| Aug 24 2011 |
First of all, dear friends and readers, please allow me to preface any remarks I may make, with the following disclaimer : 1) I would like to make very clear that--in general--I like most pets, whetherthey be dogs, cats, gerbils, hamsters, or fish.
I say, 'in geneal ', because I still cannot fathom why anyone would want to make a pet out of a python, or an iguana. And I am sure, I will receive a lot of complaints from those individuals who DO own them, and I suppose, to each his own. Sometimes I have seen a person holding aloft a python looped casually about their shoulders, with arms outstretched to show just how long they are. However, you cannot quite convince me that in--in the snake's slow undulations--that it is not doing so to be made more comfortable, but that the python is merely searching for a way to wrap-around its owner's necks, to suffocate them, and that the snakes are merely looking for a convenient food source.
I feel-to a lesser degree--about those who chose to own igunas; what I have witnessed--too-is a somewhat deviant joy in hand-feeding the creatures live mice. I understand that they are bought as food, but to take delight at watching the terror of the still-living mouse makes me ill. Both of the aforementioned animals are cold blooded, have no apparent emotion, except to be fed.
And, now, having angered readers with my own opinions, I would like to turn my attention to other things.
'My' dog, chose to adopt us ( my late mother and me ), in the middle of November, 1999. We had been feeding a stray cat, who dissappeared with the arrival of this dog. We found that the dog was eating the cat food, and camping out the night in an open shed my late father built in 1979. This 'dog' had been most horribly abused, and then either dumped to roam free in the neighborhood, or--and this is worse--had voluntarily left her previous home; and it takesa LOT of abuse before a dog will abandon its position. To say that she was a complete mess is an understatement; you could see, and count, her backbones, as well as her ribs; much of her fur was gone, and she was extremely fearful.
I hadn't wanted a dog; I did not NEED a dog, but I nevertheless decided to keep her, as the alternative--through Animal Control--would have been to take her away to be destroyed, and, somehow, this I couldn't countenance.
Since my mother passed away in 2008, our little 'pack' has shrunk to just us two. And, I have long since given up any notion of who should be 'Alpha', and who should be 'Beta'.
What I DO know, is that I have become more and more ill, and--often--in great pain, it is to she upon whom I rely for companionship, company, and...solace.
At fourteen years old, she was slowed down considerably, and now has her own health issues, such as arthritis, for which I give her medicine, even as I pause to take my own. For-as when my late, ill father was alive, the entire tone of the house changes, to take on the feeling--almost--of a 'sick' room.
And, friends, one of the things I absolutely dread, and hate, is when--in giving her some prescribed medications, I have to hole her down, pry her nouth open, and then try to ram the pill as far down her thoat as possible. Then I have to lift her head--while she is desperately trying to get away--stroke her throat to get her to swallow it.
Of course she fights to get away; I would too if someone tried to ram a pill down my throat.
On these occasions, I find I keep repeating to her how sorry I am, and that I love her so much. But...it surely must confuse her, as I am the man who tries to take care of her...not hurt her. As soon as she can, she leaps up, and runs to the solace of the back bedroom to be left alone; I have learned to give her this time. Though, after a while, I hear her laws upon the wood flooring getting louder and louder, until she sees me, and curls up on the rug beside me; as I may have mentioned, it is a forgiveness that I have not earned, and do not especially deserve. An I would hate to revive in her memories of that awful, previous life she had.
At fourteen, she now has a cattaract in her right eye, and is probably blind, but---my dear friends and readers--the cost of having them removed is about $3,500.00 and eye, and during the procedure, the pet may not survive it. And since I am on a disability income, I cannot possible afford it.
Presently, she is curled up on the rug in my computer room; often, she will lie across my oxygen hose, I think to know whenever I move to a different part of the house.
Its poignantly funny, and saddening, that, snce we both have aged, we both snore ( though, as a lady, she would never admit it ! LOL ), we both have uncertain kidneys; in fine, that we BOTH are slowing down, and I fear the future, or--at least--a future without her. For--selfishly--I will then be inescapably alone.
Even when my pain is running high, I still try to get down on the floor to 'play' with her, and to scratch her ears and head, to tell her ' what a good, good girl she is, and that I love her as I love few others, for she has never once lied to me, stolen from me, cheated me, nor betrayed me, as some 'human' friends I have, who have done.
Often I look at her, as I believe we all do, wish she could talk; to tell me about her past, whether she likes it here, and, I guess--most importantly--whether she loves me.
And while her bark is getting rusty, like the kind of barks older dogs make, still, she barks to warm me if there is something odd outdoors, to also protect me should someone ever attempt to break in and try to harm either of us.
I happen to have an intrument of defense here--should I ever, and most regrettfuly need it.
I feel as if she truly knows when I am in pain, and to what extent; that is when she tries to comfort me, and BTW, I FIRMLY believe that when a dog is happy, that it can smile, and laugh, even; and it is those rare smiles that gladden my heart, and...to some degree, lessen my pain.
Every night, when I finally drag off to bed, she enters my bedroom to sleep beside me on the rug.
And, although I am disability-made poor, I would not--in truth--take a million dollars for her. And I feel that--it is up to me--to try to take care of her; keep her safe; provide her with plenty to food and water, and to take crae of her needs, and provide a comfortable home for her for as long as she lives.
In conclusion, dear freinds and readers, before the night is over, I would urge you to infold your arms around YOUR pet, hug them and kiss them, and tell them how very much you love them; for I believe they really need to hear that once in a while.
For, I also believe that how we treat our pets in no small way reflects upon how we treat our spouses, our children, and...each other.
I wish, hope and pray for many, many 'well' days for you, and peaceful, restortative, and gentle nights. Love, 'Zahc/Charles'
I say, 'in geneal ', because I still cannot fathom why anyone would want to make a pet out of a python, or an iguana. And I am sure, I will receive a lot of complaints from those individuals who DO own them, and I suppose, to each his own. Sometimes I have seen a person holding aloft a python looped casually about their shoulders, with arms outstretched to show just how long they are. However, you cannot quite convince me that in--in the snake's slow undulations--that it is not doing so to be made more comfortable, but that the python is merely searching for a way to wrap-around its owner's necks, to suffocate them, and that the snakes are merely looking for a convenient food source.
I feel-to a lesser degree--about those who chose to own igunas; what I have witnessed--too-is a somewhat deviant joy in hand-feeding the creatures live mice. I understand that they are bought as food, but to take delight at watching the terror of the still-living mouse makes me ill. Both of the aforementioned animals are cold blooded, have no apparent emotion, except to be fed.
And, now, having angered readers with my own opinions, I would like to turn my attention to other things.
'My' dog, chose to adopt us ( my late mother and me ), in the middle of November, 1999. We had been feeding a stray cat, who dissappeared with the arrival of this dog. We found that the dog was eating the cat food, and camping out the night in an open shed my late father built in 1979. This 'dog' had been most horribly abused, and then either dumped to roam free in the neighborhood, or--and this is worse--had voluntarily left her previous home; and it takesa LOT of abuse before a dog will abandon its position. To say that she was a complete mess is an understatement; you could see, and count, her backbones, as well as her ribs; much of her fur was gone, and she was extremely fearful.
I hadn't wanted a dog; I did not NEED a dog, but I nevertheless decided to keep her, as the alternative--through Animal Control--would have been to take her away to be destroyed, and, somehow, this I couldn't countenance.
Since my mother passed away in 2008, our little 'pack' has shrunk to just us two. And, I have long since given up any notion of who should be 'Alpha', and who should be 'Beta'.
What I DO know, is that I have become more and more ill, and--often--in great pain, it is to she upon whom I rely for companionship, company, and...solace.
At fourteen years old, she was slowed down considerably, and now has her own health issues, such as arthritis, for which I give her medicine, even as I pause to take my own. For-as when my late, ill father was alive, the entire tone of the house changes, to take on the feeling--almost--of a 'sick' room.
And, friends, one of the things I absolutely dread, and hate, is when--in giving her some prescribed medications, I have to hole her down, pry her nouth open, and then try to ram the pill as far down her thoat as possible. Then I have to lift her head--while she is desperately trying to get away--stroke her throat to get her to swallow it.
Of course she fights to get away; I would too if someone tried to ram a pill down my throat.
On these occasions, I find I keep repeating to her how sorry I am, and that I love her so much. But...it surely must confuse her, as I am the man who tries to take care of her...not hurt her. As soon as she can, she leaps up, and runs to the solace of the back bedroom to be left alone; I have learned to give her this time. Though, after a while, I hear her laws upon the wood flooring getting louder and louder, until she sees me, and curls up on the rug beside me; as I may have mentioned, it is a forgiveness that I have not earned, and do not especially deserve. An I would hate to revive in her memories of that awful, previous life she had.
At fourteen, she now has a cattaract in her right eye, and is probably blind, but---my dear friends and readers--the cost of having them removed is about $3,500.00 and eye, and during the procedure, the pet may not survive it. And since I am on a disability income, I cannot possible afford it.
Presently, she is curled up on the rug in my computer room; often, she will lie across my oxygen hose, I think to know whenever I move to a different part of the house.
Its poignantly funny, and saddening, that, snce we both have aged, we both snore ( though, as a lady, she would never admit it ! LOL ), we both have uncertain kidneys; in fine, that we BOTH are slowing down, and I fear the future, or--at least--a future without her. For--selfishly--I will then be inescapably alone.
Even when my pain is running high, I still try to get down on the floor to 'play' with her, and to scratch her ears and head, to tell her ' what a good, good girl she is, and that I love her as I love few others, for she has never once lied to me, stolen from me, cheated me, nor betrayed me, as some 'human' friends I have, who have done.
Often I look at her, as I believe we all do, wish she could talk; to tell me about her past, whether she likes it here, and, I guess--most importantly--whether she loves me.
And while her bark is getting rusty, like the kind of barks older dogs make, still, she barks to warm me if there is something odd outdoors, to also protect me should someone ever attempt to break in and try to harm either of us.
I happen to have an intrument of defense here--should I ever, and most regrettfuly need it.
I feel as if she truly knows when I am in pain, and to what extent; that is when she tries to comfort me, and BTW, I FIRMLY believe that when a dog is happy, that it can smile, and laugh, even; and it is those rare smiles that gladden my heart, and...to some degree, lessen my pain.
Every night, when I finally drag off to bed, she enters my bedroom to sleep beside me on the rug.
And, although I am disability-made poor, I would not--in truth--take a million dollars for her. And I feel that--it is up to me--to try to take care of her; keep her safe; provide her with plenty to food and water, and to take crae of her needs, and provide a comfortable home for her for as long as she lives.
In conclusion, dear freinds and readers, before the night is over, I would urge you to infold your arms around YOUR pet, hug them and kiss them, and tell them how very much you love them; for I believe they really need to hear that once in a while.
For, I also believe that how we treat our pets in no small way reflects upon how we treat our spouses, our children, and...each other.
I wish, hope and pray for many, many 'well' days for you, and peaceful, restortative, and gentle nights. Love, 'Zahc/Charles'
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