Day One Hundred Thirty

Life With an Aby

As I've written before, Dash, who is an Abyssinian kitten, is an outlier in this household. He is outnumbered by three Ragdolls and a feral-turned-housecat Tuxedo. While his hair is very short, the rest of them have long, bunny fur. He is fast, they are a tad slow. Dash can jump very high - the rest, not so much. He can squeeze into small spaces and slither back out again. The rest can maybe go in but have to be rescued. Oh, and one last thing, Dash has to examine every square inch of whatever space he is in - outside as well as in the house. The other cats figure, hey, if you've seen one toilet, hamster, shelf, piece of paper, feather, window, dog, chair, ball, countertop, etc., you've seen them all. Not our Dash. Everything is new to him, even if he's seen it a hundred times.

Yesterday morning, after chores, I wanted to settle down with a cup of coffee and watch CBS Sunday Morning. I love that show. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because I only caught the opening anthem. As I went to sit down, I noticed a rather large clump of Spanish Moss on the floor in front of the fireplace. When I went to pick it up, I noticed a few more pieces. Then a few more, until I had pretty much walked the entire living area.

The potted palm in which the moss had been was empty, and the palm was on its side. I got the vacuum out and could not believe anything but an industrial fan could spread something in such a wide area. There was moss everywhere. It took about thirty minutes to get it all up - and I am still finding pieces.

The whole time I was vacuuming, Dash was watching me with his arms crossed; looking like he had done something really cool. Unlike all of the other creatures in this house, including my "fearless" Bullmastiffs, who run from the vacuum cleaner, Dash would not budge. I had to vacuum around him. What a ballsy dude.

Are you talkin' ta me?

He took a long nap after the moss-capade. I knew when the nap was over because he went straight into Aby-mode. His latest maneuver is to chase somebody then get them to chase him. He will fly over top of Jack - kind of like Evel Knievel over the Grand Canyon. The problem is, he can easily scale Jack - but the brother chasing him usually can't. They skid to a halt, terrified, when the lion raises his head and dares them to come closer. You can almost hear Dash giggle as he hides behind something watching it play out.

That new kid wears me out!

All last evening, he was in rare form. The focus of his attention was the various stuff stuck to the fridge - pictures, phone numbers, magnets, etc. We would hear a sound, and say, "What the hell was that?" Well, of course we knew it was Dash wreaking havoc on something. Every time I would get up to inspect, he would be on top of the fridge, looking all cute and innocent. As soon as I turned my back, he would tear something else off the fridge and hurl it to the ground. I know, he knows that I know....whatever.

As much as I would like to let him be free at night, I just can't risk him hurting himself or doing damage like knocking the TV off the wall. I can imagine all sorts of possibilities because, opposable thumb or not, he has the dexterity of a banjo player. I have seen him reach way down into a vase and extract decorator beads from the bottom, through a tiny space. I have met my match. Now, the question is, should I get another Aby now, or wait a few months...

Day One Hundred Twenty Nine

This and That

My husband deserves a medal. He likes animals. He just wouldn't have quite as many living with us as we do. That's okay. He adapts.

I've written about our first encounter. We were in college and he saw me sitting on the lawn in front of my dorm with a sick puppy on my lap. He offered to drive me to a vet. That was it for me. He was my hero and I have followed him ever since. Literally. I followed him back to Pittsburgh, then to Edinboro, Erie, back again to Pittsburgh, then Orlando. He's hinting about wanting to retire to Costa Rica. Whether or not I haul my butt there depends on whether or not they quarantine animals. (Kids! I'm joking. Dad and I will stay here until you have to pull our respective plugs...)

Andy puts up with a lot. I live by the "Don't ask permission; beg forgiveness" method. He really is never quite certain what new creature will be living here when he gets home. Rooney was perhaps the biggest surprise. One Saturday morning, I asked him if he would like to run errands with me. He said, "sure," but wondered where we were going. When I said, "the airport," he looked stunned. Then all the cylinders fired and he shook his head - knowing what that meant. "You got another dog." It was a statement, not a question. The thing is, he always intends to stay detached, but the reality is, he quickly becomes the favorite human. To the dogs. I still maintain that distinction with the cats.

 

I remember when I came home from a dog show with our first French Bulldog. He was in his recliner. When he heard me come in he said, "You better not have another dog!" I did, and she did the best possible thing - Maddy climbed onto his lap and never left. Eventually, he had Maddy and her two girls, Missy and Teddy with him every night.

Then there was the time I had been visiting my folks in PA with my kids. We fell in love with my father's Chihuahua, so we had to get one for ourselves. Simon was so tiny, I could hide him in my coat. That worked well when we stopped at a Cracker Barrel and I wasn't going to leave him in the car. I put him in my coat. I was young enough to pull off looking like I was pregnant. I got away with that until I was paying the bill. All of a sudden, my "stomach" started to roll around. Simon, who had been sleeping, woke up and started moving around. When he popped his head out of the top of my coat, the cashier almost fainted.  So did Andy when we got home.

Like I said, he adapts. He also forks over quite a chunk of our retirement money into their care. Between food, vet bills and miscellaneous like beds, toys, grooming products, etc. it gets expensive. I think he secretly likes the activity - it gives him a lot of material for laughs and sympathy when he gets to work.

Day One Hundred Twenty Eight

Hurricane 101

 

 

Pap and Gigi have been trying to calm our granddaughter's nerves over Hurricane Erika. We have been working on this since yesterday. At nine and a half, she is very aware of current events, but doesn't have the historical advantage (aka old age) to be able to put things into their proper perspective. We do, so we're trying to allay her fears.

 

We moved to Florida in 1985, from Pennsylvania. There, the "hurricanes" were called snow blizzards, as in tons of snow; no electricity; water pipes freezing then bursting, etc. (At this point, dear little girl overheard me mentioning this to Pap and jumped up and said, "Snow lizard? What's that?!?) Oh, gosh.

 

A typical northern town in the winter -
and the reason you don't buy a white car..

 

A Snow Lizard

 

Where was I? Oh, yes, perspective. I have been through such terrible blizzards, you couldn't open your car door from the 75 mph winds and your brake lines froze, leaving you stranded in the middle of the street. But a blizzard was the devil we knew. We did not do hurricanes.

I wrote yesterday about our first hurricane here in Florida. My husband reminded me we were in the process of moving - the next day to be exact - which was why he was out at midnight searching for supplies for his family. Anyway, we never even knew the hurricane had passed over us. We just looked at each other like, "Was that it?"

 

Subsequent hurricanes have brought other worries in the form of animals to secure. Now, I wanted to bring my horse home with me during the hurricanes of 2005. In the house as in actually in the house. Andy said no, so we had to secure her in the century old barn where she was boarded. I tried to draw comfort from the fact the old barn had stood through many a storm, but I couldn't help wondering if this was its last. I remember driving over there in the middle of the night to make sure she was okay. All I could picture was her under a pile of rubble. She was fine.

 

The thing is, horses actually prefer being out in the open during a storm. I suppose they would rather see what's coming after them than get caught by surprise. There was no barn where the rescues were being kept. The ten remaining mares formed a perfect circle around their babies and rode out the storms that way.

 

 

 

In my opinion, horses should be indoors, mainly due to flying debris and lightning. Poco's foal was killed by lightning during a storm. It was so sad. So, Poco was kept in the barn, and we prayed the thing would hold. It was literally a matter of relying on "duct tape and baling twine."

 

These days, my hurricane survival plan centers around the logistics of transporting an odd variety of animals. Jack and Rooney weigh a total of three hundred pounds and take up a lot of space. I did not factor this into the decision to get Bullmastiffs. The five cats would have to bunk together - well except for Fancy, who needs his own space, and Dash who would drive a roomie crazy. Then there's the rabbit; another cage. And the hamster - hmmm.

 

I'm pretty sure I'll just ride out the storm, if it doesn't fizzle out, right here in the laundry room, surrounded by all my babies. Our granddaughter is well versed in where to hide in their house. We want her to prepare, not panic. Tough order for a little worrier.

Day One Hundred Twenty Seven

The Wind Blew and the Poop Flew

I find it sad and funny that bad stuff seems to happen in clusters. I hate clusters, whether they're holes (Trypophobia) or hurricanes. Since my few readers prefer it when I'm Chuckles the Clown, I will try to put a humorous spin on current events. It won't be easy.

First of all, I am still in a dither over the signing of Michael Vick to the Pittsburgh Steelers franchise. I'm not alone. It seems as though the whole city is weighing in. Those opposed to him point out the various acts he committed before he was caught running a dogfighting ring in his backyard. (And, sorry, but there is nothing funny about this.) They have pictures of the tortured animals and testimony - from him - as to the ways in which the dogs who didn't perform were destroyed. I'm sick of listing those things - look it up if you want the gory details.

Those in favor of signing him think he might bring some wins and even a seventh Super Bowl ring - woo - flippin - hoo. They like to point out that fans didn't get as riled up over Ben-the-dick-Roethlisberger (I can now spell that without looking it up! - His name, silly! I have had a lot of practice spelling D-I-C-K.) allegedly raping women during a drunken escapade. And they like to say true fans will support the team - no matter what.

Wrong. While, I do believe people deserve a second chance for past crimes - I am of the opinion a crime reflects on a person's character. Many serial killers, for example, tortured and killed animals when they were kids. (This is why I keep a close eye on my grandson, making sure he knows torturing cats and bugs is a no-no. Hee hee - poor kid is afraid to squash a bug in my presence. No serial killers in this family. You're welcome.) And, I did protest Ben R's return to the game. I wrote letters saying he should be fired. To this day, I want to throw something at the TV when I see his stupid face.

So, what will the Rooney (see what I mean about being a fan?) family do? My guess is they'll keep him. I mean, who needs fans, right? The sad thing is, the ones they will keep are the kind of people I don't want to be associated with anyway. Go Bucs! or Jags! or Dolphins! (sheesh)

Okay, enough of that. I hear tell a hurricane is coming. Great. When we moved here thirty years ago, we panicked over our first hurricane. My husband sent all of his employees home, even though many of the old timers chuckled on the way out. We filled a bathtub with water (not sure why - I sure as hell wasn't going to drink it) and he went out to fight the crowds in search of water (in bottles) and batteries. I'm pretty sure he made us all lie in a heap and covered our bodies (kids were two and five) with his, in anticipation of the hell that was going to blow us to kingdom come.

We never even knew the storm had passed. Nothing happened. Not a tree limb or even a leaf on the ground. The roof was intact. Whew. We survived our first hurricane.

Thirty years later, I have new worries. What am I going to do with the enormous rabbit hutch? How do I corral five cats? If we have to evacuate, how on earth are we going to fit two Bullmastiffs, five cats, a rabbit, a hamster and my grandfather clock in the car??!!

I think I'll do what I did during the last hurricane - get drunk. Happy Trails...

Day One Hundred Twenty Six

Let It Be

I almost entitled this, "Let It Go," but figured I would be singing that insipid song all day, so I settled on Let It Be. My entry yesterday was pretty dark and sad so, in an effort to turn things around, I am going to focus on the things that bring me joy - my little buddies. I haven't written a dialogue lately, so here goes:

Jack: (limping toward me) My foot hurts. Can you fix it?
Me: Jack! Your foot hurts because you've been chewing on it! Stop doing that and I guarantee your foot will feel better.
Jack: I chew my foot because it hurts.
Me: Let me see your foot.
Jack: I don't want you to touch it! And don't put that goop on it either.
Me: Jack, I can't help you unless you let me look at it. And that "goop" is salve to make it feel better. What do you want me to do?
Jack: Fix it!
Me: Argh! I can't fix it if you won't let me touch it! Do you want me to twitch my nose and make it better?
Jack: Yes!! Can you do that? See, I knew you would fix it...
Me: (Rolling my eyes in utter exasperation) sigh...

At this point, Rooney has disappeared, fearing I will start "fixing" things on her, like clipping her nails or cleaning her ears - heaven forbid!

The felines have settled into somewhat of a pattern. Dash has schooled a few of his brothers in the art of Aby play. They don't always play by his rules, which gets them an ass-whooping. He is about a quarter of their size, but he can take down a brother in no time. A typical day with them goes like this:

Dash: You can't catch me!
Finn: I don't want to catch you. I just want to take a nap.
Dash: Well, take this why don't you - (as he tears into him like a saber tooth tiger.)
Finn: Hey! Stop! That hurts! You're mean! I hear Chance calling you!
Chance: No I'm not! Wait! Hey - Why are you attacking me?
Dash: Cause I can! You're too slow - Betcha can't catch me!
Chance: Oh yes I can! (And they go running off - crashing into things.)
Eli: Stop this! Stop it I say! No running in the house! Whooop!!! (The sound he makes as Dash flips him over and body slams him into the fireplace screen.)

Now, Fancy has been entertained by this action but never gets involved. He doesn't engage Dash - he's too smart. Dash has proven himself worthy by knocking Fancy off a barstool a few times and getting to the treats before Fancy even sees them drop. I think they have reached an agreement of sorts. Dash knows Fancy knows Dash knows he could kick his butt. Therefore, in the spirit of détente, they have signed a peace treaty. Neither wants to be the one on my short list!

I know I'm preaching to the choir when I say cherish each moment you have with your pets - even the ones that make you want to tear your hair out. Like when Eli is sitting on my lap and digs his claws into some part of me while staring at me to see if I'm paying attention. Or Chance forgets what a litter box is for and has an accident. Or Jack chews the bottom of his foot off then wonders why it hurts. Oh, I could go on and on. But the funny stuff makes the bad moments disappear. Well, it makes them bearable - how's that?

Day One Hundred Twenty Five

Zen(ish)

I try very hard to not be a Ralph Kramden kind of person. For those of you too young to remember the television program from the 1950's, "The Honeymooners," Ralph was the volatile husband of Alice. Ralph was constantly in high dudgeon about something or other. And his signature line, "To the Moon, Alice!" as he pretended to bop her so hard she would go airborne, would never get airtime today. Ralph was the epitome of a verbally abusive hot head.

I come from a long line of hotheads and I can easily go there myself - just ask my husband. I am on simmer; just a dial click away from boil. I work very hard at being patient - just ask my grandchildren. Sometimes I don't succeed - just ask Jack or Eli or Chance. I know this about myself and have to constantly "pick my battles," which are almost always centered around injustices. I want to be Zen so badly, I try to avoid those situations/people I know will increase my blood pressure. However, this morning has presented two challenges.

First of all, the least significant - Donald Trump, the blowhard who thinks he would make a good president. The man is a joke. However, the Today Show gave him TEN MINUTES of airtime this morning. No hard hitting journalism either. They just let him blather on without interruption as he tried to explain why he ejected a well respected Hispanic reporter from Univision out of Trump's press conference. I can pull out this thorn easily by not watching the Today Show any more as well as venting my spleen to their GM. Done.

The second thing hurts me to my core. My beloved football team, the Steelers, just signed Michael Vick. Yes, that Michael Vick. The miscreant who got caught operating a dog fighting ring. In April 2007, Vick was implicated in an illegal interstate dog fighting ring that had operated for five years. A federal judge noted that he had promoted, funded, and facilitated a dog fighting ring on his property, and had engaged in hanging and drowning dogs who did not perform well. He also had failed to cooperate fully with police. In August 2007, Vick pleaded guilty to federal felony charges and served 21 months in prison, followed by two months in home confinement. (Source: Wikipedia)

My ears are ringing as my blood pressure rises. Spokespersons for the Steelers are asking fans to forget about his past and focus on his abilities. Really? Well, this fan will never forget the images of dog carcasses, bloodied and disfigured dogs and the cavalier way in which he acted when caught. I'm sorry, but this ranks right up there with murder, child abuse, and rape as unforgivable acts committed by anyone, especially sports figures. For those of you who point out Ben Roethlisberger's rape charge - I can tell you this - and my family will support it - I haven't forgiven him. If I could, I would climb up on a stepladder and slap the stupid out of him.

Animal abuse must not be tolerated. Puppy mills, dog fighting rings, any form of abuse - cannot continue. If you see it - report it. Also, don't buy a pet from a "pet store!" Recently, a family member saw a cute Ragdoll kitten at a local pet store and the price tag was $2400!!!! My friend, who is a reputable breeder of Ragdolls, sells beautiful, purebred, healthy kittens for a fraction of that. There is no way of knowing the background of the kitten for which they were asking such an exorbitant price. Just don't ever buy from these places. Find a reputable breeder, or go to a breed's rescue site - or adopt from a shelter.

I don't feel better after my rant. I actually feel worse. I am definitely not Zen. That means somebody else is gonna have a bad day as I continue to vent my wrath. Next stop: Steelers' General Manager.

If this doesn't disturb you -

I don't want to know you...

Day One Hundred Twenty Four

Quid Pro Quo

Would it surprise you to know I dream about animals? No. I guessed not. The dreams I remember from last night were doozies. First of all, and not surprisingly, I designed a new dog feeder in my dreams. Too bad I can't remember the design...

But the one that got my attention, and caused me to bolt upright shouting, "NO!!" had to do with Finn and Petey. I remember dreaming Finn had caught something which looked like a giant lizard. When I looked closer, it had a tail and was furry. I ran to him and realized it was Petey caught in the "jaws of death!" Now, there were a couple of things wrong with this picture. Petey's cage has a Dash-proof, locked, screen top - and Petey doesn't have a tail as such. He has an impressive set of gonads, which my granddaughter is convinced is a tumor - but I digress...

I sat straight up, yelling and confused, looking around for Finn. The dogs got upset, looking around for - anything. Andy was already gone or I would have had to explain myself to him. It took me awhile to get my bearings but when I did I ran out to check on the hamster. He had built a rather elaborate "igloo" out of bedding, and I couldn't see him. I tapped on the glass - nothing. Then I called his name. I saw his little nose peek out and heaved a sigh of relief. He has no idea why he got a cookie, but it made his morning.

The little stinker covered up the hole!
I guess I bothered him...

I worry about these animals almost as much as I worry about my kids and grandkids. Maybe more so because they can't tell me what's wrong. Now, I don't expect anything from my kids in return for giving birth to them - I did that for me! If maybe, someday, down the road, they choose not to push my wheelchair down a flight of stairs, but instead set me up in a comfortable back bedroom, well I will consider it quid pro quo. But there is none of that with animals now, is there?

No. I suppose the "this" for the "that" is in the love they give back. And then there's the whole "guarding Gigi" thing as far as Jack is concerned - even though he sometimes takes it to extremes. You really have to look deep for a "quid" from a cat. Head bumps notwithstanding, which are more a form of claiming than love, it's tough to get much back. There are the slow blinks, and the purrs. And they seem so happy to see me when I've been gone awhile.  Come to think of it, there really are a lot of quos - you just have to know where to look. I'm gonna give out some "quids" right now in the form of treats...

Day One Hundred Twenty Three

Cat Chat and Stank

All of the kids were here yesterday and, while we were in the kitchen, Fancy decided to put on a display of how he gets me to do what he wants. He was chirping and merping and meeping away, and I talked right back as though he was another person in the room. One of the little guys looked up at me and said, "Can you speak cat?" I laughed and told him I could sure speak "Fancy."

It's surprising how one can understand another species with nothing more than intonation. Fancy has learned how to imitate various sounds common to all human language. I can tell when he's saying, "yes, no, maybe, I don't know, please, mom, help and ahhhh!" That one is easy cause his eyes get big while his pupils turn into slits. Now, he isn't like those dogs on You Tube that can mimic, "I love you" only it sounds like, "I muv oo." And he isn't a parrot. He has mastered the art of communicating his needs to me. I feel privileged.

We pause here for a moment of extreme grossness...otherwise known as, "Every time you think you've got it all figured out, life throws you a stink bomb."

Now, while I was smugly writing on my apparent mastery of an animal's language, I was totally oblivious to something disgusting happening right under my nose! I could smell something gross - but in this house that's sort of c'est normal. Between kitty litter odors and Bully gas, the fans are almost always on high. I went investigating and discovered something that was even repulsive to me - and remember - I've had a horse placenta and a dead cat in my fridge.

If you're a regular reader of my blog you may remember me complaining about Fancy slamming into my arm at the exact moment I was carrying a bowl of Jack's food - the impact of which sent the kibble flying everywhere. Well, I guess some went under Jack's bowl, which is an elevated feeder designed to confine spills. It was also the perfect breeding ground for wet kibble to dissolve and make a fine baby food for tiny worms. They were too small to be maggots so I'm guessing baby fruit flies?  Who cares - they were worms. And the stench was unbearable.



What I honestly would rather
have found in that feeder!

Now, I have a strong constitution when it comes to all things animal - just not insect. I gag over human baby poop, but can handle just about anything that excretes from a dog, cat or horse. But this was too much. What purpose do worms (and snakes) serve anyway??? Don't tell me because it will be logical and I don't need logic right now. I need a glass of gingerale...

I took that worm infested feeder outside and doused it with Clorox. I felt awful wondering how Jack could possibly have eaten his breakfast with that stank right under his nose. Then I remembered, he is a dog, and they view stench the way I view Chanel #5. So now I'm just feeling guilty that I pretty much killed a whole generation of fruit flies. I can't win....

Day One Hundred Twenty Two

Herding Cat

We were literally herding a cat last night, as in it took two of us and a bag of treats to corral one tiny cat back inside. Well, it started out singular cat, then quickly became plural.

It was about midnight and the dogs were getting their final potty break. For some reason, Andy has vastly underestimated Dash's speed and cunning. Now, he had just witnessed Dash deftly extracting stones from deep inside a vase (details to follow) but he still stood in the open doorway thinking he could catch him before he darted out. Foolish Human.

The words, "Watch out for Dash!" had barely escaped my lips when, like a red flash, he zoomed past Andy and was out by the pool. I ran out as well, thinking I could easily catch him - Mrs. Foolish Human. Not only is Dash fast, he's like one of those characters from the comics that can make themselves invisible. (Note to self: Great idea for a book based on a mutant cat entitled "X-Cat.")

Drat! Somebody beat me to it!

Where was I? Oh, yes, herding a cat. Andy was busy trying to get the dogs in. They were highly entertained by the cat chase and wanted to watch. Then he joined me in trying to catch Dash. While we were running back and forth in the dark, trying not to fall into the pool; lurching for Dash but coming up empty handed, Eli decided to open the door and let everybody else out. We now had all of the cats running around the pool, in the dark - as in herding cats. And we all know how that expression came to mean attempting the impossible.

Prior to this fiasco, I had been asleep in the chair. I went from REM to adrenaline rush - something that cannot be good at my age. I was dodging plants, swearing under my breath so the neighbors didn't call the police, swinging at air, stubbing my toe, stepping on God knows what and ready to just let them all stay outside all night, when I got my wits about me and went inside to get the treats.

For some reason, every carnivore in the house loves these dehydrated chicken treats. Just me thinking about giving them chicken treats brings them all running. So, I stood on the porch and shook the bag. Finn came running first, and I popped him inside through the cat door. Now, this time I made sure the door was locked from the inside! Chance and Fancy were already inside, wide-eyed, watching Mom go nuts. Dash ran over, mainly out of curiosity, and I was able to catch him while he munched on a treat. The only one left was Eli.

Eli and I have a "challenging" relationship. If I zig, he zags. We just aren't in sync. I knew I had my work cut out for me if I was going to get him in so I could sleep peacefully. He must have sensed I was in no mood (ya' think) for his usual shtick, so catching him was relatively painless. We counted cats and went to bed.

I mentioned earlier Dash extracting stones from a vase. This is a rather large vase, with a tiny neck. It is sort of squat, and has decorative stones in the bottom. Somehow (hah! - I know how - he doesn't miss a thing!) Dash discovered those shiny stones and has spent the past few days trying to get one out. His arms are very long, so reaching them wasn't the problem. He had to hook his paw around a very smooth stone to be able to pull it out through a tiny hole. He finally did it! Then he played hockey with it as I ran after him trying to get the stone before one of the dogs did. 

I have just decided Dash is the smartest creature in the house - humans included. How that tiny brain can master so many challenges and outwit everybody else is a mystery. But, I can say this with all sincerity - I wish I had ten more of him!

Day One Hundred Twenty One

Heart vs Head

This is the topic I was writing about the other day when I turned and the whole text vanished. The blog site has auto-save, so this was peculiar. I'm gonna try it again, and see what happens.

During a late night phone call (the details of which are not important,) the caller declared I "lead with my heart." I had to ask her to repeat that. I had an image of a person with a huge heart on the outside of their chest - beating and pulsating and scaring the crap out of people as it enters the room a few beats before the person wearing it. Also, I was drawn back to my Catholic roots and the often graphic images of an actual bleeding heart. Did I mention it was 3 a.m.?

That got me thinking about "heart" people. I know a lot of them. Their heart allows them to love unconditionally and make choices based on emotion rather than logic. There's a section in the Meyers/Briggs Personality Profile dedicated to that subject. On one end of the spectrum are the completely emotional, with logical thinkers on the other end. Apparently, we humans fall into one category or the other, with a balance of both being the optimum for good mental health.

Head people are the logical ones who see all of the dangerous possibilities in a situation. They are calculating and make great architects and bankers. You want a strong head person building your house, for example. While a heart person might build on the edge of a cliff because "it has such a pretty view" - a head person will point out the potential hazards in doing so. A head person's house rarely drops off a cliff or disappears in a mudslide.

Heart people often rescue animals; lots of animals. They are the ones travelling to Thailand to help save the dogs and cats from the meat trade. They are also the ones who enter into serving careers - ministry, nursing, counseling, etc. Heart people cannot stand to see suffering; head people try to figure out a way to end the suffering.
I scored so far on the emotional (heart) end, I almost fell off the graph. Since I have always been this way, I'm pretty sure I will die that way as well. It is why I have the perfect life partner - a guy who scores high on the logic, but also has a degree of emotion thrown in there.

Heart people (and you know who you are) are the ones who stop and risk their own lives to help a turtle cross a busy highway. Now, a total head person will most likely drive on by; recognizing the risks. My husband, being a balance of both, will figure out a way to solve the problem without any casualties; reptile or human. He has helped me to safely save many creatures this way from duck families to injured animals.

While, he has been with me during the more successful rescues, my ventures solo have had very different outcomes. I recall the time my kids found a seagull walking in circles with a bass hook caught in its beak and wing. I just threw the bird in the car without any thought as to how I was going to deal with a bird unencumbered in the car. That was a fun day. Now, if my husband had been there, he would have been two steps ahead and thrown a crate in the back seat.

Then there was the time I drove a baby possum across town to a rehab center. That little thing emitted such a God-awful smell I had to pull over and rid myself of breakfast before moving on down the road with all the windows open. I drove most of the way with my head out the window as well.

I have never been accused of using my head. Ever. I make all decisions based on emotion. Every animal in this house got here because I brought them in based solely on what my heart told me to do. There was never any logic involved. Petey is here because I was in a pet store one day and they announced "free hamster to a good home." Apparently Petey was being picked on by the other male hamsters, not because he was too small, but because he was too big!

Roxy's former owners were just going to release her to the "wild" because their daughter was allergic. Seriously, how could I let that happen? Each creature in this house has a similar story. Oh, and each one arrived as a surprise to Andy because the logical part of him would have said no.

Head people might be logical and precise and "right" but I believe the heart is a stronger organ and generally makes the kinder choice. They may be left of center, but heart people simply can't be any other way.