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| A short compilation of cute pictures and amusing anecdotes of people and their pets. | |
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If a fish is the movement of water embodied, given shape, then a cat is a diagram and pattern of subtle air.
The more I see of men, the more I like dogs.
Don't make the mistake of treating your dogs like humans, or they'll treat you like dogs.
The playful kitten with its pretty little tigerish gambole is infinitely more amusing than half the people one is obligated to live with in the world.
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 My Gary. One Christmas Eve, I made some hot buttered rum for the family to drink as we opened our Christmas gifts. The recipe I used called for mixing vanilla ice cream with softened butter and nutmeg, and topping this concoction with boiling water and rum. The drink was quite tasty - and quite strong. I usually choose to sit on the floor on this occasion; it is so much easier to reach the gifts. I had placed my mug of hot buttered rum on the floor behind me so I would not knock it over in my unwrapping zeal. My cocker spaniel, Gary, who absolutely adored butter and ice cream, discovered the mug. Before I knew it, he had lapped up close to half of the drink. I turned in time to catch him in the act, chastized him (although he looked so cute with ice cream on his nose), and put the mug up out of his reach. A short time later, while gathering up spent wrappings from the floor, I noticed that Gary was no longer in the room. Nor was he in his usual spot under the kitchen table. I searched the house, calling his name. No response. I found him in the living room, under one of the armchairs. He had wedged himself between the single rung of the chair and the wall, and was glaring at me. I said, "Come on, boy," and reached under the chair towards him. He snarled and snapped at me and I quickly pulled my arm back. He was drunk! I attempted to coax him out with some toys and treats, but to no avail. He insisted upon sitting in that cramped spot, glowering and growling at me. I decided that it would be best for the beast to sleep it off right where he was and wondered how to treat doggie hangovers. Kathy
 Prancer in the park. Prancer--A Story... and More I'm fondly gazing at a pic of a photograph I took a couple of years ago. It appears to be nothing special--just a nice landspace shot. The dull browns, grays and greens suggest it's early winter... a somber, blue-gray sky... looking down a gentle hill thru leafless trees, past an ugly street lamp... some scattered hedges at the bottom... beyond, a sandbox with a mother and her small boy... here and there a picnic table or a swing set. A nice park perhaps? Actually, it's from a series of photographs of the City Park in Hagerstown, Maryland, where I grew up. The hill is steeper than it appears--a drawback of photography. And when I was a small boy, there was an entire "hedge garden" of which there are now only those remnants. And as with each of those photographs, there is a story. Some of you know a little about Prancer, for whom my screen name is an honorific. She was a Toy Manchester dog, given to my brother and me by Mom shortly after Dad's death at my age 6. She lived until I was in college. Seven pounds of love and motion. A magnificent pet, who I loved immensely. I was Prancer's main "walker." (My brother suffered from polio when young, and really couldn't keep up with her for very long.) I don't think it was until after puberty that I could actually run faster than Prancer. Those little legs sure could churn FAST! LOL And one of my favorite places to take Prancer on a "walk" was the City Park. Thus the hill and the story, the photograph and pic, and now, this--to try to capture a memory that is still so vivid after all these years. The top of that hill was only a few hundred yards from our house, which gave us time to "warm up." When I would yell "CHARGE!", Prancer and I would RACE down the hill and hurdle each row of hedges (maybe 6 in all). The hedges were about a foot and a half high, and a real challenge for little Prancer. We'd repeat this little game until Prancer tired enough that her belly began scraping the hedges. Then we'd climb back to the top of the hill, and sit down to rest; watching the people and taking in the beauty of the park. Later, we'd return home and BOTH take long naps. LOL From such things come memories that, happily, last one a lifetime. And nearly a half a century later (*Who* could have predicted it?), an AOL Screen Name. Christopher
 Chuck and Arnie. As you can see from the pic...he is very affectionate....I was sitting in a lawn chair one day and he hopped up with his front hooves. I thought he just wanted to be scratched...then I looked down at my leg and saw he had something else on his mind....he was neutered 2 weeks later. Chuck
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So many get reformed through religion. I got reformed through dogs. I underwent menopause without taking even an aspirin, because I was so busy whelping
puppies. Dogs saved my life. I recommend having four-legged animals to cure the mid-life crisis.
Some people say that cats are sneaky, evil, and cruel. True, and they have many other fine qualities as well.
I suspect that many an ailurophobe hates cats only because he feels they are better than he is - more honest, more secure, more loved, more whatever he is not.
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My Honeys Koshka, who actually thinks her name is the sound of you kissing your lips together twice in a row, "kisskiss", is a Russian Blue that came along to help me in my ‘new’ life. I saw Koshka in the window of a pet store during my first week in Dallas. The moment I saw her, I had thoughts of my cat, Grey, that I had to leave behind in Maryland. Tears came to my eyes. I went back a week or so later to get her and she was gone. I spent that evening calling every store and shelter known to man trying to find her. The next day, I received a call from the Dallas Humane Society, Koshka had been found. I was ecstatic! I could hardly wait to see her. I made an appointment to get her, but I had to wait a month until I was in my new apartment. That month was so long. I arrived at her foster mother’s work, a podiatrist office, to get her and she couldn’t be found. She had been left to roam a vacant examining room and had become the next Houdini. She had hid herself inside the base of the examining table. Unbeknownst to me that this would be a preview of future antics. I never really thought about her name or what it meant. I was working one day and there happened to be a Russian lady there with me. We started discussing pets and I described Koshka. During the discussion, I explained how I had no idea what her name meant and I was informed that it indeed meant female cat in Russian. How divine! Koshka can only be described as a poor helpless animal that needs to be taken care of worse than any man. Just what I needed. Oy. At night, in the dark, she needs to be walked to her dish. In the morning, she lies outside my door and whines until I get up and walk her to her dish. When I am on the computer, she lies in my lap and gives me barely enough room to reach the keyboard. I then thought to myself, what if she had a playmate? So I went out and got myself Bianco. A dwarf lop bunny. The cutest and most loving animal you could ever lay your eyes on. And plenty of competition for Koshka. Koshka loves to care for Bianco and in turn this leaves me to have some free time to myself. At any given moment, you will find Koshka laying playfully on her back with all paws straight in the air (I have a picture to prove it) and waiting for the rabbit to take the wrong turn past her so that she can playfully pounce. Koshka truly believes that Bianco is the best thing since sliced cat nip! ;-) I love my little honeys! Thank goodness for little pets. Angie
 Dad and Max. Beware of Dog In 1986, my family adopted Max, our very first pet. He was a very healthy and virile Rottweiler who weighed in at nearly 127 pounds. His dog house was big enough to park a Volkswagen. Max was not purchased to be a pet but was supposed to be a guard dog meant to prevent break-ins to our home. We had two burglaries just prior to his arrival. Once he made his presence known we never had any more trouble from man or beast. Max was always vigilant, 24 hours a day, every day. When he first arrived every member of our family was quite wary of Max (except me-well maybe just a little). He had been raised in a tough neighborhood and was pretty aggressive and had to stay outdoors. After all that’s where the bad guys were. His food was slipped carefully through the back door when he was roaming around the property or else he would come charging and barking at whoever’s turn it was to risk life or limb to feed the beast. This stand-off lasted for months until we finally realized that he was probably just pissed at our treating him like an animal. Before long Max settled in to his new surroundings and became less aggressive toward us. Our anxiety about the bad reputation of Rottweilers turned into admiration and soon into love. He returned that love to everyone in the family but I feel safe in saying he loved me the most. When I was away on business trips he would mope about and not pay much attention to any one else. He always knew when I was returning and would be waiting at the door minutes before I was even in the driveway. As soon as he saw me that stub of a tail would be twirling in circles and his butt wagging back and forth so hard I often thought he’d slip a disc. Then he would head to the inside kitchen door that led to the hall waiting to burst through it and race to his favorite spot—the sofa in my office—where he knew I would join him soon and where we would spend most of the evening vegging out watching TV. More often than not my daughter Kathy would come to wake us up so that we go to our respective beds. Max never did like that part and would always let out a low grllllll on his way to the kitchen to his lair next to the radiator in the corner. After all there were no more bad guys to worry about outside because they knew this was the house where Max lived. (To be continued) Dennis
 Chili Devil Dog I have yet to meet a person that hasn't been charmed by Chili in some way. Rescued from the SPCA in Annapolis six years ago we started raising her (a Shepherd-Terrier mutt) from the age of 5 months. The name on her kennel was "Penny" but one look at the fire in her eyes you could tell there was a name change in store. I tend to raise my dogs to be free-spirited, independent and a little disobedient. Chili meets all expectations and then some. Actually, she and I seem to be telepathically connected and can anticipate the next thought, word or action. Chili has an obsession - SQUIRRELS!!! I can't pass through the kitchen without her hounding me to let her out. Sometimes I catch her staring out the back door in silence as she spies the cute rodent and remains perfectly still except that her entire body shivers with adrenaline. The moment I open the door she literally launches off the back deck and does a patterned sprint along the back fence, around the tool shed and then the garden. She will let out the mandatory "BOOF BOOF" in an attempt to scare up some critters. Another hobby of hers is swimming. She can't stand to be left out of any activity and the pool is no exception. Chili will bark her head off if I jump in the pool, and continue to do so until she's invited in. (She's been known to jump into other people's pools, much to the chagrin of owners of vinyl-lined pools). I still can't figure out how she manages to get out of an above the ground model. Just talented I guess. Every evening after dinner comes 'After Dinner Playtime', of course. It's a mandatory activity - a responsibility that I can't seem to shirk. In fact, I can not take another step further than the area rug in the living room. Chili will stand her ground in front of me and egg me on to do a little rough-housing. One of her favorite things to do is to taunt me into a friendly fight. It's not fair, however, that she gets to bite me. It seems she loves to hear me laugh. The more I laugh, the more she is encouraged to antagonize me which causes me to laugh some more, and so on. It's a vicious cycle. Oh sure, she may look like the cutest little doggie you've ever seen. HAH! Chili has the DEVIL in her! Why won't ANYone beLIEVE me? Other pet names for Chili: Chillster, ChiliBean, ChiliPepper, ChiliDog, PooPoo, Pupples, YouBadDog, MyGirl, Puppycakes, Chi Chi Chi CHILi, Bitch, and many more. She answers to most of them, some of them just receive a dirty "go to hell" look. Chili and I live alone now. She's my constant companion, travel buddy, shadow, confidant, sounding board and all around pain in the ass. It amazes me how she knows what I am feeling sometimes - knowing when I need to be nuzzled or left alone or played with or attacked. Unconditional love is what she gives. I don't know what I would do without my sweet dog. Bob
 Coco attacking the evil sprinkler. The Nose Biter Cocomac is a miniature daschund who belongs to my friend Emily. He probably would like to believe that he is a vicious killer of a dog, when in actuality he is a foot high affection slut with a Napoleon complex. He is quite fond of me, probably because I don't mind him jumping into my lap for a belly rub. Because he is such a short fellow, he jumps up and down when greeting a friend, in order to reach that person's face. I ordinarily bend down to pet him and receive kisses. One afternoon, as I bent down, he opened his mouth to lick me and ended up with my nose in his mouth, teeth scraping as we pulled apart. "Ow!" I exclaimed, not expecting the sharp greeting. I entered the next room, rubbing my nose, and explained what happened. Emily and I had a good chuckle. Such a mean dog, biting a guest's nose like that! Emily later related the tale to another friend. Irene must not have paid much attention to the story, for all she seemed to hear was, "Coco bit Kathy on the nose." Her image of Coco was then transformed into a savage blood-thirsty beast. She even told other people that Emily's dog bit me. When the time came for Irene to meet Coco, she was a tad afraid, imagining that the animal would charge her at the door and rend her limb from limb. When she saw the tiny terror, she laughed heartily, and realized that the picture she had envisioned was far from the truth. Kathy
 Vince and Nugget. Ummm... ..apparently the man is anecdote-less. Can you believe that someone wouldn't have all sorts of entertaining tales to tell about this lovely retriever? Not our fault if he didn't train her to fetch him a cold Diet Coke on command. The one time I met Nugget, she bounded over to me, tail a-wagging and salivary glands working in overdrive. A sweet friendly pup. But as it was almost 11 PM and the lights were out, it's a good thing I wasn't a burglar. I'm not saying that she's not a ferocious guard dog. It is possible that she could have licked me to death. Ok, maybe not. If you ever hear him speak of having a dumb blonde in his bed, well, now you know to whom he is referring. Kathy putting in her two cents worth
 Posing for the camera. Silly Girl Molly is a Soft-coated Wheaten Terrier. These dogs are supposed to be hypo-allergenic, that is, they do not shed their fur, something which normally would cause an allergic reaction in people who are allergic to dogs. Little did my friend Denise and her husband know, not only are Wheatens hypo-allergenic, they are also hyper-allergic. Poor Molly is allergic to all sorts of things. She gets rashes and bumps on her skin and is forever trying to chew off a body part (her own) to alleviate the itching. She also makes me sneeze, but that might be psychosomatic. Molly is always very happy to see me arrive. Its not like it is a great treat; I am at the house once a week for several hours. But each time I arrive, I am greeted like a long lost pal. Molly throws herself at me, jumping to get my attention, and when she does, she pees. It's especially unpleasant when we are on the sofa. I sometimes like to play a game with her called "Where's Kathy's Face?", where I pull my collar up over my head. This frustrates Molly to no end, and she busily snuffles and paws at my head to find my face or at least an ear, so she can slobber on it. No matter how hard I try to keep hidden, the silly girl always manages to get me somehow. Ok, so we are both silly girls. Kathy who thinks she has contributed too much already
 Begging for treats. Big Hairy Deal There are problems involved with having an Oday around. Oh, they make wonderful pets; they are fierce protectors and great huggers, but are only somewhat obedient, and absolutely refuse to walk on a lead. And just try to keep one neatly groomed! I try to keep my Oday brushed nicely, with his coat healthy and shiny. But he usually refuses to sit still during the process. The breed standard Oday cut involves longer hair on the head, often with a small appendage, or ponytail. The rest of the body should be closely cropped. This would involve waxing, but sometimes duct tape does the job well. Most of the time I just let him stay natural, because of the fuss he makes. Unfortunately, this keeps me from entering him in competition. No "Best of Show" ribbon for my pet! Mende ghostwritten by Kathy who swears this is the last one!
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