My most recent recollections here in which I briefly referred to a few of my younger years may have left an impression I led a more humorless life those years than would be accurate. These were years when I enjoyed and learned a lot about nature, the environment, wildlife and domestic creatures and pets.
Some of the events occurred when we were in the chicken business. In addition to our Rhode Island Reds a weasel got into one night as they sat on their darkened enclosed chicken coop roosts, we also had some beautiful multi-colored game birds. These latter foul are used by unscrupulous owners as fighting cocks for entertainment and on which they gamble, but we did not engage in that activity.
We also had some colorful bantam chickens and a couple ducks. Half an oil drum with drainage holes in the bottom so fresh water could be added was buried to ground level in the chicken yard. The bantam hens had been given the large duck eggs to sit on, keep warm and hatch. These eggs were so much bigger than a small bantam hen's egg I always wondered why that chicken wouldn't have noticed and rejected the whole project. Well, she didn't complain and dutifully hatched the lot, at least two, maybe another, but I can't recall exactly.
As soon as the ducklings were able, mother hen took them on outings. Eventually, their wanderings took them all further afield, but they always had to be wary of hawks soaring about, looking for a meal. The day came when the ducklings encountered the water-filled little pool into which they immediately plopped. They swam about having a splashingly good time while their mother had a squakingly traumatizing time, circling the pool's edge, flapping her wing feathers, warning her "chicks" of danger to no avail. They ignored her and they did not flounder or sink. What must that poor little hen have been thinking?
The wonderful feature I perceive of childhood is that much of what we encounter is new and can be fascinating. We absorb so much through those formative years from which to learn, that influences our thinking and contributes to our becoming the person we are. Probably we don't really recognize all this until we become a few years older.
I recall thinking about events that occurred in my family, listening to the adults talking about what their life experiences had been plus what we were actually living. There was no television. We received no newspapers or magazines. We did have a radio. Today with the addition of televisions, cell and/or smart phones, other digital technology devices, I wonder if exposure to such family conversations for young people is as prevalent?
I became aware despite the best preparation and plans kind, loving, industrious, intelligent, talented, capable people made that unexpected uncontrollable circumstances could happen completely altering their expectations. This could occur as a consequence of the behavior of others or self, and health issues. Even performing legitimate labor that's necessary to survive, also unintentionally ultimately damaging one's health further can occur. Companies, unions, government enforcement agencies, justice officials, individually or jointly do not always exercise the correct judgment, sometimes for illegal reasons, especially for a person of average or less means.
I saw how life went on as people put their energies into adapting to whatever the circumstances were rather than complaining and moping about.
I learned by several means that my happiness level to a great extent was my responsibility to cultivate. Finding the humor in life contributed considerably to healthy development.
This all convinced me that becoming educated and able to independently care for myself seemed a most intelligent and sensible goal. As much as others might care for me, anything could happen to anyone, at anytime and they might no longer be available to help me. In fact, I might need to help them.
That view partially fostered my thinking that I would never get married, but if I did, I would never have children. In my early twenties my perspective gradually began to change and the rest as is often said, is history. I wed in my late twenties, also having decided children would be acceptable -- which I jokingly referred to then as being an occupational hazard (birth control pills were just coming into limited usage.)
If I also thought world conditions were troublesome then, to be raising a family, I can only wonder what young people today think. At least our country, the U.S., had seemingly stable leaders in the major political parties which is more than I can say for us currently with our democratic republic and individual freedoms at stake.
What were your conclusions as a young person about how you would live your adult life?
Had you formed a point of view that you later changed?
Showing posts with label Pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pets. Show all posts
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Monday, June 07, 2010
Dogs, Cats and Their Humans
This human’s life has been filled with a variety of pets through the years, including numerous dogs and cats. Recently I heard some pet lovers describe what the pet we choose says about the human owner’s personality. The discussion included a viewpoint saying cats are owned by people who like to feel rejected. Dogs are purportedly more social and interested in establishing relationships which is presumed to be their owner’s trait. Dogs have larger brains than cats but this may not necessarily imply greater intelligence. I'm sure dog and cat owners have many more arguments from their individual points of view.
Dogs are usually not noted for being fastidiously neat with their eating habits, but Ginger at Breakfast does pretty well. Thanks to one of my writing class buddies for bringing this YouTube video to my attention.
My first pet recollection is of a cute little black scottish terrier. My grandmother didn't like that dog and he must have sensed her animosity. Those days before dishwashing machines grandma insisted on being ours as a way to contribute to our household when she visited. One evening as she was standing at the sink busily washing and rinsing dishes she began to feel an increasingly warm sensation in one of her felt slippers. Glancing down at her feet she saw this sweet little dog relieving himself on her. We suspect he was giving her a message, but he also succeeded in reinforcing her negative view of him.
A few years later, the only dog I ever disliked (though not initially) came into my life, a petite goldish-colored fully grown pomeranian. She merely tolerated everyone except our family member who had created her behavior by spoiling and catering to her. I recall us relaxing in the living room with an Aunt who was visiting for the first time. She shifted her feet ever so slightly on the carpet. This dog sleeping across the room was apparently startled and annoyed by my Aunt's action so rushed growling, snarling and snapping at her toes. She didn't bite my Aunt, but scared this woman whose pet at her home was a much larger friendly lovable German shepherd police dog. We'd never seen this behavior before from the prissy miss pooch and didn't see it ever again.
Eventually, our family moved to the country where we had a variety of pets including German pomeranians, cocker spaniels and a stock collie dog (read his story by clicking on these links: "Betrayal and Heartbreak" ; "King's History".)
We also had numerous cats of various colors and dispositions. We raised puppies selling them to carefully screened new owners, but the kittens had to be given away. The number of pets we owned diminished to two, varying through the years, then eventually decreasing to none as we relocated across the country and back again to a Midwest Great Lakes state.
By now I was a young, single adult, longing once again for a pet. I purchased a reddish golden-haired male pomeranian puppy that became quite self-centered as he grew to adulthood. I had to move away so wasn’t home enough to oversee his discipline. Another person with health issues assumed that responsibility but excessively indulged this cute little dog’s misbehaviors with the result being he became quite self-centered. He was seldom left alone, but following the death of this family member who had catered to him the dog’s care became a problem as he started receiving long overdue discipline. If he was left alone for even a brief time while we went to the nearby grocery market he made his rebellious or mourning statement by leaving a puddle on the floor by the kitchen table leg.
I wasn’t allowed a pet in my apartment, but we luckily found a home for the dog with the understanding I could visit a few weeks later to see how he was adapting to his new owners. Adapting! When I visited, he hardly paid any attention to me in his new urban environment that allowed him more room to run untethered outdoors, to splash about in a small wading pond and reportedly enjoy sleeping in the bed between this older couple. They were delighted with him as they had been grieving the loss of their aged toy pomeranians prior to acquiring him. I could immediately see he had trained them well and was clearly living in doggy heaven here on earth.
We excused inappropriate bathroom behavior from our cat I describe later when we learned he had an infection. Cats can be quite independent with their personal habits. The video of this neat and clean cat is the first I’ve seen that not only uses the toilet, but also toilet paper.
After I wed, my husband and I became enamored with a kitten birthed by a three-footed wild mama cat living in a nearby woods whose confidence we won over a year's time. We adopted him and he matured into a lovable personable attractive handsome long-haired silver gray cat. Sadly neighbor dogs allowed to run loose later killed his mother. He accompanied us in all our moves about the country through his fifteen plus years lifetime.
A few years after his death a ten month old German short-haired pointer we rescued from the local animal shelter joined our household. She proved to be a challenge as we began to understand why her previous owners had given her up. Reportedly they had been unable to successfully train her to be a bird dog. I'm not sure how she had failed because she often pointed birds in our back yard which impressed us.
What didn't impress us was that she was hopelessly neurotic, chewing a bottom portion of our long saved for brand new living room drapes on a couple of occasions soon after we brought her home. She must have overheard me say if she did that one more time I would return her to the dog pound because there were no further incidents and she remained with us the rest of her life. Of course, the irreparable drape damage had been done. This dog's behavior clearly revealed she had been the victim of abuse, probably in the name of discipline, so we felt compelled to re-educate her in a loving manner and must have succeeded to some extent. She also grew a bit larger, plus she became a much more active dog than we had anticipated.
This high strung lady dog didn't tolerate other animals in our back yard forcing me to rescue more than one opossum. One time, hearing the sudden deep growls, barks and yips, we opened the back door to quickly discern she had tangled with a skunk when a most acerbic unpleasant odor permeated the evening air and her. She could not tolerate being alone outside for long if we were home. She persisted in behaving like a jumping jack, tirelessly leaping up and down on her back legs as if on springs, to peer at us through the living room window – very distracting and entertaining as she never tired. She was incredibly jealous of any other pet that might seek my attention.
She viewed herself as a lap dog which was a delusion on her part due to her size. When she couldn't sit on my husband's lap, she soon initiated the idea of squeezing in beside him on his reclining chair which he ultimately encouraged. She often sought attention behaving much like a puppy causing us to wonder if she had been separated from her mother at too early an age. She lived a long full life with us bringing our family overall pleasure, successfully recovering from one cancer surgery. A few years later recurrent cancer spread throughout her body to a degree life was no longer viable. We reluctantly and tearfully had her “put to sleep” as the euphemism is worded.
Individuals living in confined quarters probably prefer having a pet whose needs can be more easily met without the necessity of walking a dog outdoors so cats seem logical. Some individuals in need of exercise incentives might choose to have a dog to regularly walk outside. I'm seeing many more dogs walking their humans in our neighborhood this year -- all sizes and breeds from fluffy little Shih Tzus to handsome Siberian Huskies with all sorts of mixed breeds in between.
Travel and sudden trips become more complicated and expensive with a pet. I wouldn't take mine with me though I know many have begun doing so in recent years. I come from the era when people and children were the humans while pets, however dearly loved, carefully cared for, were pet animals. Now my impression is that distinction does not exist for many humans with pets. I'm still opting for no pet presently as my experience is the care and inconveniences associated with even the most healthy cat or dog outweighs the companionship I would enjoy.
The question of which is the best companion and most intelligent pet -- a dog or cat remains a matter of opinion, I think. Dogs may foster or require their human to adopt a more physically active lifestyle than cats. Dogs may need more attention and human interaction. I’ve found dogs to be more attentive including with eye gaze, feelings sensitivity, being emotionally responsive and better listeners attuned to the nonverbal aspects of their human’s language. I've shared my life with both type pets in apartments, houses in city, suburban, and rural environments. My experience indicates the answer about which is the best pet is partially dependent on the particular dog’s or cat’s breeding, disposition, human owner's personal preference, living situation at the time of adoption.
About some other pet preferences -- raccoons, ferrets, squirrels, hamsters, rats, snakes, birds, fish, reptiles.....then, there are the bigger animals, horses, cows, pigs.....if the creature lives, moves, someone will adopt it as a pet. Wait.....what about those pet rocks a few years ago and now we have robots.....what next?
Could my attachment to my netbook, cell phone, IPhone or IPad be considered some sort of pet? No-o-o, my refrigerator, oven, microwave, coffeemaker aren’t pets, are they?
Monday, August 31, 2009
Unorthodox Pets
Pets come in all forms, shapes and sizes -- animate and otherwise. Some selections may be considered unorthodox by other people, but that doesn't deter me from considering unusual possibilities.
Praying Mantids and Lady Bugs have long fascinated me as have Walking Sticks, too. I planned to write about my experience with the mantid and the lady bugs earlier this year. Events did not develop quite as I expected so I could share pictures of matured creatures. Here's what happened.
This past spring when I entered a local hardware/garden store where I was confronted with a display selling containers of young lady bugs and praying mantids eggs. These two insects are natural predators who devour certain unwanted destructive bugs preying on any vegetables, flowers and other garden plants. I decided to splurge, unable to resist purchasing one container each of these insects.
I intended to put the praying mantids egg-like container into a fishbowl per one recommended option so I could observe their gradual emergence once they developed to hatching stage. The more I thought about them, I even considered keeping a couple as pets since the instructions suggested that might be a possibility if I kept them fed -- ground meat was mentioned.
Unlike other pets I've had, they wouldn't have to be walked with the ever present plastic bag I'd have to tote so I could stoop over to pickup a stinky mess to carry along until disposing it later at home. Likewise there would be no need for rug clean-up after an inevitable sickness or potty accident. There would be no toiletry litter box inside the house threatening unwanted aromas if not replaced periodically. No messy hairballs, or urinary tract infections causing uncontrolled sense of urgency resulting in neutered male felines unintentionally spraying the guest room bed pillow. I certainly wouldn't be subjected either to those manipulative behaviors of eye gazes, cunning growls, or hypnotic purrs often emanating from some pets to which I often succumb much too easily. These prospective pets I was considering would be quiet, making not a sound.
There would be no fish bowl requiring water to be changed or containing new little ones to be protected from being eaten by their mother. I reasoned that I could always turn my pet praying mantids loose in a tree if unknown forces caused them to acquire unmanageably large proportions or they became vicious. They could fend for themselves and I wouldn't be reported to the Humane Society for cruelty, abuse or for abandoning my pet. I bet they wouldn't bother to come back home, either.
Time lapsed before I enacted my plan. Before I was ready I noted these young mantids were already escaping the brown paper-thin-like egg in which they had been placed to hatch. I could see quite a few of the tiny mantids were still inside the now broken egg-like structure so I hastily initiated the next step. I carried the brown egg container out to a flowering tree-like shrub in my back yard. I carefully placed the brown eggs in crooks of the branches as instructed, then emptied the remaining small mantids onto limbs where they presumably would find smaller insects to eat that compose their carnivorous diet.
The lady bugs, full grown when I purchased them, were placed in similarly recommended potential feeding sites on a few patio potted dwarf fruit trees. I managed to get a couple pictures at the time I released both of these insect varieties but my photo offerings are limited as everything was happening so rapidly.
Subsequently through the days, weeks and months my anticipated sightings of matured mantids have not materialized for photographing. I know there was increased bird activity in the backyard after I released my baby insects so those winged predators may have feasted on some of my new small creatures. I should have stayed out there with them for a while instead of coming inside for my camera. The lady bugs who avoided being eaten may have eventually flown away. I choose to believe some of each of these insects have survived though I've been unable to sight any.
I think I'll try again next year seeding these insects in my outdoor growth if they're available for purchase at my store. Furthermore, I may just prepare for habitation a large fish bowl left over from our households years earlier pet creature activities. I'm through mourning the loss of my compost, worm juice producing wiggly farm some years ago. I may decide to have pets again.
Praying Mantids and Lady Bugs have long fascinated me as have Walking Sticks, too. I planned to write about my experience with the mantid and the lady bugs earlier this year. Events did not develop quite as I expected so I could share pictures of matured creatures. Here's what happened.
This past spring when I entered a local hardware/garden store where I was confronted with a display selling containers of young lady bugs and praying mantids eggs. These two insects are natural predators who devour certain unwanted destructive bugs preying on any vegetables, flowers and other garden plants. I decided to splurge, unable to resist purchasing one container each of these insects.
I intended to put the praying mantids egg-like container into a fishbowl per one recommended option so I could observe their gradual emergence once they developed to hatching stage. The more I thought about them, I even considered keeping a couple as pets since the instructions suggested that might be a possibility if I kept them fed -- ground meat was mentioned.
Unlike other pets I've had, they wouldn't have to be walked with the ever present plastic bag I'd have to tote so I could stoop over to pickup a stinky mess to carry along until disposing it later at home. Likewise there would be no need for rug clean-up after an inevitable sickness or potty accident. There would be no toiletry litter box inside the house threatening unwanted aromas if not replaced periodically. No messy hairballs, or urinary tract infections causing uncontrolled sense of urgency resulting in neutered male felines unintentionally spraying the guest room bed pillow. I certainly wouldn't be subjected either to those manipulative behaviors of eye gazes, cunning growls, or hypnotic purrs often emanating from some pets to which I often succumb much too easily. These prospective pets I was considering would be quiet, making not a sound.
There would be no fish bowl requiring water to be changed or containing new little ones to be protected from being eaten by their mother. I reasoned that I could always turn my pet praying mantids loose in a tree if unknown forces caused them to acquire unmanageably large proportions or they became vicious. They could fend for themselves and I wouldn't be reported to the Humane Society for cruelty, abuse or for abandoning my pet. I bet they wouldn't bother to come back home, either.
Time lapsed before I enacted my plan. Before I was ready I noted these young mantids were already escaping the brown paper-thin-like egg in which they had been placed to hatch. I could see quite a few of the tiny mantids were still inside the now broken egg-like structure so I hastily initiated the next step. I carried the brown egg container out to a flowering tree-like shrub in my back yard. I carefully placed the brown eggs in crooks of the branches as instructed, then emptied the remaining small mantids onto limbs where they presumably would find smaller insects to eat that compose their carnivorous diet.
The lady bugs, full grown when I purchased them, were placed in similarly recommended potential feeding sites on a few patio potted dwarf fruit trees. I managed to get a couple pictures at the time I released both of these insect varieties but my photo offerings are limited as everything was happening so rapidly.
Subsequently through the days, weeks and months my anticipated sightings of matured mantids have not materialized for photographing. I know there was increased bird activity in the backyard after I released my baby insects so those winged predators may have feasted on some of my new small creatures. I should have stayed out there with them for a while instead of coming inside for my camera. The lady bugs who avoided being eaten may have eventually flown away. I choose to believe some of each of these insects have survived though I've been unable to sight any.
I think I'll try again next year seeding these insects in my outdoor growth if they're available for purchase at my store. Furthermore, I may just prepare for habitation a large fish bowl left over from our households years earlier pet creature activities. I'm through mourning the loss of my compost, worm juice producing wiggly farm some years ago. I may decide to have pets again.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
King's History
(Sputter, sputter...I lost this post last night when my server connection ceased. Am having DSL or server problems almost every day, so appreciate readers' patience waiting for new posts.)
(oldoldlady, Naomi, at "Here In The Hills" asked why I had to give up my dog, King, as I described in my previous story, “Betrayal and Heartbreak,” so I am responding here.
BTW Naomi has been posting some fascinating color photos of multiple hummingbirds and bees in flight taking nourishment from some rare and unusual blooming cacti at her uniquely landscaped Hollywood Hills home. There are many interesting posts and photos at her blog. She’s a bit pre-occupied right now watching DVDs as she completes her voting for the Emmy Awards. She’s providing her readers with an opportunity to express their opinions on some nominees for later comparison with her own .)
KING'S HISTORY
I decided to elaborate on my dog story about King, since it was an unusual year in my young life. Our family then was composed of my folks and me. A couple of years earlier we had moved to the country which proved to be an isolating new experience for this city girl.
I had never lived in the country year 'round before, though I had always enjoyed visiting my grandmother at her rustic farm home for a week during several consecutive summers. My uncle lived across the road from grandma. He sometimes recruited me to assist with his dairy farming activities, often despite my grandmother's admonitions that he not ask me to do so, but that’s another story.
Talk of our moving began after only a couple of years residence in this country home. Pop was having an increasing number of medical problems including exacerbating breathing difficulties, all of which worsened in the cold climate where we lived. Doctors in those days often recommended to many patients with respiratory problems that they should move from the colder climes where we lived, to a sunnier drier climate. Pop's breathing and other medical problems continued worsening, so we joined those who moved to the desert. This was the impetus for my having to give up this young stock collie given to me as a pup to be "my dog."
Our house and acreage was sold to the real estate agent friend from whom we had purchased the place, and who had given me the puppy I named King. King was the son of this man's dog that had been trained for livestock herding. His dog was not utilized to work as much as the dog needed to do, so he was kept chained on the agent's big, generally unoccupied, farm. With the dog's herding activity limited, so was his human contact which was mostly with workers who regularly fed and watered him.
He broke his chain one day and got into a pen of young pigs weighing 150 to 250 pounds. For some strange reason he actually bit several of them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their haunches. The owner and workers concluded he did this simply because he was bored. I wondered if he may have tried to herd the pigs in their small pen just to feel useful. Perhaps with no humans present to control the situation, the pigs could have fearfully attacked the aggressive dog, so he fought back. He showed no other signs of being dangerous afterward, continued to be able to herd various animals safely when needed. When he was chained, however, if any chickens escaped their contained area and wandered within the length of his chain, he lay in wait and snuffed out their lives.
I had always petted and played with him whenever I visited the farm. After the pig incident, I was cautioned that I should be wary and probably should avoid him entirely. I had never met a dog, however unfriendly and vicious they were purported to be, that would not make friends with me. So in the confident fearless nature of youth, remembering my prior relationship with this dog, I always sought him out. I knew he was lonely, and so was I some of that time. I did, however, stay at the outer edge of his fully extended chain whenever I petted him, and I rough-housed with him much less. He never exhibited any aggressive behavior toward me. The dog was sometimes used for breeding purposes, so when his owner was offered a pup from a litter he had fathered, the owner then gave the pup to our family for me.
Pop had a snooty little part Toy Pomeranian that he had spoiled rotten for years and was the focus of his affection. This spayed female was a snotty, snippy little prima donna who returned his allegiance. She barely tolerated the rest of us. Before we moved to the country we had acquired a German Pomeranian as a pup to whom I had given my beloved teddy bear to be a companion when the puppy cried at night for his mother after he first came to live with us. He soon transferred his attention to my Mom who housebroke him, met his daily needs of food, water and caring. He did play with me and was affectionate, but despite Mom's efforts to redirect his primary emotional attachment to me, he clearly preferred her.
The folks made the decision we would take the two smaller dogs on our move west, Pop's pooch and the young dog we'd had since a pup before King. I was told the latter dog, now 2 or 3 years old, would be mine despite his having bonded to my Mom. Since we were selling everything, and would live in a small trailer we pulled behind the car, there was no room for the larger dog my King would soon become. He was not made to live in such confined quarters anyway. Presumably he was to be trained to herd livestock as had his father who I had befriended earlier.
We had a public auction and sold all of our personal belongings, other than those that would fit in that Trotwood Trailer
(Our trailer looked like this video only brand new so neat and trim -- no mattress in the back as that was a sofa that opened into a bed).
We had to part with some possessions in earlier moves and now again with even more. Pop had the Trotwood sawed in half and added some footage to make it a bit longer. The sofa at the back of the trailer made into a bed which would be used by my folks. The front end of the trailer had a breakfast nook that
could be collapsed and became a bed where I slept. The interior was compact with some closets, drawers and shelf space, a sink, a small refrigerator, a stove on which to cook, a furnace, but no other facilities.
I was sad and excited, with a range of emotions in between, at the prospect of this move. In my adult years, as I have reflected on events, such as this, I've often thought about how experiences beginning in childhood serve to influence my perspective and attitudes toward life. I chose to look upon those geographic moves as great adventures and they were for me. I continue, as then, to learn about accommodation and adjustment. Perhaps these were early learning experiences for me in adaptation, coping with loss, preparation for my future. My memories of those years linger on.
(oldoldlady, Naomi, at "Here In The Hills" asked why I had to give up my dog, King, as I described in my previous story, “Betrayal and Heartbreak,” so I am responding here.
BTW Naomi has been posting some fascinating color photos of multiple hummingbirds and bees in flight taking nourishment from some rare and unusual blooming cacti at her uniquely landscaped Hollywood Hills home. There are many interesting posts and photos at her blog. She’s a bit pre-occupied right now watching DVDs as she completes her voting for the Emmy Awards. She’s providing her readers with an opportunity to express their opinions on some nominees for later comparison with her own .)
KING'S HISTORY
I decided to elaborate on my dog story about King, since it was an unusual year in my young life. Our family then was composed of my folks and me. A couple of years earlier we had moved to the country which proved to be an isolating new experience for this city girl.
I had never lived in the country year 'round before, though I had always enjoyed visiting my grandmother at her rustic farm home for a week during several consecutive summers. My uncle lived across the road from grandma. He sometimes recruited me to assist with his dairy farming activities, often despite my grandmother's admonitions that he not ask me to do so, but that’s another story.
Talk of our moving began after only a couple of years residence in this country home. Pop was having an increasing number of medical problems including exacerbating breathing difficulties, all of which worsened in the cold climate where we lived. Doctors in those days often recommended to many patients with respiratory problems that they should move from the colder climes where we lived, to a sunnier drier climate. Pop's breathing and other medical problems continued worsening, so we joined those who moved to the desert. This was the impetus for my having to give up this young stock collie given to me as a pup to be "my dog."
Our house and acreage was sold to the real estate agent friend from whom we had purchased the place, and who had given me the puppy I named King. King was the son of this man's dog that had been trained for livestock herding. His dog was not utilized to work as much as the dog needed to do, so he was kept chained on the agent's big, generally unoccupied, farm. With the dog's herding activity limited, so was his human contact which was mostly with workers who regularly fed and watered him.
He broke his chain one day and got into a pen of young pigs weighing 150 to 250 pounds. For some strange reason he actually bit several of them, tearing huge chunks of flesh from their haunches. The owner and workers concluded he did this simply because he was bored. I wondered if he may have tried to herd the pigs in their small pen just to feel useful. Perhaps with no humans present to control the situation, the pigs could have fearfully attacked the aggressive dog, so he fought back. He showed no other signs of being dangerous afterward, continued to be able to herd various animals safely when needed. When he was chained, however, if any chickens escaped their contained area and wandered within the length of his chain, he lay in wait and snuffed out their lives.
I had always petted and played with him whenever I visited the farm. After the pig incident, I was cautioned that I should be wary and probably should avoid him entirely. I had never met a dog, however unfriendly and vicious they were purported to be, that would not make friends with me. So in the confident fearless nature of youth, remembering my prior relationship with this dog, I always sought him out. I knew he was lonely, and so was I some of that time. I did, however, stay at the outer edge of his fully extended chain whenever I petted him, and I rough-housed with him much less. He never exhibited any aggressive behavior toward me. The dog was sometimes used for breeding purposes, so when his owner was offered a pup from a litter he had fathered, the owner then gave the pup to our family for me.
Pop had a snooty little part Toy Pomeranian that he had spoiled rotten for years and was the focus of his affection. This spayed female was a snotty, snippy little prima donna who returned his allegiance. She barely tolerated the rest of us. Before we moved to the country we had acquired a German Pomeranian as a pup to whom I had given my beloved teddy bear to be a companion when the puppy cried at night for his mother after he first came to live with us. He soon transferred his attention to my Mom who housebroke him, met his daily needs of food, water and caring. He did play with me and was affectionate, but despite Mom's efforts to redirect his primary emotional attachment to me, he clearly preferred her.
The folks made the decision we would take the two smaller dogs on our move west, Pop's pooch and the young dog we'd had since a pup before King. I was told the latter dog, now 2 or 3 years old, would be mine despite his having bonded to my Mom. Since we were selling everything, and would live in a small trailer we pulled behind the car, there was no room for the larger dog my King would soon become. He was not made to live in such confined quarters anyway. Presumably he was to be trained to herd livestock as had his father who I had befriended earlier.
We had a public auction and sold all of our personal belongings, other than those that would fit in that Trotwood Trailer
(Our trailer looked like this video only brand new so neat and trim -- no mattress in the back as that was a sofa that opened into a bed).
We had to part with some possessions in earlier moves and now again with even more. Pop had the Trotwood sawed in half and added some footage to make it a bit longer. The sofa at the back of the trailer made into a bed which would be used by my folks. The front end of the trailer had a breakfast nook that
could be collapsed and became a bed where I slept. The interior was compact with some closets, drawers and shelf space, a sink, a small refrigerator, a stove on which to cook, a furnace, but no other facilities.
I was sad and excited, with a range of emotions in between, at the prospect of this move. In my adult years, as I have reflected on events, such as this, I've often thought about how experiences beginning in childhood serve to influence my perspective and attitudes toward life. I chose to look upon those geographic moves as great adventures and they were for me. I continue, as then, to learn about accommodation and adjustment. Perhaps these were early learning experiences for me in adaptation, coping with loss, preparation for my future. My memories of those years linger on.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Betrayal and Heartbreak
I remember when we first met. He was of quite small physical stature standing next to me, but I cared little about that difference in height between us. I looked into his eyes and saw his admiration for me so apparent. His gaze followed me wherever I went. I began to feel an unbidden affection toward him developing within me. When his brown eyes focused on my own, I was overcome with a sense of commitment to him.
We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.
We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.
Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.
Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.
The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.
He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."
So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.
Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.
When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.
I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.
Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.
The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.
Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.
During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.
We had considerable time together learning so much about one another through the ensuing months. We delighted in pleasing each other in a manner that required little effort. Neither of us had to sacrifice our own sense of individualism in that process to achieve the respect and retain the affection we both wanted.
We looked forward to moments when we engaged in playful teasing games. When we chased one another he usually could catch me, as he was much quicker and more adept at darting and dodging. I generally couldn’t catch him unless he wanted me to do so. In the winter we had fun making tracks in the snow. During the warm seasons, the two of us took long walks together along narrow dirt paths that I imagined to be hidden trails into some unknown world. On either side of the trails, tall growing grasses swayed in the quickening breezes. On an opposite hillside unseen fantasized figures emerged disguised as wild flowers scattered randomly in the field.
Then came the day when I was unexpectedly informed my beloved friend and I must part.
He was going to be fully engaged elsewhere in working activities he would enjoy.
We would no longer be able to spend time with each other. I was certain this was not his choice. I knew I could not prevent this separation. The only hope I had was to make our parting as painless as possible. I knew his departure would bring me such intense pain, that I believed I could not be present to witness his leaving. I was familiar with loss experiences from an early age, so was sensitive to the prospect of having even one more.
Also, I did not want him to think I had wanted this parting, nor did I want to mislead him into believing I endorsed his entering the situation to which he was going. The fact was, I did not fully know specifically what sort of situation in which he would find himself. All I knew was, at some unknown time in the future, he and I would be allowed to meet again, if I so wanted. Any such meeting was to provide me with reassurance as to his welfare.
The day came for his departure, and I hid in my bedroom. I heard loud talking, shouting, increasingly angry sounding voices outside. I was lured with great reluctance to my window to see exactly what was happening. What I saw was greatly distressing to me. My friend did not want to go. He was resisting all commands from everyone, refusing even to walk. Those involved with taking him away were resorting to force, dragging him, to get him into the cab of their large shiny new pickup truck.
He gave the appearance of being undisciplined, uncooperative, generally disobedient. I did not want him viewed from this perspective. I so wanted those with whom he would soon spend all his time to fully appreciate his fine qualities. He deserved to be treated with respect, would respond in kind when trust was established. I knew he was proud, truly regal as the name I had given him implied, he was "King."
So, I rushed from my bedroom to his side. He immediately calmed and walked with me to the pickup truck, entered the cab at my direction. He trusted me implicitly. My point of view was, I was betraying him to I knew not what. The cab door was closed and they drove away. I returned to my room, fell on my bed, sobbed into my pillow to muffle the anguished cries that tore outward from deep inside my body.
Many months later to reassure me as to his welfare, I was offered the opportunity to exercise my option of visiting him. I quickly accepted the offer, but with mixed feelings at the thought of enduring the pain of separation when we would have to part once again.
When we arrived where he was now living, before we even left the car, the man with
whom he had departed in that pickup truck came out to caution us that my friend had developed a rather unpleasant and dangerous habit. He approached people from behind, not just nipping but biting them in a totally unfriendly manner. I was shocked to hear this, as I knew this was not my friend's nature.
I exited the car with only slight trepidation. There was silence for some time, then I heard a scuffling noise coming from the dirt driveway somewhat in the distance behind me. I never turned around. Instead I stood stark still with my arms stretched out at my sides, the palms of my hands open with fingers extended. The noise drew closer and closer, evolving into a scurrying sound more directly behind where I stood.
Soon I heard cautious sniffs for scent, alternating with short slight bursts of air at my feet. I felt the breaths against my bare legs. My body posture remained rigid as though I was frozen in place. I heard increasingly rapid sniffs, the sound increasing in loudness with movement upward on my body. I then felt the airbursts against the palm of my right hand, finally followed by the touch of cold moist skin against my own.
The sniffing figure began jumping up and down, circling around to face me. He quickly raised up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on my shoulders as in an embrace, so I hugged him close to me. This was, indeed, my friend, who could hardly contain his enthusiasm at finally seeing me again. During our separation he had grown to become a full size handsome black colored stock collie trimmed in a golden brown with touches of white at his neck. We only had a short time together before I had to leave.
Somehow I think he hoped I had come to rescue him. Had it been within my power, I would have taken him with me that day. There was little doubt in my mind that my friend had been subjected to what I would have termed abuse, but which his new owner probably thought was appropriate discipline to train him properly. My heart figuratively broke that day as I experienced such feelings of anguish and sadness when we drove away. My tears were suppressed with even greater effort than I had to exert from the heartbreak I felt when we first parted.
During the years since that reunion, I have sometimes dreamed of him, fantasized about the life we might have had together. I wonder on the occasions when he lay sleeping, maybe rapidly moving his paws and legs as though running, perhaps even uttering a slight whimper, as dogs sometimes do, if he, too, would have been dreaming of me? I have remembered him always with such bittersweet memories though I never saw him again.
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