Cat Tales
Introducing “Little Calico”:
I’ve never made any secret of my fondness for cats. I have nothing really against dogs but to have a dog – or dogs – requires room to run, at least in my eyes. I don’t like fencing a dog in yet most places I’ve lived do not allow dogs to roam free nor are dogs of the size I like suitable for the apartments I’ve lived in.
Yes, I know there are exceptions.
I wouldn’t mind having two right now – two, because I live in coyote country and a coyote will injure or kill a single friendly dog, even of German Shepherd size. The dog wouldn’t realize it was in a serious fight right away. But Wile E won’t mess with two though – two dogs would tear the coyote apart if it wasn’t fast enough on the escape. Can’t though; I’d have to keep them penned up where I live. I wouldn’t want a feather duster; I’d want one or two to take boonie-bouncing with me.
My last dog was a female Norwegian Elkhound:
Had her as a pup … No, this is not her; even if circumstances had not gotten in the way, she’d have lived her life out sometime in the 80s. By then, my life was on a path that having a pet was not practical.
This was the mid-70s; she was stolen by someone I had thought was a friend – I never saw the dog or “friend” again; never even knew where they went. She was the last dog of mine … I suppose after almost 50 years I don’t miss her much anymore, only had her for about 6 months as a puppy. But sometimes I think about her. Time has a way of fading some memories …
Sometime around 1990, I had a girlfriend with a retriever. We’d travel – for fun or work – but I-Can’t-Recall-His-Name didn’t take to travelling well. Said girlfriend passed ICRHN off to a friend who was better able to take care of him. They got along very well and when the inevitable breakup with the girlfriend came, it turned out the dog preferred to stay with the friend.
God visited me some time ago … oh, it might have been about 1997. I didn’t realize it at the time. Didn’t think about it at the time. No burning bushes but a beautiful healthy German Shepherd deep in the Wilderness.
At least it was a dog that looked like a German Shepherd. Kind of like this picture but a little fuller.
I was out in central Nevada someplace out along US50. There’s a lot of not-much through there. I had pulled off the highway to take a break. This dog came out of nowhere – I was a long way from any town or ranch, yet this dog came up to me from out in the sagebrush and just stared at me.
I stared back.
Where did this dog come from? He obviously hadn’t been wandering for long; his coat was too clean, he appeared well-fed.
A dilemma.
Do I take him in? I live in a small apartment. Besides, if he had wandered off, his owners must be looking for him.
Or did they dump him? I didn’t think about that at the time.
Do I try to bond with him? Then what? I can’t care for him.
So I ignored him until he wandered away.
A few minutes later, I had second thoughts. Called out to him – he couldn’t have gotten too far away yet; no response.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, but – not even being sure “God” exists – I now feel I failed a biblical test.
And it bothers me much more now than it did 30 years ago.
Figure that.
Don’t worry about it, DT. At least you called him and if he didn’t respond, he probably had someplace to go. I think we all have experiences like that. When my husband and I were visiting our daughter in college many years ago (she lived off campus) we used to see a boy and a girl of maybe 10 or 11 years on the grounds of her apartment complex reading books or just hanging out for hours by themselves. They never made a peep, not even talking, arguing or playing some kind of game. Before long I matched them up with an extremely emaciated woman with a very obvious physical problem who looked like she didn’t have much time left. I still think about them and regret not taking some kind of action even if only to engage them in conversation. That’s just one of mine.
Access problem solved?
Yes, thank you. It was on my end.
When it comes to pets and animals in general we all have our regrets. In the 80’s when we first got married, then had our son, we got a male cocker spaniel and I named him Dusty (short for Dustyn DaWynn – his AKC name). I’ve named all of our dogs for 70’s rock songs. One of my regrets is not treating him better than I did. I was very caught up in starting and running my architecture business and I didn’t give him the attention I now wish I had. I try not to think of this too much because it is uncomfortable but now and then it pops up as a reminder – some things you can’t undo, so tread cautiously.
I’m certain that, with the 3 dogs we’ve had since Dusty passed in 1998, that I’ve treated them better. The current one, Shannon, will never suffer from neglect. She is with me constantly day and night.
Animals are the source of my one hard cognitive dissonance. Again, because of the discomfort, I don’t think about it much. In a nutshell, I like most all animals, and cows are animals. It’s not unusual for me to, while driving on a country road, stop next to a field and look at the cows. I’ll pet them if they are close enough.
I likes me some cows.
I likes me some cheeseburgers too.
Oh dear.
I cannot see me ever making a cheeseburger from scratch, if you know what I mean.
I suppose, that if times became such, that the front of my belly was touching the front of my backbone I might have a change of view. But I also think a squirrel might be better all the way around, to deal with that problem. More than likely I’d go fishing in a crick or pond….
How long will it take you to figure it out?
America spends over $1 trillion a year on anti-poverty programs. That’s trillion—with a T.
And yet somehow, the rates of generational poverty, crime, and dependence haven’t gone down—they’ve solidified. Hardened. Institutionalized.
You’d think for a trillion bucks, we’d have built heaven.
Instead, we’ve just built more offices.
Because here’s the sick truth: there’s more money in managing poverty than ending it. It’s more profitable to study the problem than solve it. So they hold conferences, print glossy brochures, pay consultants to develop “frameworks for equity,” and meanwhile—the single mom in Section 8 housing is still waiting for the maintenance guy who never shows up.
It’s all a performance. Poverty has become a brand. A reason to fundraise. A resume bullet. A perpetual emergency that never gets resolved because too many people rely on it to make a living.
They build their careers on other people’s pain.
More here:
https://ivanaunfiltered.substack.com/p/the-welfare-trap-how-they-bought
https://beauvoirglass.blogspot.com/2006/11/moms-good-boy.html
I’ve had my heart broken many times because of a pet.
Every pet is a love story that ends in grief.
Amen.