Aselin

There are some people who shouldn’t own pets. Of course I am not one of them. I never go overboard showering pet with odd humanoid gifts, assigning my pets human qualities, and transferring my need to mother something while my children are at school to said pet.

So, as I’m driving my dog to California yesterday to stay with my dad, because he would be way too lonely alone during the day, while we summer explore, (the dog not my dad), I’m talking to him explaining why we will be apart. I can tell by his blank stare that he’s very upset about the separation and I worry that the large package of liver flavored treats, individually wrapped beef bones and dentastix will not be enough to assuage the pain of our separation.

He licks his butt as I’m explaining the finer details of his doggie vacation. I tear a little, feeling his anxiety.

I’ve had my share of pets over the years. The first ones I remember are a couple of cats named Benson and Hedges, named by my non smoking sophisticated parents after the swanky cigarette line. I used to dress Benson, the dark brown Tanganese cat in a pink nightgown, diaper and my fuzzy slippers. I’d stuff his tail down one of the leg holes of his diaper like an errant appendage. Then I’d jam his feet in the leg holes of my baby swing wind the sucker up and watch him freak out with bliss. He was a lucky cat. Why he didn’t just slice my toddler face off with his claws is still a mystery to me.

I had a couple of white parakeets “Bud” and “Beulah” which were appropriate Texan parakeet names. They lived in a sprawling cage they had named “Twin Beak Ranch” and since their ranch had to haul in water, they preferred to shower with me. When I married I realized that hubby was not a huge fan of my feathered friends, I could tell because he rarely talked to them like I did and he never once showered with them... of his own volition. Making the ultimate sacrifice for love I gave the loving couple (actually I had no idea what their actual gender was) to a 12 year old girl I knew through church. She already lived on a real ranch with horses, cattle and a pot bellied pig. Bud and Beulah were blissfully happy living in the preteen room at CTR Ranch.

One day during a visit we had spent the morning tilling a large plot of land for a garden. I loved the power of the tiller, and the pot bellied pig hung by my side as we worked. Bud and Beulah’s cage hung from an oak tree rocking in the wind to the rhythm of their chirping. It was a veritable Texas menagerie of support and serenade. As I was turning the earth another kid walked out with his guinea pig, because everyone knows while guinea pigs like to watch other people work, they don’t do actual work. As I tilled, the musty earth smell was an elixir of progress to me; there are few scents I find more gratifying. My little zoo band agreed.

When the work was done we all retired into the house: pot belly, Bud, Beulah, lazy guinea pig and I’m sure there were other pestilence that joined our refreshment party in the teen room. The menu was more simple than my family dinner. Pig - eats anything. Parakeets - millet, Guinea Pig - pellets or crudites platter, Me the tiller - tall drink of water. As we relaxed together in the calm, Bud and Beulah sat atop of their cages twittering away - back when twittering was art.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere a savage tabby cat destroyed our utopian arrangement. Lunging at the birds he missed them sending them into panicked flight around the room. Everyone joined in the panic as shooing and vain efforts a capture were attempted. During the melee, savage tabby made a kamikaze death lunge across the room capturing dear Beulah in his teeth. He was out the door before any of us mortals had a chance to intervene.

Bud flew immediately to me, where I coddled him and put him safely in his cage. He was alone which made me cry. He was agitated, which is how I think birds cry. Beloved Beulah was gone. Looking out the window I could see the quick finish tabby was making on dear Beulah. I threw up in my mouth a little and kept on crying. I had inappropriately transferred human emotions to my little Beulah, pretending like she loved me, appreciated me, noticed the quirks in me as endearing rather than how my husband found them... annoying. Her death was the loss of an intimate friend.

Yeah, some people shouldn’t have pets. I had a lamb named “Fiver”, I walked her like a dog for months, groomed her, talked to her every day and then sold her at the County Fair Auction. Had to walk her to the slaughter truck. Talk about crying and throwing up at the same time.

I also had a beta fish, I gave it to my ex-boyfriend as a parting gift. He named it Arizona in honor of where I was moving. He asked me to keep it for a couple of days while he went to a convention. He brought it by, explaining Arizona’s regimen, and it was easy to tell he had become attached to the little red fish with flowing fins. I followed his regimen to a T. Fed in the morning, left for work, returned home...now here is where I deviated from the regimen... peel dry dead fish out of the carpet piles and try and revive him. Ever try to revive a fish? I actually did a few mouth to gill puffs before my brain caught up to the ickyness of the whole idea.

When he returned for the fish, I tearfully explained how he had jumped out of the bowl. Stoically, my ex held the bowl and said “Arizona is dead, just like our relationship.”

Awkward. Uh, yep, that pretty much sums it up. Have a safe drive home.

Tonight, in the quiet of my room, there’s something missing. The noise that comes to the side of my bed to coax some attention, the forearms on the bed pleading for a scratch. When hubby does this, it’s just not the same. The tiny yelping of puppy dreams that always involve a fruitless chase, legs flailing at his side. The snoring, as he lays spread eagle across the floor in a completely relaxed comatose slumber. Again, hubby just isn’t as cute at the late night snore. Dog snore, endearing. Hubby snore, needs kicking.

The sum of my reality is I am one of those people who goes overboard with my pets. And my nonsensical behaviors have created a collection of tender memories of unconditional acceptance, pure love, profound joy, a presence of peace, and mourning, soul wrenching loss. One only builds that collection by buying a ticket to the petting zoo. It’s been worth every cent.