I love animals, possibly too much. Right now, I have two small poodles, Jerry and Jollee; an old English mastiff (150 lbs.) who thinks that she is a poodle, Judy; three cats, Joe, Jack, and July. I know, "What's with the 'J' thing?" They think they are real people. Give us a laugh.
One of my favorites involves our family's big (21 pounds--I know--that's small if you have cat in Maine ...), fluffy, white with black patches Angora cat that we brought back from an overseas jaunt and one of my daughter's early hamsters [I never liked hamsters, but my daughter really wanted one, but I kept saying no; then her older brother started dreaming about how much she needed a hamster; so I had to say, "All right, if he dream she needs a hamster, she needs a hamster, so I gotta get a hamster!"] ... the aside aside, this story involves our Angora and Goldie. Being new to combining pet species, I was fearful of what kitty might do to wiggly hamster if ever gotten within claws or jaws distance.
One night Goldie got out of her cage and we were tearing around the house looking high and low for her little golden-colored fur Teddy Bear Hammy self. Sprinkled between every "Did you look here? Did you look there?" was the worried question: "Where's Cozy? We need to see Kitty!" Finally, finding Goldie nowhere, I finally asked, "Why is Cozy just laying in front of the stereo? She never lays in front of the stereo" "Did you look beside the stereo?" "Yeah." "So did I." "Did you see Goldie?"
I went over and picked Cozy up, wondering if maybe she was laying on a captured Goldie, then looked again down beside the stereo cabinet. Sure enough, way back in the dark recess was a shadow figure of golden-colored fur. Cozy had tracked Goldie down and, rather than try to capture and eat her ... she had taken up guard duty to protect Goldie until we figured out her subtle signal! Cozy was the heroine, not the predator!
My favorite pet story is about my former cat. Sadly, she died a few months ago. One day she was chasing a fly and she caught it in her mouth. She was a prim and proper Persian cat, white and fluffy, and not used to "hunting" in any form. She looked very annoyed, but she did not open her mouth. I had to open it for her, and the fly flew out.
Some friends of mine went out of town and I offered to pet sit for their three dogs. They had two hyper but very sweet jack russel terrier and beagle mixes. They also had a very well trained collie. I had seen all three dogs walked together and indeed I had been on walks with all three before. Foolishly, I decided I could walk all three by myself. I am sure it looked hilarious. As soon as we got to the grass, the two jack russels took off. Unprepared, I lost my balance. While I didn't fall, I was certainly close to it. One of the dogs ran down the wrong side of a tree. I was stuck pulling his leash back while trying desperately to stop the other jack russel who was running straight for the lake. She was running so hard the leash snapped when she got to the end. Soon after, I had to let go of the other leash since that dog was pulling me too hard against the tree. I told the collie to sit and chased after the other two. Both jack russels were swimming out to the middle of the lake after a group of terrified ducks. It took me an hour to get them back. When I finally got both jack russels on a leash, I noticed the giant grin on the collie's face. If he had been a person, I know he would have been laughing at me.
When we had an exchange student from Bolivia living with us while our daughter was in Bolivia also as a student, Juan loved to tease the family Schnauzer, Sparky. Being a typical Schnauzer, Sparky was loyal and loving, but also crazy about chasing the small remote control car my son had gotten for Christmas. One day I came home from work and found Juan in hysterics laughing at Sparky who was trying to bite the car which was no longer moving. Juan had been "driving" it for so long that Sparky gave up the chase and was lying exhausted next to the car trying to bite it. After that, I hid the key to the control!
My two Siberian Huskies, Seeku and Mishka, pride themselves on their hunting prowess. They like to pretend that they are wolves, I think. Every now and then I would get a small token offering on my back doorstep: small rodents, a bird or two. There is nothing quite so wretched as stepping out your back door and onto a dead lizard, lovingly left for me by Mishka.
One hot summer's evening in July last year, I woke up at two in the morning to hear both dogs barking, and let me be clear--this was not the lazy 'I want to come in' whiny bark, but rather a full-scale alert 'intruder' bark. Both dogs were signalling that they had a serious situation that needed my immediate attention! I sprinted out the back door and onto the patio with my flashlight, and I could see both Seeku and Mishka circling something in the dark, something that hissed violently in response.
I thought, 'Oh, no! It's the neighbor's cat!' but a quick flash of a long pink tail quickly revealed that I was either dealing with an R.O.U.S. or perhaps a possum. I ran around the corner to get the water hose, planning on water-blasting them apart and ending the brawl. However, when I came back to the patio, waterhose in hand, Seeku waited for me happily, with this really dopey self-pleased expression on his face, and Mishka pranced around the deck like she was doing a victory dance.
I shone the flashlight into the yard. There, about ten yards out, was a huge discernable lump in my grass. They had killed the possum. I glared at both dogs and got the shovel.
Seeku followed me out, sniffed at the poor possum, and looked at me proudly. I prodded it with the shovel, the old phrase 'playing possum' echoing in the back of my mind. It was definitely dead, I was sure of it. That was one big possum, so large in fact, that I couldn't easily scoop it up with my yard shovel. Every time I tried to get under the poor dead thing to lift it up, it just scooted down the gentle slope of the yard farther away. Finally I got under the body with the shovel and plopped it into a five gallon bucket I had brought along with me that I had stuck a trashbag into, thinking that I would seal up the trashbag and then call animal services to pick up. When I dropped the possum into the bucket, it was so big that it just pulled the bag down and slid to the bottom. Not willing to reach in and fix the bag, I bit back a shudder and quickly carried the bucket all the way around the house to the front yard.
I called animal control to come and pick up the body.
When the truck arrived early next morning, the driver came to my front door, wanting to know where the possum was.
Didn't he see it right by the curb? It was enormous!
But my bright orange bucket and trashbag were empty...seems like my little friend had been playing possum all along! I had carried a bucket with a live possum in it!
He's still out there, biding his time, waiting for revenge...
I was pet-sitting my step-daughter's Yorkie one evening. Unbeknownst to me, little Wiley climbed up on a counter and ate a whole bag of Hershey's kisses--with the aluminum foil wrappers still on them. I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night with Wiley puking and crapping--on my head! After cleaning myself up, I took him and left him outside. At 6 a.m., I was awakened by a knock on the door. It was the police. A neighbor had reported Wiley's constant barking for the previous three hours. Needless to say, I never pet-sat him again.
This thread is going very well! I have already laughed out loud! Good one, MWestwood!
My story is nowhere near as funny but it would have been hilarious if it had been caught on tape.
My cat, Marie Antoinette, has a habit of hiding inside piles of things. She is new to me so, at the time, she was still quite new to my home.
Naively, I placed Antoinette on her new perch at night and left her there to rest thinking that the controlled environment that I had prepared for her would help her settle in better. I went to bed an hour later, thinking that she would stay in the newly-prepared room.
When I went to bed I laid to sleep when suddenly I hear hissing. I was half asleep and didn't pay attention, except the hissing went on again and that's when I realized that there may be a snake hiding in my bed and about to bite me.
So, naturally, I screamed and darted out of bed like a madwoman feeling the snake's fangs on me already, only to look back and see Antoinette running right behind me, just as fast....She had hidden herself inside the duvet, where I could not see her, and apparently hissed at not knowing why "the human" was going to lay down on her own bed to sleep. It was so scary and hilarious (to me) at that time. How silly. #Fail.
First of all, unless you are like the woman who drove a Maine lobster from Red Lobster back to Maine and set it free, you probably do not "love animals too much."
We had an insane (this adjective may be redundant for Bostons) female Boston-terrier who went well beyond the term "hyper." This little maniac loved to bite at water from a hose or sprinkler or the waves rolling in on the river's shore, or any water that was spraying or splashing. Well, one day, she flew out the front door when I just began to open it and raced to the neighbor's swimming pool where she was beckoned by the call of splashing. In the pool was a robust, six-foot man who had the look of sheer terror when he saw what he must have mistaken for a miniscule black and white killer whale coming at him with her wide mouth and crazed dark eyes. Frantically, he splashed water onto the deck of the pool to repel her, yelling "Get away! get away!" all the time ignoring my cautions, "Don't splash at her; she thinks you are playing." Chubs crouched down and showed all her teeth in manacial delight, "Abbah,habba,abba" she yapped as she bit at the water. The man thought she was trying to bite him, so he sent herculean sprays of water at her, wetting the deck so much that Chubs was literally swept into the pool with him.
You would have thought that Jaws himself had slid in there with this man who was absolutely terrified then. He began swimming as fast as he could, but Chubs followed him at an equal rate because the water was deep and she wanted him to rescue her. When he got to the other side, he grabbed the stairs to climb up, but Chubs had reached the stairs, too, and was pawing desperately at him to grab her. He fell back into the pool, screaming hysterically like some woman in a horror movie; and, with renewed fervor, he backtracked to the other end of the pool with, of course, an equally desperate dog behind him. "Please help me, someone," he cried. All this time, I tried to calm him, telling him to stop so I could grab the dog from the side of pool since I was not in a swimsuit, but he was so terrorized that he ignored me. After they did another length, I could see that Chubs was becoming exhausted, so I had to jump in fully clothed and save her--the heck with that crazy man!
When I got my baby girl out of the water, I held her and told the man to go up the steps. This fool's hair--wet as could be--was actually standing on end when he stumbled weakly out of the water. I thought I might have to resuscitate him, too, but he was all right. Still, he yelled, "Get that creature out of here! It's going to hurt me!!" Another neighbor was laughing so hard that he had tears streaming down his cheeks.