I wake each day determined to remain calm. Breast cancer and stress factors make you think twice. Breast cancer stress is enough on its own. Let alone all the fun events that we can go through in a day. Ask the damn dog. Lovely Midwest morning here on Whip-poor-will Ridge. …
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life with pets
This hawk is so forward. It just sits over the birdfeeding table in the winter skeleton of the highbush cranberry tree and waits until an unsuspecting wild bird comes to feed….. But I have to ask? Isn’t there an alarm watchguard? Besides me?…. What bird would come? Really. Don’t they tell one another there is a hawk in the tree. Isn’t there a warrior watch like on Tinkerbell? Besides me? Because that is what I feel like, running out there and yelling, throwing old carrots left for the deer, waving towels at the hawk. Me, warning the birds…. Does the bird that is nabbed and ‘et’ each day actually have a falling out with the other birds, therefore they will not tell him? … So it’s just me then, I’m the guard….
To my defense, once upon a time I always scooped them up to take them outside and make a nice plot of leaves and stones for them to live under far from the house, just like I do for the mice. To my defense, I used to take my hanging lamps apart to get the fake ladybugs out before they fried their little feet on the bulbs. And when they fry they stink too. And now here she is on the windowsill, still staring at me, dead or dying. While I am trying to work. The story that gives my hubby the warm fuzzies. Not really.
One day Sagie went down the rabbit hole. I dove onto the floor, grabbing him by the scruff and pulling. I couldn’t let go or he would die. I pulled and stretched and pulled. It was like giving birth. Until out of a tiny hole popped a twelveteen-pound skunk.
Forgive me if I am a bit cranky, but that is what the exotics pets said to me. The elder, smart-arsed cat said I am essentially a turnip. Rule number one with exotic pets, very old dogs and grandfather-like cats is to never break routine no matter how cold you are or unglamorous you look…. Do I hear the cat upchucking? Are the skunks in his food already? Oh man, lots of windows. Snowplow guy can see me. I cover my abundant bikini-clad arse with the not-large-enough blue dog bowl. Wade through skunks to get in the door. Shuffle through the kitchen with a pant leg dragging. No puke. No no, wait for it…