Thursday, February 3, 2011

Day 6: "Animal House"

Day 6: Pets

That one's not mine. But every time I see it. I.crack.up.

This is Sutton. Jason and I got him about a month after we started dating. We found him wandering around a dump up in Resaca, Georgia. We were shocked that somebody could just throw him away like a piece of garbage, and we determined that we would take him home with us. We'd had him about a day, when we figured out his tendency to go on "walk abouts" and not come back. I've since concluded, maybe his old people didn't throw him away, more likely, he went for his afternoon jaunt, and "forgot" to go back home. It's happened on more than one occasion with us. Although, lately he's been doing much better about coming back to the house. Which I'm happy about because it means I no longer have to run up the road like a mad woman with my nappy house shoes and bathrobe flying when I see him hit up the fire hydrant and then keep going. To be fair though, I think it was a conspiracy thought up by my sweet devious Tiki-Belle.

That's Tiki-Belle. Don't let that sweet face fool you. She's as slick as the day is long. She's the one who you often see leading Sutton up the road, tail swishing, with a particular set of her head, that you know means business. She's on a mission. A mission to become an only dog. You can actually watch her get to a certain point of the road, then leave Sutton to his own devices (which bless him, are not the brightest), and then turn around and head back to sit on the front porch, and reign over her territory. While ole Sutton continues on down the road, oblivious that Tiki has just abandoned him. If she had hands, you can bet that she would do that dusting off motion of a job well done. But when she's not plotting, she really is the best snuggle buddy. She can't jump up on the bed, so she'll put her two front paws on the side of the bed, and peak over the top of the mattress with her ears back, just looking all precious. I'm telling ya, that dog knows exactly what's she's doing. I saved her from being euthanized at the animal control in Brunswick, Ga my freshman year of college. I think she some how knows she got a second chance, and has been grateful for every day she's had since. You could learn a lot from this dog, on how to enjoy life. When someone walks in the room she just lights up. She loves being inside, she loves being outside, she loves car rides, she loves sleeping, she loves laps, she loves running and jumping and chasing, she loves to sit on the step of the deck and study the world. This dog, when it comes to living and loving life, "gets" it.

That's Mr. Butler. This picture is a year old. I can't believe I don't have anymore recent pictures of that little mess. But this picture pretty much sums up everything you need to know about Sir Butler. If you could bottle the energy that this dog has in one little toe nail of his, you could probably power the town of Cartersville for a week. I get tired just thinking about him. I adopted him from a friend who was a couple months shy of having her second baby. He wasn't house broken at the time, so I got a good deal on a year later he's still not house trained. Oh he will use the potty outside all day long, but he will also use it inside 2 minutes after you've let him in after an afternoon in the back yard. God love him. I know a big part of the problem is that he still has his boy parts, so a lot of the incidents are territory marking. I've done some researching, and from everything I've read, some teacup breeds never really "get" the housebreaking down to a science. say it ain't so. We love him though. I love to snuggle him, and baby talk him, and throw toys that are as big as he is, but he always drags back. He's my "meeester bootler" <---- that's what I have to yell to get him to come back to the house, (try it, it's fun to say....haha). He's a wanderer too. Gotta get some tracking devices to put on these animals.
That's Crete. She's a cat. She has turquoise blue eyes. And she is sweeter than her sister Petra. I don't have a picture of Petra, but she's just like Crete, except she's calico, fatter, yellow-green eyes, and meaner. So actually, they are really nothing alike....except they're both cats. Crete is my sweetheart, but she's glutton for punishment if she doesn't quit sharpening her claws on my living room chairs, and pooping in the guest bath tub. <---I'm pretty sure that's my fault because I don't have a litter box in the house for her, and sometimes I lose track of who's been out and who hasn't. She likes Jason better than she does me... so does Petra for that matter. He can have that one. She's mean. I love her, but she's just nice enough to me so I'll continue feeding her, and let her sleep on my stomach when we watch t.v., but no more than that. I'm not allowed to look at her, talk to her, put her outside to potty, or pet her. If I do any of those things, she'll hiss, growl, and strike at me. So I don't. We have an understanding, she and I.

That's Sweet Pea or Ms. Pea (it's interchangeable). I got her from the North Georgia Fair for my 17th birthday, and I've had her ever since. She's the last of our actual "farm" animals. And I love her. In this picture she's eating leftover cake. That pig loves cake, and twinkies, and chips from El Nopal. For a time she lived in a dog house in a pin, but one day she decided she needed bigger quarters so she moved her belongings (seriously, she drug her bedding and hay with her), to the shed outside of the fence. We kept an eye on her for a few days to make sure she didn't head over to the neighbors and start rooting around in their yard. She didn't, so we left her to it. We get some funny looks from people who stop by the house from time to time. I was home a couple of weeks ago, and the termite guy knocked on the door, and said "ma'am, I think you've got a wild pig running around loose in your backyard." I just smiled and said, "oh that's just Sweet Pea, she won't bite." She never travels farther than the barn... although one time we did come home from vacation and she had rooted up pig trails all in the front yard. As long as you feed her every other day, and make sure she has fresh water she just kinda hangs out. She is almost blind, so when you bring her food, you have to kind of yodel "sweeter peater" to her so she can follow your voice to her food. She's pretty cool.

These were our horses. Baylady, Bella, and Kid. We lost them all in terrible twist of fate accident. But they were our babies, our pets, and we miss them every day.

This was Pauline. She thought she was a horse. She liked to stand on top of the round bale of hay to eat... she was also bad about stealing Sweat Pea's food. She's gone now too.

Some days I want to just want to send them all packing... usually on mop days. When I've just swept, and spit polished the floor, and then Jason comes through the door and our fur covered posse with him, and they all run pell-mell through the house leaving tracks everywhere, and doggy fur tumble weeds come out from wherever they were hiding. The cats are weaving themselves in and out of my feet, hollering to be fed, and batting at the dogs because they are ornery like that. <--- That will take a lot out of you. But then everything calms down for the evening, everybody is fed and in as happy a mood as they will be in. The dogs are curled up on top of each other sleeping, the cats are in their respective laps, and for once Petra is allowing me to pet her, and it's just, nice. A houseful of pets, of family members, and everything that goes along with it, and yeah, it's good.


  1. Every dang time I read your blog I tell myself that you are a writer. One day I will know a famous author of a great southern book. I guess I need to start reading your blogs before I start writing mine because I used to be very particular and now I just throw something together and press post before I do a re-read! Miss ya'll and come see us soon! country did that sound....that is one thing I will never southern accent and my roots!

  2. i love your blogs too! i can really relate to this one! keep them coming! SHANE ROBINSON