Day Ninety Nine

TheThings We Do For Love

When my granddaughter was finished blowing her nose, she asked me if I wanted to look at it to see what color it was. I just sat there for a few moments, blinking. "No, that's okay," I told her. She seemed puzzled. I was, too. I mean, why did I not want to view her snot? Her next question, "Well, then, tell me again what the colors mean." I had to think. Okay, clear means allergies; yellow a cold and green usually means you need to see a doctor and get on antibiotics cause you may have a sinus or ear infection. She peered into the tissue and declared she was fine and skipped off.

While people effluvia turns me off, that got me to thinking of all the gross things I've done over the years when it came to the animals in my care. Like all folks who live with pets, we've cleaned up our share of "accidents," right? Well, how many of you have witnessed your dog's C-section from the operating room? Or helped give a horse a lavage? Do you know what "lavage" means? Anybody out there search the woods for a horse's placenta; locate it; then store it in your fridge for further examination by a vet? Oh, I have done all of those things, plus a few more high on the scale of grossness.

However, I could never be a people nurse! They have my deepest sympathy - I mean, respect - because I would faint at the sight of anything more serious than a superficial cut - like a paper cut, cut. Clean up a human's (other than a baby's) vomit or other bodily excretions!? Hell NO!

I was a Candy Striper a million years ago. For those of you too young to know, that was a hospital volunteer program, not a porn thing. We wore cute pink and white striped uniforms - hence the name, "Candy Stripers." Still, read my lips - not anything to do with porn. A friend got me into this by telling me it would look good on college applications and we would do fun things like deliver flowers and magazines. I was so gullible back then...

Our first assignment was to clean out bedpans. As all the color drained from my face and I was starting to pass out, my friend declared she would do them all. She said she was going into nursing and should probably get in the practice. I just looked at her, first with deep gratitude, then with curiosity as one might look at someone who just declared they wanted to crawl into live volcanoes for a living. Hey, somebody's gotta do it. Just not me.

Do you see bedpans anywhere? No!!!

But, at some point I realized I was really good at caring for sick or hurt animals. When I rescued a baby bird and thought I should feed it live worms, I went to a local bait shop and bought a container of them. I even fed the slimy, wriggling things to the baby. That it was the wrong thing to feed notwithstanding, so he developed palsy as a result - you see, as explained to me by the sarcastic vet I took the bird to, I should have chewed the worms first then regurgitated the partially digested worm parts into the baby bird's mouth the way its biological mother would have done - I had the best of intentions. Canned dog food did the trick. I'll have you know, he turned out to be a robin that grew to the size of a pigeon! No one can ever accuse me of underfeeding anybody.

Then there was the time I wasn't going to sit out in the waiting room while the vet performed a C-section on our French Bulldog, Maddy. Rolling her eyes and sighing, the vet agreed to let me watch. I'm sure she thought I was going to faint. But, I didn't. I was fascinated! And I even helped in trying to revive one of the puppies. Afterwards, I sat on the floor, holding Maddy until she recovered from the anesthesia. The breeder, who was there, too, said the thing he liked about me was that I would "crawl up a dog's butt if that's what it took to help it." I'm not sure it was a compliment but I took it as such.

By far, the most challenging experiences came in caring for my mare, Poco. I have written about how friends rescued eleven pregnant Premarin mares. Well, they were, for the most part, green (untamed) and delivered their babies under cover of darkness, away from interfering humans. It's important to make sure the placentas are also delivered, or the mare could develop serious complications.

So, whenever we got there and saw a new baby had been born, we would grab a bucket and go in search of the elusive placenta. When found, it had to be refrigerated until a vet could inspect it. On several occasions, I was the one who found the "treasure" and volunteered to keep it in my garage fridge. This fridge has also held a dead cat and tripe - which is the worst smelling stuff on the planet.

Poco had quite a few health issues. When it looked as though she may deliver her foal prematurely due to an infection, the vet declared she needed a lavage to clean out any infection. Since I was the only person Poco trusted at that point, I was asked to assist. As long as I was near her, Poco would stay calm for most invasive procedures - and everything was invasive in her mind. This included having her hooves cleaned. Anyway, I helped the vet basically douche my horse. Yeah. That was special.

Over the years of caring for her, I learned to give her injections, clean out thrush from her feet, (the second most disgusting smell on Earth!) administer meds and de-wormer, take her temperature! and use an inhalation mask so she could breathe. Poco was the best patient. Not once did she ever come close to hurting me or lashing out. Oh, she was stubborn sometimes, but always kind.

I will forever be grateful to my husband who supported both of us through this. He isn't really a horse person, but he worked right along with me in caring for her. (And now I'm getting all verklempt and need to switch gears.)

Poco

Back to my nose-blowing granddaughter. I discovered when she was a baby how incredible she is with animals. She is a natural healer. I am trying to expose her to as many creatures as possible (wink, wink) and teach her as much as I can about their care. She has helped me many times with things like dressing wounds, trimming nails and giving meds. She's much smarter than her Gigi (me) at this - at least she hasn't absentmindedly swallowed any pet meds like her old gran has!
Life is good.

Day Ninety Eight

Send in the Clowns

I'm back from my trip down Memory Lane. A friend once told me, a visit should last no longer than three days. Well, I spent three days there and now I'm home to real life. Ahhh, it feels good to be back in my own head. As much as I'd like to have my younger body back, I'm not interested in taking back the mental mess that was the thirty-something me. The neurotic, serious, anxious self is no more. Good riddance.

So, back to reality and to my best friends. I may not be able to save all of the animals in this world from the terrible things people do to them - but I can ensure the ones in my care are loved and safe. Even on those days when I want to kill them.

 

Yesterday was one of those days. Life with Dash has settled into a routine of sorts. For example, I know that he knows when I am preparing food for myself. If I want to fix a plate of, say, turkey, cheese and olives, I must take the food into the laundry room, close the door and use the washing machine as my workspace. Standing at the kitchen counter and asking him politely to back off is not an option.

Dash! No!

Um, he took my turkey.

Apparently, Abys can't hear certain words like: "no," "off," "stop!" What they hear instead is, "Go ahead and step all over the deli turkey and take as much as you want. I don't mind." They also seem to think all food is theirs. His brothers move over and let him eat their food - which is exactly the same food that is in his bowl. He is also quick enough to grab all treats from under their noses. He looks like the Hungry Hippos game.

I'm too fast for you, old man! 

Now, Jack won't tolerate this bs. Dash finally learned that lesson. If Jack so much as changes positions on the couch and Dash is nearby, he will jump straight up in the air like he's on a trampoline and run for cover. And he won't let down his guard until he feels the danger has passed. Unlike the other cats who learned this lesson with one growl, it took two for Dash to get it. On the other hand, Dash is afraid of no cat - even bigger ones with sharp claws.

I almost let him have the run of the house the other night at bedtime. He was so cute, curled up in a bed on the dining room table. I kissed him goodnight, and told him I was going to let him stay out. He tenderly put his paw on my cheek, which I took to mean, "Thank you, mum. I'm sooo sleepy. I'll be good. I promise." Stupid Human.

 

I'm so sleepy. I'll be right here all night.

I promise.

I had only been in bed a few minutes when I heard some strange sounds. When I went to investigate, Dash was launching an all out attack on the dining room. He was ripping the plastic tablecloth to shreds and looking around like a maniac for something else to destroy. He looked like a Mogwai that had eaten after midnight and morphed into a Gremlin. I stood there for awhile in disbelief.

Was it possible he had tricked me into thinking he was going to sleep through the night?? Well, guess whose skinny butt went back into the bedroom? He didn't even put up a fuss, which pretty much signifies he knew he got busted. I was told Abys are smart, I just didn't expect him to be a member of Mensa.

H2O? This is water, right? I like water!

That little dynamo has completely changed this household. Everybody has gone from complacency to upping their game. If the other cats aren't chasing him or being chased by him, they're watching in fascination as he can make a simple thing like half of a plastic Easter egg look like a fierce creature he must conquer.

Thanks to Dash, Jack has become a lot more active. Well, he's acting like Barney Fife; always on the alert to the point of imagining danger that really doesn't exist. Rooney is getting some exercise chasing him around. She can't catch him but it would be good for her to lose a few pounds trying. Even the humans have been affected.

I realized, after a few days of trying to keep up with him, perhaps it would be a good idea to get in shape. We've both been dieting and I'm starting to get back some energy. Who knew a four pound ball of pure energy could change an entire household?

Day Ninety Seven

White Swan - aka Part Three of Tripping Down Memory Lane

So, the years went by.  Andy and I went from carefree Hippies, living from paycheck to paycheck, to Yuppies, desiring the American Dream. We both worked two jobs. I stopped painting. I wrote copy for a radio station during the day then went straight to a department store in the evenings. Andy taught during the day and worked in the same department store at night. I was in the lingerie department and he was around the corner in menswear, so we could visit each other on breaks. It was doable.

Then, several things happened that changed our lives:

First of all, Andy's mother passed away from cancer. It was devastating. We had finally come to an understanding that we had one thing in common - Both of us loved the same guy - her son; my husband.
Not long after that, we decided Two needed to live on a farm or at least a place where she could get some exercise. We were just not around much. Now, we were down to just two dogs. Petey, the hamster, had died awhile back.
We built a house in the suburbs of Erie, PA, called White Swan.
And the biggest change came when our next door neighbor recruited Andy to work at his trucking company. That was the change that affected the rest of our lives.

I was still in my twenties; working two jobs and trying to have a baby. Andy went from teaching English to supervising a truck rental company. The stress was off the charts. While I was used to him getting home at three in the afternoon, sometimes he didn't get in until 3 a.m. Our beautiful new home became the scariest place I'd ever lived. It was enormous - and isolated. Even the presence of Heidi couldn't calm my nerves. Then, the worst possible thing happened. We had to give her up.

We lived in a development where there were some children. Heidi had never really been around children so she didn't know how to deal with them. One day, she ran after a little boy riding his bicycle, and bit him on the butt. We couldn't take the risk of her biting another person, so she went to live with my parents. My father had always wanted a German Shepherd so this worked out well for both of them. Little Molly and I just looked at each other and decided it was just us now.

I felt like I had walked onto a roller coaster and I hate roller coasters. Instead of feeling like I was in control of my life, life grabbed ahold of me and I was helpless. In one fell swoop, the ride took a twist and a turn and flew off the rails. I became pregnant. Andy got a job offer in Pittsburgh. The housing market took a dive.

Our story was (is) not unique. Variations of it have played out since the beginning of civilization. The thing is, it was our story. And it made us realize we had little to no control anymore. I guess my point is that, when we're young, we feel invincible. We truly believe we are the masters of our own universe. But life has a way of shaking that up. If you aren't careful, things can get overwhelming. Now, all of that independence I craved seemed foolish. We had no safety net.

Perhaps it's why so many of us became helicopter parents. We knew what it felt like to be on our own and we didn't want that for our children. What we failed to see is that we were survivors - and you must be a survivor to get through life. Ah, me. (heavy sigh...)

P.S. Sorry this took such a dour twist. I tried to put a humorous spin on it, but I wasn't feeling very funny at the time. In retrospect, it still isn't funny. Oh, there were some humorous moments like the time I was all alone in the house and called the police just to talk to somebody. I asked how quickly (he) could get there if I had an emergency and the cop's response was, "Honey, I can be there in five minutes if you really want me." I hung up. Creepy, huh? Or comforting? I'm still scratching my head over that one. Remember, it was the 70's. Nobody was politically correct.

Then, my favorite. After trying unsuccessfully to get pregnant, friends decided we needed a vacation. They took us with them to Schroon Lake. It was there in a cabin in the woods, our son was conceived. Thirty five years later, he still wears his dad's Schroon Lake tee shirt. And, our friends decided it was the mosquito spray that acted as a fertility drug!? We had weird (but well-meaning) friends.

Moral of the story: Forget about "control" - it's an illusion. Instead, try to see the funny in everything. I wish I had learned that much sooner. Oh, and I realized we have few pictures of that time period. When the hell would we have found the time to take pictures.....

I did find this one - Mum and Andy
This picture was taken three days
after he was born because he weighed
over 10 1/2 lbs and was 2 ft long
and it took me that long to wake up!
35 yrs later I still remind him of this...

Day Ninety Six

Abnormal Street

Much to my surprise, yesterday's post got a lot of positive feedback. I'm going to continue down memory lane for a bit longer. It is a bittersweet journey.

After Andy graduated from college with a degree in English, he was offered a teaching position in neighboring Erie, PA. So, we packed up all the animals and moved to yet another tiny house. This one had two bedrooms and a basement. I mention that because they both feature in the Peeping Tom story. I've already written about that experience, but it bears repeating. Most of our memories include moments with our animal friends. From the time Two alerted us to the aforementioned Peeping Tom, to a stoned Andy "losing" Molly one day while I was at work and to Heidi sensing a ghostly presence.

One of my favorite pics of Andy
with Two and Heidi

"The Peeping Tom"

We heard rumors, the son of a rich family that lived down the street, was a voyeur. One hot summer evening, Andy and I were watching television in the back bedroom. Being twenty-something "hippies," clothing was, well, minimal. We had the front windows and door open for air. Two, who had gone down to the basement, was barking furiously. When I went to check on her, she was staring up at a window well adjacent to the front bedroom. I ran upstairs to look out the window above it. When I pulled back the curtain, there was a man outside, looking back at me. All I could think of was he looked like Humpty Dumpty! I quickly closed the curtain and screamed bloody murder.

Andy, who was clad in nothing but his undies, came flying out of the other room like a wild bull. He started tossing furniture out of his way like it was weightless. I'm sure he would have torn the guy apart if he'd been in the room. For a second I forgot about the creepy guy and wondered if I had an even bigger problem on my hands. Andy ran outside, in nothing but his underwear, with all of the dogs at his heels. Now, I wasn't worried about Heidi, the German Shepherd, or Two, the Border Collie, but my little Molly, a Pekingese, ran out with him!

I called the police and quickly threw on some clothes. Then reality set in. Andy was out there in his underwear, running  down the street like a madman with three dogs! It's all a blur from there. I guess he got back and put on some clothes before the cops arrived. I mean, he didn't get arrested. He also hadn't caught the guy. Neither did the police. I suspect they knew where he lived, though, and had a chat with his parents. Nonetheless, it was scary. We closed the curtains from then on.

This was the house. Dad is holding Molly.
Andy is next to him; mother and my sister.

"Hey, Man, Have You Seen Molly?"

Okay, so it was the early 70's. Andy was teaching and I worked at a radio station. The details are a bit fuzzy, but the story goes something like this. I was at work; Andy was home with the dogs. He and a fellow teacher were hanging out - probably having a few beers; possibly smoking a bit. Anyway, they were messed up. At some point, one of them turned to the other and said, "Hey, man, have you seen Molly lately?" No.

They went looking for the tiny dog. When they couldn't find her in the house, they expanded the search to the neighborhood. Picture two stoned guys running up and down the street yelling for Molly! All they could think of was how I was going to kill them if she was gone. Paranoia strikes deep. Into [their] lives it did creep.

They eventually came back to the house to regroup.  At some point one of the geniuses checked under the sofa again, and there was Molly, where she had been all along, sound asleep. When I got home, they were stone cold sober and looking a bit frazzled. I asked about their day and they just shrugged and said it was boring. I didn't hear about the day Molly went missing till years later.

Andy and Molly

"Heidi Knew"

I was so excited when the house across the street became available to rent. Our current one was a tiny Cape Cod, but that one was a two story, three bedroom with a nice yard. We packed up our stuff and moved across the street.

I loved that house. I had plenty of room to hang artwork. Like the self-portrait I did, as a class project, in which I was engulfed in flames. I was inspired by a Leonard Cohen album, and I was weird. I put that sucker at the top of the stairs. It especially made my mother-in-law nervous. Didn't even phase my own mother, who suspected from birth I was the spawn of satan. (At least that was the impression she gave.)

This picture says it all.

Dad smiling. Mother looking at me like I'm
Rosemary's Baby.
 

The thing is, nobody bothered to tell us the place was haunted. It was an old house with typical old house noises. But, doors would mysteriously shut and lock. This happened when my little sister and her friend stayed with us for about a week. She was around twelve.

I was busy cooking dinner and figured they were hanging out somewhere. When I finally went to check on them, I saw the bedroom door was closed. I knocked and tried to open it but it was locked. They were on the other side in a panic, yelling that they were stuck in there and had been yelling for me to help them. I don't remember how we got them out, but that was the last time they visited.

High on the "creep factor chart" was Heidi's reaction at the door to the third floor. This house had a beautiful, finished attic with a staircase - not a pull down ladder like most houses have now. The door was at the end of the hall, across from the bathroom. On several occasions, usually when you were indisposed, Heidi would stand at that closed door and growl. Her fur would stand up, as did the hairs on the back of your neck, while you waited for some God-awful apparition to ooze through the door. Or an axe murderer. It was a terrifying experience. We didn't stay there very long.

The "Haunted House"
sister, Andy, mother and dad

It's been fun, sad and interesting going back down Memory Lane. Andy and I marveled at how carefree life seemed back then. But it's all a matter of perspective, isn't it. I mean, if someone had told us life was only going to get a lot more complicated, I wonder what we would have done.




Day Ninety Five

Normal Street

Many years ago, Andy and I lived on Normal Street. Yep, there actually is a Normal Street, and we lived on it. Well, to be precise, it was West Normal Street. I don't think there was an East Normal; just Normal and west of it. We were definitely west of normal; pretty much south of it, too.

Here's how we came to be West Normalites:

We met in college and got married a year later. Two weeks after our wedding (which was a simple affair in front of a drunk Notary and his assistant who wore white anklets - don't ask me why I remember that - and stood on his desk to take pictures of the event) Andy's father died suddenly from a heart attack - during my wedding shower. See what I mean by being shy of normal?

September 3, 1971
Andy had cut off his long hair
to get a job...

One of the last pictures of Andy's father

It was decided, by everybody but me, we would move in with his widowed mother. This turned out to be good and bad - Good in that, being her caretaker got him a draft deferment; bad in that newlywed me had to live with my mother-in-law, who loved her son to pieces.

She was nice enough, and taught me how to cook - his favorite foods. She did his laundry because I was dumb as dirt and couldn't do his jeans properly. Please note that, back in the 70's, jeans were supposed to be disgusting. They were definitely not meant to be ironed. But in her mind, she wanted her boy to look spic and span.

To my husband's credit, he loved both of us and just wanted us to get along. I learned decades later how all the best intentions of a mother-in-law can be horribly misinterpreted, but I digress. Anyway, there we were, one guy living with two vastly different women. After a year of this, it was decided we would go back to school. Yay!!!

We found an apartment near campus, and moved in with Heidi (German Shepherd) and Two (Border Collie.) Eventually a tiny Pekingese named, Molly, joined our ranks. I was in heaven, with my three dogs, a hamster and my husband - all to myself. We both took classes and worked.

top to bottom - Heidi, Two and my baby, Molly

During that time, however, family visited - a lot. We lived in half of a duplex, with one bedroom, a living room, kitchen and one bathroom. But, both of our extended families loved to move in on us. His brother visited often, with his wife, two kids and Granny in tow. Imagine a tiny apartment with five adults, two kids, three dogs and a hamster. The thing was, we loved Andy's brother and it was fun. I did learn the hard way to never buy Mateus wine again for the guys. Long story.

Friends - in front of one of Andy's paintings

I remember one night that wasn't so fun. We gave up our bedroom to his brother and their kids. Andy's mother was sleeping on the couch and we were on something we jerry-rigged in the kitchen. Heidi, the GSD, had eaten something that upset her and she - well - she got diarrhea and pooped everywhere. On top of that, half of our "bed" collapsed, so we were now sleeping on an angle, about a foot away from the most disgusting mess I've ever had to deal with. In the middle of it all, I got the giggles. It was so surreal, the only thing to do was laugh.

We laughed a lot during that time. This was when Sam, the terrier, would come for a visit. We had lots of parties, where everybody would pitch in. This was the time period when we lived from paycheck to paycheck and loved every minute of it. We were young and in love with our whole lives ahead of us. Losing his father at an early age made Andy realize he was on his own - we were on our own - and if we were going to survive, we had to work for it. We worked hard and played hard. It was wonderful living on Normal Street.

Day Ninety Four

Life and Times

I am an observer of animals and people. A weekend spent with our grandchildren always provides me with lots of material. Pack order and family dynamics are in all of the relationships in this house. After having raised two children it's interesting to see the same things play out, not only with our grandchildren, but with the animals who also inhabit this place.

The two kids couldn't be more diverse. Our nine year old granddaughter is smart, funny, beautiful, clever and good with animals. She is fearless and has been assisting me in caring for our animals since she was a toddler wearing pink cowboy boots; helping me take care of my horse.

Multi tasking - holding Dash and
giving her brother orders

Six year old, Little Man, is also smart (but in different ways,) handsome, funny, laid back, kind and loving. He is not really a fan of animals. He prefers Legos. At one point yesterday, he stoically declared the hamster was dead. Everyone went running into the dining room. Relieved to see Petey was still with us, I asked him why he thought the hamster was dead. He said, "Well he looks dead." Then he turned and walked away; satisfied at the reaction he got.

Our granddaughter has been co-parenting our grandson since he was born. It was hilarious seeing a three year old take on the responsibility of caring for another tiny person. Sometimes we have to remind her she really isn't responsible for him and can back off a bit. Often, she reminds me of an Australian Shepherd, herding her little brother around. At other times she is like a Chihuahua nipping at his heels. Always, she is the pack leader barking orders. I overheard him moaning, "I wish you didn't act like a [sic] adult all the time!" Her response, "Well, I am your big sister and I'm helping you get through this life." He turned to me and rolled his eyes. I winked back.

The dynamics in the house when the kids are here are interesting. Jack is on hyper alert. Rooney knows there will be shared food. They both know pancakes are on the menu. The Ragdolls usually curl up on my bed and stay out of the fray. Dash has learned the excitement level is off the charts and that he will get lots of cuddles. Fancy. Well, he finds a place to observe all the craziness.

Yes, this is for you

Inevitably, at least one of the cats will chuck up a hairball. Yesterday, it was Eli, who also saved some to deposit on our grandson's car track. Now, our grandson ordinarily seems to revel in dirt and mess - unless it comes from an animal, especially a cat. He declared it was disgusting and would be hard to clean up, so I should get on that right away. I asked if I could finish my dinner first.

Now that Dash is here we have to be really careful with tiny Lego pieces. We've already discovered he likes to eat pretty much anything. A bloodcurdling scream brought Jack running, Pap straight up off the couch and me - well I dropped what I was holding and ran to see what happened. It was our grandson. One of his tiny plastic soldiers fell on the floor and he just knew Dash was going to eat it. Pap declared screaming was forbidden unless the person was on fire. 

It dawned on me that anything wild and crazy like kids and animals, need lots of fuel to keep moving and will suck all the energy out of you like a Dyson. After twenty four hours of kids (whom I love and adore) and trying to keep track of all the animals (whom I also love and adore,) I collapsed.



Little energy suckers -
can't even be captured on film!

I don't remember much after waving goodbye. I do vaguely recall, at some point, waking my husband, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV. At first I panicked. He was leaning sideways with no visible means of support, like a toppled statue. I poked him with the remote and, much to my relief, he snorted and sat up, looking dazed and confused.

We both lived to see another day. Here we are on a bright Sunday morning, sipping coffee and laughing about the kids and animals. Thank you, God, for memories. They aren't nearly as exhausting the second time around. 


Day Ninety Three

Disclaimer: My grands spent the night and this place is not conducive to concentration. I have no idea what I'm writing, but in keeping with my plan to write every day, I will soldier on. I am starting to realize why so many writers become recluses or suicidal. I am also humbly aware I am not writing the great American novel...

To the Summit

Well, it finally happened. Dash figured out how to climb up to the bulkhead in the kitchen. After weeks of watching his siblings climb up there, he decided to try it himself. The key to it is to get up to the top of the fridge. From there it's a short hop to the very top. Even though it's just an eight foot drop, it feels like twenty to this nervous mom.

What's the big deal?

That's what it felt like when I saw Chance fall from there yesterday. I was already worrying about whether or not Dash could get back down, when Chance decided to join him. The problem is, Ragdolls aren't known for their agility. They are sweet, lovable, beautiful and have stunning blue eyes - but as for their gymnastic skills - meh. So, like a typical big brother, he climbed up there to show Dash he can do it better.

One cat on their own up there is not too bad, but just like human children, the temptation to chase each other grows with each added kid. The last I saw, Chance was chasing Dash, when I heard a strange sound. As I turned, Chance was falling from the highest point. He did land on his feet, but I was sure he had broken something. I screamed; Chance took off, Jack came running and my blood pressure shot up. When I finally caught him, Chance was fine. The only bruise was to his ego.

I'm never going back up there again

I don't know the purpose to the bulkhead. In my opinion, it's a design flaw. We used to put stuff up there, like fake ivy and artwork - but , other than the Sistine Chapel, who wants to look up and get a crick in their neck just to view a piece of art? Plus, it was killer to dust. I had the bright idea to place large vases up there. Then I got a cat.

My only exposure to cats and their penchant for climbing was when I had my twenty-four hour kitten, which was a birthday present from a boyfriend when I was a teen. She climbed on my mother's curtains, which then meant curtains for her. Oh, and I knew about cats, trees and firemen.

When Eli came here to live, it never occurred to us he would want to go up there. When we noticed he had an interest in getting to the top of the fridge, we tried to block it off. That was a colossal failure. We actually made it easier for him to get to the top.

I wasn't the least bit concerned about the vases, figuring a little cat could never knock one over. I was wrong. One morning, Andy pointed to the bulkhead and asked me if I put the vase in its current position intentionally - on its side; teetering on the edge. My eyes did a cartoon pop out of their sockets. The vases came down.

Once the obstacles were removed, Eli had a clear path to run back and forth across the bulkhead. All my worrying about Eli's safety was pointless. He navigated up and down and never came close to falling. All was well until he had siblings. Each kitten watched in fascination as Eli easily climbed to the top. Finn and Chance couldn't wait until they could do it, too. Fancy, who used to climb actual trees, and as high as thirty feet, has no interest in going up there. Once you've been to the mountain...

Of all the cats, Dash is the least likely to have problems climbing high. Abyssinians are known for their agility. I have to keep telling myself that as I watch him literally trying to climb the walls.

Day Ninety Two

Dogs' Pavlov

 

Quick Psych 101 lesson: Back in the 1890's in Russia, Ivan Pavlov discovered his dogs would start salivating when he entered the room, in anticipation of getting fed. He labeled it a conditioned response. He was the bringer of food; food made them drool; ergo the sight of him caused them to drool. He then added a bell to the equation. Eventually the ringing of the bell caused the dogs to drool. Pavlov and his dogs became famous for that. True story.

Well, I am challenging that theory today. I can, because this is my blog and I can do what I want. I don't think Pavlov taught the dogs anything. Rather, I think the dogs actually trained old Pavlov to feed them by getting him to think he was in charge. Pfft! Pavlov and his stupid little bell.

I can see it now - Dog Pack Leader, "Igor, you start salivating when the old man walks into the room." "Sir, I've got this - here goes!" (Drool commences.)  As soon as Pavlov sees this, he assumes he has controlled the dogs' reaction by just showing up. He feeds them. The old fart didn't have a clue that he was being Jedi mind-controlled by a pack of dogs. They taught Pavlov to feed them as soon as he saw them drooling all over his nice carpet. Clever, huh? Adding the bell only made the dogs laugh. I'm pretty sure they wanted to relocate that thing to a certain part of his anatomy.

 

And how do I support my theory? Easy. Years of experience being manipulated to believe my great ideas were really my own. My kids were masters at getting me to do what they wanted by making me think it was my bright idea. And now I have a whole house filled with creatures that mess with my mind in the same way. Unlike Pavlov, I know I'm not in control.

I am manipulated all day long. Every living thing in this house knows how to ring my bell. From early morning till late at night, I am cajoled, coerced and coaxed into action. Jack and Eli get things started. Eli sits outside of the bedroom wailing what sounds like, "Hello? Are you ever getting up?" The sound is so pitiful I immediately feel guilty. Jack knows that when he drags his bear claws down the wood on the side of my new bed, my eyes fly open and I jump up. He doesn't care that it's because I want to kill him. He's pretty sure he could take me on. All he cares about is that my ass is out of bed. It goes on from there, with cats making "puppy dog eyes" if they want something to Roxy ripping pieces of wood from her cage until I give her what she really wants - treats, hay, etc. That (literally) just happened.

I think it's hilarious when people think they "control" their pets. No, no, no. They just want you to think that. They have the advantage of mental telepathy. Think about it. It's how they know when their person is coming home - sometimes up to fifteen minutes before they pull into the driveway. Jack and Rooney tell me when Andy's almost here - he certainly doesn't! (That's not fair. He does call me. Usually when I'm in the middle of something and can't find my cell phone. Then he starts calling the house phone and I have to run to find that! It's a whole thing.) Anyway, my point is, if you think for one minute you're smarter than the average bear (dog, cat, rabbit, hamster, bird) give it up! They have it all over us simple humans.


I am the Master -
You will do as I command...

He's on I-4 getting ready to exit on
Sand Lake Road...
 

Feed. Me. Now.
 

Okay. Read my mind. You want to
get out of bed
and give me something to eat.
 

Look into my eyes...
You will give me treats.