For a while now, I’ve been thinking of writing about my complicated relationship with animals. Pets, really. I’ve thought long and hard about it for a couple of reasons:
- I know, with absolute certainty, that I am going to offend someone. I don’t like to offend people, but it’s going to happen if I write a post about animals.
- Those who aren’t offended are still probably going to feel sorry for me, sorry for the animals in my life, and likely more than a little upset with my upbringing. I need you to know it’s ok to feel sorry for me (although I don’t need it – your pity). I need you to know that it was a different time – I’ll explain more about that in a minute. And my upbringing was just fine, thank you very much, but I suppose you’re entitled to an opinion. Just know that your opinion will be respected, but not necessarily agreed with or liked.
I’m not kidding when I say that before I talk about animals with people that I ask the same three questions:
- Are you on a first name basis with your vet?
- Does your vet have your credit card number on file?
- Do you ever refer to your pets as your fur-babies?
If you can answer yes to any of those questions, we just have to agree not to talk about animals, because I will offend you.
I’m also not kidding when I say that nearly all my childhood pet stories end with a bang. We liked animals just fine, but if they became destructive like the dog who chewed up a brand new roll of linoleum destined for Mom’s kitchen or when given a second chance kept eating the fertilizer stakes around the rosebushes and digging up said bushes, well the dog didn’t last much longer. Or there was the little dog who, in partnership with a visiting dog, killed and mauled a dozen turkey chicks and over 50 chicks which would have eventually made 50 Sunday dinners. Well, those two didn’t last long either.
We learned not to get too attached to our pets because we never knew how long we would have them. Dogs were there to protect the farm, not destroy it. I didn’t know anyone who took their dog or cat to the vet. Who had money for the vet?
I still don’t really understand people who treat their pets like children and refer to them as such. I think pets are fine things and in my adult life, have enjoyed having several pets. And before you ask, they all lived to old age and I cried buckets when we had to have our beautiful chocolate lab, Molly, euthanized. It broke my heart in a way I had never experienced. She was a gem.
See? It’s complicated.
I’m going to share a poem that I wrote a few years ago. I don’t remember the exact occasion, but it was written for my family. Right or wrong, humour is how we deal with a lot of things in my family and this is no exception. So while it might seem like I’m making light of something serious, well…it’s because I am.
The Seduction of Samuel Goldseal Scriba
Sammy grew up on the farm by the creek,
Cared for by Lizzy and Ot,
Such a tiny, wee lad with spirit to spare
Fun and laughter were what Sammy brought.Sammy was tiny, the runt of the litter,
But his size never slowed Sammy down.
The danger of the farm and wild country living
Were nothing compared to what came from town.One sunny spring day as Sammy sat on the steps,
A pick-up truck drove up to the home.
Ot and Lizzy’s son Larry had come for a visit,
But Sammy saw he had not come alone.As Larry came ‘round to the passenger side
Sammy straightened and stood by the door,
And what slowly stepped down from Larry’s old truck,
Made Sammy’s small jaw hit the floor.A lady stood before Sammy, a beautiful one,
A quality dame of fine breeding,
Sammy picked up his jaw and walked up to the truck,
For this gal was most surely worth meeting.A long-leggy lass with chocolate brown eyes,
She looked at Sammy, a small smile on her lips,
As she walked to the house Sammy’s jaw dropped again,
While he ogled her curved, shapely hips.The lady, Sammy learned, was called simply Duchess,
She’d be staying at the farm for a while,
Sammy stepped back, catching his breath,
Wond’ring how she’d fit in with her big city style.But to Sammy’s surprise, Duchess fit in just fine,
She was kind, her behaviour first rate.
Sammy felt his infatuation deepen and grow,
Hoping at last he had found his life’s mate.Duchess took Sammy on romantic long walks,
It was clear that young Sammy was smitten.
For when it came time to stand up and be strong,
Sammy caved and no longer would listen.It was small things at first the family noticed,
Duchess and Sammy had started to roam,
They were oft late for dinner, rarely heeded a call,
Sammy’s young heart had found a new home.Ot and Lizzy’s concern had started to grow,
They’d have intervened sooner had they known,
The depths of the Duchess’s treacherous plans,
Her presence now had a sinister tone.Sammy and Duchess lounged on the lawn,
Relaxing one bright summer day.
Duchess looked over, a coy look on her face
And said, “Sammy, I’m in a bad way.”Sammy bolted upright asking “What do you need?“
“I’ve a craving,” she said, “for a meal.
Something tasty and tender, a succulent treat.”
She nuzzled his cheek using all her appeal.“Oh Sammy,” she breathed, “have you ever had chicken
That melts in your mouth just like butter?
The meat practically falls off the bones when it’s young.”
Duchess licked her lips and gave a small shudder.When Sammy looked up at her seductive brown eyes
His heart gave a flip and he knew then
That whatever she wanted he would get it for her,
If it meant stealing Lizzy’s prize hen.So Sammy said, “Love, if it’s chicken you crave,
I know just where to get it and soon.”
And together they walked out in back of Ot’s shop,
It was just time for lunch, it was noon.Back at the farmhouse, Lizzy was cooking
It was lunch for the family too.
When she looked out the window her jaw hit the floor,
It just couldn’t, just couldn’t, be true.She ran to the porch and looked out the door,
Felt her temperature rise on the spot.
Sammy ran by with a chick in his mouth!
He was moving at a fairly good trot.Lizzy ran for her gun, Sammy ran for the coop
‘Cause he’d seen Lizzy’s shape in the door,
He knew there’d be trouble, here justice was swift,
Sammy knew what his fate had in store.As Sammy came round the corner her cried,
“Duchess quick! Lizzy’s hot on my tail!
It’s over! We’re caught, the end is in sight!”
Duchess smirked, “They’ll just put us in jail.”“Oh no, that won’t happen,” Sammy quietly said,
“On this farm there is just one way out.
Lizzy’s judge here and jury, executioner too!”
Then behind him he heard a loud shout.Lizzy stood there with her gun in her hands,
She gaped at the chicken house gore,
“This is it,” Lizzy growled, “Are there any last words?”
Duchess sneered from her place by the door.Back in the house, the kids heard two shots,
They knew that the trial was over.
The verdict was in and before much time had passed,
Sammy and Duchess would be pushing up clover.This is the end of our sad little drama,
The seduction of Sammy, our friend,
Running afoul of the Scriba farm’s laws
He suffered a most violent end.
I like the way you think — must have something to do with the gene pool
Haha, thanks! Can’t deny I have pretty good genes on both sides 🙂
Interesting to say the least! I’m afraid we are some of those people who have 3 inside dogs who are spoiled rotten. I have had pets since I was a little girl and mine have either died of old age, had to be put to sleep, or ran off. I can understand on a farm your story might be necessary. We have had cats,kittens ,dogs and puppies and now 2 Beta fish and my vets names are Jeff and Josh. I guess I fall into the catagory of being an animal person.
My husband had a somewhat different experience with animals growing up and he grew up on a farm too. Our last two dogs were inside dogs (even the big lab) and having them with us all the time mellowed my feelings toward pets. Pet people are usually wonderfully compassionate (which I think you are Joan). I think our friendship will survive this small difference in opinion 🙂
I have to say, I grew up in a similar style, animals were mostly outside, I lived in town and our dogs were allowed free to wander the town but they always came home before the dog catcher could find them! lol We had one dog that Dad found out in the bush (he worked for Hydro), starving. We called him Laddie. He was great with us young kids, but one day the paper boy was riding his bike down the street, and Laddie, for whatever reason, took a nip at his leg as he rode by. Dad got out the shotgun and we all knew what that meant. Weeping and crying did no good, a dog that bites is destined for the grave. Period. No second chances.
The paper boy found out about Laddie’s demise and was very upset, but Dad told him that people come first. Period. I’ve always liked having a pet, but I also have to be practical and sensible. Only one has ever had to be euthanized, at 14 my cat Whiskers, and that because she was too ornery to be adopted when we left Dawson Creek. Nobody would take her, and we couldn’t take her to Kelowna because we had no formal home there. I felt like a murderer, and still grieve that cat even though I know it was ‘necessary’ to do this.
The one cat we had that I thought I was going to have to get rid of for no other reason than his excessively cat-like ways (he was by nature a barn cat who had the misfortune to live indoors), I managed to re-home. It wasn’t easy to find someone who wanted him, but I think the family that took him was glad to have him and could give him a big barn to live in, something I couldn’t do.