Haines His Way
Archives => Archive 1 => Topic started by: bk on March 27, 2004, 12:04:36 AM
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Well, you've read the notes, you've sneezed along in empathy, and therefore you are ready to post until the cows come home. To it, I say.
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I've never been the first post since the new board started.
If only I knew how to dance...
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Treasured Pet: All of them I guess. "Bugsy Malone" was very special. He was the first dog that Colin and I had. His nature was so "soft". My most beautiful memory was of him playing with his puppies. He was the perfect, caring gentle father. We had been warned that a male dog might even attack its own pups! All of our dogs have been very much "house" dogs. I have never seen the point of having a dog otherwise. I should try and locate a photograph of Bugsy and his children. The mother was Tallulah! Can it be really 26 years ago that Bugsy joined our household?
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Bugsy Malone and his children:
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My favorite pet from the past would be my cat Wolfie. He had 6 toes on each foot and did tricks, including "sit", lay down", "shake", and even "roll over". He was born on a farm in back in Ohio and was the best mouser in the Midwest. He was also as friendly and sociable as you could ever imagine. When he was a kitten, he wandered in to the back yard next door and into a little girl's birthday party. After entertaining the guests for a couple hours, they brought him home with their thanks.
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My favorite pet was a cat, a breed called a Stumpy Blue Manx. Her name was "Gimpy". She had the LOUDEST purr I'd ever heard, and, typical of the Manx breed, had no tail.
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Best cat: Coricopat. DR Sandra was in the fourth grade when we found him in a pet shop. The pet shop was owned by a friend, and she always let Sandra hold and carry the kittens around the store to keep them nicely socialized. We weren't looking to get a kitten, but she centered on this one tabby with a white face. She wanted him so much, but Daddy said no. I clued her in a little about how to get something from a man. She sat on his lap and just poured it on. You could see him crack. Good lesson for a young girl. ;-)
Coricopat was the friendliest fella ever. He was right there to greet visitors and jumped right up into laps and purred. He also played fetch with toy mousies
We lost him a couple of years ago when he developed an auto-immune disease and had trouble eating. We treated it as long as it was feasible (probably longer) and had to put him down the day after Christmas a couple years ago. He is buried beside the catnip patch.
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Who should I write about-- our cocker spaniel, Buffie, our Basset Doris? Everyone has heard about Mazal.
I guess it'll be Wee Baby Doris (sounds like a Wampus Baby star). She was a Basset who was independent, stubborn and very lovable. She was a living course in psychology--- especially reverse psychology. You had to make her think it was her idea to get her to do something (kind of like a few other Aquarians I know). I raised her from a pup, and she was truly my baby. Maybe I made her the way she was-- I don't know, but I still miss her to this day.
Doris was DEFINITELY her own person and had a personality to match.
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When I was 9 or 10, the neighbors across the street were getting a divorce, and were having a yard sale to get rid of the unwanted things. These people were horrible people to begin with, but once they were married and had kids, it all went downhill. They had no control over their children. When the daughter would get mad, she'd run away for days at a time, and they might have called the police on Day 3. When the son was mad, he would take a baseball bat and hit the dog with it.
This dog had never been in their house before, she lived in a doghouse that was too small for her, and she wasn't even allowed to come in if it was snowing/raining/lightning/etc. She also hadn't ever been groomed. She was a Sheltie. They need to be groomed every months. Her fur made her look like a bear. Because she had been physically abused, she had some brain damage, and wasn't as alert as she should have been. The owners took this as a sign that she wasn't worh having.
So they put her up for buying at the yard sale. In Oklahoma. In the middle of the summer. It was more than likely 100 degrees, and she's in the sun in a cage without food or water.
At the end of the day, she still hadn't been saved, so my mother asked her what they'd do with the dog if she wasn't purchased. She was informed that the dog would be put to sleep. My mom offered to take her, but she wouldn't pay anything. Deal!
Thus we had Lacy, who ended up having to be shaved completely because her fur was too matted with mud and dirt and God knows what to be cleaned. She was afraid of any males for a long time, because of her abuse. But she was the sweetest dog I'd ever had. IT was like she knew we had saved her. Unfortunately, she developed stomach cancer a few years ago, and we had to put her down.
That was kind of long, huh. Off to work!
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I searched through my box of old pictures and was distressed to find I didn't have one of my favorite one of our dogs: a teacup chihuahua named Snowball. We got her when she was about a week old and she was solid white - hence the name. But as she aged, her fur turned a light tan, so people always wondered why we named her what we did.
She was the only chihuahua we ever owned, so I've never known if they were all like her, but that dog was definitely territorial. Loved the four of us in our family, but if ANYONE else came in the house, she would go crazy barking and attacking. She did NOT like strangers. And she never changed. Even neighbors who came over daily, she could not STAND them. We used to laugh at her protectiveness (being so tiny), but I remember her so fondly.
One other thing I remember especially about her was that she loved to go to sleep in someone's lap. She loved my mom's lap best of all, but if mom wasn't available, she would avail herself of whatever lap was handy. Now, when the time came that she was in your lap but you wanted to get up to get a snack or visit the bathroom, she would growl because she didn't want to get up. She never bit us but again it was very funny to hear her grumble about having to disturb her warm nap for OUR convenience.
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What a rainy day in Indiana.
Of course all pets are special, but I would have to say our first shar-pei named Autumn Memory, called Mimmy was the MOST special. She loved us all, could learn a trick when you taught it to her once, knew us all by name, and loved to sit in her own chair and watch out the window - especially in the snow. She loved to eat a Starlight Mint now and then and was valiant in her struggle against death.
We held her as she was put down and I told her to think about her black chair and her window and that soon she would be home..... I love Holly the zaftig shar-pei, but I still miss Mimmy - she went away almost 12 years ago.
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Leonard Maltin's film guide lists ACE IN THE HOLE as THE BIG CARNIVAL. When it plays on TCM or other cable film channels, which title does it go under?
BTW, there are two Billy Wilder films I've never seen, and this is one of them. A FOREIGN AFFAIR is the other, and one day I'll catch up with both of them.
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Love the pet stories, and the piz.
I lost George over 6 years ago, but still grieve. My sister Rikki found him eating out of a garbage can when he was about 6 or 7 weeks old... on her way to Pet Orphans she stopped by the house Charles and i were living in at the time on Olympic Blvd in LA. So, love at first sight. He was the smartest dog I ever knew, had over a hundred words, great friend, loved to swim and play. Bone cancer got him.
But when I was growing up on Preuss Rd, corner of Sawyer, we had dachshunds: Schnitzel and Strudel. These were great little dogs. Very smart, very loving. They lived a long time - Strudel was nearly 18, Schnitz was over 15 when they basically died of old age. I bet BK remembers those little dogs, dontcha, Bruce?
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Dogs are some of the finest folk I've ever known.
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He of the scowling jaw, amidst the Panni posting frenzy, wrote:
By the by, td, thanks for properly sizing this for me.
You're very welcome. It's good to see that mug of yours now next to your posts. :)
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I've never been the first post since the new board started.
If only I knew how to dance...
Arthur Murray taught me dancing in a hurry . . . .
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No way to start my HHW day - tearing up over sweet Wilma and why she was given away and wasn't happy.
I can't pick a "favorite" dog, so I'll name three, but only post about one: Gypsy, Cocoa and Katie. Gypsy I had when I was a kid in Toronto. We lived (for a while) over a store that my mother owned. Gypsy was some kind of Spaniel mix - black with white around the neck and paws - from the Humane Society. He was my best friend, my confidant and I loved him totally. I've posted about this before, so I'll keep it brief: As we had no yard, I'd let him out in the morning to do his business and he'd come right back. One morning he didn't. He' d been stolen - he would never have run away. I was devastated - cried myself to sleep every night. After he'd been gone over a month (in winter) - the morning of my birthday, I woke from a deep sleep because I heard him, clear as day. I heard him upstairs, through three sets of doors, on a busy street humming with streetcars and traffic. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs in my bare feet - and it wasn't my imagination - there he was - standing at the door, dirty and a lot worse for wear. When he saw me he started to cry, as did I. We hugged forever and ran upstairs and I had my best friend back.
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Every pet I've had in the past was precious. There is no way I could pick one over another.
I noticed that some of the click-on ads that come up at the top of this here site are for "edited DVDs". Why would anyone --- especially the DRs here ---want an edited film? Are the film's directors, producers, writers, distributors, etc. aware of this? Can't they stop it?
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ONE JEW IN A ROOM SNEEZING
One Jews in a room sneezing
One Jews in a room plot a crime.
I'm bitching. I'm bitching.
I'm bitching. I'm bitching.
Bitch bitch bitch bitch
Funny funny funny funny
(They point their flashlights at the bed and slowly kneel.)
Bitch--bitch--
Bitch bitch bitch bitch
All--the--
Time...
Whadda they do for Claritian
Ooooh.
One jew in a room
Sneezing
One Jew in a room stoop--
I stoop--
--to sneeze
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I do remember Schnitzel and Strudel.
Loving all the pet stories - very special.
The copy I taped off cable carried the Ace in the Hole title. That was the original. It was later changed to The Big Carnival because the original release had been such a disaster.
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Good morning all!
Dog stories, I got a million of them--far to many to tell. So many wonderful dogs friends I've had over the years. From Sunday (bet ya can't guess what day we got her on) to Brandi and Bear (the current two) I have loved them all. And the cows, horses, ponies, rabbits, chickens, ducks, goat, sheep, rats, hamsters, fish, turtles, lizards, possem, cats, birds, to name but a few, both wild and tame that I have known.
Sorry to have been E &T last night. I had such a headache I didn't even turn the computer on last night.
I was going to go the the ren fest today but have decided to just be lazy for once and stay around the house. Think I'll watch a movie or two and just veg.
Enjoy your day whatever you do and where ever you spend it! :)
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Blackjack and Roller are being bathed and groomed at this very moment. Their beautician is of the mobile variety, and their salon is in the beautician's converted mobile home, which arrives here every other Saturday at 7 a.m. on the dot.
I, on the other hand, need to travel to get my hair washed and cut, which I will be doing later this morning. Isn't that exciting? Isn't that too too?
You can say that we are a very kempt household here at Chez Jay.
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Of course all of my pets have been very special to me but I shall post about my cat Buford. I picked up Buford at the Humane Society in 1990. He was three years old and we had 12 wonderful years together. He was the friendliest, smartest cat I had ever seen...all 13 pounds of him! My family adored him and my friends would always say that if they could find a cat like Buford they would actually get a cat!
Buford's signature action was to come up to you and bump noggins. He would bump your forehead with his forehead until you would start petting him. He also loved to climb under the bed covers and snuggle...I miss that so much!
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DR Tom,
Archie sends his good wishes to Magnus and Fosca. Since being diagnosed with colitis, Archie's been on a strict regimen ("no dietary indiscretions," he and we were warned) that sounds very much like Magnus's. It took him awhile to adjust to the no-treats rule. But now he considers a pair of dirty socks to be a worthy replacement, and all is well.
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Yes MATTH - I saw it years ago on AMC as "Ace in the Hole". I read a Billy Wilder bio recently that talked about his fascination with the Floyd Collins case and the more recent (1949) case of Kathy Fiscus, a California three year old who fell into an abandoned well and was trapped.
My parents remember seeing the coverage of her rescue on early television and the way they described it sounds just like Wilder's movie. There was even a song written about it that I have heard my father sing. A tragedy, little Kathy was not rescued and died in the well.
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This afternoon I will be heading to the historic Pasadena Playhouse for a symposium on the subject of Miss Mae West. This is in conjunction with the current run at the Playhouse of Claudia Shear's and James Lapine's Dirty Blonde. (I saw Dirty Blonde when it played in New York a few years ago, liked it then, and liked it again when I saw it once more--with the same cast--at the Playhouse a couple of weeks ago.)
Panel members at today's event include Tim Malachosky, personal assistant to Miss West in her later years, Kevin Thomas, L.A. Times film critic and Bill Harris, entertainment reporter.
It should be interesting!
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I remember little Kathy, and I have a vague memory of watching the coverage on live TV. There was a movie called The Well that was I think a fictionalized account.
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I remember little Kathy, and I have a vague memory of watching the coverage on live TV. There was a movie called The Well that was I think a fictionalized account.
I do believe that the Kathy Fiscus incident was the first occasion of live news coverage on television. The local reporter who covered it, Stan Chambers, remains a field reporter to this day on one of L.A.'s local stations.
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Love Stan Chambers. Our favorite news buffoon was George Putnam.
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For APPRENTICE fans (I don't watch it)... My daughter was being fingerprinted this morning in San Francisco. (I could just let that hang there, but that would be cruel. She's applying for US citizenship and had an appointment at 8AM today to get officially fingerprinted.) She said that when she arrived she was greeted by a strange sight -- A gigantic line of men and women dressed in business attire, many of whom had camped out during the night. At first she thought they were also being fingerprinted (a classier bunch of new citizens) but realized they were lined up for the building next to the one she was entering. They were auditioning for the next season of THE APPRENTICE!
BTW - Has anyone else got this problem? Rachel always has trouble being fingerprinted. The regular means somehow do not pick up her prints. Happened again today, she told me. Last time I was with her when this occurred (the renewal of her Green Card) every expert in the Federal office came over - including a very officious woman with a thick German accent, "I kan do zis!" Of course, even SHE couldn't. Apparently, Rachel's prints are too big for the normal machinery. (Must be because she's the spawn of a Martian.)
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There was never a more cherished pet than Hotspur. Hotspur (full name Hotspur Plantagenet) was my first dog as an adult. A perky, independent, 12 lb. Yorkshire Terrier. Too big for a Yorkie and he didn't have any of the proper points. But what a spirit. He was feisty, but not high-strung...in fact, somewhat mellow. I got Hotspur from a litter when my brother and sister-in-law bred their Yorkie. It was 1976. I was living in Dallas, Texas, acting. Three weeks after I had him, we were travelling to Columbus where I was touring in The Silver Whistle with Don DeFore and Larry Drake (before his two emmys). It was the blizzard of '76. And to see Hotspur leaping through snow and emerging from it with snow puff balls on his legs looking like a poodle was quite a sight. He became the consummate show biz dog.
Hotspur always travelled with me when I toured. In dinner theatres, you often have apartments in the theatre. In many places, Spur was so loved he had the run of the place...If the Health Departments only knew that he could wander in some kitchens and have the chef feeding him, they'd be aghast. After the show, I'd walk him outside the theatre and he greet the departing audience.
He was a great traveller, always curling up along side my side in the Old Buick Skylark with his head on my thigh, snoozing complacently as we shot down long stretches of barren Texas highway. Saving his pit-stops for gas station breaks. His body clock adjusted perfectly to mine. He slept for as long as I did, had an exceptional bladder, and was perfectly trained. Rarely any accidents.
Spur had girlfriends and pals all over the country...Rosie, Nouveau Riche (Rickey), Cherie, Sammy, I Am (Yammer), Cointreau...Many were fellow actors' dogs. When I toured with Martha Raye, Martha always wanted the actors to come to her place after the show. She insisted I always collect Hotspur first because she adored him and he played with her yorkie, Conky, and poodle, Dickens, while we all watched old movies or played Password (Maggie always called me the intellectual because when we were partnered, I was always giving her word clues she didn't know the meaning of). Bob Denver also loved him, "Great dog, dumb name," he would say. He was wrong. He was a great dog and it was a perfect name. The owner of the dinner theatre in Odessa, Texas, loved Spur so much that during rehearsal week when I was in an hotel that didn't take pets before our cast moved into the theatre, she and her husband would baby-sit the dog at her house. Her hubby was reluctant to turn Spur back over to me, he enjoyed his morning walks with him so much.
There were only two times we were really apart. I could not have him when I first came out here in the Raye show and played San Clemente, so the parents took him for six weeks where he visited and played with his sister, Bitsy. When the show moved up to Anaheim, Spur took his first airplane ride in freight out to LAX to stay with me. He became a seasoned air traveller as well, taking what could have been a stressful trip with his usual aplomb.
When I was in London for three months shooting my first movies, Hotspur, of course, couldn't go, so went back to the grandfolks and his sis.
The rest of the time we were inseperable. When the lovely wife,Julieanne, and I got together in the mid-eightes (reunited after a college romance years before), she admitted she was at first a little jealous of Spur. But that quickly changed when he became her cuddle bunny....usually nestled between us on the couch or in the bed (he slept in the bed from the beginning), and would actually get protective of her and growl at me on occasion if I tried to disturb his cushy position in her arms.
Julieanne was the one who first got him a Schnauzer cut which, while dispensing with his flowing (usually tangled) mane and top knot, was a lot cooler and more comfortable for him and somehow made him look like the butch little guy he was. He also had an array of t-shirts that he wore in colder weather that sort of gave him that look like Spike the tough bull-dog in the Looney Tunes.
He was incorrigible beggar incorrigibly indulged by his old man...ate popcorn, pizza, little chocolate donuts, and a trip to the Astro Burger always meant a hot dog for Spur.
He was gregarious and loved company...human or animal. Uncle Larry Drake was the first one to dubbed him, "You sweet little shit-brained woogie". Somehow woogie stuck and all our dogs since, despite their names, have become a species known as "the woogs".
In August of '92, Hotspur was diagnosed with congestive heart failure and given three to six months to live. Barraged with a daily regimen of pills and medicines, special diets, and lots of attention and care, Spur blithely ignored the doctors' dire predictions, valiantly hanging around for another full year. And, for most of that, time, though he was slowing down, the quality of his life remained good. Finally in August of '92, Spur winked out just two months shy of his sixteenth birthday. We've loved all our pets and all are special in their own way. But there'll never be another like Hotspur.
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What a wonderful story from DRCP.
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Hugs and good vibes to Cully from Echo.
The sequel to BARBERSHOP has come and gone from Ashland. We unfortunately missed it will have to wait until it is on DVD
Good Vibes Panni and I wish I could say it doesn’t get easier. At least your daughter calls you, my boys on the other hand don’t communicate as well. Then I have Keith reminding me they are grown and not to interfere. Initially I thought Rachael was still in Hungary when she became ill. I’m glad she is home. As for the fingerprinting, I had never heard of such a thing until recently. I have a friend who has the same problem. She is a realtor in Arizona & was thinking of applying for an Oregon license but decided the fingerprinting is too much of a hassle. She did talk of special way to get fingerprinted but I don’t recall what she said. I can find out if you want.
Dan-in-Toronto it is good to hear Archie has adjusted and the colitis is under control. :D
I’m with Panni, the story of Wilma is very sad. I have never lived where I couldn’t have my pets. Once we thought there was a possibility of Keith working in England but new there was no way we could put our pets in quarantine for six weeks.
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Thanks for remembering. :D :D :D I love it!
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Here's a smaller version of that great photo DRCP! ;D
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My sister and I usually had cats while growing up. However, I work with A LOT of dog people...but I don't have any stories about them.
One very special cat that we had was named Spot. He was a stray who adopted us when we lived in Colorado (my dad was in the army and I was about 7 or 8 years old). He was mostly white but had three heart-shaped black spots on his back. When we moved here to Washington in 1976, Spot rode in the car with us all the way. He loved to sit in the back of the station wagon (remember those?) and had no trouble travelling. Before he died, he developed cat leukemia and my dad took him to the vet where they did x-rays. They found five BBs in him, but no entry wounds. Evidently, he had been shot in Colorado before we found him. He was probably only 10 years old when he finally died.
Before and during the years with Spot, we also had four cats (in a row) named Frisky. One of them had kittens in my sister's bed on her pillow...while my sister was still in the bed! Another Frisky had kittens in the dryer with clothes still in it.
Happy, the last cat that my parents had (she died two years ago), found us (she was a stray) in 1988. She had one litter of kittens the year after we found her. Knowing that cats like to be alone when they give birth, my dad made a box for her with some padding and put it in their bedroom away from everyone. My aunt and grandmother (dad's sister and mother) were visiting us. My dad put Happy in her box in the bedroom and left her alone. After a few minutes, she came out to the living room and started meowing. My dad walked with her back into the bedroom and she got back into the box, then he left. A few minutes later, she came out again and started meowing. This happened a couple more times when my dad realized that she wanted an audience! He brought the box out into the living room and we all, including my four year old (at the time) niece, watched Happy give birth to her five kittens. Three of the kittens were given away to people we knew and two of them, my sister and niece kept. Gigi and Ginger. Gigi either ran away or was lost or stolen or.... Anyway, she was never found. :( Ginger however, is still alive and kicking at my niece's paternal grandparents' house (which is right next door to where my niece lives).
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I removed the too-big photo, but the second smaller version is PERFECT. I was in that very room last night as a matter of fact.
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My allergies seemed to have calmed down a bit today, which is good. I had a somewhat rough night with the sneezing and the runny nose.
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That's not a room...it's a wing of the greater LA library!
:D
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In total I have had 11 cats. When I was in Jr. High I had a cat named Brandy I loved & he was always waiting at the corner for me when I got off the school bus. One day I returned home to find my mother giving him away. In high school I had the most beautiful cat name Sr. Lancelot. He disappeared but, while drunk, my mother said something that made me think she had given him away. When I moved into my first apartment Keith gave me a kitten that eventually broke through the screen & disappeared. I was heartbroken and said I would never have a cat again. Our best friend Ricky said there was this pet store that had love birds. He & Keith took me there to by me some birds. I must have looked at the birds for all of two seconds, ;D then zeroed in on the cats. This one long haired black cat with white markings kept pawing at me until I had to take her home. We stopped at the vet who took one look at my scrawny cat & told me the pet store had a reputation for sick pets I should return her immediately. Of course I didn’t and at the next visit the entire office was shocked to find this beautiful healthy cat I walked in with was the same cat. We named her Gaea for the goddess of earth. She was the nicest cat ever, but initially was afraid of almost everyone but me. Eventually Gaea would let anyone do almost anything to her. She made friends with all the cats & dogs in the neighborhood and would go for walks with me. One day My Sin (named for the perfume) joined our family. My Sin didn’t like Gaea & her daughter Maria and would attack them. One day Gaea had enough of being attacked, pinned My Sin down on the floor & preceded to clean her. I said she was the nicest cat ever. We had her for thirteen years.
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I don't no librarians that look like that!
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Well, this is the weekend that I
MUST
MUST
MUST
(that's three very emphatic "musts") move! My sister's old house is finished and ready to be moved into. I just have to get my butt in gear, clean my apartment and pack things up. So, I will be most errant and truant during the day today and tomorrow, and possibly Monday as well. Wish me luck!! (I'm going to need it.)
I'm going to listen to Donald's radio show today to inspire me to work. After that will my very own CDs. I have the aforementioned concept cast album of Masada with Michelle Nicastro and Davis Gaines, so I might listen to that as well, since it's been awhile.
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Bruce I sent you email and it was returned. Are you receiving emails? I will try again. Following is a portion of the explanation which I find stange.
Recipient address: haineshisway@aol.com
Reason: SMTP transmission failure has occurred
Diagnostic code: smtp;554-: (HVU:B1) The URL contained in your email to AOL members has generated a high volume of complaints. Per our Unsolicited BuCODE=DL0 TRANSACTION FAILED
Remote system: dns;mailin-01.mx.aol.com (TCP|66.82.4.91|39478|64.12.138.57|25) (rly-xk05.mx.aol.com ESMTP mail_relay_in-xk5.4; Sat, 27 Mar 2004 13:27:55 -0500)
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I seem to be getting e-mails. Was there a URL in your e-mail? I'll forward that on to AOL and see what they have to say. Meanwhile, send it again.
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I don't get no emails.
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This is for the Hungarians and the Opera Lovers:
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04086/291403.stm (http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04086/291403.stm)
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When I was 3, my folks gave me a buff-colored cocker spaniel puppy. We named him Toby. I had Toby until I was about 14 or 15. He was sweet-natured, always a fun companion, never fussed, and loved to sleep on the street in the winter because the sun heated the pavement. Unfortunately, he was deaf the last two years of his life, and I always worried about him being in the street. But folks always just went around him.
My first pet as a "grupp" was my cat Dickens, whose picture I've posted here before. My Neapolitan landlady's daughter, with her grandfather as translator, made a present of "Dickens" to me in September 1987. I took him to a vet a few weeks later and was scolded for taking an animal too young to be weaned. Dickens was about 4 weeks old when I got him. He and I bonded immediately.
The first night, I had nothing to offer him, but tried the best I could by chopping up some beef and adding some oil. He licked at it, but couldn't chew it. He drank the water I gave him and he didn't fuss. He was too little to be anywhere other than in a small box on my kitchen floor. I had no litter in the house, but he didn't make any mess, either.
Next day, upon my return from work with goodies in a bag, Dickens was bouncing around in delight...hoping, I'm sure, he would be fed. While I had bought him a litter box, he was much too small to get over the edge of it, so I took his small box and put litter into it. I introduced him to it and he dug around and sniffed, but I wasn't sure he understood what it was for.
I took a small dish and opened a can of Fancy Feast cat food. I wasn't sure what portion was sufficient, so I gave him half.
I put it on the floor and waited. He looked at me. He walked over to the dish. He put his head down and sniffed. He looked up at me with eyes twice their previous size, and then he burrowed his face into the food. A minute or two later, one very satisfied kitty waddled over to me. I picked him up and marveled at his engorged belly. I sat in a chair to watch news on TV and he climbed up my arm and stuck his head into the sleeve of my t-shirt where it remained as he napped.
Fifteen minutes (or so) later, Dickens roused himself, traveled down my chest and leg and jumped onto the floor. He went racing back to the kitchen to investigate his now-empty dish as thought it was going to be magically filled with that wonderful food again. He looked at me and I caved. I gave him the rest of the food in the can.
From then on, Dickens' daily discoveries about the world and in learning his own abilities were shared with me, and I was amazed. The photo I posted some time ago was his first outdoors outing. I was washing and waxing my car and I put him on the flat width of the wall on the right side of my steps leading from my drive to my yard. His eyes were huge the entire time we were outside. He was so excited. He was my wonderful fellow for seven years. He was a one-person cat and he was a beaut!
I acquired Vickie as a companion for Dickens, but the two never really "liked" one another even though they learned to tolerate each other. Vickie was from a home where she was third, and last, cat. The two males were much larger than she and bullied her. The male human in the household didn't like her any more than the two toms. She was a good fit with me and she and I got along well. It wasn't until after the death of Dickens and my bringing Vickie to California (she and Dickens had been living with my parents, first in Virginia and later in South Carolina) that she blossomed.
When I opened her carrier and let her explore my apartment, she was very cautious. She nosed around everything. She caught whiffs of familiar things but seemed increasingly buoyant when nothing new presented itself. My first clue that she was truly happy was when she started rubbing against things. Marking her turf. I had toys for her. And for the first time in my experience, she actually chose a toy and had fun with it. "Miss Vickie" began revealing layers upon layers of personality I had never witnessed until she was the sole cat in a household. I knew then I could never introduce another pet of any kind. She will be 20 next month. She's fragile and has problems. But I can see the kitty in her from time to time and she loves me.
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BK, thanks for fixing the photo. It doesn't look that big when I bring it up at home. But since I've not gotten around to getting a new scanner, I can't re-size it...or maybe I can and just don't know how. In the past when I've tried it just seem like the picture got blurrier.
Enjoyed my Kritzer Time album and I'm now grooving to Sax & Violence.
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"AOL moved to block suspected spammers' sites to protect members from fraud..." Bruce, check out the article link below. Recent development at AOL may be an issue.
http://www.marketingsherpa.com/sample.cfm?contentID=2646
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I guess the thanks goes to Jrand53 for re-sizing the pic and to Bruce for removing the other. Proper kudos to each.
Bear with this computer dyslexic. Maybe some day I'll get up to speed on all this technology...they just have to stop changing it all the time! Or maybe I'll just retire to a cabin in the mountains with all those books, a hot plate, and lots of canned goods, and let the rest of the world go by as I read myself to death. Actually that doesn't sound all that bad...
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Oh dear. I don't think I can do today's topic du jour. You see, BK, you have discovered my emotional melt-down point. Pets. In particular past pets. My past pets, other people's past pets, it doesn't matter. I started tearing up at the very mention of today's topic. Isn't that silly? You see, I can't think of a possible happy ending to a past pet story, other than if all of mine could have out-lived me. I suppose the same is true of all of the friends and family that we love and who have passed away before us; but with pets it has always seemed so much harder for me. Don't ask me why. I have no idea.
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I just edited out the rest of my long rambling post, for the sake of my own sanity, and probably yours, as well.
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DR Tom,
Archie sends his good wishes to Magnus and Fosca. Since being diagnosed with colitis, Archie's been on a strict regimen ("no dietary indiscretions," he and we were warned) that sounds very much like Magnus's. It took him awhile to adjust to the no-treats rule. But now he considers a pair of dirty socks to be a worthy replacement, and all is well.
Thank you Archie and Dan. I won't suggest you send a pair of your socks. I've stopped eating toast in the morning (which I shared) and snacking on cookies (biscuits to me) for the same reason. This diet may have benefits all round. I don't think I shall chew on dirty socks. Who knows? I may be missing out on something there.
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What lovely - and sad - stories. I agree with TCB that the endings to all past pet stories - except parrots, perhaps - are bittersweet if not downright SAD.
Jane - How terrible that your mother gave your beloved cat(s) away! You describe it very matter-of-factly - which I'm sure took years to achieve.
My mother once fed me a pet rabbit - are you listening Bette? - That's right, folks. I didn't find out until I was an adult that the chicken I had that particular Easter when my sweet bunny disappeared - wasn't chicken. Ugggghhhh! I may just vomit.
Off to the bank.
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Forgot to mention to FS Pogue how very much I enjoyed hearing about Spur!
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From an opera-loving Magyar, thanks for the article, td. My favorite line:
"And then, of course, I hear that when you do Hollywood, you become rich."
Poor, misguided Viktoria Vizin! (Great name.)
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Shortz
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I.
When I was growing up, there was a problem with our having pets. The problem was my mother. A German Shepard Dog had bitten her when she herself was little, and she didn’t want any dogs in the house. Instead, we had parakeets and tropical fish, which weren’t quite the same thing. I mean, have you ever tried hugging a neon tetra? They don’t take to it.
Finally, when I was in the fifth grade, Dad was able to take Mom aside and finally convince her that a small dog wouldn’t be any trouble. Well, that was one thing, but if there was going to be a dog in the house she wanted one that had good breeding. And wouldn’t shed. Good breeding eliminated getting a dog from the pound. No shedding eliminated…well, that eliminated all sorts of breeds. What they finally settled upon was a daschund. Specifically, a miniature daschund.
A search through the newspapers found a breeder, who had puppies, and that led to our paying the breeder a visit. One of the pups, a black and tan male, was more interested in us than the others. He was the one who left the breeder’s with us. My sister named him Shortz. “Well, we’re all so tall, and he isn’t,” was her reasoning.
Exactly why my sister was the one who got to name Shortz has always puzzled me. She always has been more of a cat person. However, sibling rivalry set in once again, a rivalry that dated back to my having been born a boy and thus denying her a little sister. She determined that Shortz was to sleep with her…always! Our parents tried to set a rule, that Shortz would sleep in her room one week, and in mine the next. It didn’t work, because while he was supposed to sleep on the floor in his own bed, she smuggled him up onto her bed every chance she got. When he was scheduled to spend the nights with me, he did nothing but complain, because he wasn’t sleeping where he expected to sleep. It became obvious that, at night at least, he was her dog.
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II.
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While Shortz may have been my sister’s dog at night, during the days he was more mine than hers. She had other activities to do after school, with her classmates and her homework, and didn’t have to feed him. He figured out pretty fast that I could be relied upon for dinner. I was also the one who could be relied upon to take him for walks, to play with him in the back yard, and to take him for the last visit to the old magnolia tree in the front yard every night. And I was the one who trained him to stay in the yard when we weren’t there with him.
The problem was that while there had once been a gate across the driveway, separating the back yard from the front, that gate was long gone due to Mom knocking it down with the station wagon several years earlier. Somehow, we had to train Shortz to stay in the back yard alone, without going into the front yard without supervision.
What I did was quite simple. I took a piece of chalk, and drew a line across the driveway, a line he wasn’t to cross. I then pointed the line out to him, putting his nose down into the chalk. There were a couple of times that he crossed the line, early on, and I had to spank him and show him where the line was once again. And he learned not to cross the line. The real test came when the rains washed the chalk away. Shortz remembered where the line was supposed to be, and would never cross it, with one exception every day. When I returned from school, he would be waiting for me, at the line that wasn’t there. He’d jump a little, eagerly, and then I’d call to him, and he would run as fast as he could. I’d pick him up, and he’d wash my face, and everything would be all right in the world again.
There was a time, however, when I could not count on his being there at the line. My mother had breast cancer when I was in Junior High, requiring a radical mastectomy. While she lay in her bed, recovering from the operation, Shortz would lay next to her, very calmly, never moving, her loyal friend when she needed him.
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III.
My sister, being two years older than I, was the first to leave for college. Shortz moved into my room, quite contented now to crawl under my bedcovers every night. In many ways, it was easier for him during those two years, because he got to be a one-person dog instead of dividing his life by day and night. He was getting older, of course, and developed some of the usual daschund back problems. The breed used to have arched backs, but selective genetics had made their backs straight and flat, and weakened them. Shortz would regularly have problems with a pinched nerve towards his pelvis, quite painful for him. He would cry, lying on his side, until Mom or I were able to come to his aid and gently massage the part of his back that hurt. After a few minutes, he would be able to get up and walk the rest of the pain away, and when he felt better again he would come and wash our faces in thanks.
This only lasted for a couple of years, and then it was my turn to head off for college. He felt betrayed, not understanding that we were both growing older and that growing older meant different things to both of us. Oh, sure, when I returned during the summer, or during a holiday, he would rejoin me in my room every night; he never returned to my sister’s room. But at the end of every holiday, when it was time for me to take the bus back to school, rather than say good-bye he would turn his head away, deliberately ignoring me.
What was happening, of course, was that he was transferring his Number One status once again. My father learned that beds could accommodate three rather than two. And Shortz loved to lie next to Dad in his armchair, his muzzle buried in Dad’s elbow. But mostly he stayed close to Mom, on a cushion next to her on the couch, or constantly underfoot when she was in the kitchen.
Daschunds, as with most small dogs, have long lives. I had moved on, graduated from college and living on my own for several years, and my parents had retired to a house they had built in Northern California, when I got the call from Dad that Shortz had finally passed away. Mom, of course, cried more than anyone. Her little dog was gone, the only dog she had ever loved. She never owned another.
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Very nice DRRLP - I remember the pictures of your cats!
No problem DRCP - if I can do it - YOU CAN!
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I have the aforementioned concept cast album of Masada with Michelle Nicastro and Davis Gaines, so I might listen to that as well, since it's been awhile.
I'd be very interested to hear your opinion, George.
I couldn't think of any pet stories worth telling. Once, Smoky the cat (who nobody much liked) got into some sort of a tussle with another animal. The body end of his tail had been bitten. All the hair was gone and you could only see redness. One morning, Smoky left the room the cats slept in, but his tail didn't. I always wondered what Puff, an actual tailless manx, must have throught.
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Okay... I have been smitten with an e-crush on DR Charles Pogue and his ab-fab library! :D
My cherished past pet = Mittens the Cat. Mittens was your basic farm cat tabby whom my parents adopted several years before I was born from a friend who was moving to England and didn't want to put the cat through the painful experience that is the required English animal quarantining. Mittens lived until a ripe old 21 and was perfect. He was friendly and patient with all of we young children (read: annoyances) who would make any other cat get scratchy with us in seconds. He was an accomplished hunter, but would only go after the nuisance animals - like rats and mice - and never birds. His best trait was that when you were petting him and he got particularly happy, he'd stick his cute tiny pink tongue out of mouth. We had to put him down eventually because he went almost completely blind and became incontinent. Poor Mittens. :(
On a happier note, I am going sugaring off tonight with my family and some friends (including DR Andrea who continues to lurk on HHW). I will report on the eatings tomorrow!
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Dear esteemed BK: I think I know why your allergies are acting up more this year than usual.
There were a number of fires in SoCal during the summer and fall last year, particularly in the hills and deserts. And, as you yourself have noted, there has been a fair amount of rain...or just enough to do the trick.
What has happened is that the fires triggered a number of seeds, the sort that need the heat of the fires to spring to life. The rains, in turn, finished the germination process. As you can expect, the pollens from these fireweeds can be particularly potent. Swirl them around with some good gusty winds (coming in from the desert, right?), and you and several others have major allergy attacks.
In this case, Claritin D and other over-the-counter medications aren't going to be strong enough. I'd suggest breaking down and seeing a doctor, rather than spend all your time suffering.
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Third Page Dance:
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Love the dance, DR Emily! I'm also loving all the stories today.
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I truly enjoy all of the pet stories! I've never had a pet. My dad had a dog named Cesar, but my mom never had anything. She and her siblings were always told, "You have two pets already--your brother and your sister" (or "your two sisters"). Of course, my grandparents were kidding, but still. It never bothered my mom because she is obsessed with cleanliness, and pets make messes and shed. My uncle was afraid of dogs (and still is) after an incident with a dog approaching him when he was in a stroller. Those obsessions/fears have transferred to my brother and me. I am obsessed with neatness, and my bro is extremely afraid of dogs. I'm not a fan of big dogs myself--my old neighbor used to have a doberman pinscher, and I went to feed it. The problem was it was larger than I was, and I was afraid it would bite my hand off. So, yeah, no pets here, not even fish. You know, one time I won a fish at some fair, but I chickened out and gave it away. I was in Philly at the time, and all I could think of was, "Mom is not going to like this!" I gave the fish away. Yeah, so basically I've never had any pets, but I've grown to appreciate animals little by little. I LOVE yorkies, and I want to own one! :)
Uncle Woody, my neighbors have a dachshund named Jack, and he is the most wonderful dog I have ever met. I love him!
TD, I am SO happy that your parents are doing well!!! :D
Vibes to everyone who needs them! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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DR Swishy: Your story made me teary. Someone should have hit that kid over the head with a baseball bat.
Btw, the season finale of Sex & The City finally aired here. I'm not sure if DR Emily has seen it yet. But I was a bit disappointed. There was something I REALLY wanted to happen that DID NOT :(
Oh and DR Panni, I thought you were gonna tell us who WON the Apprentice :(
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Oh and DR Panni, I thought you were gonna tell us who WON the Apprentice :(
Sorry, Jennifer, I have no idea. I've never seen it (except for 5 minutes once.)
SWW - What a lovely story! And I'm glad it had (sort of) a happy ending. Shortz lived to a ripe old age. Hurray!
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Gonna try posting another pic. Unfortunately, I don't have any pics of hotspur on my computer, but here is one of Humbug, who followed Hotspur sitting in Harlan Ellison's lap on our back balcony.
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I'm not being fair to Katie, the dog we had before the present wonderdog. Katie was a sweet golden Lab. I got her when we first moved to California (the last time). Rachel was five and very afraid of dogs because she had been bitten twice in the year we lived in Vancouver. I wanted her to get over the fear by bringing the gentlest possible dog into the house. And that was Katie.
Just one story about her. For some reason Katie was a bit of a woos. Perhaps because she was the runt of the litter - I don't know. But she was easily frightened and would hide at loud sounds, anything out of the ordinary. But she loved Rachel with a boundless passion.
During the last big earthquake - 1994 - our house in Woodland Hills was not badly damaged, but a number on the block came right off their foundations. The aftershocks were pretty intense and there was no electricity, so we decided for the first couple of nights to camp out in the living room. There was a one piece Japanese coffee table in there that would have taken the roof falling on it and not been damaged. So Rachel slept under the coffee table and her father and I slept on couches on either side of it. Katie slept under the table with Rachel, her head on Rachel's behind.
No matter how strong an aftershock hit, Katie did not budge. The earth would shake, horrible sounds would fill the room, but the Cowardly Lion of dogs would simply look up and move closer to Rachel to protect her. That was really the one and only time in her life that she was brave - but it was enough.
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The Afghan hound that belonged to our friend, Dick, had puppies - 11 of them. Dick was exhausted (the Afghan mom had 6 nipples for 11 pups, so Dick was up nights helping with the shift work). We took two of the pups with the idea that we'd help find them homes. So that we wouldn't get attached, we called the female Bitch, and the male Pooch.
We found a good home for Bitch, but always found an excuse for not putting Pooch up for adoption. He wasn't the brightest dog, and he wasn't the most obedient. Once he took off during a late night walk. I found him the next dawn. The sun was streaming down on him as he slept peacefully in the middle of the road.
We had a cat, Hilda. The two animals were neither friends nor enemies. Each had its own space.
A neighbor brought home his guard dog from the factory, and the dog came into our yard and violently attacked Hilda. The vet said there was serious muscle damage. Hilda dropped to three pounds and wasn't responding to any treatment. After several days, the vet said Hilda's only hope was to return to her home environment. She was heavily bandaged, had to be fed diluted Gerber's strained beef through an eye dropper, and was confined to a small cage.
Pooch spent his days and nights next to Hilda's cage, his nosed pressed as closely to Hilda as possible. He left her side reluctantly, only for the bare necessities. When, several weeks later we brought a healthy Hilda back to the vet's for a checkup, the doctor was absolutely shocked that she had recovered.
Both Pooch and Hilda went on to live full, happy lives.
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There is a lot to be said about the companions (human) of the pets that have been mentioned today. How to tug at the heart strings without the slightest hint of manipulative, emotive writing. A great topic BK for a world that at times seems to be so lacking in love. It's not really surprising that such stories come from the hearts of Kimlets.
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If the above photo is too big again (and once more, it has shown up bigger here than it did when I brought it up on my computer. I'm utterly confused) someone please re-size it and BK, you can remove this. The story of Humbug: She was found the November after Hotspur died. We did not want another dog at this point in our life. But it was fate. I had come home from an event an unplanned way I never come...and there she was, standing in the middle of the road in the rain, thin as rail (9lbs) anemic because the fleas crawling over her had sucked her dry and wheezing...on death's door...staring vacantly in our headlights. A collar, no tags. Clearly abandoned. What are you going to do?
I got out of the car, got an old blanket from the trunk, wrapped her in it, and Julieanne held her in her lap when we took her home. We put her in the laundry room, tried to get her to eat and drink, she wouldn't. A trip to the Valley to an all-night emergency room. We did not know whether she would live out the night. They thought maybe she was six months. And weren't sure what the wheezing was. She survived the night. I had to pick her up the next morning around seven (after a $200 bill), because they don't keep them during the day and take her to our vet. They thought her closer to two years. It turned out the wheezing was caused by a punctured thoraxic cavity. They kept her for a week to ten days, filled her with drugs, got her on solid food again. She was something of a medical miracle for them (and the vet has used her case in conferences...they always thought of her as the miracle dog). And slowly on the road to recovery to where she could come home. And, unfortunately, like it or not, we were now her home. You save her life, she's yours. Besides which we had spent two thousand dollars on her. She owed us. We called her Humbug (Humbug Fezziwig) because we had planned to go back to Ky. for Christmas and we weren't sure she wasn't going to ruin the holiday for us and make it a humbug. Also because when we found her she was full of 'bugs" and she was "humming" from the puncture. In fact, at night when she slept, the wheezing got so loud, we had to make a decision whether we could actually put up with it. We decided we could...and ultimately didn't have to, because as she healed and gained weight, the wheezing went away. She came into the house with some reluctance because Julieanne, though a sucker for animal waifs and orphans, was not ready to transfer her allegiance from the recently departed Hotspur over to this interloper. I wasn't delighted with the bind the critter had put me in, but when I finally brought her home from the vet several weeks later and she walked down the steps from the drive onto the patio to the front door of this house she had only been in briefly once like she'd been doing it for years and it was her home, my heart went out to her. She became fierce defender of home and hearth, as I found out a few days later when some plumbers were doing some work in the yard and she went barking against the glass door at them.
We went on our Christmas vacation. We boarded her at the vet's which became her home away from home. She and Cully both love the vets and were adored and spoiled creatures whenever kept there.
She also wormed her way into Julieanne's heart, but she more or less became my dog, sleeping in my office on the couch while I worked (Cully has always been undisputedly Julieanne's. He 's up there sleeping by thre front door right now expecting her home. He's still got a couple of days to wait). There was always her mysterious past which we could never fathom and she could be tetchy and crotchedy at times when touched the wrong way and you never touched her while she slept (unlike Cully who is an old lump). She never licked. But she'd crawl on your chest and lay there with her nose practically against your own and stare at you. Though there was always a wild streak in her, she became the sweetest, gentlest thing. When Cully came into our lives a few years later, she let him know the pecking order, though they were great pals too. Both sleeping on the bed. She never quite knew what to make of the arrival of Mosby the Grey Ghost...our cat...and he delighted in taking swipes at her, much to her consternation. Sometimes you'd hear her whimpering at the bottom of the steps. It was because she wanted to go up, but saw the cat lurking at the head of the stairs, laying in wait for her. After having her nine years, she passed on very quickly (within a week) struck by a blood count problem...white cells, red cells, I never understood it (I think her constitution was always a bit delicate) and we had to put her down. Almost as wrenching as Spur. We think she was a full-blood English cocker, but can't be sure.
Again, the picture is her in Harlan Ellison's lap on our back balcony.
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The pic is too big, but I'll leave it until someone can resize.
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All these sad stories... Somebody tell a joke already!
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I'm really not a cat person (sorry all you cat lovers -- this is more about me than cats. They're fine creatures, but not for me.) I don't know if it's karma of catma or what... But, in my present home I seem to have become the den mother of at least four cats who come into the yard regularly (one lives in the yard) and look to me to feed them. They also meow under my window at all hours of the night. Oh well... You goes where life leads ya.
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We're off to see the Wizard...
(http://pic8.picturetrail.com/VOL242/891350/3691292/49443000.jpg)
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Mush, dammit!
(http://pic8.picturetrail.com/VOL242/891350/3691292/49442963.jpg)
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Gonna try posting another pic. Unfortunately, I don't have any pics of Hotspur on my computer, but here is one of Humbug, who followed Hotspur sitting in Harlan Ellison's lap on our back balcony.
Somehow, it goes without saying that Harlan Ellison would use a Trivial Pursuit box as a backing for a crossword puzzle...to be done in ink, of course. And that Humbug would be patient enough to put up with that kind of behavior.
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We're off to see the Wizard...
(http://pic8.picturetrail.com/VOL242/891350/3691292/49443000.jpg)
I think I prefer this pic. Now to con der Brucer into linking it in as my regular photo.
And yes, the foursome have me totally wrapped up in their leashes. Don't they always? That's Mikey and Buster in front, Bonnie close behind, with Marty in back.
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Danged if we don't have some of the best storytellers at this site! We need to have storytelling days more often; the quantity may be down, but the quality is way up there!
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If someone isn't going to resize Pogue's pic then we'd better get to the next page pronto, Tonto.
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Panni your story is at least as bad. Thank goodness you didn’t find out until later, but did you have to be told at all?
Thank you for noticing my achievement. Now I’m working toward the same success over the treatment I received from my sister throughout my life up until last year.
I’m enjoying the pet stories and would, if it didn’t take so long, comment on every one of them. I especially enjoyed reading about Hotspur. After all he had a book dedicated to him.
TCB I hope you did not read about Shortz. SWW really had me crying.
Panni you are obviously a softie and if you ever had an indoor cat like Gaea, or my Bogie who reminds me of Gaea, you would become a cat lover.
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I ate an artichoke with butter and then a tuna sandwich on low-carb bread. Jeans and a Benjamin Kritzer t-shirt.
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A post to get us off this page. I hope!
Today I am listening to the music of Andre Gagnon. I blame Canada. I love "Comme Au Premier Jour".
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Somewhat related to the topic of the day: I will be seeing Mr. William Finn's Elegies this evening at the soon-to-be-demolished Canon Theatre in the Hills of Beverly. One of the songs in the cycle (I know it only from the CD at this point) that never fails to brings tears to my eyes is "My Dog," a laughter-through-the-tears paean to the series of dogs in, I assume, Mr. Finn's life.
For those who care, the cast of this five-performances-only event is comprised of Mr. Brian Beacock, Mr. Stephen Bogardus, Miss Celia Keenan-Bolger, Mr. Keith Byron Kirk and Miss Maureen McGovern.
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Pehaps we can list Pet songs to get us to the new page.
I don't mean the songs by Pet Clark.
"I Love My Dog" Cat Stevens
"Walking My Cat Named Dog" Norma Tenega
"Old Shep"
"The Cat In The Window" - Petula Clark
"The Puppy Song" Mary Hopkin
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I have returned, obviously, from the Mae West symposium. Kevin Thomas from the L.A. Times was a no show, unfortunately, as I have to believe that his presence would have brought some objectivity to the love-fest that I witnessed. Certainly, both gentlemen who did appear were charming and they did have some great anecdotes about Miss West. But at one point, when they mentioned Myra Breckinridge and Sextette and inferred that Miss West's contributions to these movies were perfectly acceptable performances in perfectly acceptable films, I longed for someone else on the stage to bring things into perspective.
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Here's my song title contribution to help us get to the next page:
"How Much is that Doggie in the Window?"
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Another:
"You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog!"
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Only one more post needed. Who'd like the honor?
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I'll take it.
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Thank goodness! Who says size doesn't matter?
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When I was an infant, (bring it on, TCB!) we had a BOXER named Duke (after John Wayne) who wanted to sleep with me in my crib. He went to a good home.
Then there was Tiny, the DACSHUND, who joined the family not long after Duke left. Tiny was black, completely, and had every bit as much energy as a one-year-old toddlin', baby boy. Tiny stayed with us for a very, very long time - even through a move to the house we live in now.
Joining Tiny after the move, was a stray HEINZ-57, whom due to her coloring, we called Taffy. Taffy was a stray who was pregnant, so I got to witness the birth of eight adorble GERMAN SHEPHERD + WHO KNOWS WHAT pups. Taffy become an outdoor dog, skilled in the fine art of guardianship. What I remember most about Taffy, though, was her diet: table scraps (including vegetables) cooked up into corn meal mush. I can't even eat a corn meal muffin without thoughts of Taffy. Both Taffy and Tiny lived to ripe old ages, and died of natural causes.
Then came the CHIHUAHUA phase - one short-haired named Cinderella, the other a white long-haired named Gypsy - obviously the CHIHUAHUA phase came into play roughly at the same time as the show-queen phase. yappy little things that they are, they are still one of the most loyal animals. . .Gypsy even liked to sing. . .a lot!
Somewhere down the road, I decided I wanted a cat. I got to pick out a kitten at a flower shop, who turned into Miss Kitty (yep, named for Amanda Blake), who later in life gave birth to a litter of six-toed cats. Among those in that litter, I kept a male, who was tiger-striped and amber-eyed, whom I named Algernon. (See, the flower shop does mean something in the long run). I was in high school, and while getting off the bus one day, found Miss Kitty lying peacefully in the front yard, but, twas not really the end of Miss Kitty, for we adopted the daughter of one of Miss Kitty's six-toed litter, who became known as Chita (you can place the year by CHICAGO). Now Chita was a very independent creature, and only later in her life did she become a people-cat. Chita wandered off thirteen years ago at a ripe old age.
During Chita's stay, we also had two other cats - an orange tabby named Roxy (after Miss Hart) and the fruit of Roxy, now named Rocky, and Chita's union, a midnight ebony named Valentino. All of the cats were indoor/outdoor creatures, and would scratch at the screen doors to be let in or out according to their whims. It would seem to me that cats have a longer life span than dogs, for, while those cats were in existence, there were three other dogs. . .
Dog number one was a POODLE-BEAGLE mix, from a stray that I found in a log in the woods in the back of our house with her six puppies. . . .The mother was pure beagle, and she and the remaining five pups were taken to an animal shelter once the beagle became used to my daily visits with food and milk.
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Lady, after a long life, developed cancerous cysts and had to be put down.
A trip to the animal shelter yielded a BORDER COLLIE + TERRIER mix, splotched all over in blacks, whites and reds; Patches was her name and she became the first dog to cling to me as master. Despite being an indoor dog, she loved to be outside playing frisbee, fetch and racing round the yard. Patches was not more than seven years old when she suddenly developed epilepsy. Even with the strongest medicines going, she continued on downward spiral towards the inevitable. On a Saturday morning, I was awakened by the sound of her yipping and scratching on the floor outside of my room. I run to her, and held her in my arms in an attempt to calm her down. Gradually, she did, but would just as quickly return to a seizure state. This became the first time that I personally took a dog to its veteranarian and stayed by her side as she softly left this world.
The third, and current dog, all the Hainsies and Kimlets already know to be the thirteen-year-old Siberian, Minx Anastasia; who has enjoyed hearing about all the other pets today.
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I'm in a Claritin Haze but my nose has stopped running and is now walking. Trying to decide whether to buzz over to the Auntie Mame screening. We shall see.
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Thank goodness! Who says size doesn't matter?
Thanks, I needed that.
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Panni your story is at least as bad. Thank goodness you didn’t find out until later, but did you have to be told at all?
Yes, that did bother me enormously. I wish I hadn't been told. And I was told not in the way of a confession, weighing heavy on the heart for years. No, it was told as a funny story from the past. And my mother couldn't understand why I was upset.
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This is great. Cheaper by far than a shrink.
...And then Herr Doktor Hainsies von Kimlet, my mother fed me me my pet rabbit!
To be fair to my mother, I'd only had my bunny for a day -- my cousin Eva, now a doctor in Hungary, also had a bunny - we both got bunnies as a present - and she was also fed hers. (Her mother was in on it, I suppose.) I'm not sure she knows and I don't think I'll tell her! Hope HHW isn't read in Budapest.
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haineshisway.com is read the world over by one and all and also all and one. It is read from Maine to Baltimore, from France to the Hawaii, from the UK to the USSR. I feel that soon we will be the most popular site on all the Internet.
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OMG, I don't like that bunny story!
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It makes me sad, too. . . .think of how Thumper would feel. :'(
(http://www.thepartyshop.com/bambi.jpg)
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Just got the new Direct TV guide, and there are some really good movies on next month, many of which are not on DVD.
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So Bruce, if your nose runs, do your feet smell? :)
I said I was going to veg today but I didn't. I went to the local Walmart and bought the dogs some goodies/food. Picked up a few odds and ends for the trip. How many suitcases am I allowed on the plane? I don't know how I'm going to manage with fewer than 5 at this point! I'm joking (Am I?).
I've enjoyed reading all the wonderful dog stories but some brought a tear to my eye. :'( One of the reasons I can't share mine with you. I remember the good times but don't want to remember the day of parting.
WOW is all I have to say about DR Charles Pogue's library! I am truely impressed. And filled with envy. I would LOVE to have half the books you have (and the room).
I can't remember if I said anything about finding a diet drink called "Diet Rite". I found a case of it last night when I did the grocery shopping. It's made with Splenda and is honestly good. Zero carbs, caffeine and sodium free.
Tech question. The IPAQ HP Pocket PC. It has pocket Windows Explorer on it. If I want to use that on the road to check in here or maybe just send an e-mail to someone to post here for me, how do I make it work? I bought a 56k modem on E-bay that should work with it and a wireless keyboard. I just set up the keyboard and it works like a charm! What ISP works with the pocket PC?
Any help would be GREATLY appreciated.
Lastly, I meant to ask last night. Was talking to someone at work and they told me that Linda Blair had passed away. I hadn't heard that. I checked on the web and couldn't find anything about it. Even the "official" fan club site didn't say anything. I think my friend was wrong. Was she? Has anyone here heard anything?
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I have excellent feet and it so happens they never smell. Even people who hate feet like my feet. I've got foot testimonials.
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Jane - Still in the shrink mode - I've been thinking about the bunny story - and here's something for you - I was told, as was my cousin - that the cat next-door ate the bunnies. (Sorry, everybody!) I was too young to realize that cats don't do such things. Hence - I have never trusted cats.
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Methinks Panni better hie herself to a therapist very soon.
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Since we're sharing our bookrooms, here's one wall of mine.
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And another wall:
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And another, this mostly filled with first edition plays (the other walls are first edition fiction)
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So many walls....so many books....so little time.....
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Humm, not built backwards like some of us then? I know I can't hear correctly unless I have my glasses on. ;D
I forgot to say what else I did today. I took the dogs for a walk and I mowed the grass. Both the back and front yard. Blew the patio off, did some edging and trimming. Then I watered all the plants.
No sign of baby four o'clocks yet. But it has only been a week. My Michael Crawford rose bush has a bud on it! Yay! I guess it made it through the winter alright. I'll be sure to snap a picture of it when it blooms.
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Arrgggh! I didn't see the book room pictures before I posted. Geez. I have book room envy. I have pea GREEN book room envy.
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You're not the only one with book envy; although I believe mine is a case of shelf envy. . .i still have boxes of books awaiting to be aput on a shelving unit. . . .
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I'm going off to see Auntie Mame. Keep the home fries burning and I'll be back at ten-thirty to have a posting frenzy and catch up on all the excellent posts.
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One order, burnt fries coming up!
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Jane - Still in the shrink mode - I've been thinking about the bunny story - and here's something for you - I was told, as was my cousin - that the cat next-door ate the bunnies. (Sorry, everybody!) I was too young to realize that cats don't do such things. Hence - I have never trusted cats.
That could do it. Due to some frightning experiences I was very afraid of large dogs as I child. To overcome my fear I became rather good at understanding body language-dogs that is. I'm not so good with people.
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Actually, all of my books aren't in the library. I have three book cases in my office filled with reference/research books...like encyclopedias, dictionaries, literary/historical reference texts. And then out in the TV room is where I keep all the movie history/film bios for ready reference. My wife has four large book shelves of psychology books, her faery tale collections, and other odds and ends. And then scattered around the living-room are various stacks of coffee table type books. You're never stuck for something to read or thumb through in this house.
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I have been rather down since Echo’s return yesterday. We hate putting her through these surgeries. Today I snuck out & walked in our beautiful park, along Ashland Creek, where dogs aren’t allowed. I felt terribly guilty & sad through the first half of the walk, until those endorphins kicked in. Keith & I went to a new, new for us, restaurant in town tonight. After an excellent meal, lovely ambiance & great music I’m feeling much better. The 12 year old scotch I treated myself to didn’t hurt. During dinner we talked of Belle. So in fairness to Belle I must tell you about her. I will be back.
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Just returned from my grandneice's (boy that makes me sound old) 2nd birthday. Little Taylor is of course the light of Uncle Mike's life! It was so much fun and there were soooo many people there (lots of my nephew and his wife's former college pals) and it was a packed house!
And all of these pet stories are wonderful! It warms my heart that we all are such animal lovers. I come from a family of hunters so I have pretty much been the only person in my family, until recently, that loved to see animals alive! LOL! But as everyone get's older they are discovering the joys of pet owning.
Here is a fun shot of Taylor and Monkey Mike a.k.a. Unky Mike and Taylor playing with my nephew's dog Tahoe last summer in the swimming pool.
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Jane and Panni, your rather tragic stories of former pets sort of tugged at my heart strings. Funny how parents can sometimes really do things that would seem rather cruel, but they just don't realize it!
Jane I am glad you are feeling better. Your devotion to Echo is so wonderful..and of course Echo is such a great dog. You need to post some more photos of him!
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DR Danise: Don't all diet soft drinks have 0 carbs?
DR Panni, interesting story about why you would dislike cats. I've never been a huge fan of big dogs. And now I think it's cause when I was in school, I used to have to walk past this house (on the way home from the bus). They had a big black dog which was not on a leash. The dog would either sit in the garage or sometimes it would come out and run up to me barking wildly. I was scared to death. I still do not know why I never went to the owners to ask them to keep their big black dog from running onto the street to scare little girls. But I never did!
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I just hope Echo is doing better. Good doggie vibes!!! i remember the first time I had to leave Bear at the doctors office. I cried in the car like a baby. Silly, I know but it was like leaving my baby behind.
One of things about these trips is that this will be the very first time in Bears life that I will be leaving him for so long. I don't know how he is going to handle that. He is so used to sleeping with me.
It may sound cruel but Brandi prefers to be out during the night. She has her Dogloo out there (doghouse) so she's ok. I never leave her out if it's really cold or raining.
Good evening all. Have a pleasant evening.
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DR Jane: feel better!
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Just got the new Direct TV guide, and there are some really good movies on next month, many of which are not on DVD.
Well, how mean of you not to give us some titles! Some Grable/Fox musicals, I hope. Now that I got MOTHER WORE TIGHTS, I'm eager to add CONEY ISLAND, WHEN MY BABY SMILES AT ME, WABASH AVENUE (remake of CONEY ISLAND), and PIN UP GIRL.
Or perhaps some Deanna Durbin classics?
Or some Alice Faye classics?
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While walking early one spring evening Keith & I came upon a very large (but fairly emaciated) seven year old dog that had, according to rural neighbors, been on her own for about a month. Apparently she had been abandoned in the woods along with a 25lb bag of kibble—long finished.
Though skittish, she made friends with us and was in the process of walking with us when a policeman arrived to take her to the pound. He had had reports of a dog with mange roaming the area. (She didn’t have mange, was just shedding her undercoat as malnutrition and warmer weather set in.) He took a lonnnnngg extendable pole out of his vehicle that had a dangerous-looking looped wire at the end. She was headed for the gas chamber. He admitted being a bit intimidated by the bag of bones and was relieved when we said we’d take the dog with us. Of course, we were lying—we already had two dogs and two cats at home!—but we hoped we could find a home for her with friends or neighbors.
Once home our Siberian Husky, Anastasia, rushed out and, to our surprise, attacked her. Keith left on a business trip THE NEXT MORNING!!!!!! It was raining and I left the dog outside with the garage door open until Keith returned home and we could take her in the house. The first day she did get into all the trash cans (it had to be trash day) along our street & I had to clean them up. We soon found she was an expert at getting into trash, pulling dishes out of the sink for leftovers and opening cupboards to find food.
Well…long story short, we couldn’t find a home for her, not that I tried very hard. After a year she reached her full weight of eighty pounds. We named her “Belle” because she appeared to be pure Belgium Sheepdog. I called her My Shadow. She was our younger son’s best friend and raised our kittens. She was a wonderful devoted dog we had for ten years, far longer than we ever expected.
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Thank you Jennifer, I do already.
It is cuddle time with the gang. Night All.
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It's bedtime. I just returned from a neighbor's surprise birthday party.
Our neighbor, who moved from India by way of Iran 20 years ago, has always been a major Elvis fan. So the birthday had an Elvis theme, and there was even an Elvis impersonator. Some relatives sang beautiful (non-Elvis) tunes in Hindi, and there were lovely toasts made to this very kind and generous woman.
I returned to read more pet stories. Thanks everyone for sharing them, and for encouraging me to remember days with Pooch, Tiger, Truffles, Banjo, Hilda, Guest, and Vicky.
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Jane: There's extra points in heaven for your adoption of Belle!
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As I imagined, Ms. Barbara Cook was sublime. The woman only gets better. She is 76 years old and sings as sweetly as when she began in New York 51 years ago. Her show is simple and clean. She's on stage with Wally Harper and a bass player for 90 minutes. It's called Barbara Cook's Broadway and she does a number of songs from Broadway shows, some of which she was in and others which mean something to her. According to the program the play list changes from performance to performance but I think there are probably two set pieces in the show, one being the pentultimate number which I found hysterically funny. I won't spoil the surprise in case any of my NY brethren plan on seeing the show. Suffice it to say, I left the theatre entranced anew with Ms. Cook. What a treasure!
And now, since it's 1am and I'm usually in bed by this time, I will go away until tomorrow.
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TCB I hope you did not read about Shortz. SWW really had me crying.
Dear Jane: It was never my intention to tell a sad story, or to have you cry, so I hope your tears were ones of happiness, if bittersweet.
We have had a very doggy day today. Along with the storytelling here (and der Brucer has not told the story of Rover and his brother Chuck, which I hope he tells tomorrow), we took Mikey the terrier in for his rabies shot today, and got him licenced. In the process, der Brucer met with some ladies from a rescue operation, along with a very nice male of the greyhound variety. The dog races are a vicious way of treating dogs, after they have outlasted their running days, dumping them by the wayside. The dog der Brucer met was wonderfully friendly, as so many of them are, and needing a home. Der Brucer contributed a few bucks to help with feeding these refugees.
Things got more complicated during dinner. We had previously booked ourselves for a wine-tasting dinner at Celsius, a very nice place I've talked about before downtown. Among our dinner companions was a woman from the Delaware Humane Society, who was thrilled to learn that we had rescued all our dogs. The DHS will be hosting a fundraiser in about a month, a dog-walk along the Boardwalk in Rehoboth, encouraging people to adopt pets, particularly the needy dogs that have been discarded by others. Another woman at our table talked about how she and her husband have rescued Great Danes, and a third about the cats she has rescued.
There is so much work to be done, and not all of it is work der Brucer and I can do, although I can tell we're going to be doing as much as we can.
Good vibes to all those who love and protect animals.
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I saw picture of my Peter Ellenshaw painting pf MAry Poopins I am buying. I hope it is as beautiful in person as it is in the photo.
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Jane, I'm sending you happy vibes! Yours helped me, so I hope mine help you!
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I had to shorten Laura II's vibes because it put us in Cinerama. Now, we're not going to have a new all-time low are we?
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I'm actually going out for a bite to eat, so the notes may be going up a little later, say around twelve-thirty.
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I'll post again once I get back home, stuffed with foodstuffs.
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Hello all. We've been out most of the day.
I have a happy story. Many happy stories, actually. For a few years, we fostered cats and kittens for some of the various shelters here in town. Each one had a story. Many kittens were feral (born in the wild) that we tamed and adopted out; a few adults were lost and on the street that we fostered and adopted out. Some were tiny babies that we raised and adopted out. It was hard to let them go, but letting them be adopted meant we could foster another. I could tell over 100 stories, because that's how many we fostered over the years. We named them all and have photos of most of them.
There was the box of three tiny kittens left in a sealed box at the shelter during kitten season. There was a box of seven left on the side of the road. There were many wild kittens we trapped and tamed. There were mothers with newborns who needed time to grow up to get adopted. The shelters didn't have enough room, so they came to our home. I would like to tell you the story of "Belita."
We were called to assist a homeowner on an urban farm. He wanted cats to help the rodent problem, but the cats were breeding out of control. We captured, fixed, and released dozens. One of the other workers said she discovered the hiding place of a mother with newborns, but left them alone. She checked the next day, and the mother had moved two of the babies but left the third behind. We hoped the mother would come back for the third one and we were to check the hiding spot the following night when we arrived.
We found the spot -- under a tractor that was blocked by a heavy piece of metal. I lifed up the metal, and Sandra shined a flashlight back there and could find no kitten. What a relief! The mother had moved the other kitten. We continued with our work for the night. Just before we left, something told me to check one more time -- just a feeling.
I lifted the metal sheet and Sandra wriggled back there. The brown and black tortie kitten blended in with the dirt. She just happened to see the kitten flick her ear. She came out with a tiny kitten. It fit in the palm of her hand. Enough time had gone by that we knew the mother wasn't coming back and the kitten would die without help. We decided to bring her home and try to raise her, since leaving her there would be certain death.
It wasn't easy. She was about two days old. She was the first newborn we ever attempted to raise. Belita survived in spite of our efforts. She survived and thrived and became one of the most loving and friendly kittens we ever had. It was very had to let her go, but she was adopted and we went on to the next.
I have a lot of stories about "pets" that I don't have any more. Almost all successes -- a few failures. It was something that I did that I enjoyed more than almost anything else I've ever done. I gave it up to pursue other things, and I hope someday to be able to foster again.
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I am back from Elegies. There are only two performances left--a matinee and an evening tomorrow (Sunday)--and I have no idea if there are any tickets left. If there are, it is my duty to urge the L.A. area Kimlets to get off their collective tushies and hie themselves to the Canon Theatre to see it.
I was sold on William Finn long ago and I have expressed my adimiration of the man's art on this site many times. Here's another encomium.
Mr. Finn's ingenuity is astounding. Even after having listened to the Elegies CD many times, this evening I caught nuances in lyric and music that I had not noticed before. Mr. Finn's songs are filled with erudition and sophistication and, above all, heart. He can seamlessly weave humor into a song filled with pathos, and fold pathos into a song filled with humor. His story songs are wonderfully evocative and his use of metaphor is rich.
This edition of Elegies is sung by five very skilled vocalists, and the audience was completely enthralled.
I want to see and hear more of Mr. Finn's work! Does any Dear Reader know the fate of his The Royal Family? I've known about its existence for years, but never hear or read anything about it being produced.
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Well, I must not let this be a record-low day, just because I am avoiding pet stories. I can truthfully say that today is the first time that I haven't actually read everybody's posts. If I saw the word "pet," I passed it by. Sorry. I am glad everyone else enjoyed the pet stories, and I am grateful to BK for picking the topic, if for no other reason, because I got to see a photo of Mr. Barnum in a bathing suit.
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Man, talk about squeaking by. Shame on the errant and truant and there will be bitch-slapping aplenty.