Ode to Animalia, pt 1

I have found, in my travels, that humans have a lot in common. We have similar anatomies, similar activities, and, difficult though it may be to believe, similar thought processes. I therefore propose this pristine and poignant postulate:

Sometimes humanity is boring.

We can be the Dukes of Dull and Droll, the Earls of Ennui, or sometimes the Barons of Bubkes. Homo sapiens sapiens can quickly become homogeneous and bland. What, then, is the solution to the long stretch of abandoned highway that is our species? Thank you for your excellent question, you sly devil you. The solution is....wait for it....other species...es.... Yes, its high time for postulate mispar shtaiyim (#2):

Animals are AWESOME.

I have had a great many pets in my life, and each contributed something to my severe anxiety diso...er...enrichment and positive development. Let's go pet-by-pet.

Freckles (dog, f): Not the greatest example, because she was old when I was born. A mutt, mainly Springer Spaniel or Brittaney, she became deaf shortly after my conscious memory began (my 3rd birthday). She was prone to barking loudly in an attempt to hear herself. My two main memories of her are: 1) she once got out and ran down the hill to meet me and my brother at the bus stop; 2) she inexplicapbly learned to point when she was 15 or so. Weird. My parents thought she was dying so they bought a Golden Retreiver (Coco) to ease my and my brother's transition, but this new face perked her up for about 3 years. She lived to the ripe old age of 18.

Coco (dog, m): Coco, a reddish Golden Retreiver, is the standard to which I hold all other pets. He was without question my best friend from the day my dad and I picked him up from the breeder. We couldn't think of a name until I was halfway through a mug of hot chocolate. He was smart when he needed to be (he actually taught Angie what he learned in obedience school), dumb when he wanted to be (chasing light beams), and emotional to a degree I have never seen before or since. When Freckles died, Coco piled his toys in her favorite spot and became sedate and morose. He perked up when we got Angie, and became the model of patience and loyalty that I remember. He occasionally got hyper, chasing skunks up on the hill, attacking the grandfather clock, and barking loudly when anyone rang the doorbell, but he would always come when called, and always seemed to know what I needed at any given time. I remember his head popping over the fence as he jumped up to see someone coming up the driveway. I remember when he ran through the snow at Duck Pond (near our cabin) and getting covered in dingleberries (the rated G kind) while the humans snow-shoed. At that same pond, in the summer, I remember Coco and Angie chasing after cows. Coco would always double back and check on us, whether it was on a walk or while he was swimming at a lake we were kayaking on. My worst memory of Coco is when he was lost by All Bay Animal Hospital in Concord, CA (NEVER BOARD AN ANIMAL THERE). They maintained that he escaped, though that entailed opening a cage that a human could not open from the inside, opening a doorknob, punching in an alarm code, and opening a push-bar door. 15 days later, we found him at the Concord Naval Weapons Station, where he had apparently been avoiding MPs for 3 days (after getting under a double chainlink fence). He then helped me deal with a broken leg, and continued to be my rock until he succumbed to cancer at age 15. I have never really gotten past losing him, though if ever I go on a spirit quest, he will undoubtedly be my guide.

Houdini (hamster, m): My brother's notorious hamster, known for the greatest rodent illusion in recorded history. One day he vanished from his plastic enclosure, only to reappear, 3 days later: My mom was on her way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She groggily turned on the light to reveal a coy rodent staring back up at her from atop the toilet bowl lid. Her scream is firmly etched into my long-term memory. Houdini was relocated back in his cage and did not re-attempt the illusion again in his lifetime.

Ruby and Company (mice): Ruby was one of many mice that I had during a short period. She had 3 large litters (10-20 babies), all passing from nearly immobile infants to "jumpers", as I used to call them (guess why), to full grown mice. She once killed one of her children, and to this day I do not know why. She and her offspring were entertaining, but never actually grew to trust me.


More animal anecdotes when we return.

-DubTak