Darby |
Judging from
the tsunami of pet photos on social media during this pandemic, a great many of
us are being comforted by a feline or a canine companion. Oh, there were plenty
of pet photos and videos posted before the coronavirus but the number has
increased a thousand-fold, probably more.
All my
children have always had fur. When I was seven years old, a tabby named Gingle,
named for the warning bell on his collar, was my pal. Gingle was an outside cat
which meant he lived inside the house, usually at the foot of my bed, but did
his “business” outside. Unfortunately, the warning bell wasn’t always effective
and, to my horror, he’d often greet me with a dead sparrow between his tiny teeth.
My mother thought Gingle clever because when he wanted to come back inside
after an evening of hunting or romance, he would jump onto the window box and
tap the window to be let in. Our family would be watching an episode of Perry Mason and all
at once Gingle would be tapping. My funniest memory of this striped
cat was the night he brought a chum home. My childhood was in that long ago when
people actually left their windows open at night. Whenever it was clear that
the whole family had gone to bed, Gingle would hop through the open window in
my bedroom and sleep beside my feet. One night, I woke to find two cats by my
feet. I made a sound of surprise that startled the cat away. Perhaps, after a
night of gallivanting, Gingle indicated to his friend, “Why not come home with
me? The bed is comfy and the feet are always warm.”
I found Tabby
(I get better with pet names later in life), foraging for food by trash cans.
In my twenties and in my first marriage, I put together an elegant dinner party
that, because of Tabby, didn’t quite work out. The marriage didn’t work out
either. The evening I’m recalling, I’d prepared prime rib, roasted potatoes,
fresh vegetables, and cheesecake for dessert. The table was set with my best
tablecloth, china, crystal, and silver with a centerpiece of fresh flowers. And
of course, candlelight. Everything was so elegant and perfect that my husband
and I couldn’t help feeling a tad proud of ourselves. Our guests were new
friends, a young doctor and his lovely wife. Enjoying our first glass of wine,
the four of us were suddenly startled by Tabby jumping onto and running across
the table. She had a white rectangular thing hanging from her mouth – a Kotex pad
she’d somehow gotten out of its box! I don’t remember what I said in total
embarrassment, probably something inelegant. The doctor laughed and said “Your
kitten just got her ovaries!”
Middle-aged when I met my
husband Victor, I was a pet parent to two Russian Blues, a sister and brother
named Tania & Puck. These beautiful
gray, green-eyed cats had been my companions for almost a decade. I remember
thinking they were voice-activated because when I complimented them from across
the living room, they’d purr in response as if acknowledging my appreciation.
Unfortunately, Victor was allergic to cats. Eventually, I did have to give the cats away. Victor had been hospitalized
several times because of his allergy so there was no kidding ourselves. A woman
I knew took both Tania and Puck – and a piece of my heart. Victor was not
allergic to dogs. Cue the entrance music for shelter dog Ollie!
Ollie, whose
lineage baffled even our vet, was a pug mix who had a terrier’s face, a pug’s
body (including the curly tail), and dachshund legs. He also looked just a
teeny bit like Winston Churchill. Ollie was definitely Victor’s dog. They were
inseparable. Victor said Ollie was his Mrs. Danvers. Ollie, our sweet little hodgepodge
barely tolerated me but I loved him anyway.
Pip, a poodle
mix known as “the napkin eater,” ate tissues, bathroom tissue, and even
several pages of the Bible (the New Testament). My husband and I could not
place a paper napkin on our laps. Forgetting to be vigilant about Pip's paper ploys resulted
in shredded and dog-gobbled napkins or an unfinished Sermon on the Mount. What
is it about dog’s and paper?
Darby, the
dog of my heart is a Maltese, a breed known for excelling at snuggling. He’s
snuggling beside me right now. Unlike Ollie, Darby never played favorites and
loved Victor and me equally, allowing us both to spoil him daily. It’s quite possible
Darby is the only dog who is served his meals on Wedgwood china. The runt of
the litter when a puppy, the little chap weighed less than two pounds when he
“arrived” in my home. Even a cat bowl was too large for him. The only thing
small enough was a Wedgwood saucer. Darby is five now and apparently
appreciates the finer things in life as he still prefers the good china.
On September
12, 2018, Victor passed away from cancer. One morning, reading an especially
beautiful passage in a book on prayer, I was overcome with grief and began
sobbing. I was sitting on the right side of the sofa, and Darby was on the
opposite end. The second he heard me cry, he walked over to me, nestled beside
me, kissed my hand several times, and rested his head on my lap. This is why we
have pets.
Perhaps Socrates had a dog, one with soulful eyes. I like to think that Christ’s first follower might have been a playful puppy.
I have to end
this blog now because it’s time for me to post a photo of Darby on Twitter.
sweet memories! I never heard about Gingle!
ReplyDeleteahhhh
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading - again!
DeleteWe need us new a fur baby…I think I want yours🤣 adorable.
ReplyDeleteDefinitely! Don't hesitate about a new fur baby. I'd be lost without my little sidekick.
DeleteWe need a new fur baby…I think we want yours.💕JK🤣but…adorable!
ReplyDelete