Those with pets understand- they all have unique personalities and quirks. This week, I thought I'd hit below the belt with a few pet stories to make you go awww...and one that might make you go ewww.
Home Alone-
My wife was a fitness instructor for several years, and on Sunday mornings I would often accompany her- not to take her class mind you, I'd save her that embarrassment, but to do my own workout. About 15 minutes after arriving at the gym one day, I had a horrible sense that we'd forgotten something. That something was our dachshund Leo, who could be trusted to be let out into our unfenced backyard as long as he was closely watched because the second that he saw a rabbit or squirrel, he'd be off to the races. Leo of course had been let outside, and we'd promptly left for the gym. Leaving as quickly as I could and with my wife blissfully unaware of the crisis, I sped home at speeds well exceeding the legal limits. I burst into the house, yelling for Leo the whole way and went crashing out the back door at full speed bellowing his name.
To be greeted by my doxie casually smelling the flowers next to the back of the house, completely unaware that he'd been on his own for the last 45 minutes and quite perplexed as to why Dad was scooping him up and hugging him and plying him with treats.
Why did the hamster cross the road?-
Years ago, my wife and I were taking a walk on a warm Saturday evening. We were walking down the sidewalk adjacent to a six lane thoroughfare when we both saw something appear to blow into the gutter about 10 feet in front of us. My wife immediately realized that it was a hamster, immediately picked him up, and immediately sent him flying into the air again as he bit her finger to the bone. Being of much nicer physique than today, I took my shirt off and wrapped the little guy in it to prevent additional injury to either party and we set off for home, my wife bleeding profusely. As we walked we discussed taking the hamster to a shelter the next day.
We got home and everyone got settled- my wife into a bandaid, the hamster into a shoebox. Then the tears started and I knew that we'd just added a hamster to our family. We named him Hampden after the street that he's somehow navigated, and mostly shortened it to Ham. Ham developed crafty ways of escaping after that; he'd wedge his shavings under his wheel, climb on top of it, push the cage lid up, crawl under it and promptly fall about 8 feet from the top of the armoire where we kept him to the floor below. You'd get up in the middle of the night, head to the bathroom, and disturb Ham as he frantically stuffed all the cat food he could find into his cheeks. He lived for years after we found him, and remains the luckiest hamster that has ever lived.
Speaking of getting bitten-
We had a ferret once named Lark. Lark did not like me. At all. Once Lark got out and found an opening in the wall of the master bathroom where the moulding had been removed. She promptly ran into the hole. Alas, this wasn't the first time she'd done this; in time, she'd make her way out. Unless she got lost. Which happened about every other time she got into a wall. Which resulted in me creating a new hole to get her out. Once the hole was created I stuck my hand in to see if I could reach her. And felt pain unlike anything else I've felt before. My first reaction was that I had cut an electrical wire, like a 220 line and had gotten shocked worse than I'd ever been shocked before.
Once I saw the blood pouring from my finger, I realized what had happened. Lark, scared to death by the knife I was sticking into the wall at her had done the only thing she knew how to do. She bit down. Hard. Hard enough that it felt as though the tip of my finger had been crushed. I had to go out to the garage and cry a little bit, it hurt that bad. When I came back in the house, Lark was waiting for me and only nipped at me a little bit when I put her back in her cage. 2 pound ferret 1, 220 pound Fowler, 0.
Monkey see, monkey do-
We agreed to adopt my mother in law's Husky when he was about three years old. He was really wild, which I attribute at least partially to the decision to name him Taz. If he have been named Norman, I think he would have been much calmer.
It took a lot of work, but eventually Taz became a model citizen. Once he understood that I was in charge, an understanding that only came when I began to pick all 70 pounds of him up off of the floor and hold him until he'd calm down, he was an amazing dog. He could sit on the driveway all day and never move, no matter what was going on around him unless I told him that it was OK.
He also liked to talk. A lot. His speech was basically a derivative of a low, deep, "Woo Woo" sound. If you told Taz to Woo Woo, he would. If you told him "Chewie" he'd also Woo Woo (it sounded a little bit like Chewbaca).
What I didn't realize was that my little mini schnauzer had been paying attention during all the language lessons that Taz had had. Out of the blue one day when I said, "Taz, Woo Woo", his baritone was accompanied by a high pitched "Woo, woooooooo" as Hannah joined in. I don't know who was the most surprised. Hannah, was quite pleased with herself, Taz just seemed perplexed, and I couldn't stop laughing. From that day forward, every, "Woo Woo Taz" had to be followed with a "Woo, Woo, Hannah".
A man, a husky and a miniature schnauzer drive to Las Vegas-
Sharing the cab of of a U-Haul truck. The logical order of occupants for maximum comfort is: Man, Schnauzer, Husky. Everyone has plenty of room and might even be able to spread out a little bit.
Hannah had other ideas. No matter how many times I rearranged us, that damn dog Had To Have The Window Seat. Leaving Taz and I to cuddle side by side. For 10 hours. It was as fun as it sounds. Well, for Hannah at least.
A woman, some cats and some ferrets drive to Philly-
My wife is insane. So when she told me that she was going to load three cats and two ferrets as well as all of her clothes into a BMW Z3 roadster and drive from Las Vegas to Philly I knew that she was serious.
Things went OK until she hit the Pennsylvania turnpike. If you've not driven on the PA turnpike, allow me to paint a picture for you. There is a lot of concrete- it looks almost like a racetrack. And there is basically nothing else. A few exits here and there, but mostly just flat, wide, albeit nice and clean road. When I drove it, I was ready to go insane and had decided that I was going to pull off at the next exit for the night because I just couldn't take any more sensory deprivation. Fortunately the next exit just happened to be the one that I was looking for.
But I digress. About halfway down my wife's own drive down the Highway to Hell, our oldest Siamese Kalia broke out of the makeshift cage on the floor of the passenger seat. She settled in on the top of the passenger seat and seemed content. It was at about that time that my fat jerk tomcat Rusty figured out how to get out as well. He promptly jumped on to the center console and "somehow" depressed the window button for the passenger side. Kalia immediately dug her claws in; had she not it is likely that she would have been sucked right out of the car at 90 miles an hour in the middle of nowhere.
Rusty and the girls didn't always get along and he was known to attack them from time to time. This was the first and hopefully last time that he attempted an actual assassination though.
What happens when you go to buy a kitten in the middle of Wisconsin-
My wife somehow managed to talk me into getting a kitten. From a town four hours away one way in Wisconsin. For those that haven't been, Wisconsin is an awful lot like Iowa. There are hills and there are fields and there are tractors and there is a whole lot of nothing else.
Until suddenly a sign appeared warning drivers to be wary of the Amish sharing the road with them. This in itself was relatively unremarkable but what we saw next was all the more impressive because of it. Not three miles further down the road, there was a strip club. Presumably, an Amish strip club.
Now, at the time, it was 10 in the morning and the Amish strip club wasn't open yet. My mind raced as we continued our journey for the kitten. Did they have butter churns for the poles? Would a lapdance involve the slow unveiling of ankle by candlelight? We finally got to the little town where the kitten resided, fell in love immediately with her, and started the drive back.
As we drew ever closer to the Amish strip club, I tentatively broached the topic of stopping, only to be met with an immediate response of Hell No. I pushed a bit. The kitten and my wife would be fine for 20 minutes. It had been 7 hours in the car at that point, I pointed out, and I could really use a beer. We'd stop, I'd go in, have a beer, and we'd be on our way. This too was not greeted with a positive response. I tried a bit more before finally giving up and getting on with getting our new bundle of joy home.
That Amish strip club never left my mind though. Eventually, even my wife and dare I say both my father and my mother in law agreed that I had to go back, I had to see, to satisfy my burning curiosity. And so it was fully 18 months later that a buddy and I made the journey back into Amish country. I honestly believe that he thought I was lying to him about it even existing until he saw the warning sign. His eyes got wide when we saw the strip club coming up. We had a good night at the Amish strip club, and I have my lovely little girl Lola to thank for it.
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