One of two overstuffed chairs to be given away. Many pleasant memories there–the chair nearest the front window was from where our beloved Dillon watched the world outside.
Dillon left us a short five years ago. The sense of loss never went away. Pets hold special places in our hearts. That’s how I will always remember our German Shepherd mixed breed–sitting in that same chair, like he was king.
There have always been military mascots. Critters of all sorts adopted as companions. Here are two–a lizard on a truck fender, and a puppy. Later, when my father was in Burma, there was a pet duck, and a monkey.
According to my father, “this pup hung around the company; was playful until he was overfed by generous soldiers and became lazy.”
This post idea came from GP Cox’s re-blog of,”Frank’s Panda In Burma.”
Brown eyes pleaded. My two dogs wanted belly rubs–made it impossible to write.
Sometimes pet owners, sports enthusiasts, assume others have the same passions, as they do. That’s wrong and causes resentment.
Dog hair accumulates everywhere. The vacuum cleaner does double duty. Wet dog smells can be unpleasant.
It was a conscious choice to adopt them. Along with that came responsibilities of proper care and attention.
I’m introverted and these two make me happy. They help me navigate through a sometimes strange, uncaring world.
Who greets you at the door? Who wakes you up in the morning? Perhaps it’s only for treats? I don’t care.
If I wanted to feel unappreciated–I’d go back to work. I’m retired–it’s not going to happen.
Coming soon–perhaps to your neighborhood. Pre-historic armored invaders; digging up your lawn; crossing highways; annoying your dogs. Armadillos are on the move northward.
My dogs continuously barked at the back fence. Were they barking just to be barking? Not exactly–there were armadillos on the other side scratching in the leaves. In the briars and undergrowth was a discarded tire. Inside the tire was an armadillo. When I shined a flashlight in a circular pattern–the creature followed the light in circles.
Depending on where you live, there are either opossums or armadillos in the eco-system–or both. They are in about the same place on the food chain. They’re hit by cars at about the same frequency. Called Texas turkeys, Hoover hogs, during hard times of the thirties.
Some armadillos carry the virus for leprosy. I’m not inclined to chow down on one anytime soon.
Just a thought–what if armadillos were cleverly disguised alien invaders? Although reviled, their northward march has been remarkably successful. They have offspring in groups of five. Isn’t that odd?
Enjoy your Saturday. Hope it’s as beautiful, where you happen to be, as it is here this morning. Was that another armadillo? No, it was a turtle.
Up to the minute, as real as it gets. Maggie under the computer desk; taking up most of the usable space–while I attempt to write.
An osprey nest is at the top of a tall palm tree in a nearby neighborhood. I pass by it every day.
Today, one of the parents was on the nest with the babies. The other parent swooped in, fish clenched in talons. They’re wonderfully attentive parents. Raising offspring, is indeed, shared 50-50 between sexes.
The thought passed over–like a dark cloud. Would I think this scene as endearing, if the parent had a captured puppy or kitten?
To the family of predatory birds–it was just food. One life sacrificed for another in the food chain–without emotion. My heart would break. Even if the kitten/puppy were mine, there’d be nothing I could do.
What if the nearby mother cat, upon hearing her baby’s cries of terror, attempted the tree? Her efforts deterred by sharp thumps from osprey talons.
Milt inked the New York Times daily crossword at the breakfast table. A blue jay sounded an alarm call from the backyard,
Muffy, the Persian cat, suddenly leapt from his lap with a hiss and growl; dashed to the front window, upsetting Milt’s plate of waffles and syrup. What the heck was up with that cat?
Milt, still in pajamas and slippers, looked out the front window to see Bob–the neighbor’s pointer, hiking his leg; urinating on the mailbox post. There’s probably a big steaming pile of poop out there somewhere.
Boy, that really steams my oysters. I’m gonna’ tell Lee about this–give him a piece of my mind.