Pet Stories (Long but, I hope, worth the reading)

[LibraryLady]

Everybody likes pets and likes to talk about them. Here's the story of a brave, little turtle.

He was bought for my 7 year-old self as a souvenir from the circus. We were frugal folk so we didn't buy one of the flashy turtles with paintings on their shells. The turtle was plain. He was about the size of a 1 Euro coin. On the way home from the circus, I named him Happy-life.

In our family we always had cats, dogs, rabbits, birds and fish. Dad even had a friend in the back yard. On summer evenings, we'd bring out the lawn chairs. Dad would lower his hand to the ground and the garter snake would come up. We never knew how he did it and he never told us how but that beautiful, little green snake would climb on Dad's hand and work itself through the fingers of his out-stretched hand. My school friends thought that was just the neatest thing in the world.

The day after Happy-life came home Dad went out and bought him a nice turtle bowl. Happy-life could swim in water or haul himself up the ramp to bask in the sun. If shade was required, the turtle could rest under a fake palm tree. He always had plenty of fresh lettuce,vegetable parings and fruit to eat. We even spent some money on turtle vitamins. Because we had a cat and a dog at the time, Happy-life had the absurd situation of having his turtle bowl in a bird-cage.

The cat and the dog showed no interest in Happy-life so he was allowed to walk around the kitchen counter. Under proper supervision, he was also allowed to walk outside and feast on the flower beds.

We'd had Happy-life for about two years when something awful happened. One evening, I went to his cage to give him his Dinner and the turtle was gone!

We searched any place he might be but Happy-life could not be found.

A turtle isn't quite like a cat or a dog but something had to be done. At the back of our back yard there were graves. Suzie the old dog and Puddy the old cat were buried there with stones to mark their passing. Dad made a stone for Happy-life and, with a few flowers plucked from the garden we held a memorial service for Happy-life.

Life went on. We had a big tube radio in the kitchen. Every morning before I went to school, I ate my breakfast listening to William B. Williams and the "Make-Believe-Ballroom". Mom. however, was having problems with the radio. For the last two weeks the reception hadn't been good. There were scratchy noises. Could Dad take a look at the radio after Dinner?

He did and, as soon as he took the back off the radio, out strode Happy-life with true turtle dignity. He was soon safely ensconced in his turtle bowl in his bird-cage with plenty of fresh water and nice stuff to eat.

We never knew how that little turtle managed to survive inside a radio filled with hot tubes. He would have had no food or water for at least a week. Still, Happy-life had a very happy life ahead of him. He lived in his turtle bowl, ate strawberries and was a real part of our household for five more years. When he finally died, Mom gave a pretty yellow satin jewel box for his coffin.

Happy-life was interred beside Puddy and Suzie in our back yard. He was buried in the plot hat had been reserved for him many years before. I don't think there's a greater story than that of the brave little turtle.

Share you own pet stories. I'm sure everyone will love to hear them.

[draggar]

How cute - it sounds like he was a soup turtle (illegal in the US). My wife used to have some as pets - they do make good pets.

Here's something my wife wrote for malinois rescue. I pulled his big buy out of the shelter hours before his time was up (if you get my picture). I was extremely hesitant from pulling him out of the shelter but he acted perfectly.

This was posted on the malinois rescue site bot for some reason, they never linked it even though the page is still there. I give you - the fostering of Jax.

(BTW - I also pulled a malinois / GSD mix from the shelter that day, too).

I got the call on a dog show weekend, so my faithful husband Ed, who got me into Rescue in the first place, went to Miami Animal Control to identify, evaluate and possibly pull the two “maybe-Malinois” I was contacted about. The phone call I got later that afternoon from Ed assured me that they were indeed Mals. He had just finished bathing them to rid them of the infamous “Miami Muck.” Good, I thought, they must’ve been super-sweet for my “cat-person” husband to have pulled them, and I was confident about our ability to place them.

That confidence evaporated the second I walked into the house later that day and saw the larger of the two Malinois. My heart stopped. Literally. First off, he was HUGE -- a visit to the vet later confirmed his wiry body was 90 lbs – Great Dane huge – with ears tattered from fly bites giving them a ragged, lacey edge. He had a distinct appearance of a disreputable junk-yard dog. His short “mole” coat was in no better shape. He apparently had a tremendous tick infestation and obviously spent a great deal of time exposed outdoors to the brutal South Florida weather conditions. He was also obviously an older dog. I sighed and shook my head. We would have him a long time, I thought. No one would want this dog.

With great dignity, the big boy made his way over to greet me following the rest of my “pack.” He deferred to them with great dog-manners. Definitely a point in his favor. He also completely ignored the Siamese cats who had also come to the door to greet me – they mistakenly think they are part of the pack, too. Another selling point. I was already desperately formulating marketing ploys for him to make up for his appearance.

First thing was giving him an appropriate name. First we thought of Kahlua. I have a thing about naming a dog after alcohol – smacks of frat parties to me (no offense to all the Golden Retrievers named after beer) – and immediately the Greek God Ajax came to mind – influenced by his size, no doubt. As I didn’t want people to think of household cleaning products, I shortened it to “Jax” and as I greeted him personally, I crooned it, looking deep into his wise eyes. Ahhh, no wonder my husband pulled him – the wisdom in his eyes was magnetic. I could see the goodness, the heart and the strength in him.

To my surprise -- and I don’t think it was due to my PR spin in his bio -- a family contacted me within that first week about Jax. Huh? Really? I wasted no time getting them home visited and approved ~ they checked out perfectly. My only concern was that this is a family. Children. Young ones. I had NEVER adopted a Malinois to a family before – honestly, I am always worried about a high energy, high prey drive dog with children. I don’t have any children of my own to test them with on a 24/7 basis, and the brief “meetings” with kids on the street don’t count.

Ed mentioned that a family had wanted to adopt him initially and the children loved him, he was just too big for their apartment. He was fine with the kids in our neighborhood, too, but that’s not the same as living with kids. Sigh. What to do? I ended up talking at great length with the mom – about the breed, about my concerns, that the dog and children ALWAYS had to be supervised, etc., etc… And crossed my fingers. To be honest, the decision tipped in their favor when the mom told me she had posted Jax’s Rescue Site picture as her computer wallpaper so she could look at him whenever she sat at her desk. My hearted melted that someone already loved the big guy – ratty ears and all.

So far, Jax had been through the mill since his liberation from Miami – a tick-borne pathogen had left him in enough pain that it made getting up to relieve himself difficult, so he was on antibiotics and buffered aspirin for 14 days, but still no complaints from the big guy. He was polite on a leash, calm, quiet and sweet. I knew the family was getting a super dog, despite his raffish looks.

What I didn’t know, was HOW super he really was… Jax went to his new home via a brother-in-law who was visiting the Fort Lauderdale area. Jax was reportedly perfect on the long car trip to Alabama according to the phone call I got from the family when he arrived there a day later. Whew. Well, a good start to, hopefully, a good ending.

Of course, the next day, my heart nearly stopped again when we got a panicked call from the mom demanding to know if he “had any rescue training.” What? She sounded upset and related an incredible series of events that cemented Jax’s place in their home… The first incident involved their oldest son, age 6, who was riding his bike in their driveway. Jax watched contentedly until the child headed towards the street – and then the big boy sprang into action – preventing the child, on his bike, from riding out onto the street. Jax blocked the bike with his big body – the child lost his balance and fell, bike and all, onto Jax. This happened several times, apparently – Jax was insistent that his child NOT wander away and into trouble.

The second incident, that prompted the panicked phone call, happened in the pool area. Both their children, the younger one a toddler, were in the pool with their father, enjoying a swim. Apparently Jax was convinced they were in danger of drowning – perhaps the childrens’ excited squeals were interpreted as fear by Jax -- whatever the reason, Jax immediately went about pulling them out. First the older child and then the toddler were grabbed by the arm and pulled from the pool by Jax. It initially terrified the parents to see this 90 lb dog grab their children by the arm, but neither was hurt – just surprised. His grip was gentle enough that all it left was a little bruise the day after.

Needless to say, I was shocked. According to the shelter, he was basically a “backyard dog” – neglected and ignored. This hero stuff was not trained – it was JAX. The mom and I discussed some of the things that she needed to do to channel his behavior – some obedience training classes – as she didn’t want to dampen his instinct, just control it. What if one of the kids wandered out to the pool without their flotation vests? She was comforted by the fact that Jax was so protective – she just didn’t want him pulling them out when they were OK in the pool.

I thought about the fact that if I had been the one who had gone down to Miami, rather than my husband, I don’t know that I would have pulled him. He was so disreputable-looking I figured his adoptability was low. There were so many other, more attractive and YOUNG Mals in Rescue, who would want a rough-looking old dog? I am glad fate took a hand in Jax’s life and that my generous-hearted husband went that day to identify him. I was also glad I took a chance and finally adopted a Mal to a family, and I am delighted that Jax is Jax and found a wonderful forever home where he can be a hero and be loved despite his tattered ears and combat-boot feet. It’s a good thing.

[jedimaster91]

Awww! I demand pics of Jax. I'm sending big hugs his way.

[HorrorFrogPrincess]

My kitty is the son of a stray.

I called her Boots, because she had white paws that looked like boots. G-ma thought she was pregnant, and since Boots liked me best, had me wear a big old sweater so she'd be comfortable having her kittens on it. The day of the birth, she ran into the house and right into the box with the sweater in it. I'd never seen an animal give birth before, so I was freaking out happy when the first kitten was born. We helped her clean them a little and kept them out of the way so she wouldn't land on anyone while having the rest of the little.

Grand total: 5 kittens.

The all-black one was dead in the morning, so we buried him in the garden. They were such adorable little buggers.

At one point, we tried to move Boots and her family into the garage so she could come and go as she pleased. She followed us (we had the kittens) crying all the way, and when we set the first kitten down, she picked him up and went RIGHT back to the spot she birthed them. We didn't try again.

After several weeks, she started being mean to the kittens. Wouldn't murse them and ate their food. We ended up taking her to a shelter. I'd been asking around trying to find homes for the kittens. And named them all.

Tipper was the oldest. An almost solid medium gray with white paws, a pink nose, and a white tip on his tail.

Star was mostly black with white paws, tip, and muzzle, with a little white star on his forhead.

Belle was grey with stripes, white paws and tip and muzzle with a little pink nose. The cutest of the bunch.

Tiger was the runt and the plainest. Grey-brown and striped all over with dull yellowish eyes and a brown nose.

Star went to my Aunt and is still raising hell down there. Tipper and Belle went to a family down the street and were renamed Thunder and Lightening (gag). No one wanted Tiger, so we kept him. He's mah leetle behbeh! My snuggy boo bear. He's an outdoor cat, so is pretty calm when inside and mostly naps. He hates being picked up and held or cuddled, but puts up with it. He has his claws in, but doesn't scratch or bite. We dont' even have a litter box because he never used it. He just goes outside to potty.

I think we got the pick of the litter. ^^

[LibraryLady]

Your Story, Frog HorrorPrincess, reminds me of a story from our family.

Dad was ill and had to go to the hospital for an operation. We knew he'd be fine but our Beagle, Murphy didn't understand what we did.

As soon as Dad went into the car on his way to the hospital, Murphy grabbed Dad's washcloth off the bathroom sink. Dad was in the Hospital for three weeks. Until he came home and Murphy could snuggle into Dad's lap, that dog would not let go of Dad's washcloth.

That's the sort of loyalty only a dog can give.

[HorrorFrogPrincess]

Tiger gets really weird when G-pa is in the hospital, like he was a couple of times last year. He sulks around the house and cries and then just stops doing things. G-pa's his favorite, since they nap together a lot on the couch. He was better once G-pa got home.

Dunno what he's going to do when they go on vacation.

[draggar]

Awww! I demand pics of Jax. I'm sending big hugs his way.

He's the big boy. The puppy is Sedonna (I pulled out of the shelter at the same time as Jax).

Also - we didn't name him, nor did we considered Kalhua - that was name his "owner" gave him and the shelter started to call him Max. We changed it to Jax because it fit him better.

[Parrothead]

Not mine, I have no association with the story, but it is very funny.

So, may I present: Dogs In Elk (no, that is not a typo.)

[Nurian]

This is how my I got my cat, Jinx:

A friend of mine wanted to go to the local Humane Society to look for a kitten. I went along for the ride. I didn't want a pet, but I like animals in general. We were in the kitten room and he was looking at some across the room. I look beside me and find a black puffball in one of the cages. I stick my finger in there and the cat (named Dale) woke up, yawned, and started playing with my finger. Then I make a HUGE mistake:

I ask the attendant if I can hold him.

She gets him out, hands him to me. And the furry little bastard starts purring. PURRING! He rubs his head against my chin and I feel his long tail against my shirt. I place him back in the cage. He lays down and sticks his paws through the holes of the cage and gives me a "You're leaving me?" look.

What could I do? How could I say no to this face?

[BookstoreEscapee]

Perhaps the turtle would have liked to live on Dagobah? (Yeah, I know it's meant for frogs but a little turtle would probably like it, too?)

Here's a cute quickie story from today's Daily Kitten. She's so cute I wish I could cuddle her.

And now my story:

My cats were found on my cousin's boat when they were about 2-3 days old. It was early May, 2007, and my cousin had had the boat moved from drydock into the water the day before. We don't know if something happened to the mother, or if she abandoned them, or if she was just off looking for something to eat when they moved the boat. He went out the next day to clean it, and was hosing down the deck when he heard a noise. He went looking for the sound and in one of the cabinets under the seats there were these four kittens. He brought them home to his wife, who took them to the vet, who showed her how to feed and care for them. The vet also warned her that the likelihood that they would all survive was low.

There were four of them, and they let the kids (about 8 and 10 at the time) name them. The girls were Mitsy and Sailor, little gray fuzzballs. They painted one of their nails pink and the other red so they could tell them apart. The boys were Claws and Stripes. Claws looked just like his sisters (he got green nail polish) and Stripes was a classic black/brown/white striped tabby, with a black stripe down the middle of his back and tail, and white socks. Stripes was a bit bigger than his siblings.

I first saw them when they were two weeks old. I stopped over after work to visit, and my mother happened to be there at the time. We stayed and played with the kitties for a while, and before we left my mom asked me which one I wanted. I chose Mitsy. My mom liked Stripes best. A few days later, at home, my mom said that I should get Mitsy and she would get Stripes, and my dad just rolled his eyes (he "hates" cats). I laughed along with her and headed out the door. A couple days after that, I came home to a message on the answering machine from my cousin's wife, all excited and going on about how happy she was that we were taking both, and brother and sister would get to stay together and etc. etc. I was just incredulous...I really thought my mom was just kidding. (The other cats went to a friend of my cousin's, and someone else he knew from work. I saw a picture of Claws a few months later, with his new brother, who looked just like Stripes.)

When they were seven weeks old, they came home. It was the day before Independence Day, so Mitsy became Stars, and now we have Stars and Stripes (yeah, I know...I didn't do it ). At first Stars looked like she was all gray, but as she got older her stripes started to come out. She has the same markings as her brother but in different shades of gray and cream (and when she got fixed, they shaved her belly and we saw that she has polka dots! ). They will be three years old this May. Oh, and my dad, the cat hater? Stars is a total Daddy's Girl and loves him to death. She goes to bed with him every night and stays until my mom comes to bed. He won't admit it, but he loves it.

And a little epilogue: Pablo used to sit with my mom in the recliner at night when she watched TV before bed. For the most part, the cats did not bother too much with him. Sometimes they would try to poke him or get his food, and he would bark at them, but mostly they pretty much ignored him (especially Stars). When Pablo died at the end of January, my mom was in the living room the next night, and my dad had gone to bed. Instead of going with my dad like usual, she stayed in the living room and sat with my mom until she went to bed.

[jedimaster91]

He's the big boy.

Awwwww. I'd take him home.

Anywho, hence is the tale of how Ziggy the Beagle came into our lives. Some friends of ours got a Beagle from the Humane Society. Shelby is a great dog, but T and R decided she needed a friend. Sometime later, Carmen came to their house, and later Omar. Carmen and Omar had puppies. ^_^ I first saw the pups when they were just starting to scooch around and explore. They were the cutest, softest little fuzzballs and I wanted to smuggle all six of them home with me.

Then the daddy dog, Omar, came down with Parvo and passed it to the whole litter as well as Shelby and Carmen. In the end, R and T were very fortunate as they only lost Omar and one of the pups.

A few weeks later, Mr Jedi and I were paying them a visit. I was commenting on how I hadn't seen the little darlings in sooooooo long and I was glad they were feeling better now. R gets this mischievious look about her and asks if I wanted to see the puppies. Well, of course I do. So for the entire length of the visit, I had a Beagle puppy in my lap. Who can resist puppy kisses?

As soon as we left and got into our car, I regressed to a 5-year-old. "I promise I'll take care of it; I won't let it anywhere other than the kitchen [hubster doesn't like inside dogs]; We've been talking about getting a dog. Pweeeeeeeeeese? *bats eyelashes*"

We ran to Meijer to get bowls, food, a leash and collar, and some chew toys and took her home that night.

[HorrorFrogPrincess]

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Beagles are one of my FAVORITE doggies! LOOKIT DA PUPPY! LOOK AT EET!

Is a nommy puppy. ^w^

Yes, I actually talk like this when I'm around da fuzzies.

[BookstoreEscapee]

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! Beagles are one of my FAVORITE doggies! LOOKIT DA PUPPY! LOOK AT EET!

Is a nommy puppy. ^w^

Yes, I actually talk like this when I'm around da fuzzies.

So do I. We spoke our own little dialect of Spanish(...ish...) with Pablo

[protege]

I still miss my white kitty Next week, Snow will have been gone a year. Still sucks that she was only 2, and died in my arms last April Fool's Day.

I'd adopted her after Kitty died the previous October. Other than being deaf, there was nothing wrong with her. Still, nobody wanted her because of it. Not sure why, because she was very playful and sweet.

The first night I had her, she hid downstairs in my workshop. She was still a bit freaked out--new place, lots of new smells, and lots of things to get into! It wasn't surprising that she slept down there the first few nights.

Fast forward to Christmas, and she started sleeping under the Christmas tree. She would actually move the presents around until she got comfy, then go to sleep. Until Christmas Day, that is..after she opened her gifts (yes really!), she carried her new toys onto the couch, and fell asleep

Not long after that, I came home from work very sick one afternoon. I walked into the house, locked the door, and literally collapsed into bed. Anyone want to guess who I found curled up with me? Guess the kitty was trying to comfort me.

But, the best had to be some of her habits. Snow loved to play in the bathtub. Not sure why, but she'd spend hours asleep in there. If not there, she'd sleep next to the recliner in the living room. But, that wasn't it...if the heat was on, she'd actually *close* the heating vents

[Buglady]

Here's something my wife wrote for malinois rescue.

Aren't Malinois shepherds? I can see them having a strong drive to keep their charges safe - and the smarts to recognize that "kid heading for the street = not safe."