08/27/10
“Animal Cruelty Rears Its Ugly Head”
Have I gotten your attention? Probably, if you’re anything like me. In fact, being the owner of 3 dachshunds and 1 cocker spaniel those words captured my complete focus and had me devouring what followed in the Wednesday edition of my local newspaper’s Letters to the Editors. Here one Charlotte Nettles told of the heinous poisoning, via antifreeze, and subsequent death of a most beloved family dog.
Why would a person do such a thing? What sort of person would poison man’s best friend? A very sadistic, conscienceless person I would imagine. Maybe the little fellow’s barking got on the nerves of Mrs. Nettle’s neighborhood version of Jeffrey Dahmer. Who can fathom such cruelty? This has worried me for the last two days seeing as my own very vocal – and possibly irritating – babies may attract a copycat. This very evening I found a very large, very heavy StrikeRite hammer that I do NOT own laying beside the gate which opens to my backyard, beside the very gate where 3 of my 4 dogs routinely man their own “command post”. Horrified doesn’t begin to describe my feelings. Put mad-as-hell in the mix and that should about cover it. Roxie, Spooky, Fabio, and Big Mamma are more than annoying yappers (Dachshunds…I did say I own Dachshunds, didn’t I?), they are my family, my jolly little clowns who pick me up when I’m down and think I’m wonderful even without makeup.
Mrs. Nettle’s letter, and my own frightening discovery, set me to thinking of how I would feel were one of my sweeties taken from me, which in turn led to the realization of how much my four-legged children contribute to my personal happiness and creativity. In other words, how much they being them make me…well…me.
So I thought today we could celebrate our pets. How about sharing with us your personal favorite story or memory of your own dearly loved furry baby
20 Responses
Oh, Cadence, I’m sure that was horrifying for you. I believe I’d make a police report.
I have Pomeranians. My first, Brandy, was handed down to me by a dissatisfied owner. Poms are difficult to raise because they are so feisty and independent. The day I arrived for a party, Brandy had apparently pooped in the owner’s shoe and eaten his checkbook
Next came Sunshine who hit the front of her cage snarling when I went to do her first interview. She came home with me on the second.
Three Poms later – Spider, aptly named because she was black and walked on her tiptoes like one. Spider had been abused, kept in a drawer when she was bad I found out later. We only had five years with our beloved black love ball, and difficult years with her heart and liver problems, but we wouldn’t trade a second of it. A couple of years ago I heard the woman who had abused her and dropped her off at the vet, showed up at the courthouse in chains. Yes! Spider truly epitomized unconditional love. We grieved for years after her death.
If I thought female Poms were feisty, that was only until recently when I got Dusty, my first one from a pup and an (cue the famous boxing announcer – in this cornerrrrr) Alllllpppppphhhhhhha male. I don’t believe I ever understood the term properly until then, lol.
He thinks he’s training for the Iditarod. I love him bunches but now I see how so many Poms wind up at the vet waiting for a new home. Mush!
Both dogs and cat here. Prior to children, I even had ferrets–which are an entertainging personality mix of cat AND dog.
I miss my ferrets. At the time I was married to a Jones, so the 2nd ferret’s name was Indiana, and he took after his namesake. He had an intense passion for Twizzlers and Reese’s, and one afternoon my then-husband went to the unfinished attic to do some work. The floor had several open spots that dropped to spaces directly behind the 2nd floor walls, and I’d heard horror stories of ferrets and other small pets meeting an unpleasant fate that way. When I saw the cage door open and the attic door open, I put two and two together, then ran to the kitchen for the nearest bag of Reese’s, and spent twenty anxious minutes rattling it around, begging Indy to come back. Lo and behold, who ducks his head out from around a corner but my own Indiana Jones!
His brother Jazzi (older by 6 months; he looked so lonely) was the product of a pet mill, but I didn’t know that at the time I brought him home. The first night in my apartment, I put a slice of pizza down on the floor (on a plate, of course) and went for a drink. Jazzi screeched and bit into the crust, attempting to drag the slice–which was bigger than he was–across the room and under the couch. Apparently he feared if he didn’t make off with that food, another ferret might take it from him and he’d go hungry. It took months to make him understand, he was safe with us, and no one would try to steal food from him.
They’ve been gone ten years and I still miss them. Alas, hubby is a cat person and I’m allergic. ($300 every 3 months for asthma/allergy meds; don’t tell me I don’t sacrifice.) I’m a dog person, myself, but we’re always on the go and it’s not fair to bring a pet home and not offer him some sense of stability and security. The cats couldn’t care less where we go, as long as they’re fed, and we have a self-dispensing feeder for that.
Cadence, thanks for sharing, and I’d definitely put in a report about that hammer. It might’ve been a mistake, but then again, it might not. It’s better to be embarrassed than something much worse.
You know, I’ve always said that a Dachshund has many feline qualities: love of high places, finicky eaters, burrowers beneath covers and escape artists!
Carla,
I’ve never had the pleasure of being around a ferret but they sound adorable! Love the names Indiana and Jazzi Jones! How clever…
Dusty is without a doubt the most handsome Pom I’ve ever seen…and has the biggest personality!
I’d love to have met Spider…
Cadence, When I sit down for a Big Write on a winter weekend, my cats jockey for pride of place at the computer’s heat exhaust, the dogs are tucked under the dining room table, and having to get up to feed the ponies is what keeps me aware of the passing of the hours. I am glad, though, that horses and cats don’t bark and my dogs are laid back enough to save their voices for truly rare occasions.
Quiet animals…sounds like heaven,especially when the trash men come by at 5:00 am and Spooky, Roxie, and Fabio take offense. Dachshunds. My Cocker, Big Mamma, is too well bred to lower herself to shouting matches;)
I am a cat person. I say this with unabashed pride. I have been a cat person all my life. When I was little Mama Kitty had a couple of litters of kittens (before she was fixed) in my closet and it was really, really fun having kitties living in my room and sleeping in my bed. I was about 9 at the time, and they were like little living cuddle toys.
And they still are. I have had so many cats in my life. I’ve loved every one of them with all my heart. My current babies are Simba and Paka (AKA Fluffy the Varmit Slayer) who were both born in Uganda. We adopted them as grown cats from a friend of a friend who had raised them as kittens in Africa, brought them to the US and then, because of the economy, had to move into an apartment and couldn’t keep them. We had just lost our geriatric cat who was 18 years old. So we adopted our girls about a year and a half ago. It was love at first sight.
My best cat story involves Obi Wan Kenobi (that pretty much tells you when he was born). He was a tuxedo cat that we adopted from the shelter and he was our baby before we had babies. At that time in 1980, we lived in a modern townhouse with an open floor plan that had a staircase coming right up the middle of the living room level. There was a ledge where Obi liked to sleep that overlooked the stairwell. One day Obi was lounging on the ledge when a fly buzzed by. (Did I mention that he was a fly-catching cat?)
Anyway, Obi watched that fly and then took a flying leap at it, over the stairwell. Ooops! He managed to grab himself briefly on the sill of the window that overlooked the stairwell, but with claws extended the cat slid down the wall and fell about 10 feet to the first floor foyer. Because he looked like Sylvester the Cat, it was the funniest thing to watch. Like a silly scene in a Wylie Coyote cartoon where Wylie finds himself suddenly without solid ground beneath him, and ends up falling into the canyon.
The cat was unhurt. But we’ve been laughing about Obi’s swan dive it in all the years since.
LOL, Hope,
Wish you’d been around when I was trying to name Dusty. He ended up with the same name as the little Yorkie across the road. He picked it so it must have been jealousy. And wow, all the way from Africa! We did have one cool blue Russian on the bayou named Ulio.
Talk about personality! Cats are a hoot – dignified one moment and charming rascals the next. Love that Fluffy the Varmint Slayer…so creative.
*Warning, very long. You might want to skip, if you’re pressed for time.*
Oh, wow, I’ve had pets all my life. Cats, dogs, hamsters, fish and a rabbit. I love animals and fail to understand how anyone can abuse or abandon them.
We live in the country now, on a small farm, and most of our animals are rescue animals. I don’t mean we got them from a shelter, I mean that someone didn’t want them anymore and literally dropped them off.
Sammy is a labrador–at least mostly. She turned up at the barn and was so frightened of people, men in particular, that it took my daughter two weeks just to be able to approach her. Another two weeks to coax her from the barn to the house, another two weeks before she’d let me or any other female near her, another two weeks before my son could get near her (is anybody sensing a pattern here?) and I have no idea how long it took her to let my husband or my father-in-law come close to her. She was terrified of men.
But she is the best dog. For the longest, my children couldn’t go anywhere around the farm without Sammy accompanying them. We always knew that wherever they were, Sammy was watching them. If they went into a neighbors house, she would pace from the front door to the back over and over, until the kids came out again. She’s older now, and not as protective of the kids; she tends to stay closer to home, she’s still skittish of strangers, and flinches if someone raises a hand, just so shoo away bugs.
Sassy is a cat with attitude to spare. I found her curled on one of the rails of the train tracks one Sunday morning as I was driving to church. She’s a sort of tabby/calico mix. At the time that I found her, she was so very tiny, with a terrible cold and a swollen face. Needless to say, I was late for church that morning, but Sassy ruled the house for several years before she had to share it with other animals. (Tucker & Tyson)
Smudge was next, a calico kitten my sister-in-law found someplace and brought to us. She lives outside and is adorable, but while I’d like to say she’s our cat, I can’t. She is, and always has been, Sammy’s cat. I’ve never seen a dog take to a kitten like Sammy did, but yes, my lab has a pet cat and they are both very happy with the arrangement.
Casey is all mutt as far as we know. I was driving home from the middle school one fall day when movement in the ditch caught my eye. Sure enough it was a puppy. Nestled among the dead pine needles, she blended almost seamlessly, russet colored from nose to tail. Even her eyes are the same color; she is a beautiful little dog. I couldn’t believe, with her unique coloring that she wasn’t some “kind” of dog, so we went door to door, assuming that she was just lost, but nobody claimed her. She’s been with us several years now, but has the terrible habit of chasing cars down the driveway and four-wheelers down the road, snapping at the tires. I worry that she’ll get hurt one day.
Both Sammy and Casey love to follow my father-in-law out to the field and stay out with him as he plants and picks. They are truly farm dogs.
Tucker belongs to my daughter. She had wanted a puppy of her own for so long and her boyfriend wanted to give her one, so we relented last Christmas. See, my nephew had a puppy he needed to get rid of. He works at PetSmart and someone had brought in a puppy that they had witnessed being thrown from a moving vehicle. PetSmart does have a pet adoption program, but it is run through local shelters, so this poor puppy wasn’t eligible for their program. My nephew took him home with him. Our best guess is that Tucker is about a year old now. His poor little face is slightly crooked, perhaps from hitting the pavement and he drags one hind leg a little, like one of his hips just doesn’t work quite right, but my daughter loves him whole-heartedly.
Lastly, there’s Tyson, our only animal who wasn’t rescued and has never been abused. With my daughter having her own puppy it wasn’t long until my son wanted his own puppy as well. His best friend’s mom breeds Pugs and Chihuahuas and has long told him that he could have a puppy as soon as we gave him permission. In a week moment, we said yes. Tyson is a chihuahua, now 5 months old. He’s adorable. At just over 4 pounds, he doesn’t realize he’s not as big as Tucker (who weighs around 63 pounds) and watching the two of them play reminds me of watching my kids. My son, 3 years younger than my daughter, never got the whole she’s-older-and-bigger-than-I-am thing either.
Sassy has not yet forgiven me for bringing Tucker and Tyson into her home. She is not fond of living with these animals and glares at me frequently to let me know it.
So there you have it. Our current pets. Be happy I spared you the saga of pets past. That could’ve taken days.
Wow…
I’m amazed at how many of us writer types are animal champions. My Spooky and Fabio came to me via the local shelter, Roxie and Big Mamma from my Texas neice. All have bonded into a comfortable pack with Spooky (the handsome black and tan in the picture) being the Alpha.
We never let our Maltese out of sight or off a lease. For a critter smaller than most cats, Toby will go after anything that moves. Of greater concern, we have a fox den in the woods behind us, and many unusually large hawks that sit in the trees and survey the area with great interest.
We have foxes in our suburban neighborhood in northern Virginia. One night, not long ago, I was awakened by a strange barking noise, punctuated by a howl so loud it sounded like someone was dying an awful death.
I sprang from my bed (as the poem goes) and looked out the window to find a fox in my front yard barking at the window where Paka (AKA Fluffy the Varmit Slayer) was giving him what for. Paka (AKA Fluffy) is the loudest damn cat in the universe when some wild varmit trespasses on her territory.
Of course the she’s sudden death on the little varmits, like mice and moles, but I think she would have given the fox a run for his money if I had allowed her out the door.
Yep, my dogs have “little man” syndrome, too. They all think they’re 10 feet tall and bulletproof – to borrow from some country song or other! Unfortunately our predators are neighbors…sucks, that.
Wow, keep an eye those dear puppies, okay? That’s kind of scary.
I have to share a funny story about my German shepherd beast. Recently, when he was about 1 1/2 years old, he was lying on the rug at the front door. Sound asleep. Suddenly, he passed gas–loudly–and he jumped up and started barking frantically at the floor where the sound came from. He was afraid of that rug for a few days after that.
His name is Boomer. But we call him Doofus because of antics like that.
Well you made my Monday morning! What a toot…er…a hoot!
Thanks for posting!
I have regularly socialized, communicated, and worked with writers for over 20 years. One thing I’ve noticed is that most writers have pets. Why? Perhaps because of the solitude of our profession? Perhaps because we’re more sensitive to nuances? Personally, I’m not the most subtle person when communicating, but I sure do pick up on a lot of subtleties in other people’s communication–both verbal and non-verbal. So do my animals. When I’m sick or down in the dumps, they seem to understand and cluster around me in silent support and sympathy.
My pets are cats and dogs, all of whom were adopted from shelters. They seem to understand that their stations in life have improved and that I love them unconditionally. They appreciate their home, and give their love unconditionally. They don’t care if I have bad breath, or that I’m wearing a ratty, ten-year old sweatshirt, or that my hair is populated with more gray these days. In return, I don’t care when Miss Molly occasionally bops me on the nose in irritation, or when Max attempts to shred the couch instead of the scratching post, or when Charlotte believes it’s her life’s duty to protect me from the whitetail deer in the yard by barking incessantly.
How anyone can abuse a helpless creature (animal or human) is simply beyond my comprehension. In my own small way, adopting from animal shelters, I’m trying to right that injustice.
I agree that pet ownership does make one more sensitive to sub-text in both animals and humans. Social dynamics and position in the “pack” are very much enforced in my group. My newest member and only male, Fabio, has been attempting to assert himself over Queen Spooky – so far unsuccessfully – which I actually think valuable information/research for me.
Thanks for your input.