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Going To The Dogs (and cats)

November 10, 2012

Moby and Murphy…typical.

Well, it’s been a month since I’ve written a blog post. That teaching thing I do has put blogging on the back burner – but having 10,000 pets is a big factor, too. Since my menagerie is one of the most prominent things in my life, I thought I’d feature them here. I wrote about my beloved Tucker in my first post, so it’s only fair to introduce the rest of my furry family.

When I say “10,000 pets,” I really mean nine. Two dogs, four cats, two horses and a pony. All with issues. I’ll save the barn animals for a later post and will start with the felines, or as my husband calls them, the Teeming Sea of Cats.

Moby:  5 year old long-haired white cat, one blue eye and one green eye. Also known as Whitey Friendly and the Lurker (always at the door when people enter). Mostly low maintenance except for predisposition to hairballs and needing lube in his food twice a week. Nothing seems to faze him. Provides mild entertainment by pulling open the sliding trash cabinet (nightly) and balancing on the edge of it to see what goodies are inside.

Murphy:  6 year old orange tiger cat. Moby’s same-sex partner. An absolute love; purrs more often than not. Will meow at door for me to take him outside; behaves better than a dog on a leash. Likes to watch TV. Was the first cat to discover the joy of whipped cream. Had a brief, unexplained phobia to seeing whipped cream on the floor after it was sprayed out of the can. That’s all better now.

Dasher, the lovin’ boy.

Dasher:  13 year old gray tiger cat. Probably the most normal pet we own. Loves to hunt and prowl, but a big fan of the lap. Also known as the Third Dog since he likes to walk with us when we take our two dogs down the road.

Moxie being Moxie.

Moxie:  5 year old calico. Fat. Not her fault. Highly sensitive; at times borderline psycho. Developed a deep-seated fear of dog Riley after a visiting yellow dog came in our house and scared her. That’s all better now. Loves getting in empty grocery bags after we come back from store. Needy…and kneady. Flips out–and I mean FLLIIPPSS OUTTTT–going to vet. Must be sedated. And so must we, after trying to get her in the carrier.

The Canines

Joey: 6 year old Chihuahua/Spaniel/poodle/your-guess-is-as-good-as-mine mix. A rescue from Arkansas where he was a stray. Also known as Hobo Joe, Couch Dog, The Scrounge, and Four Thousand Dollar Dog (ruptured disc). Likes to make nests for himself out of blankets and must sleep under the covers with his claws in my back. For some reason is scared of the water bowl – will cautiously creep up on it and take tentative, fearful licks. Has conquered this enough to drink, which is good since water is kind of important. Likes to go into the shower stall and lick any remaining water (this may or may not be related to water dish phobia). Distracts self from hunger by playing with ball while food is being prepared. Freakishly obsessed with carrots.

Joey, probably begging for a carrot.

And then there’s Riley:

Riley…appearing calm, but we know better.

7 year old yellow Lab mix. Also known as Truck Dog, Farm Dog, or simply, Misery. As a puppy, would randomly get on her back, writhing and making strange growling noises, prompting us to think that something was wrong with her. This has since been confirmed. Given the title “The Fun Police” by my husband since she interferes when he plays with our other dog. She is All About The Ball. Very oral; used to carry rocks and tennis balls in her mouth which subsequently wore her teeth down to nubs. Rocks and tennis balls replaced with expensive orange Chuckit balls which she loses, despite them meaning the world to her. Re-lent-less with requests for you to throw Chuckit. Once ball is thrown, will kill herself scrabbling across the floor to get it. Chewing on it for extended periods causes her eyes to glaze over. Fond of dropping it in things, like pails, horse manure, bag of birdseed in the garage, bin of recyclables, the bulldozer of the guy who delivered us gravel. Believes everything is the cats’ fault and will take any excuse to chase them: husband exclaiming about a bad referee call, me closing my laptop and standing up, someone sneezing. Terrified of vacuum cleaner. Lives to “help” me with horses, which involves dropping her ball at my feet/in the wheelbarrow/under a horse, ignoring my repeated, heated commands of “Riley! GIT!” Playing the part of horseback riding cheerleader by racing around the riding ring as my horse and I attempt not to run her over (except when we are trying to).

Bottom line: Drives my husband and me absolutely nuts, and when I think I can’t take it any more, all I need to do is think of how much I will miss that when she’s gone.     We love our pets despite their idiosyncrasies. Or maybe it’s because of them. How is your pet unique or quirky? Please share…misery loves company :).

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From → cats, dogs

2 Comments
  1. Would you like to write an article about being an empty nester for the magazine? If so contact me at editor@labelleviemagazine.com

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