Friday, April 6, 2012

I am a Pet Servant


It’s my turn to BLOG – and since I’m now a full-time writer, my world revolves around putting words on screen/paper, changing those words, reading those words, putting more words out there, dreaming about words, wondering about those words…in other words: my life is all about words.

I have the perfect life – I know.

But, this perfect life includes something I didn't count on. I have three pets. I don't own them. They are in charge. Fully. And they know it. They're all male. Perhaps that’s why they all seem to believe my purpose in this house is to feed, shelter, serve, protect, and let’s face it, entertain them.

I’ll start with the cat. He thinks he’s in charge. And I’ll just state the obvious - he is. He’s very pretty. Very obstinate. Very stubborn. Very curious. He’s called a tuxedo cat – for his black and white markings. Oh! And lest I forget – he’s incredibly smart. He just cost us a pretty penny to save him because he didn’t want to go to the vet anyway. Apparently, he’s not only overweight, but he has asthma. One crisis later, and I’m now tasked to get a little steroid pill into him twice a day. Trust me – just giving them via his mouth doesn’t work anymore (it did, at first). Last time I tried that approach, I got it in eight times, and he spit it out all eight times. This is definitely taking time from my writing. I then tried the stubborn method. I powdered the pill, mixed it in with his food – I figured he’s fat, he will eat it sooner or later – right? What happened? He tipped the meal out, and put his bowl atop the mess, face-down. Jerk. I have now resorting to trickery. I am his drug pusher. He loves catnip. I crush that little pill, mix it with catnip, and voila! I got one very mellow and dosed cat. Exactly twice. Today he turned his nose up at his catnip and went back into his cat carrier box. He just got that carrier box for the vet trip. He hated it…until I left it in his room with the door open. Now, he lives in there and watches me with golden green eyes while he awaits my next move.

Then there are the dogs. I have a big Labrador named Coal. He started off black, but we call him gray-beard now because he’s…well, graying quite nicely. He’s a good time kind of guy, who gets a half mile walk every day. In the morning. At six am. In all kinds of weather. Even with a mama moose and her calf officially blocking the road and snorting at him – he still gets his walk. He’s oblivious to them. I had to walk him back to the truck because I then have to drive past moose in order to re-start our walk – Coal was annoyed and barking at me for curtailing his excursion. Not the big tree things in the road. Oh, no. It’s my fault. It’s obvious. The dog is in charge, too. He does not take no for an answer, and he’s got me trained. And now that I’m a full-time writer again, he is getting TWO walks a day. At least, the second walk is in nice, sunny weather, and I take Bosco, because he’s getting plump, too.

Bosco is our Boston Terrier. Adorable guy. He is definitely in charge, too. He tells Coal all the time. No matter how many dog toys I bring into the house, Bosco owns them all. That last one was a big fat head thing that squeaks. (I love to grab that one because I can get his goat just by squeezing it and he comes from wherever he is to challenge me for possession) There’s even a large rubber bone thing that weighs a quarter of what Bosco does. Doesn’t matter. Whatever the toy – it’s under my dining room table, which is his “stash”. That’s how I get his goat. I start a raid, and he can’t possibly get them all in his mouth at one time. It’s his fault, though. He starts it. If he sees me, he’ll grab whatever toy is handy and run circles around me with it, just daring me to try and take it.

Now, I realize I’m supposed to provide the food, shelter, health care, and the life style these pets seem to deserve, but I didn’t realize I was entertainment, too. But, I have to admit all it takes is one crisis at the vets to make me realize exactly why I have them and what they mean to me.

I love them all. Yes. Even the cat….who is onto me.



Jae Awkins said...

Funny how these critters become our 'family', and elevate themselves to royalty in short order, isn't it?

(I love my 15 year old poodle dearly - he's definitely my 4rth child!)

But the comfort and unconditional love they offer is worth all the servitude they otherwise impose on us.

So, hang in there, Jackie...and congratulations on your full time writing status.

At least, with all males, you don't have to worry about one of them coming home pregnant!
---Jae :o)

Pauline Trent said...

I had to institute The Opposable Thumb Rule ("those of us with opposable thumbs get to settle in the bed first") with my dachshunds. Everywhere else, they were in charge. And they knew it.

DeNise said...

I'm dictating now: Bunny says, "write whatever you want-I don't care. It's after 4pm - tuna time-" She doesn't need an opposable thumb to snap her fingers. Cats rule-just ask.

Lynn Lovegreen said...

I'm in between pets right now, but I have had cats that ruled our house. And I'll admit it, I gave into them pretty quickly. I'm a pushover for anything that's cute and purrs.

LizbethSelvig said...

Hey Jackie,
Well, my life wouldn't be complete without pets. And my books don't get written without pets in them (my current heroine has multiple weird ones). We have one dog at the moment -- Magic the Wonder Border Collie. Some of our AKRWAers have met her (waving to Aunts Gretchen, Caroline and Tami). She's smarter than I am, but because she's older now (11) she allows me to work during the day but not at night. If I settle into the couch to watch TV, it's time for games. Indoor Frisbee is the favorite; Lighted Ball Catch; and Mini-Basketball Volleyball (don't ask). She's annoying as heck, goes on 2-mile walks most days and definitely rules the roost -- but I'm like you. I adore her to pieces. Crazy animals. Loved your post. Love YOUR crazies!!

Anonymous said...

I love our furry buddies! Yours sound precious!