Archive for the 'Pet Tales' Category

Freecycle

It all started out innocently enough. I had mentioned to one of my tenants that I was looking for a new home for one of those parakeets that I inherited last summer when some evicted tenants abandoned them (the other parakeet died some time ago). I also asked her to post my terrorist lovebird. While I love all of the birds, I wouldn’t be at all opposed to finding housebound old lady-types who need some companionship. Our cockatiel, the only bird we actually acquired through choice, is staying. Anyways, my tenant offered to post them on the local Freecycle list that she is on and that sounded like a fine idea to me. Since you’re reading this, obviously I was wrong.

The first woman contacted me about the lovebird. She was fine to deal with and already has a hard-to-manage parrot with terroristic tendencies. Our little lovebird will fit right in, the lady sounded nice and knowledgeable about birds, so we made arrangements for her to pick it up tomorrow. No problem.

The next phone call was from a woman named Anne, who said that she knew the first woman and was confused because she (Anne) had wanted both birds. I told her twice that the lovebird was spoken for, but she still said she was confused. She was sort of trying to talk me around in circles now that I think about it…maybe hoping that I’d trip up and say she could have both birds. After I made it clear that only the parakeet was available, she then proceeded to tell me her life story for the next 15 minutes. Whatever. I deal with prospective tenants like this all the time. I humor them for a few minutes, give them a little sympathy and then get back to business. Anyways, this Anne person began to tell me about some troubles she was having on the Freecycle list because she was gathering household items for families who have been burned out by a rash of apartment building fires a few towns over from here and people were under the (mistaken) impression that she was gathering all these things from the list and hoarding them for herself.

At this point, we’re 15 minutes on the phone and I’m getting antsy and annoyed. I really couldn’t care less about behind-the-scenes drama between old women on Freecycle. I start moving the conversation towards making arrangements for her to come get the bird. She lives quite a distance from here and asked if it would be okay if her friend picks up the bird. I say ‘fine’ and didn’t really think twice about it. I tell her to have her friend call me so I can give her directions and agree on a time.

A few hours later, the friend - Linda - calls me. Linda is pissed about the inconvenience of having to pick up the bird and bring it to Anne. My first reaction was to tell her not to bother if it was so much trouble, but given that I was taught to respect my elders, I tried to empathize and humor her. I spent FORTY-FIVE minutes on the phone with this woman, listening to her whine and complain about the politics of Freecycle and how inconsiderate and rude people are…blah blah blah. About 15 minutes into the phone call, I realize something is a bit ‘fishy’. Anne had given me the impression that Linda would be picking up the bird and bringing it right to her. Linda, however, informed me that the bird would be staying with her for a week or so until she could drive down to Anne’s house.

Yeah, I don’t rightly friggin think so. This is a parakeet we’re talking about here and anyone who knows birds, knows that they don’t deal with change very well. I’m not going to have this bird uprooted from my house, then uprooted from Linda’s house and brought to another house. It’s too much change and it’s too damn cold still to be moving a tiny bird around like that. I put the kibosh on the whole thing and told Linda that I would keep the bird until it could go directly to Anne’s house. Linda saw that she had fucked up ‘the plan’ apparently and tried to backpedal and convince me that she wasn’t the grouchy old woman that she had spent the past few minutes pretending to be and that Anne would hate her if she thought that Linda screwed this exchange up. Whatever, lady. Being concerned over her well-being wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. I don’t want this poor bird traumatized any more than it already has been in it’s life. I finally extricated myself from the phone call with Linda by promising that I would make sure that Anne knew it was MY fault she couldn’t take the bird right away.

I prepared myself for having to spend another half-hour on the phone with Anne the fruitcake. I was surprised when she pleasantly accepted the idea that I would hang onto the bird until it could go directly to her house. I was off the phone in under 60 seconds and I considered myself lucky and thought the whole thing was over with.

It, of course, was only just beginning.

Apparently I was the subject of a scathing email from Anne to a bunch of other list members, one of whom forwarded the email to my tenant. I had joined the Freecycle list yesterday afternoon during all this, thinking it might be a good way to get rid of the stuff that tenants leave behind when they move (I’ve got a CELLAR full of shit that you wouldn’t believe). After I heard about this nasty email, I took a cruise through the archives of the group and noticed that this Anne woman seems to claim everything that people list, saying it’s for these fire victims. My tenant then showed me previous off-list emails about Anne and I’m quite sure now that she is some kind of hoarder. Not just animals, but EVERYTHING. And if she isn’t first in line to get an item, she claims ‘confusion’ over the situation and tries to pressure people into giving stuff to her instead, under the guise of it being for charity. That wasn’t the case with the bird, but it still didn’t sit right with me. If this were a table or something I was giving away, I’d blow the whole thing off as ‘old ladies looking for something to bitch about’ and not be so annoyed with it. But this is a living, breathing animal that comes with responsibility and it shouldn’t be treated as an object to be ‘won’ or possessed.

I broke the list rules and sent my own scathing email to the entire list last night and unsubscribed from the whole thing. I hope it will at least raise some awareness about how careful you have to be on that list when giving away animals. You never know what kind of whackos you’re dealing with.

It’s like eBay for poor people and a soap opera, all rolled into one, and I just don’t have the patience for that bullshit.

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Alert: Pet Food Recall

For all the pet owners out there (via MenuFoods(.pdf file))

Menu Foods Income Fund (the “Fund”) (TSX:MEW.UN) today announced the precautionary recall of a portion of the dog and cat food it
manufactured between December 3, 2006 and March 6, 2007. The recall is limited to “cuts and gravy” style pet food in cans and pouches
manufactured at two of the Fund’s United States facilities. These products are both manufactured and sold under private-label and are
contract-manufactured for some national brands.
Over the past several days, the Fund has received feedback in the United States (none in Canada) raising concerns about pet food
manufactured since early December, and its impact on the renal health of the pets consuming the products. Shortly after receipt of the first
complaint, the Fund initiated a substantial battery of technical tests, conducted by both internal and external specialists, but has failed to
identify any issues with the products in question. The Fund has, however, discovered that timing of the production associated with these
complaints, coincides with the introduction of an ingredient from a new supplier. The Fund stopped using this ingredient shortly after this
discovery and production since then has been undertaken using ingredients from another source.

The recalled foods are as follows:

Cat Foods:
Americas Choice; Preferred Pets; Authority; Best Choice; Companion; Compliments; Demoulas Market Basket; Fine Feline Cat, Shep Dog; Food Lion; Foodtown; Giant Companion; Good n Meaty; Hannaford; Hill Country Fare; Hy-Vee; Key Food; Laura Lynn; Li’l Red; Loving Meals; Main Choice; Nutriplan; Nutro Max Gourmet Classics; Nutro Natural Choice; Paws; Presidents Choice; Price Chopper; Priority; Save-A-Lot; Schnucks; Sophistacat; Special Kitty; Springfield Pride; Sprout; Total Pet; My True Friend; Wegmans; Western Family; White Rose; and Winn Dixie.

Dog Foods:
America’s Choice; Preferred Pets; Authority; Award; Best Choice; Big Bet; Big Red; Bloom; Bruiser; Cadillac; Companion; Demoulas Market Basket; Fine Feline Cat; Shep Dog; Food Lion; Giant Companion; Great Choice; Hannaford; Hill Country Fare; Hy-Vee; Key Food; Laura Lynn; Loving Meals; Main Choice; Mixables; Nutriplan; Nutro Max; Nutro Natural Choice; Nutro; Ol’Roy; Paws; Pet Essentials; Pet Pride; President’s Choice; Price Chopper; Priority; Publix; Roche Bros; Save-A-Lot; Schnucks; Springsfield Pride; Sprout; Stater Bros; Total Pet; My True Friend; Western Family; White Rose; Winn Dixie and Your Pet.

The company in question claims that the number of complaints has been ’small’ but decided to issue the recall out of an abundance of caution.

This company also manufactures pet food for Proctor and Gamble, the makers of the Eukenuba and Iams brands:

P&G announced yesterday the recall of specific 3 oz., 5.5 oz., 6 oz. and 13.2 oz. canned and 3 oz. and 5.3 oz. foil pouch cat and dog wet-food products made by Menu Foods but sold under the Iams and Eukanuba brands. The recalled products bear the code dates of 6339 through 7073 followed by the plant code 4197, P&G said.

If you have any of these brands of pet food or are having trouble identifying the foods you have on hand, call MenuFoods at 1-866-895-2708 for more information.

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On a Much Lighter Note…

Oreo kitty

Oreo has obviously settled in quite well. He has claimed my office chair as his very own and this is where I find him if my own ass isn’t already there. He’s a much cuddlier kitty than Shadow: Queen of the Underworld, who usually won’t cuddle unless I roll in catnip first.

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Damn It!

DamnitDamnitDamnit!

Meet the newest addition to the household:

Oreo

His name is Oreo. He entered my home at approximately 6pm this evening, hissed at Shadow: Queen of the Underworld and proceeded to stuff his fat ass into the smallest nook he could find: my bathroom closet…behind the Xmas decorations and wooden clothes rack. It doesn’t look like he has any intention of coming out anytime soon, so this is the only picture available at the moment.

Why is he here? Because I’m a sucker, that’s why.

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Mice Tales

It’s been really quiet today for a change, so I took the opportunity to straighten out my snake food situation. The rest of this post contains graphic descriptions of rodent death, but no pictures. Don’t click if you have a terribly weak stomach.

Up until last month, I usually went to the pet store and bought a few months supply of male feeder mice, threw them all in a cage and picked the sacrificial lamb on a weekly basis. This was not an ideal situation by any means. Male mice STINK. To high friggin heaven. Their urine is much more pungent than female mice. After speaking to my new SnakeGuy, he suggested that I save myself some money and aggravation by breeding my own mice. SnakeGuy raises snakes and carnivorous lizards, as well as mice and rats.

I’ve recently tried doing pre-killed frozen mice, but this offended my very delicate sensibilities when I accidentally overcooked one while thawing it out. To thaw out a frozen mouse, one usually puts it under a heat lamp for a little while. We’ll forget the fact that these mice come frozen on a tray of 6 and that one has to ‘break apart’ the mouse ice-cubes and individually store them in the freezer and we’ll also forget the fact that they don’t break apart cleanly. Often times, you end up with one mouse and parts of another. That was bad enough. But overcooking a mouse usually means that when you pick it up with the tongs to dangle it in front of the snake, the skin of the mouse comes off. It also means that you’ll find me doing those “Oh my God, please don’t let me puke” breathing exercises.

Last month, my SnakeGuy brought me 9 female mice and two very studly male mice, along with a little known trick of the trade: plastic shoeboxes. We tossed all 11 mice together into a twenty gallon tank together and he left with the instructions that, once I saw the females getting fat, move them each to their own plastic shoebox to have their babies.

Yeah, okay. Sure. Sounds simple enough.

The 2 males have been in heaven…those little bastards will screw anything, including each other, if it’ll hold still long enough. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell who was gaining weight and who wasn’t. Yesterday morning before leaving for the fair, I noticed 4 babies in the big community tank. Whoops. Okay…no big deal. I figured they’d be okay til I got back. I took a look at all of the females and suddenly realized that at least one more was as big as a (mouse) house.

We didn’t get back til late last night and there was no way I was fudging around with rodents then, so I checked on the babies and went to bed.

This morning, I had my coffee and went out onto the porch to check things out. There were only 3 babies. Mind you, I’ve never raised/bred rodents before. I figured the missing baby died and they buried it somewhere. I sat there watching the mice while I figured out my plan of attack, when the big pregnant female took one of the babies from the nest, brought it to the other side of the cage and PROCEEDED TO EAT IT.

Oh. My. God. Ew! Ew! EWWWW!

I called my SnakeGuy and he informed me that mice will cannabilize their young if they’re stressed and crowded, so I HAD to get all the females set up in their own boxes PRONTO. Unfortunately, I had no idea which mouse had given birth to the babies yesterday, so my SnakeGuy had to come over and take a look for himself.

The whole time he was here, lifting mice up and looking at their ‘plumbing’, all I could think of was Captain Jack telling Will Turner, “You need to find yourself a girl, mate”. This guy knows more about mouse breeding than anyone has any business knowing. He told me that the mouse that was eating the baby would give birth before the day was out and the rest of the females will all have babies within the next week. He also left instructions on when to take the babies away and when to put the females and males back into the community tank for more mousey sex antics.

Sure enough, that female started having babies at around noon. She hasn’t eaten any yet, but I’m sure the bitch is still full from ‘breakfast’. I swear to God, if I see her eating any more babies, she’s going to be this week’s sacrificial lamb.

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Nana

Nana and the boys

That picture up there is of Nana and my two boys when they were younger. I love that picture because it looks like all three of them are laughing at their own private joke.

Nana was brought to us by a very nice woman who had found her wandering the streets of Boston. No tags, no anything. There was no way to learn anything about her. She was a bit on the thin side when she came to me and my vet put her on a special diet to get her bulked up a bit.

Nana

Nana was a beautiful soul. She came to us shortly after my divorce and her company was a god send to me. I had moved to a small cabin in the woods to regroup, but living in the middle of nowhere with two young boys was scarier than I would like to admit. The addition of Nana was exactly what I (and my very overactive imagination) needed.

Unfortunately, since we didn’t even know where she came from, we didn’t run a full battery of tests on her. Soon, it became obvious that all of the love and attention and good food in the world wasn’t helping her. One afternoon, while I sat at the computer, she came over and put her head in my lap. I gave her a scratch behind her ear and a kiss on her nose. She turned around three times, like all dogs do, and laid down on the floor next to my chair. She heaved a big heavy sigh and…that was it.

I had an autopsy done on her because it was truly killing my vet and I, not knowing what the hell was wrong with her. We sent her body to a lab in Maine and they confirmed that Nana had Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Apparently this is a disease spread by ticks, like Lyme Disease, but is rarely seen in the northern states, so no one had thought to test for it. I beat myself up for a long time after she died. I should have made it clearer to the vet that Nana could have come from anywhere. But I know that, even if we had diagnosed it, she could have had the disease for so long that there still wouldn’t have been anything we could have done.

Still, that’s not a mistake I’ll be making again.

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Dogs

Me and Darby

Meet Darby (and that’s me, for those who have never seen a picture). That dog right there was the Best. Dog. Ever.

I’ve been owned by many dogs throughout my life and each was special in his/her own way. But I connected with Darby from the very moment we laid eyes on each other. She was owned by a breeder that I had contacted while looking for a rescue organization to adopt from. The breeder, a very wonderful woman, told me that she had a dog that had just incurred a chipped elbow and shouldn’t be used for breeding again. I drove down that weekend to the woman’s house and was in Saint Bernard heaven. There were quite a few rescue dogs there, plus her own breeding dogs AND two huge litters of puppies. If the boys hadn’t still been in diapers at that point, I probably would have come home with Darby AND one of her puppies, but I knew that I couldn’t take on housetraining and toilet training at the same time without losing my mind. We signed the paperwork, stuffed Darby in the back of my little Tracker and I was on my way. I talked to her all the way home and by the time we arrived, the bond was formed. The picture above was taken on her first night with us and that’s pretty much where she always stayed…by my side or at my feet.

At 192 lbs., I had cause to be concerned over how Darby behave around Monkeyboy, who was barely a year old at the time. Even an unintentional swipe of her tail could have seriously hurt MB…or me for that matter. I weigh 110 lbs soaking wet and the second concern I had was being able to control a dog that big. My other saints were all typical weights for the breed: 130 to 150 lbs. My concerns were completely unfounded though. This dog could tiptoe through the maze of children and toys like a ballerina and keeping her under control never required more than the sound of my voice. She even picked up my non-verbal cues and would lay down every time I looked at her with raised eyebrows.

We had a window next to our back door and whenever someone knocked, she’d get up, walk over to the window and move the curtain aside with her nose. No barking, no anything. Just a GREAT BIG HEAD in the window. I can’t tell you how many postmen, delivery men and Jehovah’s Witnesses she scared doing that. If I allowed a stranger to enter the house or stopped to talk to one on the street, she’d quietly move herself between me and the stranger and JUST WATCH. She’d never take her eyes off the person, but she’d make no threatening moves. She didn’t need to. Her sheer size intimidated the shit out of most people, but if she knew you and LOVED you, there would be no doubt in your mind that she worshipped the ground you walked on.

She was the boys’ pillow, security blanket and alarm clock all rolled into one. When they were each old enough to start school, she’d pine for them while they were gone. If they were outside playing in the yard, she was right there keeping watch. The boys stopped letting me play hide and seek with them because all I had to do was ask, “Where are your babies?” and she’d lead me right to them.

Darby died a few years ago and we still mourn her. I’ve always believed that the best way to honor a beloved pet’s memory was to give a good home to another pet who needs someone to love them. This is the longest I’ve ever been without a saint and it’s due in large part to the fact that I don’t know if I can find another dog SO perfect for us. I’ve been scared that any other dog will be a disappointment. The funny thing is is that all of the saints that I’ve had have all come to me through very serendipitous events…like some force in the universe leads them to me (or vice versa).

Yesterday, I decided to open myself back up to the possibility of getting another dog. Now, I just sit back and let the universe handle the details.

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I Oughta Get a Sign…

I’m really beginning to think I should get a sign that says: Chablis’ Home for Wayward Animals.

I had an eviction to do yesterday morning and had to meet the sheriff at 8am to let him know that the people hadn’t left the apartment yet and that I’d need him to come toss them out. He was supposed to meet me here at 3:30, but as it often goes with all things law enforcement, he didn’t get here until almost 6pm. No big deal though really. The evictees had packed up and left during the day, so at least I was somewhat sure there wouldn’t be a fight getting them out.

I knew to expect a mess when I got in there because that’s the type of people these clowns turned out to be. We entered and the sheriff commented that the place was clean compared to when he entered it two weeks ago to serve them the court papers. My maintenance guy, M, was changing the lock while the sheriff and I dealt with the paperwork.

Then out of NOWHERE, something dive-bombed his head. THEN, a whole bunch of things dive-bombed his head.

We both ducked. I started to run for the door while he put his hand on his gun. I was halfway through the kitchen before my brain processed what I saw.

Para-fucking-keets. FOUR parakeets to be exact. All flying around loose.

Not only did the fucking bitch that lived there take all of the contents from her fridge and freezer and dump it on the floor for it to melt and rot in the summer heat…not only did she leave dirty diapers and shit encrusted diaper wipes all over the place…not only did she RIP shelves off the wall leaving large holes instead of unscrewing them…not only did she leave behind SERIOUS damage to an apartment that was remodeled (complete with HARDWOOD FLOORS) less than 6 months ago…but that silly fucking bitch also left 4 parakeets flying around loose to shit EVERYWHERE.

M came in to see what all the commotion was and his chin dropped. He stood there for a minute, looked at me and said, “You take two, I’ll take two?”. All I could do was nod. The irresponsibility of people simply leaves me speechless sometimes.

The sheriff offered to call animal control, which made me giggle a little. If I can handle the mess left behind by human animals, I surely can handle a few parakeets. It just pisses me off when I see how easily people can discard their pets when they become inconvenient.

Anyways, meet the new additions to the menagerie.

Birds

Birds

They will be joining:

Arwen, Cockatiel Princess of Light and Goodness

Arwen

And Hedwig, the Lovebird of DOOM

Hedwig

M’s girlfriend isn’t too keen on birds, so I may end up with the other two that he took, but we’re hoping she’ll come around.

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Grumpy Gus

Grumpy snake

Anyone who has a snake for a pet will agree that it’s much easier to deal with a happy snake than an angry snake. What we have here is a very grumpy snake. Professor Snape here is getting ready to shed her skin, which is a much easier thing to do when there’s humidity in her cage. In theory, the kids are supposed to remember to spray down the cage every morning.

Still Grumpy

Obviously that didn’t happen this morning. When I got home this evening, I opened her cage to take her out for her nightly visit to the warmth of my shirt…but she was having none of that shit. Snakes are generally grumpy when they’re shedding because it’s uncomfortable for them (think of it as PMS for snakes), but Snape is a fairly easy-going girl. It took me a few minutes to realize that the cypress bark in her cage was bone dry.

Happy Snake

I filled the spray bottle, misted her with warm water and VOILA! She’s much happier.

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