Category: Critters

The critters we love and the critters that deserve our love.

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Critters

Walking among the dog people part 2

First published in summer, 2002 and moved to the now defunct Dynamic Earth

Yesterday I talked about my walk among the dog people, and my observations of the dogs as they enjoyed the beach, the water, and the company (canine and human).

I talked about the black lab that would bring me her ball to throw and then take it away before I could grasp it. In this process she was inviting me to share her wonder, her special moment, her fun, as we invite others to share ours, in our weblogs and in our lives. I tease the world to laugh with me, to play with me, as this dog teases her owner and willing participants such as myself with her ball.

The Jack Russell barked at the mighty ocean with all the confidence in the world that it could move those waters back and return his friends to him. There are no impossible challenges to a dog, just as there are no impossible challenges to those who are determined on a course that they must and will follow.

The moutain climber climbs the peaks because they are there. The singers sings because the melody must be heard. The writer writes because the words demand to be read. There is a need in our lives to find our unique challenge within each of us, and then meet it. When we are successful, when the waves roll back, then we throw our arms open and embrace the air. And it is fun – the highest peak of the roller coaster.

The Boxer would dash into the water again and again in its quest to capture the stick thrown by its master. Left unchecked the dog would literally drown in its drive to find what was thrown. A simple goal for the dog, but no less intense than the drive that leads us to find cures for illness, the secrets of the Rosetta stone, whether there is life on other planets, the meaning of God, the meaning of Life.

Is it too much of a stretch to call these purposeful and intense actions fun? Perhaps. But if the roller coaster’s intensity is one factor leading to the fun of the ride, than would I be wrong in equating the intensity of purpose and drive to one aspect of the fun of living? Is that a trivialization? Or is it really more of a simplification?

My favorite of the dogs was and will always be the red doberman. That she singled me out on the beach to approach. That she sat beside me. That she leaned into me with such open trust. When we reach out to others, in person, or via the threaded void that is the weblogging and the Internet, we also put a measure of trust in those who receive the message. Will they shy away? Will they reach back? Will real affection result, or is the contact as ephemeral as the medium used to transmit the message.

When I write this, I am very much like that red doberman, except that I’m approaching 2 people, 10 people, 100 people asking them to let me sit beside them at this moment, to lean against them, to share a moment together. And in that moment is companionship and contentment, perhaps the smoothest and most velvet form of fun there is.

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Critters

Walking among the dog people part 1

First published in summer, 2002 and moved to the now defunct Dynamic Earth

I walk, almost daily, along the beach next to the Golden Gate Bridge. This beach also happens to be one of the few areas in San Francisco where dogs are allowed off their leashes, to run along the sand and play among the waves.

There’s a particular black lab I know that comes up to you and drops her ball just out of your reach. When you reach for it to throw it for her, she lunges in and grabs it out of your grasp and then dances around in delight at her own cleaverness. Then back again with the ball, dropping it down, expecting me to make another attempt.

One of the Jack Russell tries to keep up with the bigger dogs, running as hard as it can on its short stubby legs among the labs and the dobermans and the shepherds…until the other dogs run into the water.

The waves along the beach aren’t that small or that gentle and a small dog is not going to be able to swim in these waters. All that poor little Jack Russell can do when his larger friends jump into the water is to stand at the edge and bark for all its might. Wave rolls out, he runs forward; wave rolls in, he runs back. That cute little bugger barking at the ocean, in his mind having brief moments of triumph when the waves recede, setbacks when the waves return. He only stops when his friends exit the water, at this point having achieved a state of truce with the water.

One of my favorite dogs is a beautiful Boxer who loves to play in the water so much that his owner has to restrict him because the dog would exhaust himself and drown – the play means that much to him.

Once, a large red doberman came out of no where, walked right up to me, circled behind me, and then sat down beside me as if we were in a dog show demonstrating obedience. She then leaned for all she was worth against my leg, and just stayed there, looking out a the water. I was astonished at first, and then just started laughing. It was a moment of crystalline pure delight; the kind of moment you can’t buy, build, borrow, or create.

Absolute joy at simple gifts. I define this as fun, and it is my greatest meaning in life. And creating a little of that joy in others is my greatest purpose.

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Connecting Critters

Living this moment

When Chris Locke sent around an email containing the photograph and words found in this post, I wrote an email in reply:

I am probably getting old, and losing whatever I once had of any delicate sensibilities, but I can’t help thinking that dreams are wonderful when walking quietly by yourself in the woods; keeping you company as you reflect on what once was. They suit the drip of the water from the leaves, and the smell of rich, old dirt and the song of birds not quite seen.

But then I think I would rather get in my car and go home and be met with something real and tangible–someone I can wrap arms around and exchange garlicky kisses with after a nice dinner.

True, dreams never fade or get older; there are no shadows or harsh lines, and the light doesn’t glare, but instead glows with a lovely, inner light. Dreams don’t sag or get lumpy or wrinkly, or cranky. But you can’t reach out and touch a dream. You can’t move your finger down a dream’s face, or hold a dream’s hand. When you sneeze, it doesn’t go bless you, or bring you broth when you’re in bed, sick. It doesn’t laugh at a dumb joke, because though you might see your dream, it doesn’t see you.

Imperfect reality. I think I would rather have imperfect reality.

Like I said, I’m probably getting old, and losing whatever I one had of any delicate sensibility.

Tonight I was late leaving for my nightly walk and the weather was very warm and very humid. Once there, I put on my headphones, not being interested in listening to birds, and set off at a brisk pace. I made my circuit in record time, feeling good about the walk, but not good from the walk.

Leaving, I started to drive by a lump of dirt by the side of the road, when the dirt moved its head and I realized it was a small turtle.

This is the first I’d seen a turtle in Missouri though I know there are several varieties. I also wasn’t that familiar with it’s type–it had a softish looking shell and mottled markings, head stuck up in the air. I wished for my camera, but then reminded myself that I don’t have to capture for posterity every interesting moment that happens.

The turtle put me in a better mood–there was something about that defiant tilt of her chin; it was the first time I’d seen a pugnacious looking turtle. I looked at her and she at me, and that’s the way I want it to stay… Instead of rushing home, I took my time, driving in the warm summer evening with the windows down and wind mussing my hair, listening to music; I even stopped by at the library for a new stack of books. When I arrived home, it was late dusk and I was thirsty so I started to hurry up the steps to my home. Turning the corner, I found the area in front of our door was full of fire flies.

I stopped dead and watched them as they flickered around the bushes and trees, and even a curious one or two, around me.

When I finally returned to my computer tonight, I found that Chris, showing bright glimmers of his old rakish self, had posted a reply to my email, in true Rageboy form. He a bad boy, that Rageboy, but it’s nice to see him poking his head out of his shell. And I won’t even snap my whip at him.

No, no! Not the whip! Anything but the whip.

Anything?

…pause…

The whip! The whip!

By the way, I found a reference to the turtle I saw earlier. Chris, this turtle is for you.

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Critters

Zoe and Dorian Gray

Zoe is home from the vet, pretty wobbly on her feet. She had a lot of tests the last two days, and the doc found this and that, as doctors do with the middle aged. I’m a bit worried about her at the moment because she acts like she’s hungry and thirsty, but seems like she’s forgotten how to eat. If this continues tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll be chatting with the doctor again.

Since we take Zoe to a cat clinic, I expect to meet a new cat or two wandering about the office with each visit. The staff brings their own cats in during the day, and they join the office cats, and the patients, all of whom are remarkably quiet and polite with each other. It’s usually a lively time while you’re waiting, and never dull and never acrimonious.

If the world was run by cats, we wouldn’t have war, but we would be eating a lot of fish.

Yesterday, I spotted the tiniest little charcoal gray kitten stumbling around on unsure legs, trying to get into any open container. When I asked about him, the receptionist said that his name was Dorian Gray, and that he was hand fed kitten, just heading into its 6th week. Just so interest wasn’t aroused, she said that the doctor who treats Zoe had just adopted him.

It seems little Dorian was found in the walls of a condemned house that was being torn down. It’s mother was killed, but Dorian was saved by the crew and brought immediately to the vet. Now, he’s an extremely curious, friendly, engaging little fellow that is mothered by the cat of one of the other people who worked in the office–a cat that was also abandoned as a baby and hand fed and adopted. You’d know this cat anymore, because she’s a glamor cat, and about the sweetest natured thing you ever saw–but who likes to get up in the toys on the wall and knock them all down.

When I picked Zoe up, I brought my camera, and I thought you’d all like to meet Dorian Gray and Christa.

[image lost]

Yes, Christa has a boa necklace, bright pink nail guards, and her tail is dyed delicately pink with safe vegetable dyes. She truly is a glam cat.

But then look at this little doll, trying to crawl into my camera case.

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Critters Just Shelley

My micro world

I have to take Zoe in today to get her teeth cleaned. I hate having to do this. She’s an older cat and she’s had seizures in the past and I worry every time she’s under general anesthesia. However, as the vet said, this is something that can’t be put off. But I hate doing it.

What’s worse is she knows it’s coming. When she doesn’t get fed in the morning and her water is taken away the night before, she knows she has to go into the vet. She gets very quiet and very hurt looking, and then she crawls up into my lap and presses as tight as she can to me, and talks softly in her little chatter. Every once in a while, she trembles a bit and presses closer.

Before we adopted Zoe we had a cat, Boots, who was one of three boys born to another cat we were taking care of for a friend. Boots was an amazing cat, huge, close to 20 pounds. He kept getting into one scrape after another, including getting hit by a car and losing sight in one eye.

Boots ended up having stomach problems, and had to have surgery a couple of times, but he’d always pull through. Then one spring we noticed that he was losing weight and getting quieter, and not eating as well. We took him into the vet and they diagnosed stomach cancer and recommended surgery. They also suggested that we take him home for a few days and just spend time with him before the operation.

He looked like a young kitten again from the weight loss. His eyes were huge in his face, and he was so vulnerable.

The day of the surgery the vet said for us to go to work, he’d call and let us know when the operation was over. (Neither Rob’s company nor mine was amenable to time off ‘just for a cat’.) Later that morning, Rob called me and he was crying so hard I couldn’t understand him. It was a shock, because I never heard Rob cry before.

He said that the doctor called and the cancer was very advanced. They could try to continue the surgery, but the chance of him surviving was only about 20 percent and if they weren’t successful, Boots would continue in a great deal of pain. We had to make a decision: continue or allow them to just let Boots drift off to a permanent sleep.

Rob couldn’t make the decision; he was especially close to Boots. I called the doctor and we talked, and he said I had to decide quickly–Boots was still under anesthesia. So I chose not to let him suffer. But all I could think of the rest of the day is that Boots didn’t understand why he was going into the vet, and he didn’t understand why we weren’t there with him, and this was his last memory.

I am writing about Zoe and having her teeth cleaned. My priorities are wrong. She’s just a cat and this isn’t about Iraq, where people are dying and the world has gone to hell. Where’s my civic duty, and don’t I have more important things to write about?

But she’s part of my micro world where my actions have direct cause and effect. I can’t control what I can’t touch, but I can touch her.

updateThe vet is holding on doing Zoe’s teeth until tomorrow, in order to do additional tests today to make sure that the general anesthesia won’t trigger another seizure. As much as Zoe’s teeth need cleaning, we’re all hesitant with her medical history. So poor little girl has to stay at the Vet’s tonight. The clinic is not charging us for either the kennel or the extra tests, since these weren’t anticipated.

The people at the clinic are just wonderful. I’ve always wished that I could have a vet for my doctor.

Zoe