Can I Keep It?

Baby raccoons!

So Hud came home late today for lunch and found two week old baby raccoon cubs napping in the driveway. As you do. Afraid they would get run over by a car, we scooped them into a box and brought them inside.  You know, as you do. And called several places before getting the advice from Fish and Wildlife to put them back outside. As you should.  But a huge thunderstorm came up and all I could do was put them on the porch.  Our little visitors are napping peacefully, for now.

We waited,as per the advice, to leave them outside for the mother to retrieve them.  But this morning? A victory and a defeat.  Nappy on the left had passed.  As they do.  But Turbo was up and squalling up a storm.  As babies do.

We contacted a rehabilitation facility yesterday who said if they were here in the morning to call her.  I drove the very hungry, very vocal Turbo to Danya this morning.  He fussed around the box the entire  twenty minute drive in a pouring rain. As I encouraged him to do.

If I could hear him and touch him, I knew he was alright.

I dropped him off this morning and whispered good bye to him and wished him to grow big and strong.  And then I left him in good hands.

As I was supposed to do.

 

Aida, Aida Velveeta. But that's just her stage name...

 

I had a recurring dream before I found Aida.  I phoned all of my friends and told them about my new kitten.  "Her name's Aida.  Aida Velveeta, but that's just her stage name..." I had searched for my cat for weeks.  On a trip to Knoxville to have my wedding dress fitted.  She wasn't there.  Nashville on the way home.  No her.  The pound in Collierville.  No Aida.  The Memphis/Shelby County Pound.  She wasn't there. And then, in a small cage at the Memphis Humane Society, I found her.  Tiny, shaky and newly operated on.  Someone had abused her.  Her tail had died and needed to be docked. "That's my cat," I stated to the lady at the counter.  "That one?  Are you sure?"she replied incredulousy.  "Yes,"I sighed, "I'd know her anywhere."

And I adopted her and brought her home where she could be safe. I promised her that no one would ever hurt her again.

You see, I needed that promise myself.  My father had committed suicide a few weeks before.  I figured maybe we could patch each other up.

Well, relatively safe anyway.  Carmen adored her.  The first in a long line of canines dispelling the myth that dogs and cats can't get along. At least dogs and Aida.

We often joked that they were so close that they had always traveled through lives together, trading which one got the short tail in each incarnation.  A border collie, Carmen had a long fluffy tail.  But the only black on Carmen was on that tail.  A thin line of it right where a docking would occur. This time it was Aida's turn apparently. 

The abuse always caused her trouble.  She leaked when she slept.  She had bowel problems. And she was terribly shy.  Fewer than twenty-five people had ever seen Aida in real life.  My brother stayed with me for a weekend once and declared that we were imagining her.  He swore the pictures were someone else's cat staged in our home. We started calling her the "Ghost Cat".

But Aida had many nicknames- The Big Cheese, Cheesy Poof, Fuzzy Bag of Bones, Stinky McStinkington. The list was endless.

My least favorite was "Bee Hive".  Aida liked to crawl into my hair in the wee morning hours and knead it like bread.  Only her claws nicked me.  Oh, it was painful!  Once we had a housesitter who had never met Aida, even though she had stayed here on many occassions. Late one night, as she slept, needy Aida over came her fears and perched on the housesitter's head.  The housesitter awakened to what she said felt like a hive of bees stinging her head!  She quickly realized that it was Aida.  She laid there, taking the abuse because she was relieved that Ghost Cat had finally come out for her.  Aida never hid from her again.

Aida was sweet, warm and friendly to us.  When Boudreaux came to live with us, he fell instantly in love with her.  She allowed him to mouth her head as she went about her business.  It was constanly a slobbery mess.  Aida didn't mind at all and sought out his company daily.

But Aida's health had been failing of late.

Yesterday, after contacting the vet who saw Zoe through her cancer, we took her to AngelCare and had Kathy Mitchener help us to take her home. Aida had lost more than half her body weight and was bleeding internally.  She was constanty leaking fluids. 

A fighter until the end, Kathy took little Aida back to put in the catheter in her arm. Aida started jumping up and down like a monkey.  Pop! Pop! Pop! Then Kathy quietly told her that she didn't have to fight anymore.  Aida stopped.  Laid down, stuck out her paw and allowed her to insert the needle without moving a muscle.

Kathy brought her back to me and Hud and laid her in my lap.

It was a sweet and peaceful ending for my sweet and peaceful friend.

I love you, Aida Velveeta.  Kiss Carmen and Zoe for me.  But stay away from Tee Tee.  She never really was a fan of yours. Well, of anyone for that matter.

Aida was sixteen.

* Thank you, Kathy Mitchener.  You are the kindest, dearest person.  You gave her the peace she deserved. Hud and I appreciate everything you did for the three of us.

Whew

The last couple of weeks Hud and I have been social butterflies.  Good thing he has a five day weekend coming up.  I need a rest. 

We photographed the Rhodes College graduation for one.  Went to a wedding at the Metals Museum for another.

The river is very high from all of the snow run off up north.  It's racing so fast that the barges going downstream disappeared in  a matter of minutes, while the ones travelling upstream?  Are probably still fighting the current six days later.

We went to a Gatsby Party, which was grand fun.  And my Art Deco jewelry got to go out for the evening, which it adored. Art Deco jewelry loves a good party.

Our friends, the Flowers.  Hud has known Calvin since they were babies, like sixty years.  Not being hyperbolic, even.  For reals.

We're having the house refinanced.  Zali and Simone were not impressed.  They had to go to jail for a few hours while the appraiser was here.

Muhzer! Wee are ze stressed owt!

I should have put Simone in her Thundershirt. Hud and I did Paws for a Cause a couple of weekends ago and I gave in and bought her one to ease her anxiety.  Two years ago, without warning, Simone became petrified of thunderstorms.  The slightest rumble would cause her to shake so terribly that I was afraid she'd rattle her teeth out of her head.  When I discovered her hiding behind the toilet after I got out of the shower, I knew that I had to try something.  And you know what?

EffingFunderCanBiteMe.GrowlAtSomebodyElse,AshullSky.

It works!  

The Thundershirt doesn't completely put her at ease, but during yesterday's storms, she merely panted a few times.  No shaking!  Simone even managed a nap during a particularly strong line of storms.  I may get one for Boudreaux.  Zoe didn't teach him how to catch a ball like an Olympian, but she did transfer her fear of the vacuum cleaner.

And we went to bunch and lunches with a variety of friends.  That's about enough, isn't it?

Well, there is this:

A baby Fig Parrot.  From Zooborns.com.

You are welcome.

Darling LuLu!

Okay, in the latest bit of spakling since Zoe's departure from the planet, I must introduce the incredible Miss LuLu!  Ta da!

Sorry for the blurry images. I'm having to use my phone, which is a rather unintelligent phone and not at all clever, to take pictures because I have misplaced my camera cord.  

LuLu's a Sun Conure, hatched on January 30, 2013.  A baby!  Her colors are just starting to come in. And Oh!  I love her so!  

We happened to be in the pet store a couple of weeks ago and I stopped by to smell the hamsters and birds, (as you do) and there she was.  Flirting with me.  Playing peek-a-boo from behind a sign advertising her hatch date and name which they thought was Kiwi, but they were wrong.  She was LuLu.  I asked to get her out, but the people who worked there tried to no avail.  She was just beginning to be curious they explained and said they would work with her and to come back in a couple of weeks.  Soooooo, in the insuing fortnight, guess who couldn't stop thinking about funny little LuLu?

Hud and I were out running errands Saturday.  We were passing the pet store when I wondered aloud if that cute birdie was still there.  Hud made the block and turned back.  "You know that's your bird, don't you?" he asked as we went through the doors.

I knew she was.  The employees had lived up to their promise. After a game of peep-eye waiting for assistance, out she came and sat calmy on my shoulder.   She never made it back to her cage.  LuLu patiently perched on Hud's finger while the young man put together her new home.  Off we drove to Schyterbolle.

Where we will live happily ever after.

 

 

Little Dog

For something that was so long in coming, it all went down very fast.  

Zoe had been doing great.  A stellar patient. When originally diagnosed, she was given thirty days.  That was almost nine months ago.  Performing way beyond the challenges facing her.  She chased the ball every morning.  Ate her meals with vigor.  When she was given new foods, she always gave a satisfying moan, "Mmmmmmmm!"

She was happy.

Then, on Saturday, for the first time since she was diagnosed with cancer, she acted like she didn't feel well.  On Sunday, she did what she was asked.  We took her for ice cream, a habit we began as "Make-A-Wish-For-Zoe".  But it was clear, she did it for us.  She had given up.

On Monday morning, we already had an appointment with Dr. Michener, her oncologist.  I asked her get up one last time.  I begged her.  And dutiful dog that she was, struggled to her feet.  I helped her get as far as the side door.  She collapsed.  It was the last time Zoe ever got up.

We got to the office and had to carry her in on a liter. And Kathy came into the room.  She had told me when we started this journey that she never knew how long they had to live, but they would let us know.  Zoe was making it plainly clear.  She was done.

Hud's tears rained down on Zoe's sweet head as we said goodbye.  It was the kindest passing that I have ever had the privledge of witnessing.  Even Dr. Michener was in tears.  We had all done our best, but no one more than Zoe.

We got Zoe at the agricenter, eleven years ago as we went out to get beans on a Saturday morning.  She was bred to be a goose hunter.  Her litter was large with robust eight week old puppies of fifteen and sixteen pounds. She weighed eight.  The runt of the litter.  And a red head to boot.  I had fallen in love. The breeder asked Hud what he hunted.  He said that the dog was for me.  He asked me what I hunted.  I told him, "Designer shoes at fabulous prices!"  I thought he would snatch the dog from my arms.

But oh, was she a bad puppy.  A terrible chewer, she removed the dashboard from my car, ate the hard knob of the gearshift, demolished a couch and could crack a golf ball in half.  Hud said that if she ever caught a cold, he was going to put her down. 

At four years old, a switch flipped.  Suddenly, she was the gentlest, sweet, well behaved spirit in the whole house.  Hud trained her to catch the ball.  She began running with him in the mornings.  Finally, Hud fell in love.

She always thought she was a little dog.  Smaller than Simone even.  There was a chihuahua in the park that could flip her onto her back. Zali dominated her. She never knew what a great big beast she was.  At one of the Rhodes College games, a small boy asked me if he could pet my horse.

Farewell, my sweet tiny girl.  Safe trip and so much love to guide your way.  We miss you.

His One True Love

One day, before our wedding, Hud and I decided to take a walk in Overton Park.  As we approached, we saw a trio of runners trying to corral a fluffy yellow dog, without success.  As one of them reached for the dog, it looked up, spotted me and came running swiftly through the traffic.  Cars were squealing tires to avoid her.  She ran straight to me.  The runners yelled, "Put your dog on a leash!"  I, stunned, said, "But I don't have a dog!"  I looked down at the smiling face just as the little liar reared up on its hind legs.  Both front paws offered to me. 'Yeah, right!" They scoffed.

She followed us on our trek around the old forest.  Back across the busy streets.  Up the long staircase of our duplex.  Right into the  kitchen.  I had a friendly free-range dwarf lop bunny who roamed the rooms of the apartment.  "Arnie!" I screamed.  He bopped right over to her.  I held my breath.  She bent her head and kissed him.  "Oh, no!" I turned to Hud, "What about Tee Tee?" at the very moment she rounded the corner of the bedroom door.  Her ears flattened.  She sauntered over to the new beast.  I sucked in my breath. 

And that's when it happened.  Terrible Tootsie LeRoux, the Shining Path, reached up her face and head butted the dog. Rubbed herself along the length of its body and slinked away into the dining room.

"Oh, dear God, we HAVE to keep her.  The dog is Jesus!" exclaimed Hud.

And so we did.

Carmen got along famously with all sorts.  When we finally found Aida, it was as if we had gotten her as a gift.

One time, while roofing the house, a nest of baby mice was unearthed in the attic.  One got into the house.  Hud and I found Aida and Carmen in the living room after they trapped it.  Carmen had her dainty paws cradled around the teeny mouse, licking it like a lolly pop.  She never even tried to hurt it.

But whomever had Carmen before she came to us had abused her.  And it must have been a man, because try as he might, Carmen wanted nothing to do with Hud.  So I devised a plan.  He had to tend to her every need.  And I ignored her.  Didn't even look at her for two weeks.  Which was really hard.  When Carmen wanted your attention, she would wedge her nose under your hand and pop it up on her head to be petted.

It worked.Two weeks was all it took for her to fall madly in love with Hud.  And he lost his heart to her as well.

They were inseperable.  She rode shotgun in his old Chevy pick up.  The went for runs in the park.  She was ever at his side.  So much so, that for Valentine's Day of the next year, I painted her portrait.  I gave it to him with a card that said, "I thought you should have a portrait of your one true love."

She had come to us at one of the most turblent times of our lives.  The world was constantly crushing us in 1997.  We lost my grandmother, his father, my grandfather, we sold our photography studio, my cat Myshkin died.  She died a mere ten days before my father took his life.

The first real turn in the year was Carmen joing our family.  Then, we got married, found Aida and bought the Hudarosa.

It's been a great ride.  Carmen had the sweetest, kindest soul of any dog I ever met.  She was gentle, smart, loving and beautiful.  Her smile could make your whole day turn around.  But every living being must age.  And Carmen has been leaking away for a year now.

Eight months ago or so, Carmen stopped being able to navigate the stairs.  We moved her bed down to the den.  And carried her out several times a day to wander the backyard.  She was happy and eating well.  I was honored to help her through her day.  As long as she wanted to stay, we wanted her to be here.

Last Monday, I went to take her out.  Her back legs refused to hold her weight.  I tried and tried to get her to stand. Hud called me to come in.  I left her in some tall monkey grass and went in to tell him I thought it was time.  But he had other news.  His retina in his good eye had detatched.  I retreived Carmen and attended to Hud.  While he was in surgery, I came home and helped her as best I could.  I couldn't tell him about her condition.  It's quite possibly the only secret I've ever kept from him.  I kept it the rest of the week so he could heal. Saturday, he was well enough to come outside with me as I tried to get her to stand.

The look on his face drew me to tears.

She was a year old when she came to me, pleading to be my dog.  And fifteen years later, on my father's birthday, Hud and I bundled her up and took her to the vet one last time.

We will miss you every single day, Carmen.  Every. Single. Day.

Take a Whiff of That!

Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch with Simone.  She turned about sharply, sniffed her derriere and faced me.  Her nose twitched to the left.  It twitched to the right.  She looked horrified.

In mere seconds, I discovered the scent of her distress. 

Years ago, I had a Dalmation named Howard.  He was not the sharpest tool in the shed.  Anyway, I lived in a house in east Memphis on Peg Lane.  It was a California Contemporary.  Laid on a slab, like most homes here, someone had installed hardwood floors.  They did not insulate between the flooring and the concrete.  When you walked across it, the effect was rather like the sound box of a guitar.  All noises were amplified.  When Howard walked on the wooden floors, he clicked like a couple of ladies in high heels on their way to the restroom.  Throwing a ball for him rang out like the Lord of the Dance was performing in the living room.  And when Howard, sitting down, tooted on the floor?  It was like a symphony rehearsal. 

Howard would fling himself around, startled.  He would pace in circles, growling and searching for the offending musical instrument.  I was no help.  Eventually, he would make his way over to me, as I lay crumpled on the floor.  Dying with laughter.  Because I am mature beyond my years.

Yeah, Simone didn't find me funny either.

Bella Notte, Luna

I've been painting and painting and painting pets (mostly dogs) during the last few months while Can I Keep It?  has been running its portrait special.  There have been so many funny faces, but none sweeter than this one...

She's the puppy of newlyweds, Brett and Ashley.  Unknowingly, she had contracted a fatal disease before they adopted her from a local shelter.  She passed away a few months later.  Luna had a great life while she was on the planet.  And that is what we all should wish for.

I named it, Bella Notte, Luna.

Or in English, Good Night, Moon.

 

* Ashley and Brett have adopted TWO more puppies!  Their names are Desmond and Winnie.  Double the trouble, but twice as nice! :)

Happiest Anniversary

1997 began as the worst of times.  On Christmas eve of 1996, we were forced to have my father committed to a mental health institution because he had threatened to shoot our entire family starting with my three week old nephew.  In January, he petitioned the courts for release and won.  His mother had died.  He disappeared after her funeral.  We believe he was at gun school in Colorado.  Hud's father passed of brain cancer.  My mother's father passed in May.  My father came home, but was raging.  We sadly sold Hud's studio of thirty-three years.  My parents came to see us in July unexpectedly.  My father barely spoke.   He blamed me for being institutionalized.  I was inconsolable that weekend.  My cat, Myshkin, had swallowed a needle and thread as the hammer came down on the end of the studio and my parents pulled up in the drive.  She passed shortly after I raced her to the hospital.

Ten days later, my father committed suicide.

But after,  the year started to turn remarkably better.  One morning, as we were walking to the park, Carmen appeared and adopted us on the spot.  We found Aida at the Humane Society.

And on October 4, 1997, I married the love of my life.

  

It turned my life around.

Happy anniversary, Hud.  I love you more today than I did on that day.  And it was the happiest day I had ever known.  Thank you for making it all better.

Boxed In

I once shared space with a giant chocolate point Siamese named Mr. Huang.  He was handsome beyond compare.  His candy blue eyes were as big as headlights.  He was tall and strong and gentle.

But Mr. Huang was like Dorothy's Scarecrow.  He didn't have a brain.

He could occasionally muster up a clever game to play on Howard the dalmatian.  But the two of them had to rub their fistful of synapses together really fast to make a spark.  So how hard could that have been, really?

Mr. Huang thought he was hidden if he put his head under the dust ruffle of the bed.  One pound of head under and the other seventeen pounds exposed.  Yeah. I didn't even know you were there.

He also enjoyed a really good nap in a cardboard box.  One day I came home and found him shoehorned in to a shoebox.  He popped out of it like freshly risen bread dough.  

And now I find out he wasn't original in even that thought.

Two points for style.

 

That CAN'T be comfortable.

His back is going to hurt in the morning.  Or you know, late afternoon.

I don't even know how that's possible.

This was much more Mr. Huang's speed.

Or this.  A perfect fit.

Okay, who broke Fluffy?  Again?

 

Caution:  Objects may be appear larger in box.

Finally.  A cat made in the mold of Mr. Huang.

* Thanks to Nancy in Miami for sending me down memory lane.*