Hey everybody! Now I know people want to hear about the new house and so on, but I'm going to postpone that one until after the holidays, so it will be a holiday house bundle! I realize I have neglected to tell you about several family members: my pets! So here's hoping you enjoy my regaling you with tales of tails! They bring great joy into my life, and as family is an important part of the Christmas season, I thought I should tell you about them.
As my family is completely insane, we have a multitude of animals. A plethora. A menagerie. Call it what you want, we have lots. My animal family includes five dogs, three cats, two birds, and four horses that don't currently live with us. I plan to tell you about them all, if you are game to read it.
Our oldest dog is Sam. Sam is a yellow lab/Shar-Pei mix, about 70 pounds, and is all sorts of fun. Or funny! He reminds me of Old Yeller, but I wasn't fond of that name, so I named him Sam after Old Yeller's son (there's a sequel that hardly anyone I know knows about).We found Sam many years ago now, right after my dad's pin-on ceremony to general. Mom and I were in the little car, and were just leaving the base in all of our dress clothes when we saw a dog trotting nervously across the busy four-way intersection. I made mom pullover on the side of the road the dog was on, and carefully opened my door, afraid of spooking it into traffic. I couldn't see him, so I swung my knees out of the car but stayed seated and called out, "Here doggy, doggy!" Slowly, I saw this big yellow head appear around the back corner of the car. Equally slowly, the rest of him appears, and he was wagging his tail tentatively. I kept sweet talking him, and he eventually came over to me and sat down. I started petting him, and he laid his head in my lap… and then proceeded to become doggy deadweight! It felt as though he had to weigh at least 200 pounds. He was absolutely not going to move.
By this time my dad had reached my mom by phone, and was telling her, "No!" But it was too late! With her help, we bodily shoved the 70 pound dog into the back of the car. He flopped there like he was dead. Literally. We thought we might've killed a dog. But looking back, I think he was just exhausted. Sam is terribly afraid of thunderstorms, and there had just been one the previous night and that morning. We imagine that was when he escaped.
We got to a vet clinic on the way home, and since we couldn't pull him out of the car (it was almost as though he weighed 300 pounds at this point), one of the vet techs brought out a chip reader. Turns out he was chipped, and we got the information. Then we went on home. We didn't think it would be wise to introduce him to the dog pack we had at that time of night, so we locked him up in an empty stall that we had with food and water. After we dragged him bodily out of the car. He literally fell on the ground. It was pathetic!
We left him in there with food and water, and even though he had a little of both, mostly he acted like he just wanted to sleep. So we left him be, and I checked on him a few hours later. Or I tried to. Little did I know, that was the first of many times that Sam would escape! He's a regular Houdini. I came out and found a huge hole dug at the base of the stall door, and no dog. I started calling for him, almost certain that we had just lost a dog. But out of the darkness comes galloping, or galumphing, this big, goofy, yellow dog, wagging his tail like mad, completely different from the lethargic animal we had left in the stall. And we've had him ever since, in spite of the fact that he tries to escape, steals stuff right off the kitchen counters if you're not looking, manages to spread trash throughout the house if you leave the trashcan unguarded, and kills small wild animals (at least, he did all of this in his youth. Now he's just mostly grumpy at the other dogs!). But matter all that. We love him like crazy.
Our next animal on the docket is Kelly. She is an approximately 40 pound lab mix of indiscriminate origin. No idea what kind of dog she is other than lab. Because I am my mother's daughter, I found her much the same as we found Sam. I was driving home from a singing gig in that same little car we had rescued Sam in, with the entire contents of my university apartment in the back and front seat of my car, when I saw these two dogs trotting down the street, one black, one yellow. I immediately pulled over, and called out to them. They were suspicious, but wanting to be friendly, staying away but wagging their tails as they slunk around the car. I couldn't get them to come to me, and suddenly a dog barked across the street and they bolted toward it. Luckily I had some food in the back of my car. My grandmother had passed away a few months previously, and I had received the contents of her pantry. I swear her spirit was with me that day, when I broke out a bag of graham crackers and crinkled the wrapper. Those dogs did such a fast about-face they were hard to see. They got back over toward me, and, indifferent to my own safety (and anyone who knows me knows this is not unusual with me and animals!) I grabbed the black dog by the scruff and tail and thrust him in the car. While I blocked him with my legs, I coaxed the dog we would later call Kelly until she was close enough that I could snatch her up and throw her in the car as well.
They pretty much laid in my lap the whole way home. And you can imagine my family's happiness upon hearing I had brought home two stray dogs, when we had just inherited my grandmother's three Chihuahuas, and had three other dogs of our own (as usual, I really thought this one through!). I promised that I would get rid of them, either to a shelter or a good home, but I never personally got around to that. We ended up keeping them, though the black dog, whom we called Happy, was successfully re-homed after my accident. Before my accident, however, Kelly was very much my dog. We played every day, she hung out with me on the couch, and she slept with me in my bed. Though she is very needy, hyper, terrible at fetch (she'll chase it, but won't give it back to you), and eats like a pig, I don't regret finding her and loving her.
Next is Frito, and all you horse people probably know him as my mom's shadow. We got Frito at Region 9 one year, when we had no plans of getting a dog (my family never plans on getting dogs. But it always happens, and it's usually my fault). We were headed out of the stands of the show ring, and this lady walked by with two chihuahuas and what looked like a puffball in a stroller. We got to talking, and she told me the puffball was a miniature Australian Shepherd (incidentally, my mom's favorite dog from her past was an Aussie, so I knew I had an in there!). We called dad, more to ask for the checkbook than for permission (at least as he tells it), and came home with the puffball. He grew up into the handsome dog we now call Frito after the Frito Bandito of the old commercials. He's absolutely obsessed with mom. He goes crazy when she comes home, and pines when she's not. But mostly is with her, standing on her lap as she drives – because we all know that is super safe. He would play fetch until his heart exploded, I think. No sense of self-preservation when playtime begins. He is super athletic, incredibly loyal, sweet, and more. An all-around great dog (except for the loud barking any time someone comes in!). We got very lucky with him.
Then come the two miniature marauders, the M&Ms: the miniature dachshunds. The height of all that is obnoxious, these two little sisters have nonetheless blessed us with their presence. I want to kill them almost every day, but they also make me laugh almost every day. I met their breeder at a doctor's office. Again, we had no plans to get dogs (you are probably sensing a theme here), and she just showed me some pictures and gave me her number, but I didn't really think of it again. Then one day while dad was in the Middle East (because it's always best to do these things when he's not here!), Mom magically comes home with not one, but two puppies. It was quite a surprise for me. Or at least, the second one was! I remember calling dad on speaker a few days later, and the puppies were tearing around chasing one another, causing a huge ruckus. Dad asked what the noise was, and we immediately replied that it was the television. When dad arrived home a few days later, mom was on the couch with the puppies. Dad had come home with his coworker, Gabe. As he came inside, mom called out for Gabe to come in as well (she needed a buffer!). Dad came in to see her curled up on the couch with a puppy, and freaked out a little bit. And then he saw the other puppy! Poor dad. He puts up with us and our animals (though, incidentally, one of the little dogs – Cassie – loves him so much, and he loves her). Did I mention the other ones name is Cori? It's for "incorrigible." Very fitting, actually.
Next come the cats. Our oldest cat, Mama Kitty, a dusky brown tabby, is back with us again. After my accident, she stayed at the barn we used to own with the woman that took care of the place for us. When we sold the property, MK went to live Mary (who looked after the property previously). But when Mary had to move into an apartment recently, she couldn't keep MK, which was really hard on her I think. So this ancient kitty, this excellent kitty now lives in our new house. She has to be at least 18 years old, and is still going strong. Our next cat is Kiki. Like so many of our animals, Kiki is a rescue. And I wasn't even there! So no one, namely my dad, can blame me! It's totally my mother and my grandmother's fault. They found her in a parking lot at a restaurant and brought her home. She was so lonely, that even though she was bone skinny and starving, what she wanted more than anything was attention. So I'm all innocent at school that night, and I get these texts without any explanation: just pictures of a cat that I don't know in our house. And I remember texting something like, "Who's this?" And if I'm not mistaken, my mom helpfully replied, "A cat!" So now we have Kiki, the laziest I have ever known. She is a really pretty long-haired dark tabby with white chest, neck, and feet. I'm not going to mention the last kitty, as she is only a foster and (as my dad prays and hopes) won't be living with us for much longer. Suffice it to say she is a good kitty.
That just leaves the birds (I'm skipping the horses because this blog has become really long without my intending it!). First, there is Doodle. Doodle is a Caique, which is a really busy species of bird known to be the clown of parrots. We purchased Doodle as a baby, and he had to stay at the pet store while he was growing up and being weaned off baby food for the first few months we had him, so we visited him a few times a week. When we visited, he mostly just screamed and begged for food (we were told this was baby behavior and would go away, thankfully. We have enough barking. We don't need screaming). So it came as a huge surprise to us that when he actually came home, he was a little snot (not deliberately; he's just precocious as all get out). Though he was meant to be my bird, he tries to eat everything of mine, like my equipment and so on (and my face…). It's not at all malicious. He's just like a two-year-old: always goes 100 miles an hour, and is into everything. And since I can't redirect him… You get the picture. So we were going to give him back to the pet store, but both mom and I fell in love with him in spite of him! He cracks us up, swinging upside down by 1 foot, playing his version of soccer with a cat toy, and so much more. And he loves her. So now he's her bird.
But this left me without a bird, which was the original intent of getting one. And that was when Jennifer Gray fell into our laps. Jennifer Gray is an African gray (the smartest of birds). She is five years old, and was given up by her family when they had children, and the children and the birds didn't get along. I don't know about you, but I don't see why they didn't give the children away instead! So Jen came into our lives, knowing every alarm a house has (microwave, oven, refrigerator, telephone, smoke detector, and some others we don't know), an amalgamation of whistles, and a large assortment of cuss words which her previous parents apparently thought it would be funny to teach her. Either that, or they cursed at her a lot. We don't know which. She makes us look very stupid, because she will make some noise, and then we will go to her and repeat it 30 times trying to get her to do it again. And she just looks at us. Probably thinks, "Stupid humans." I swear she takes pleasure in it. Her favorite thing is just to sit on my shoulder and do nothing from long periods of time, which makes her the perfect companion for me. As I write this, she is sitting on my shoulder.
So that is our animal house. I'm sure there will be more additions to the family as time goes on, as we have been adding to the family my entire life! Yes I know, this is largely my fault. Yet I feel no guilt. Because I love my animals! They are one of the best parts of my life, truly.
So I hope you are reading this with your Christmas tree all lit up as you get ready for Santa to come visit. There's nothing like family during the holidays, and these animals are my family. I'm blessed to have them, and I hope you are similarly blessed. And so we go!
