For the love of a good dog...

Growing up I always had a dog. When I was very little, our family dog was a terrier mash up called Do-Do. He was thusly named because the first day we got him, as a puppy, my Mom gave him a bowl of milk and he started to back up all over the kitchen until he stumbled backwards into the bowl and pooped right in the milk. My Mom said, "What a do-do!" and the name stuck. Do-Do was my buddy. We grew up together. He was also an escape artist. Given an inch of open door, he would take off like a bat out of hell and be gone all day. He always returned but not before he found something completely vile to roll around in. His pride in his own stink was awesome. As was the defeat of the inevitable bath that was awaiting him. Occasionally, Do-Do would get caught by the Animal Control officer. Actually, more than occasionally. He would get caught so much the officer knew where he lived and started to just bring him home rather than take him to the Humane Society. My Dad appreciated not having to pay the fine for having a loose dog. Do-Do lived a long time. Long enough to move into our new house in 1970 and learned the lay out of a whole new neighborhood. Though he was far from the beloved, horrid smells of rotting alewives at Lake Michigan he found a whole new set of disgusting smells to roll around in at Lincoln Park. I swear that dog had more baths in his lifetime! He lived to an old ripe age and was loved every minute of it. When he was gone, my Mom avowed to never have another dog again. And we didn't until I was in college.

I got a call from my sister. She brought home a dog thinking her husband would be thrilled. He wasn't and now she had to get rid of it. I was house sitting for another sister so she brought it over to me for the time being. The time being meant long enough for me to fall in love with this ugly looking mutt she brought in. His named was Dudley. I called my Mom to beg her to let me keep him. She was dead set against it but my dear Dad intervened and talked her into it so Dudley came home to stay. He also became one of the most important characters in my life. I took him everywhere. He slept in my bed, ate off my plate, sat on my lap and just stayed at my side. He was another terrier mix, like Do-Do but he was no escape artist. If he got out alone he took his own sweet time stopping to smell the roses. He could be gone an hour before we'd notice and when we'd look outside he wouldn't even had made it to the gate. He loved taking it all in. He was so sweet that way. Dudley was often the only one I could tell my deepest secrets too. When my Dad passed away, Dudley's fur bore the brunt of my tears. Sometimes he would just lie next to me and gently place a paw on my cheek as if to tell me it was all going to be alright. My Mom professed her hatred for this dog but every morning she'd be in the kitchen making Dudley a piece of toast with butter and cheese and she'd always insist that I mix the extra gravy or green beans into his food. When I moved to Chicago, Dudley stayed behind. I wasn't allowed to have a dog where I lived. Dudley and mom were together at home for a long time. Finally, Dudley got old and infirmed and my sister had him put down. I still have his collar and tags and I'll always keep them.

Now, I have cats. I love them just as much as I have loved any of my pets but I have to admit there are marked differences. I want a dog and I wish I could get one but once again I am in a place where the landlord won't allow it. One day though, I know I will have another dog. I just can't see life without it. And, frankly, I don't understand people who don't like dogs! How can you not like a dog?

My mother...

I remember the mornings, when I was older and living at home, just me with Mom. Dad had long since passed away. My room was downstairs in the half basement, right next to the kitchen. It was also the furnace room but it was large and mine and private. Even without heat, I loved that room.

We had a little dog then. Dudley. He came to us by way of my sister Terry. Someone gave him to her but when she got him home her husband wouldn't have him in their house. So he came to me. My Mom always professed hatred for that dog. Yet, every morning she would make him a piece of buttered toast all cut into bite sized pieces. And if their were green beans or gravy left over at dinner she would make me stir it into his dog food.

Every morning, it was the same routine with them. I would be sound asleep and Mom would come to the kitchen to start her coffee. In her night gown and house coat she would open  my bedroom door and Dudley would be waiting for her. She'd take him outside and chain him to the fence for a while so he could sniff the new day and eventually do his business. Then Mom would go out and get him and bring him back inside. They would have their toast and coffee together. When he was finished, Dudley would return to my bedroom but he wouldn't jump up to sleep on the bed. Not just yet. First he would sit just around the corner from the open door, just ever so slightly out of eye sight from the door...and he'd wait. My Mom would clean up her breakfast dishes and start to go back upstairs but first she would come to close my bedroom door. That's when it would happen, every morning at exactly the same time. My Mom would reach for the door knob and my dog would rush around the corner snapping, growling and yipping at her like a crotchety old man. My Mom would grab the door knob and SLAM the door shut letting out a string of expletives that would make a Teamster proud. She would always react like she didn't see it coming but it happened every single morning for about five years!

Once it was over, Dudley would casually come back to bed and go to sleep and my Mom would casually go upstairs to start her day. I would be awake by this point chuckling to myself at the shear comedy of it all.

Happy Mother's Day!

For the love of Arn...and baby Belle...

I have always loved animals and have been blessed to have some good ones in my life. Cats, dogs, fish, birds, and even a few bunnies have all been part of my life. For a long time, I went without having a pet at home. It took a lot of convincing to get my sister/landlord to agree to let me have a cat. Once she did, I went straight out and adopted one.

At Petco, every Saturday, Kindred Kitties has cats up for adoption. I went there just to see what they had. What they had were some of the cutest cats and kittens I'd ever seen. At first, I held a tiny tabby - just 9 weeks old - and thought this was the one I would get but then in the very last cage was a black and white tabby who was all curled up, sleeping, and trying to ignore everyone. There was a lady in front of me who spotted him first and tried to get him to come out to be held but he was not having it. It was clear he didn't want anything to do with her. That wasn't a good sign, I thought, because it looked like he was being stand offish and shy. I wanted a kitty that had some spunk but that was still a cuddler. After she moved on I went up the cage and reached it to pet him. Lo and behold, he got right up and came to me. I picked him up and he immediately snuggled up under my chin and started purring. That was it. Arnie was mine. I told the Kindred Kitties lady that I would be right back. I loaded up a cart with everything a cat might need or even want and then I went back for him. I filled out the paperwork and was dismayed to read the bottom stating that after they checked out my information I could take him home in a couple of days. Okay, I thought, if that's how it has to happen, oh well, it will happen. But when I gave the lady my paperwork and adoption fee she just handed him to me! I was taking him home that same day!

Arnie took a minute or two to get used to his new home. He was hesitant to come out of the carrier but once he did, he sniffed around  and made himself right at home. We played together on the floor and I showed him where his food and litter box were located. He seemed satisfied that this home would do! I showed him to Alex via Skype. I got him before Alex had moved to the US so this was how he got to know Arnie - via Skype. The first time Alex met him in person they were instant buddies. Still are!

The first night Arnie came home I went to bed only to find him sitting at my bedside looking at me for a while. I called his name and he jumped up on the bed and that's where he slept. He still sleeps on my bed sometimes though now he's older so he's not as scared to be out in the living room anymore.

Things have changed a lot for Arnie and me. First, another kitty named Brigitte came to live with us. But, sadly, she became very ill at a very young age and passed away. Arnie and Brigitte loved playing with each other and once she was gone he was a little lonely. Second, and best of all, Alex came to live with us! Arnie loves running around the house with Alex. Alex gets out the laser pointer and Arn goes a little crazy chasing it back and forth through the apartment. Then he rests. That's the thing about cats. They rush around like mad for a short time and then sleep it off for a few hours afterwards. Third, a skinny little fluff named Belle came to stay. She was all bones and runny nose when she arrived. Now she's a scrappy ball of grey who's stolen all of our hearts. She is definitely Alex's girl. And that's just fine because Arnie is all mine. Whenever I'm just sitting down to watch some TV, Arnie is there - ready for a long snuggle and some head rubbing. He looks at me in the eyes and we have long talks. Yes, I talk to my cat! Get over it! LOL We talk about everything though he mostly listens. He loves for me to hold him which is fine but he also has the annoying habit of trying to get me to hold him when I'm at my computer. It's difficult getting anything done with a 15 pound cat trying to snuggle under your chin! If I shoo him away he'll sneak around and come up behind me as if I can't see him doing it. We always have to make sure there is dry cat food in the dish at night because he gets hungry at about 3am. If it's empty he's on our pillows sniffing and purring into our ears to wake us up! Again, annoying and endearing at the same time.

Arnie and I have a copacetic relationship. He's the first one awake when I am awake and usually the last one that comes and says good night, in his own way. He has found a place in my heart that only someone who's ever had a pet can understand. There is a responsiblity to being a pet owner for sure but there is a desire to do right by him (and Belle) too. This little fur beast who's put so much trust in me and who gives me unconditional love. No matter what I do during the day, how crappy my day might be, or who I might piss off - Arnie is there to let me know that it will all be find in the end.

I'm sure that to those who've either never had a pet or who don't like cats, I look like a crazy cat lady. Maybe in another life I was or still could be. I don't think so though. Because it's not just any cat will do for me. It's Belle  - the scrappy princess  - and my beloved Arn - my big headed boy - who make each day happier and full of love.

For the love of animals...

I have always been an animal lover. When I was little, my sister Kathy gave me a puppy which we named Do-Do. He was a little rat terrier type of dog that lived to run away and roll around in the stinkiest stuff he could find before coming home  looking guilty. Usually the stinkiest stuff he could find was a pile of dead alewives down at the harbor. He reeked and I would have to give him a bath each time but I loved that crazy mutt! We had him for years until he was old and sick and it was the humane thing to have him put down.

While we had Do-Do, there were a host of other animals that came to live with us. We had a bunny named Bunny. Now, here's the funny thing about Bunny. I "caught" Bunny one Easter. My sister helped me set a trap of a box precariously perched on a ruler with a carrot inside. The idea was that the Easter bunny would go in to get the carrot, knocking the ruler down and voila he'd get stuck under the box. We put flour all over the floor around the trap too. The next morning, Easter morning, there were bunny prints in the flour and a real live bunny in the box! I don't remember ever keeping that bunny in a cage. He had free reign of the house and would come running when he'd hear the refrigerator door open. I have no idea where he pooped! And I guess I don't really want to know now! At that same time, my Dad brought home two parakeets. He named them Mickey and Mikey. They had a cage but my Dad liked to leave the cage door open so these terrors would swoop over our heads willy nilly. They found great delight in pooping on my Mom's wall shelf where she had her Holy statues. My Mom wanted to kill those birds. My Dad wanted to teach them to speak so he bought an album that he played over and over again. It was a lady saying short phrases and the idea was the birds were supposed to pick up the phrases after hearing them repeated ad nauseum. Those birds never learned one single word but we kids ran around saying "Hello baby. Want a kiss?" over and over again. It was a prominent phrase on the album.

My brother was a good one for bringing home weird animals. Some of them were pets, some were dinner. He would bring home crayfish and cook them up in a big pot and eat them while we all stood around going, "EWWWWW!!!" When he was younger, before I was born, he met a man who had racing pigeons in a coop in his yard. My brother decided to build a coop and have pigeons of his own. He built the coop on the short roof of the restaurant kitchen in the back of our building. He put it up there because there were always stray feral cats in Mr. Freeman's junk yard and he didn't want his birds to get eaten. Now the thing about racing pigeons is they are expensive so, naturally, we didn't have money so he could get actual racing pigeons. So, my brother spent hours down town Kenosha catching street pigeons. If you've ever tried to catch a pigeon, it's not easy! They're pretty fast! Turns out the only ones my brother could catch were sick or missing parts, like a leg or a wing. After a while he had a bunch of crippled pigeons in his coop. He took care of them religiously though they never raced at all. He had to get rid of them when there was an accident involving my older sister. My brother went to Boy Scout camp for a week and my older sister was given the undesirable task of going up on the roof and feeding the pigeons. Reluctantly, she did just that but when she opened the coop the pigeons all took off. Now, they were crippled but they could run and "flutter" a bit so they all took off to the edge of the roof and "fluttered" their way down to the ground and ran away. My sister, knowing she was about to be in trouble, ran after them...right off the edge of the roof...like a cartoon character. She landed on her ass in the junkyard. My mother was down in the restaurant kitchen peeling taters at the sink. She saw a flutter of pigeons followed by the thud of my sister whizzing past the window! Talk about a commotion! My sister had a slight concussion but she was okay. It marked the end of my brother's pigeon racing career.

My other sister, when she was in high school, liked to think she was being way cool by doing things that were strange and interesting. She purchased a white mouse at Woolworth's and for about three months carried it with her wherever she went - including school. Now this was okay until the good Sister's at St. Joseph High School found out she was toting a mouse in her pocket. My mother was not amused.

When my other sister was in high school we shared a room much to her dismay. One Saturday when my Mom was out shopping she brought in a cage with two rabbits in it that her then boyfriend had given her. Now back then my relationship with her was contentious, to say the least. I was the bratty younger sister and the baby of the family to boot. But she needed me now to cover for her so she bribed me. She wanted me to attest that these bunnies were just there temporarily and she was watching them for a friend. She gave me some albums and promised me all sorts of goodies if I just went along with this. For me it was a win-win situation. I loved the bunnies and I was getting a load of goodies. Of course my mother did not fall for this ruse at all. The bunnies were returned to the boy friend and my sweet deal was null and void.

I've already written about Dudley, the little black terrier I brought home one day. He was my faithful friend til the end. And now I have Arnie and Belle. Arnie is my big boy - a sweet love of a cat that wants nothing more than to snuggle with me as much as possible whenever and wherever he can. And Belle, AKA Lil Mama - She is Alex's girl. They have long, loud conversations with each other and she sometimes gets distraught if he just goes into the next room. These were both rescue kitties and have been the delight of our home for the past couple of years now. I spent a long time without a pet and I can tell you, in no uncertain terms, that a pet makes a huge difference in a life. They are living, breathing examples of unconditional love. They are always there when you need them and seem to know exactly when that is. Their sense of caring is immeasurable and they make our lives so much better. Yup, I am an animal lover and I know that I will never go another day in my life without an animal  companion again.