Category: pets

He’s Got to Pull His Weight

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I was excited when this half-grown border collie came up the driveway, then I got worried. I told Pa, “Could be a working dog. They herd sheep.”

“We ain’t got no sheep.”

“Cows, maybe?”

“Don’t need no dog. Give him to John, he’s got sheep.”

I’d been asking for a dog since forever. “Might scare…”

The dog stuck his nose in the air. Something was rustling in the corn and out comes a big ol’ raccoon. The dog’s carrying on to beat the band and, miracle of miracles,  chases that raccoon clean away.

“Reckon he’ll do.”

I fed the dog.

Irresistible Impulse

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He said- You said, Yes.

She said- I said, not yet. Another time. A later time.

He said- But your eyes said yes

She said- My eyes don’t speak for me.

He said- Your eyes speak to me.

She said- Looks can deceive.

He said- So you admit it? You lied. Those gorgeous blue eyes lied?

She said- You should have known. You should have asked, clarified, not taken things at face value.

He said- Whatever. Now we have this adorable cat. 

She said- This purring cat, we’re cat parents now.

He said- I’m a sucker for gorgeous blue eyes.

Free as a Dog

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The warm weather brought out the dogs. They roamed without leashes. They found each other and played, the poodles and the labs and the scrappy mutts. Their people strolled along the tree-lined streets, digging in their pockets for treats. 

A kind of amnesia had made them all forget to whom they belonged. They started fresh in a world where it’s not dog-eat-dog. Utopia. And then, the oddest thing happened. The universe snapped its fingers. The dogs and people sorted themselves out. Back to the way things were. The sense of bonhomie, a vague impression that lingered as a subliminal image.

The Escape Artist

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Tabby’s cage at the shelter was comfortably furnished. People were nice to her, but she wanted her freedom. One of your more adventurous cats, her motto was:  “Risks are for the taking.” She prowled through the catio looking for a way out.

She eyed the perimeter. From an adjacent field, the scent of fresh mice and catnip tempted her. She wiggled her butt and leapt to the top of a rug-covered cat tower. From there, she spied a hole at the top of the enclosure. No one was around. She scaled the six foot wire wall and made her escape.

The Nose Knows

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“Top o’ the day.” A man in a tam’o shanter, blue and green plaid, black and white lines for definition, greeted the butcher, who stood behind his product, a case of meat, bones and all.  The man’s Scottie wore boots, four of them, leather zipped on the side. A dog was welcome as long as he behaved. This one did. 

The Scottie was there to sniff for bombs. He walked the length of the shop, then froze.

“Everyone out!”

The butcher grabbed bones for the dog, leapt from behind the counter. Scottie gnawed while the bomb squad did its job.

Max

Photo by Monica McHenney

Max hopes that Kohnan might come back to live with us. He checks for him sometimes. He stands in front of Kohnan’s bed and sniffs the air. Kohnan’s toy hedgehog still smells like our little black friend. Sometimes, Max seems quite puzzled. Everything is the same; but Kohnan is missing.

Max comforts us by licking our feet in the morning while we eat breakfast. Perhaps it’s because the warm weather has made our skin salty. But I remember that for months after Max moved in, he licked our feet and our knees. This is the way dogs say, “It’s okay.”

Hedgehog, Harlequin, Hummus

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The falafel place got hopping around seven. All sorts would come. Teens in balaclavas and tweens blasting K-pop. Some had coffees, particularly the matrons who clustered in little groups and read the menu.

At the end of the line, the harlequin stood in a multicolored silk suit, a hedgehog perched on his shoulder. 

“Is it all prickly?” A child, barely twelve, looked up at the painted face of the man and the sweet animal on his shoulder. 

“Not really.” Harlequin cupped it in his hands.

“Can I hold it?”

The hedgehog was amenable. It sniffed.

“I think it smells hummus.”

Ode to Kohnan

Photo by Monica McHenney
His eyes were open and stayed that way
Aware and dignified, right up to the end.
A mensch, reserved, not prone to delay, 
Loyal to a fault, on that you can depend.

Saucy he was in the final hours,
Demanded kibble, a last meal at midnight.
Poured out love, licks, and reassurance.

Despite his weak body, his power
Did prolong the end, enough so that we might
Say woof, shed our tears, take one last dance.

He knew it was the end. We, quite sure, thought that he would rally.
He lay quiet, dignified, a friend and most trusted ally.



A Quiet Morning

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Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.

“He’s friendly.” 
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.

He’s at my feet, 
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns, 
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.

The Perfect Pet Cow

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Ellie groped for a pitcher to hold her morning milk. The pitcher felt warm. It moved and mooed when she touched it. It had the same fresh smell of country lanes that had attracted Ellie’s attention as she browsed the housewares aisle of the local thrift store. The pitcher had been only five dollars. She thought she might be asleep.

Overnight, the pitcher became a cow. She fed it salad and built a small platform with a hole in the center for the cow to stand on. She placed her tea cup under the center hole and squirted in milk.