Heart & Soul
LIFE LESSONS FROM FURRY COMPANIONS
By Nancy Smith, JD, Editor
Like
so many baby boomers who survived adolescence in the sixties, I crashed
and burned in the eighties. I
pledged from the Phoenix of spiritual desperation that I would, from that
point on, live a more meaningful life than had my World War II veteran
parents, who partied their way into premature demise.
My parents never relinquished the notion that life was simply an
extension of the USO party where they met.
From my comical birth announcement, there had been no secret that I
myself had been the product of an out-of-control New Years Eve bash.
Loved, yes, but certainly not planned.
So
perhaps it should not be surprising that the teachers in my reconstructed
adult life as often as not have had four—or three—legs.
For life’s lessons, my pets are consistent and patient examples.
Trisha
is mature and tolerant.
At 13
years old, this 45-pound Sheltie-Springer mix best shows her stuff when
accepting a new member of the family.
Without resentment, Trisha has shown repeatedly that she loves
babies, regardless of species. When
she was a seemingly out-of-control one-year-old, Trisha was introduced to
her first youngster, a 10-week-old purebred Sheltie named Betty.
Betty’s job was to divert Trisha from stunts such as digging
holes in the yard where the excess dirt kicked through her back legs ended
up in the deep end of the pool.
For
the most part, Betty has done her job—acting the “Ethel” to
Trisha’s “Lucy.” As the years have moved on, Trisha’s antics have slowed
somewhat. But her spirit has
continually been boosted by the various babies brought into the household.
The
latest—a litter of four kittens rescued from a feral mother—have
lightened Trisha’s step and triggered her intense interest in making
sure they are well bathed. At
an age when some dogs her size are showing their years, Trisha is as
gentle and playful with the kittens as she has been over the years with
three bunnies, four kittens (now cats), and three other dogs.
And that’s not to mention various furry visitors over the
years—some for a night or a fortnight in the infirmary—from potbellied
pigs to pygmy goats.
Trisha
relishes her post as the “first born,” but accepts all who need a
home, regardless of species. She
shows sincere interest in all and intolerance of none.
For her example, I am grateful.
Baby
Girl is loyal, concerned and protective.
This year-old Spaniel-mix has a hint of Corgi—the full size-dog with half-size legs. The latest addition to the clan, Baby Girl was taken from the East Valley shelter to be placed with an elderly woman in need of company; hence the name that hospitals give babies who do not yet have a name: “Baby Girl.”
With a head too big for her body, Baby Girl has the bark of a full-sized dog rather than one who looks like she was cut off at the knees. And she uses it to protect the home that saved her from certain shelter death. She is usually at my ankle—whether at the computer, the kitchen sink or the bathroom. Baby Girl is ever diligent, watching after her humans and the household in repayment for saving her life. For her example, I am grateful.
ER is
independent, outgoing and confident.
This all-gray cat knows to his core he is handsome, his steel color matched by his bold demeanor. He prides himself in claiming the grounds of a nearby illegal off-leash dog park when dog walkers are at work or asleep. He would rather take a night-time stroll by your side, imitating the dogs he monitors from afar, than accept being carried like a mere kitten. He seems to know that his survival from the animal “Emergency Room” where he was dumped as a kitten has given him a destiny. Of course, he shares that destiny with no one. Affection is fine—on his terms and in his own time. ER makes friends easily, but only lets the pure of heart get a glimpse of his own. For his example, I am grateful.
Lucky is youthful, playful but
nonetheless consistent.
Named by an elderly woman who reneged on giving him a home, this yearling black cat has indeed been lucky. He survived being dumped on our doorstep while still unweaned, originally dubbed the “alien” because the shape of his eyes on his face more resembled the X-file antagonists than a tiny kitten. Reared among dogs, Lucky’s job is to wrestle daily with the two dogs of his age. He is skeptical of other cats, always somewhat cautious that species similarity alone may not be a valid basis for friendship. For his example, I am grateful.
Tripod accepts life on life’s terms.
Deriving her name because she has
three legs, Tripod is a maturing stripped cat who is entirely unaware of
her handicap. She accepts
that she must be lifted daily (many times) to her food perch because she
shares life with dogs who simply cannot respect her food boundaries.
For this, Tripod judges no one.
Indeed, she embraces the world of household visitors, managing to
train each who cross the threshold how to lift her to the food perch.
A trainable species, humans catch on quickly to her instructions.
She knowingly and willingly accepts help. For her example, I am grateful.
And then there are the negative
examples.
Betty loves with a depth that elevates
jealously to a potentially deadly end.
Betty certainly has affection for her
people, but the love of her life is kibble—or anything edible.
This 12-year-old Sheltie is willing to sacrifice her health and her
considerable beauty for her true love: food.
For the mere licking of the floor where a dropped piece of chicken
landed for less than two seconds, she has challenged younger, stronger and
more vital dogs. Betty is an otherwise attractive and functional family
member, who would accept Faust’s trade if it meant she could be alone in
a room with a 40-pound bag of Science Diet.
For her example, I am grateful.
She reminds me on a daily basis that I do not have to life like
that.
Maria is arrogant and manipulative.
A Great Dane trapped in a
Chihuahua’s body, Maria is a survivor.
She maneuvered her way into our home after the INS scared her
former owner back to her Venezuelan home.
To survive, this Mexican dog was even willing to be called “Fifi.”
She accepted her new name without protest, just one example of how
she will compromise anything to get her way.
Maria needs her beauty sleep and will sneak under the covers
before, during or after making the bed.
She chastises the other dogs for a desire to play before her rest
is complete. But when she
decides to play anyone is subject to awakening at her whim.
Maria wants what she wants when she wants it.
For her example, I am grateful.
She reminds me on a daily basis that I do not have to life like
that.
