Ode to Animalia, pt 2

Back to the lecture at hand...

Liz (scorpion, f): That's right, SCORPION. Liz was one of the most badass animals I have ever seen. I had told my parents that to get an A on a middle school science project, I would need a live scorpion. AND THEY BOUGHT IT. Liz, a black Emperor Scorpion was the splitting image of lethal calm. She would eat crickets, letting them crawl all over her before stinging one too fast for the human eye to follow. She would bathe in this psychotic looking ritual that involved rearranging her whole body position to get one leg in water. She faked death once (another brilliant set of screams were heard for that reveal), and eventually passed from either a tumor or complications during childbirth. As I lack a degree in Arachnological Medicine, I couldn't really tell which.

Angie (dog, f): Angie is (hooray, we're up to living animals!) a blonde Golden Reriever that we got to cheer Coco up after Freckles's death. The problem with getting two dogs is that from that point on you will always have two dogs, or the surviving dog will get depressed and mopey. Angie was a hyper little ball of puppy and was so small at first that Coco was confused as to what she was. Notable escapades include: knocking over a bottle of motor oil on herself, attempting to bite Coco's legs (in play) while he was peeing, getting subsequently peed on, and licking my dad's bald head (or anything salty, for that matter) for 10-20 minutes on end. When Coco died she became bitchy (PUN) to other dogs, preferring the longer lasting company of people. Bongo pushed the living hell out of her patience, but also made her open up a bit. She has gained a bit of weight, and is affectionately called "The Baked Potato". She lives with my dad currently, but visits my mom from time to time. She's got a thing for chasing geese now.

Bongo (dog, m): Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, Bongo, Bongo.....Bongo is a light-gold colored Golden Retriever, and is a hyperactive asshole. He would jump up on tables and counters and people who came to the door, he would run laps around the dining room table, he would do all manner of terribly annoying things. We tried to discipline him, but as I was the only one doing it with any degree of consistency, he continued misbehaving and simply thought I was out of line. We would get into fights sometimes, in which I'd have to yell so gutturally that he would pee himself in self-defense. He got bitey and snarly and downright aggressive. Yet, for all of that, he could be sweet at seemingly random times. We gave him to a friend of my dad's when we moved: a dog trainer with a great deal of land and three large, active dogs for him to play with. Hopefully he has since calmed down.

Princess Caribou, Mama Midnight, Constantina, etc. (rats, f): My roomate's pet rats. Fun, but (other than 'Tina) none of them lived long. Still, carrying them around on your shoulder was fun.

Sonora (chinchilla, f): Nora was my roomate's chinchilla that I adopted when he moved in with a cat. She was hilarious. She was adorable (http://www.chinchillaplanet.com/images/typical-chinchilla.jpg [not her but similar]), she would run on her wheel like a thing possessed, she would tarzan on hanging toys, she would do backflips off of her cage, she would spray my roomate (odorless, colorless, non-staining urine) from time to time, and she would bark (yelping, similar to high pitched dog) so loudly that I could hear her from outside. Dust baths are a great and adorable thing to watch. Often she would wake me up at 4 in the morning because she was bored. I used to carry her around the house, letting her sniff things as she fancied. She died far too soon from a mold that had developed, out of sight, between mybox spring and the wall (apparently common to the area that I was in).


Barley (cat, m): Much like the roomates I was with at the time, Barley seemed nice at first but turned selfish and mean after a while. Not a fan.


My fiancee, my roomate and I now have two cats who will be the subject of....

ODE TO ANIMALIA
PART 3

(cue "Back to the Future" theme)

-DubTak

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