I was not unlike most children when
it came to animals (except for horses…those things are gigantic and
horrifying). I rarely met an animal I
didn’t want to bring home and care for until my parents discovered it, saw the
level of responsibility I had shown, and allow me to keep it as my pet. Things never really panned out that way for
me, though.
I blame my parents for making me
like animals so much. When I was born,
they had two pitbulls, a male and a female.
The girl wouldn’t go anywhere without a blanket with which she would
cover herself when she reached her destination.
One of my first memories is sitting on the porch with them walking
around me. Eventually, one got into a
fight with a neighbor’s dog and the neighbors made my dad put them down.
There were also about a million
cats living under our porch. Every
night, after dinner, my mom would toss out the leftovers “for the kittens.” While most of them were fully grown, there
were always kittens because those incestuous perverts were definitely not
fixed. My dad, however, hated cats and
had plenty of methods of population control before I knew that PETA or the ASPCA existed.
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| Be cool, dude... |
After the divorce, the tiny pride
made their way over to our neighbor’s house.
My best friend lived there, but I never liked going there because it
smelled horrible. Honestly, it’s
probably for the best that my parents split up, otherwise I would’ve had much
higher chances of being the smelly kid.
It’s about time I found an upside considering those jerks insisted on
having holidays and birthdays together.
Think about it: I have to constantly explain that my parents are
divorced but I never once got two Christmases or two birthdays. They never competed for my love with gifts or
money. They were clearly the worst.
My first real pet was only mine for
about a month. He was a half-Rottweiler/half-German
Shepard puppy. In what was to become a
trend of me picking out terribly unoriginal pet names, I dubbed him Rex. I loved him more than anyone or anything in
my life. He was always trying to sleep
(as puppies do), but when he would get up, I would follow him around the house
with a curiosity normally reserved to urchins on a journey to see a dead body
out by the train tracks. That’s
right. I followed him. I was an only child.
Rex ate everything he could tear
into mouth-sized bits. One time, I
watched him eat an old dishrag, vomit it up, and then eat it again. I was in awe.
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| A buffet for my first dog |
My mother, on the other hand, was
not. She was a single mother working 50+
hours and a new puppy wasn’t really something she was ready to keep alive. After that one magical, vomit-y month, Rex
went to my brother’s best friend’s house.
Hopefully Little Larry gave him a better name.
After Rex, I was devastated. I didn’t understand why my dog was going to
live with someone else. I had so much
love to give. So many places to watch
him walk. So many things to watch him
eat and regurgitate! This time, my dad took
the reins.
Ruff (yes, I named him Ruff…because
that was the noise he made. I already
explained that I wasn’t good at this. I’m
done apologizing.), was a golden lab.
When I was at my dad’s, he and I did everything together. He even grew to my height in only a few short
months. By that point, he could go
swimming with me. He even learned how to
rescue people who were drowning.
Unfortunately, he never really knew the difference between drowning and
regular swimming. Also, his rescue
method consisted of pushing you under the water and scratching the hell out of you.
His tail literally never stopped
wagging. For instance, one night, while
Dad was playing darts with me in the garage, Ruff stood too close to the
wood-burning stove and burnt his tail on the one section that kept hitting the
stove. I don’t mean to insinuate that he
just singed his hair. He had a hairless
scar on that part of his tail for the rest of his life. Ruff was not the smartest dog, but he was
mine.
Ruff’s brother lived next door for
a couple of years. Those two did NOT get
along. They would get into full-blown
fights while I stood and watched in horror.
I would’ve run and separated them, but I never got to know Ruff’s
brother and I’ve never trusted strange dogs.
That’s my mom’s fault.
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| Ruff's asshole brother...Look at him, clearly instigating. |
Before my parents’ divorce (so age
four or younger), my mom and I would walk to the mailbox if the weather was
nice. In the country, all of the
mailboxes for everyone on the road are at the beginning of the road. We lived on the opposite end. This was more involved than simply walking to
the end of the driveway.
On the day that stole my dog trust,
a neighbor’s dog, Shadow, was lying in the middle of the road. Since only three cars regularly used that
road, this wasn’t odd or dangerous. On
the way to the mailbox, Shadow was asleep and I walked right past him. On the way back, however, something felt
different. I slowed and my mom walked
past him. I stopped a few feet back and
told my mom I was scared to walk past him.
I looked in her eyes and told her I thought he was going to bite
me. I still don’t know how I knew
this. Maybe he was quietly
growling. Maybe I’m a pet psychic. Maybe my fear caused it (though I’ve always
found that to be a dickish assumption…very victim blame-y).
Conjecture aside, my mom told me
Shadow was asleep and to walk. She told
me I would be fine. I took a few
reluctant steps and Shadow made his move.
I was rolling around in a ball of black fur and pain. I don’t remember much else until my mom set
me into an ice bath. I still think of
Shadow when I see someone in a movie get set into an ice bath (especially The
Secret Garden).
Therefore, Ruff was on his own
until I could go get my dad.
One day, while in the garage that
my dad used for both recreation and work (he had tons of printing equipment in
there. I think he did some side printing
jobs while he was working at Graphics Packaging. I’m not sure, and at this point, I’m too
afraid to ask. Anyway, this is a huge
garage. It’s detached and made for two
cars. There are also two rooms in the
back. One was an office and the other
had another garage door big enough for a compact car.) I heard a mew coming
from the back. That was odd because that’s
where I kept my ATV. I was nine years
old by this point and spent a fair amount of time at my dad’s just wandering
around. I went into the back to
investigate, but couldn’t locate the sound.
Then, I heard it again. It seemed
like it was coming from the rafters near the door I had just come in. I walked to the door and looked up just as I
heard a shuffling. I held out my hands
just in time for a tiny gray kitten to fall into them. It was like magic. I don't even know why I held out my hands. I didn't see anything fall. I just caught a kitten that materialized out of thin air. Like a boss.
Since cats falling from the ceiling
was new territory for me, I ran and got my dad.
He found three more nestled on top of a thick, wooden door frame. The momma cat was nowhere to be found. He got a box and set them in there, but they
were so little that we couldn’t get them to drink milk out of a bowl and their
mom never came back. When I went back to my mom’s, miraculously, the kittens
came along for the ride. My mom set them
up a little nest with an old stuffed animal for them to cuddle. She managed to get them to drink out of a
dropper for a while, but it wasn’t incredibly successful. One day, they weren’t there when I got
home. I didn’t get a chance to think of
names. That was actually probably better
for them.
My mom was over pets for a long
time after that. Then came Christmas
when I was twelve. My mom walked into
the house with her best friend, Lisa.
They looked really happy, the way people look around small children that
must be instinctual because it seems reflexive.
Lisa sat down next to me and put her brown, leather purse in between
us. My mom said I had a surprise and it
was in the purse. I could see something
white sticking out of both ends. Beanie
Babies were really popular during this time, so I started to sum up the energy
to pretend to love it when Lisa yelled, “Hurry up before it pees in my purse!”
I lifted the flap and saw a tiny,
white Maltese puppy looking back at me.
I was definitely excited because I always wanted a pet at my mom’s
house, but she was so little. I was
always tall for my age and I wasn’t the most graceful child. I was worried I’d break her. I treated that pup like a Faberge Egg. I also took my time naming her because by
this point, I was smart enough to realize I’m terrible at naming animals. Eventually, my mom got tired of me “dragging
my feet” on the subject and named her Stephie.
She thought that “Stevie and Stephie” would be super cute. The feeling you’re squirming around with
right now is an amalgamation of pity, discomfort and maybe just a dash of
endearment depending on how affected you are.
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| Definitely not my sister, mom! |
My worry about breaking Stephie
never really went away. She eventually
bonded with my mom far more than she had with me and for that reason, I don’t
consider Stephie my dog. She was always
really my mom’s. She never shed and
would always growl/bark/bite if anyone got too close to my mom. I eventually resented her because she was so
loud and yippy. The only thing I can
really say for her at this point is that she kept my mom company when I moved out
and went to college. Now, when I come
home to visit, the house still feels empty without her.
Ruff is also gone. My dad has a new
golden lab, Brody. He’s just as stupid,
but I don’t see the same love in his eyes.
I refuse to swim in that particular lake anymore, so I have no idea what his
lifesaving skills are like.
Getting to grow up surrounded by
animals is definitely one of the benefits of growing up in the country. I’m glad I got to experience it, even if it was
only part-time for most of my developmental years. I’m also glad I eventually wore my mom down
and got a dog in town. This is the same
woman who nursed a wounded squirrel back to health in a cage in her trailer
with my dad, so she definitely needed to have animals in her life again. Oh, and don’t worry. The squirrel can definitely
be seen in some of their wedding photos.
