!
I read this completely thru first to last post but first let me say - THANK GOD YOU WERE WHERE YOU WERE!!! holy crap! I hope you are feeling better now.
I have enjoyed your 'tails' of your furkids.
It seems to me that you have had some hard lessons and a lot of heartache, over the years with learning the importance vet care, for that I'm sorry you had to learn those lessons. But in the same respect you had a pretty scary lesson with your own health recently as well! Please take care and keep the stories coming!

[Willow Oak]

Thanks for that last response. For the life of me I do not feel that I had a heart attack. Since there was no heart damage, and since I was practically already prepped and ready when the thing came down, I guess you could say that the heart attack didn't actually occur. The paperwork used the term "MI." I asked what that meant, and the response was "myocardial infarction." That would be a heart attack. Anyways, I truly feel fortunate to have survived that ordeal and to have survived in such a complete and whole way.

Now, back to my story. I have a neighbor relative, of whom I have spoken previously and about whom I would prefer not to say too much. I'm sure that she has meant well, but if you had witnessed what I have witnessed in regards to her animals you might not agree with me.

Lola Belle was a dog who lived with her for several years. Lola Belle was truly a very ugly mutt. The entire time I knew her, while she lived over there, she was always dirty and matted. She never appeared to display any personality or humour. She didn't have a lot of fur. Most of the time I saw her she was curled up on the front porch, looking forlone and forgotten. She had wisps of fur, not much hair really, and upon enquiry I would always be told, "Well, she has some sort of skin condition."

As is the practice with my neighbor relative, she would keep an animal until it died of whatever, and when it would get old and unable to control itself, she would put it out behind her house in a pen, and there it would live out its days until it expired. She pretty much did this with all of her animals. Some pitiful stories I could tell you.

So it was with Lola Belle. Lola Belle was I believe something like a Peek-a-Poo, all white (what fur she had); she was blind in one eye, and the other eyeball was missing. She appeared to be buck-tooth. She was ugly. I never observed her playing or even moving about much for that matter. I could never recall hearing her bark. It was a sad situation.

One day I visited; the temperature was in the 30's; Lola Belle was curled up on the front porch, and as I entered I mentioned that the dog was freezing, and shouldn't she be brough inside? The response was negative, and not wanting to be too intrusive I left it at that.

Time went on. I lived nearby, and was enjoying an early morning cup of coffee on my own back porch when I heard the most awful noise. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the anguished wailing of an animal in distress. I had to listen carefully to determine the direction from whence the noise came, and it appeared to be emanating from my neighbor relative's place of residence. I hurried over to see if one of her dogs was in some sort of trouble. I heard the intermittent wailing and looked about to see. The noise was coming from behind her house, so I went back there. She was home but evidently could not hear or was ignoring the noise. I looked in the pen where I thought Lola Belle should be, but all I saw there was an old towel or rug that had been tossed on the ground.

Then I heard the noise again. Such an awful wailing of anguish -- enough to make the skin crawl. I looked and listen. It was coming from ..., it was coming from that old rug that lay in the backyard. I looked very closely, this is strange, I said to myself. The old rug seemed to move, and I crossed into the pen to have a closer look. That was no rug! It was Lola Belle! Poor, awful, neglected, sick Lola Belle. Gosh, my heart stopped beating. And without missing a beat I scooped the creature up and headed back to my house.

When I arrived back at my place I found a large box and placed her in it. Then I drove to the veterinarian I regularly use. I asked that they come to my car to see, and when the vet arrived he asked, "What you got there? Looks like a possum."

"Take a closer look," I said.

Well, we took Lola Belle inside where we cold have a better look. Lola Belle was all over covered with black, moldey sores. Some were oozing fluid. She was crawling with fleas and ticks, and the bones stood out clearly through her skin. There was very little fur, and she had srapes and scratches all over her body. She was covered with mange.

"Put her out of her misery now, please." I figured it was time for Lola Belle to be relieved of the torture she had endured for so long. I asked them to euthanize her, and they agreed that it was the proper and the only thing to do. I paid the bill at the front desk and hurried out of that place. Would I ever get that image out of my mind?

In the parking lot, I paused as I reached for the door of my car. It is a hard thing to take the life of any living creature. My neighbor relative was totally unaware of what I had done -- of what I was doing. I decided to go back in. I decided that the least I could do was afford Lola Belle the dignity of having some human being other than a veterinarian present as she passed on. When I returned to the examination room, the vet and his assistant were examing the dog. The assistant was holding the syringe, and the vet told me that he was just about to do the deed.

"Wait," I said. I inquired as to the actual condition of the dog. Surely if ever there were a candidate for euthanasia, here was one, but let's give it some thought.

Well, to shorten what has already become a long story, I decided to not put Lola Belle down. Instead, I had them clean her up and giver her whatever shots and/or antibiotics she needed. She would return to the vet numerous times over the next few months, receiving shots and pills and baths. She would have surgery. She would have skin removed where it had died and turned gangrenous. She would recieve treatment for mange and ticks and fleas. At my place she would recieve food -- lots of it. for the next year I would get up in the middle of the night and carry her outside to use the bathroom. I would put Gold Bond powder on her to relieve her itching. I would watch her and care for her and bather her and comb her hair.

Lola Belle. Lola Belle. I would fall in love with her. I would fall very hard in love with her. I watched as the miraculous happened. That little fluff of hair that she had blossomed into a full and luxuriant coat of thick, golden blond furry, hairy ..., long and full and soft would her hair become. Fat and healthy would her body become. And eventually she would began to bark. Bark and bark she would, oh yes! Barking and eating and sleeping and using the bathroom.

Eventually I would have to make the dreaded decision, but when that time came she would go in high fashion. Instead of the scrawny, sickly, neglected waif she had been back then, she would part this earth a healthy, happy, beautiful golden girl.

Lola Belle. Lola Belle was truly the most gorgeous dog I have ever known!

Lola Belle. I love you. I miss you. I shall see you again some day.

[Willow Oak]

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:"



[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.]

[Willow Oak]

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.”

[Randi]

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!


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. 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.

[Willow Oak]

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:


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:


Cleo also like to hang out in the towel closet:


Pinky likes the towel closet also:


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:


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:


Darkly is very low-maintenace. He and "Buddy" have become friends. Then again, Darkly gets along well with everybody. Darkly is suave and debonair:


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:

[chocolatepuppy]

Good heavens, look at the hair on Cleo!!! Have I mentioned Taz is adorable?

[Willow Oak]

Good heavens, look at the hair on Cleo!!! Have I mentioned Taz is adorable?

Err ..., that would be "fur," as in "that's a flea-bitten pack of hounds you have there!"