| Biographical Non-Fiction posted December 10, 2013 | Chapters: |
...44 45 -46- 47... 
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pets from childhood to beyond
A chapter in the book The Never Starting Story
Pets, Part One
by michaelcahill
| Background A collection of essays, poetry and things that don't fit anywhere else. Autobiographical and includes commentary on world events and personal matters. |
"Throw the ball Buckshot! Old 'Ort el git it."
Sounds like life on some Midwestern Ma and Pa Kittle farm. Well, Kittle is correct. That would be "Uncle" Earl Kittle encouraging me, "Buckshot", to toss the ball to "Old 'Ort, Shorty, the dog. The location being 210 North Curtis Avenue, Alhambra, California. It would be in the mid-fifties and I would be four or five years old.
The first pet I recall in my life, as being mine, is Shorty. He had a medium rotund build, with a chopped off little tail. He presented himself in a shade of orange-brown that I have never run across anywhere else on earth even in my imagination.
He loved me. That is the term my adult mind assigns now. The child back then only knew that this friendly creature wanted to play with him for as long as he wanted to play. Shorty wanted to do whatever little Mikey wanted to do. Shorty enjoyed anything Mikey enjoyed and he enjoyed it with equal relish.
When I came home he greeted me as though I had been gone for the longest time. When I left he mourned as though he may never see me again. I enjoyed his company more than anyone else's. My family consisted of alcoholics and the mentally ill both diagnosed and un-diagnosed.
Shorty proved to be the most stable creature in my life at the time.
I have an odd theory about animal lovers. I think that those raised with animals in their lives are heavily influenced by the behavior of those animals. I think that toddlers learn a sense of loyalty and faith and even honesty from their interactions with their pets. Certainly the instinct to protect is both born into us and learned.
There are brave humans and ones that are not so brave. I have a protective nature even when strangers are involved. No one else in my family is like that. All of my dogs growing up were. Shorty would challenge Godzilla to protect anyone being threatened. Imagine that. A short little pup like that willing to take on anyone or anything to protect the innocent. That is rather inspiring if you ask me. Surely that would influence a young impressionable mind.
I rescued many an animal and brought them home. I knew the answer would be no if I were to ask to keep any of them. I had to devise clever deceptions to befuddle my unsuspecting family. "Pud" walked down the middle of Curtis Avenue as though he owned it. He had a garish checkerboard paintjob consisting of a rainbow of colors.
His name glowed in bright red across his back. A more handsome sharply dressed box turtle could not be found anywhere to my knowledge. I could see that he, in spite of his nonchalant nature, needed a home. I picked him up intending to provide just that very thing for him.
I stashed him in the bushes and went inside.
"Joann? Can I have Pud?"
"What? What are you talking about? What is Pud?"
"Pud. Pud is Pud. I need to have Pud. All good young men have Pud. Can I have Pud?"
"I don't even know what Pud is. How can is answer that?"
"You don't have to know. You just need to know that I need it. Just say that I can have it and I will stop bugging you about it. It's no big deal. Can I have Pud? Just say yes."
"Fine. Yes. Have Pud. Stop bothering me, I'm watching my stories."
That is how I acquired Pud, my pet turtle. Mike and Jim would follow. Yes, I named one after myself. I think it is pretty strange too. Box turtles don't do much. They bounce their heads up and down when they fight. But, the fights never go beyond that. I often try to emulate them when watching television. It is difficult to eat that much lettuce though. So, I substitute popcorn.
I brought Sam a mongrel dog home and conned them into keeping him in much the same way. They decided to get rid of him though. It is funny how adults underestimate the intellectual capacity of youngsters.
I had reached the age of eight and spoke English while they plotted how to get rid of Sam. They actually thought I didn't know what was going on. I could see their sideways glances and read their pathetically coded dialogue quite easily. I realized I could do nothing about it. I did call them on it though.
I arrived home from school and asked where Sam was.
"He ran away this morning. He was a stray. He probably won't be back."
"Oh? I know that you drove him to another city and dropped him off. You shouldn't think that you are smarter than I am. You are not. What are you going to do if he finds his way back, shoot him?"
With that, I walked away and it never came up again.
My first wife had very little affection for anything including animals. We had no pets much to my dismay.
Donna is worse than I am when it comes to animals. So, the pet brigade began in earnest when we got married. Our policy towards animals is one of prevention to avoid acquisition. We know better than to visit a shelter.
Visiting a shelter and coming out empty handed would not be possible for us. So, rule number one, we don't go to a shelter unless it is specifically to find a pet.
Rule two, no reading pet ads in papers, that is to avoid bringing them all home.
Rule three, blame it on the landlord, we can't bring anymore pets home because the landlord will not allow it. I could talk him into it, but I have just enough of a grasp on reality not to.
Our first dog together actually belonged to Donna's grandma Peachy. Peachy had a dog named Sheba, an Australian shepherd. I have mentioned Peachy previously as Donna's grandma that we rescued from a rest home and brought to live with us.
Sheba we rescued from her frosty loveless son to be with her beloved owner. They both were in advanced years and in poor health. Peachy passed first leaving us with a rather senile Sheba. Donna and I lived in a house on a hill and the back yard was steep and about an acre.
Sheba would awaken me every morning at two A.M. so she could pee. She would saunter out and do her business. I would call her and instead of coming back she would wander off down the hill. I would have to go get her in bare feet on the icy ground. Poor old confused thing. The dog wasn't much better!
Much more to come in part two.
Sounds like life on some Midwestern Ma and Pa Kittle farm. Well, Kittle is correct. That would be "Uncle" Earl Kittle encouraging me, "Buckshot", to toss the ball to "Old 'Ort, Shorty, the dog. The location being 210 North Curtis Avenue, Alhambra, California. It would be in the mid-fifties and I would be four or five years old.
The first pet I recall in my life, as being mine, is Shorty. He had a medium rotund build, with a chopped off little tail. He presented himself in a shade of orange-brown that I have never run across anywhere else on earth even in my imagination.
He loved me. That is the term my adult mind assigns now. The child back then only knew that this friendly creature wanted to play with him for as long as he wanted to play. Shorty wanted to do whatever little Mikey wanted to do. Shorty enjoyed anything Mikey enjoyed and he enjoyed it with equal relish.
When I came home he greeted me as though I had been gone for the longest time. When I left he mourned as though he may never see me again. I enjoyed his company more than anyone else's. My family consisted of alcoholics and the mentally ill both diagnosed and un-diagnosed.
Shorty proved to be the most stable creature in my life at the time.
I have an odd theory about animal lovers. I think that those raised with animals in their lives are heavily influenced by the behavior of those animals. I think that toddlers learn a sense of loyalty and faith and even honesty from their interactions with their pets. Certainly the instinct to protect is both born into us and learned.
There are brave humans and ones that are not so brave. I have a protective nature even when strangers are involved. No one else in my family is like that. All of my dogs growing up were. Shorty would challenge Godzilla to protect anyone being threatened. Imagine that. A short little pup like that willing to take on anyone or anything to protect the innocent. That is rather inspiring if you ask me. Surely that would influence a young impressionable mind.
I rescued many an animal and brought them home. I knew the answer would be no if I were to ask to keep any of them. I had to devise clever deceptions to befuddle my unsuspecting family. "Pud" walked down the middle of Curtis Avenue as though he owned it. He had a garish checkerboard paintjob consisting of a rainbow of colors.
His name glowed in bright red across his back. A more handsome sharply dressed box turtle could not be found anywhere to my knowledge. I could see that he, in spite of his nonchalant nature, needed a home. I picked him up intending to provide just that very thing for him.
I stashed him in the bushes and went inside.
"Joann? Can I have Pud?"
"What? What are you talking about? What is Pud?"
"Pud. Pud is Pud. I need to have Pud. All good young men have Pud. Can I have Pud?"
"I don't even know what Pud is. How can is answer that?"
"You don't have to know. You just need to know that I need it. Just say that I can have it and I will stop bugging you about it. It's no big deal. Can I have Pud? Just say yes."
"Fine. Yes. Have Pud. Stop bothering me, I'm watching my stories."
That is how I acquired Pud, my pet turtle. Mike and Jim would follow. Yes, I named one after myself. I think it is pretty strange too. Box turtles don't do much. They bounce their heads up and down when they fight. But, the fights never go beyond that. I often try to emulate them when watching television. It is difficult to eat that much lettuce though. So, I substitute popcorn.
I brought Sam a mongrel dog home and conned them into keeping him in much the same way. They decided to get rid of him though. It is funny how adults underestimate the intellectual capacity of youngsters.
I had reached the age of eight and spoke English while they plotted how to get rid of Sam. They actually thought I didn't know what was going on. I could see their sideways glances and read their pathetically coded dialogue quite easily. I realized I could do nothing about it. I did call them on it though.
I arrived home from school and asked where Sam was.
"He ran away this morning. He was a stray. He probably won't be back."
"Oh? I know that you drove him to another city and dropped him off. You shouldn't think that you are smarter than I am. You are not. What are you going to do if he finds his way back, shoot him?"
With that, I walked away and it never came up again.
My first wife had very little affection for anything including animals. We had no pets much to my dismay.
Donna is worse than I am when it comes to animals. So, the pet brigade began in earnest when we got married. Our policy towards animals is one of prevention to avoid acquisition. We know better than to visit a shelter.
Visiting a shelter and coming out empty handed would not be possible for us. So, rule number one, we don't go to a shelter unless it is specifically to find a pet.
Rule two, no reading pet ads in papers, that is to avoid bringing them all home.
Rule three, blame it on the landlord, we can't bring anymore pets home because the landlord will not allow it. I could talk him into it, but I have just enough of a grasp on reality not to.
Our first dog together actually belonged to Donna's grandma Peachy. Peachy had a dog named Sheba, an Australian shepherd. I have mentioned Peachy previously as Donna's grandma that we rescued from a rest home and brought to live with us.
Sheba we rescued from her frosty loveless son to be with her beloved owner. They both were in advanced years and in poor health. Peachy passed first leaving us with a rather senile Sheba. Donna and I lived in a house on a hill and the back yard was steep and about an acre.
Sheba would awaken me every morning at two A.M. so she could pee. She would saunter out and do her business. I would call her and instead of coming back she would wander off down the hill. I would have to go get her in bare feet on the icy ground. Poor old confused thing. The dog wasn't much better!
Much more to come in part two.
 Recognized |
Seeking topics and ideas as always. Unformated piece that jumps around. This chapter is the first on pets beginning when i was a toddler and will go up until the current time. I may get distracted if someone has an idea for a tangent. hahaha. Open to including anything, so feel free to suggest.
Pays
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