It’s been said “No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich.”[1]
I would say having a pet, any pet, makes you rich. I was lucky enough to have pets as a child and my husband and I got our first dog before our first child was born. There’s something about having the affection and responsibility of an animal that makes us better I think. Now, before I go further, let me offer my disclaimer. I understand that for various reasons, not everyone can or wants to be blessed with an animal (other than maybe the two legged ones we call children) in their home. And I can mostly accept that. But even those who don’t have live pets end up with virtual pets. I mean, come on, who goes out and buys someone a stuffed person? What do you take to the hospital for someone? Flowers, candy and Teddy Bears. We buy stuffed animals, r/c controlled pooches, wind-up mice and the latest gizmo that is beyond the financial reach of almost everyone, robotic dogs and cats. What are they but virtual pets? We buy little plastic pets for our key chains, spend money on Chia pets, Monchichi’s, Beanie Babies, Care Bears, pink flamingos for our lawns and everybody loves Winnie-the-Pooh. (What is a pooh anyway?)
All that being said…let me tell you why I heartily (I used that word on purpose...you know, the heart thing,)endorse the having of a pet. They make me laugh! Really, that’s the biggest reason why they are so important to me. They make me laugh! I have cried, I’ve yelled, I’ve thrown temper tantrums because of them and thrown things at them, but I’ve never wanted to be without them. I’ve spent way too much money on them and never regretted it. Here’s why.
The first pet I remember having was a black poodle named Babbette. She had the brightest most inquisitive eyes. And she loved us kids. When we came home after being gone for awhile, she would begin running circles around the living room. The circle would get progressively larger until what she was really doing was bouncing off the back of the couch, running across a wall, bouncing to the ground and up to a chair and the across a wall again until she started the circuit once more. All the while barking as fast as her feet flew and wagging her pom-pom tail so fast her rump couldn’t keep up. She loved us and was so excited when we returned from wherever we'd been that she couldn’t contain herself. We couldn’t contain herself either, but she was sure fun to watch. She waited at the door for me to come home from school for lunch; she loved her people and spaghetti.
We had a mutt when we were stationed in Tehran, Iran. His name was Ajax and his breath was stinky, but he had a loud bark and broad shoulders to lie across and read. We had a rabbit named Sam who turned out to be a Samantha, wanted a litter of kits, and growled like a dog because my father taught her to think she was a dog. She was also paper trained.
We moved to Florida and picked up a little Cocker Spaniel/Poodle mix named Miss Oats. She was the same color as the sea oats that grew on the white dunes on Panama Beach. Mom picked her out because she was told that being part poodle, she wouldn’t shed. She shed. Everywhere. She loved us all, but was my dad’s pooch and followed him everywhere she could. We had a little gerbil whose name I can’t remember who found a little hole in the bottom of the couch that he would crawl into and then we would lay on our tummies and watch underneath as he ran around.
We had Midget, a male Pomeranian who slept on my pillow with his little black nose in my ear. He snored and couldn’t bark. He “wooooo…wooooed”. It was hilarious.
My dad decided he needed a dog that could stand on its hind legs and rest his front paws on his shoulders. Thus started our long family association with Boxers. My brother and I bought my dad his first boxer, a beautiful puppy named Black Bart who promptly wet the floor and who my dad renamed Socrates. I think his favorite activity besides following dad out to the horse corrals was to lay on the tile in the living room and show us that even dogs suffer from flatulence. We suffered too.
My own family has had a Beagle-Poo, some birds (I hated them, they took unholy delight in kicking feathers out of their cage on to my freshly scrubbed floor), a couple of gerbils, another Pomeranian, Cocker-Spaniels, a Keeshond, a mixed Labrador and a Chinese Pug who thinks I walk on water. A very ennobling feeling.
I’ve laughed, cried, wept, yelled, cleaned up after, bathed, held them while they passed and watched my sons bury beloved pets. I laughed when my husband told me to “shut-up…We’re keeping him, I’ve grown attached to the little creep”, and taught my grandson to “be soft” and “Love Mushue.”
Yep…I’m rich alright.
I would say having a pet, any pet, makes you rich. I was lucky enough to have pets as a child and my husband and I got our first dog before our first child was born. There’s something about having the affection and responsibility of an animal that makes us better I think. Now, before I go further, let me offer my disclaimer. I understand that for various reasons, not everyone can or wants to be blessed with an animal (other than maybe the two legged ones we call children) in their home. And I can mostly accept that. But even those who don’t have live pets end up with virtual pets. I mean, come on, who goes out and buys someone a stuffed person? What do you take to the hospital for someone? Flowers, candy and Teddy Bears. We buy stuffed animals, r/c controlled pooches, wind-up mice and the latest gizmo that is beyond the financial reach of almost everyone, robotic dogs and cats. What are they but virtual pets? We buy little plastic pets for our key chains, spend money on Chia pets, Monchichi’s, Beanie Babies, Care Bears, pink flamingos for our lawns and everybody loves Winnie-the-Pooh. (What is a pooh anyway?)
All that being said…let me tell you why I heartily (I used that word on purpose...you know, the heart thing,)endorse the having of a pet. They make me laugh! Really, that’s the biggest reason why they are so important to me. They make me laugh! I have cried, I’ve yelled, I’ve thrown temper tantrums because of them and thrown things at them, but I’ve never wanted to be without them. I’ve spent way too much money on them and never regretted it. Here’s why.
The first pet I remember having was a black poodle named Babbette. She had the brightest most inquisitive eyes. And she loved us kids. When we came home after being gone for awhile, she would begin running circles around the living room. The circle would get progressively larger until what she was really doing was bouncing off the back of the couch, running across a wall, bouncing to the ground and up to a chair and the across a wall again until she started the circuit once more. All the while barking as fast as her feet flew and wagging her pom-pom tail so fast her rump couldn’t keep up. She loved us and was so excited when we returned from wherever we'd been that she couldn’t contain herself. We couldn’t contain herself either, but she was sure fun to watch. She waited at the door for me to come home from school for lunch; she loved her people and spaghetti.
We had a mutt when we were stationed in Tehran, Iran. His name was Ajax and his breath was stinky, but he had a loud bark and broad shoulders to lie across and read. We had a rabbit named Sam who turned out to be a Samantha, wanted a litter of kits, and growled like a dog because my father taught her to think she was a dog. She was also paper trained.
We moved to Florida and picked up a little Cocker Spaniel/Poodle mix named Miss Oats. She was the same color as the sea oats that grew on the white dunes on Panama Beach. Mom picked her out because she was told that being part poodle, she wouldn’t shed. She shed. Everywhere. She loved us all, but was my dad’s pooch and followed him everywhere she could. We had a little gerbil whose name I can’t remember who found a little hole in the bottom of the couch that he would crawl into and then we would lay on our tummies and watch underneath as he ran around.
We had Midget, a male Pomeranian who slept on my pillow with his little black nose in my ear. He snored and couldn’t bark. He “wooooo…wooooed”. It was hilarious.
My dad decided he needed a dog that could stand on its hind legs and rest his front paws on his shoulders. Thus started our long family association with Boxers. My brother and I bought my dad his first boxer, a beautiful puppy named Black Bart who promptly wet the floor and who my dad renamed Socrates. I think his favorite activity besides following dad out to the horse corrals was to lay on the tile in the living room and show us that even dogs suffer from flatulence. We suffered too.
My own family has had a Beagle-Poo, some birds (I hated them, they took unholy delight in kicking feathers out of their cage on to my freshly scrubbed floor), a couple of gerbils, another Pomeranian, Cocker-Spaniels, a Keeshond, a mixed Labrador and a Chinese Pug who thinks I walk on water. A very ennobling feeling.
I’ve laughed, cried, wept, yelled, cleaned up after, bathed, held them while they passed and watched my sons bury beloved pets. I laughed when my husband told me to “shut-up…We’re keeping him, I’ve grown attached to the little creep”, and taught my grandson to “be soft” and “Love Mushue.”
Yep…I’m rich alright.
[1] Louis Sabin, Author
No comments:
Post a Comment