FURRY FRIENDS

When our Weimaraner, Babe, was nearing the end of her life, Ken said, “We don’t need another dog.”  I did not say anything.  As Babe continued to decline, Ken again said, “We don’t need another dog.”  I didn’t say anything.  When the vet told us she possibly had six to eight more weeks to live, Ken said, “I don’t think we will get another dog.”  I made eye contact with him and quietly said, “I cannot remember a time I did not have a dog.”  He got the point.

The first dog I actually remember was a small dog named Susie.  She was run over by the milk delivery truck.  Several more dogs were around during my preschool years.  When I was in elementary school, one of my uncles gave me a white Chow named Pal.  His tail curled over his back.  This gave him extra charm.  He was my companion until I graduated high school.

The dairy was on U.S. Highway 183.  Pal seemed to instinctively know to stay back from the highway.  He walked down the drive with me to the school bus stop every morning.  The bus stopped across the highway.  Pal stopped well back and watched until I boarded the bus.  He greeted me every afternoon when I returned.

He was old and ill during my senior year of high school.  My father gently suggested it might be time to consider euthanizing him.  I could not bring myself to agree.  I went to college in the fall of 1953.  Pal did not greet me on my first trip back home.  I knew he was gone.

A stray calico cat appeared one day.  I aptly named her Calico.  She had a litter of kittens.  A predator killed all but one.  The survivor was left with only a stub for a tail.  I named the bobtailed kitten Bob.

There was a picket fence around our yard.  The tops of the pickets were flat.  As a kitten, Bob entertained himself by walking on top of the pickets.  He would follow me as I walked in front of him.  This kept the cat and I occupied for hours.

I had two white rabbits.  I assume I went with my Dad to the feed store, saw the cute bunnies, and wanted them.  I named the female Pinkie and the male Budgie.  They lived in a hutch in the pasture behind the house.  There were several oak trees to provide shade for the hutch.  They fared well in cold weather with their fur coats.  Hot weather was another matter.  I helped them stay cool by sneaking them into the house.  I had been told they were not allowed in the house.  This was a clandestine operation.  My first clue that it was not secret came when my mother told me to take them back to the hutch.

The rabbits eluded me when I tried to catch them.  This was a game as I was in no hurry to catch them.  They would hide behind furniture.  They often ran under a bed.  I would get a broom, lie on my stomach, and use the broom to drag them toward me.  Budgie was more difficult to catch than Pinkie.  He would thump a back foot.  I thought this was funny.  My giggles gave him time to move and thump again.

My brother’s straw hats and work boots were often on the floor of the screened front porch.  The rabbits scalloped the edges of the hats and the tops of the boots.  He thought it was funny.  It was not funny when they gnawed on lamp cords.

They eventually were given to the children of a milk customer.

I have already written about my horses.  My high school years brought more extracurricular activities and less riding time.  My cowgirl days ended by the time I graduated.

These are our current furry friends.