An odd fact jumped out of the radio this morning: It is illegal in Maryland to own turtles whose shells are less than four inches across. Surely I heard wrong, and it’s illegal to own turtles whose shells are more than four inches across? I thought about the turtle I had when I was 10 or so. The sad little plastic container, with the ramp up to the plastic palm tree. It seems unspeakably cruel, especially that fake palm tree. Did I really call him Diver Dan? How long did he live? How did we dispose of him? I honestly have no memory. My apologies. And, while I’m at it, I’m also sorry for all those goldfish, won by tossing ping pong balls into bowls.
Then I began to wonder what would happen if I wrote down the names of all the pets I ever had, if some sort of found poetry would emerge.
Chewmoon, a beagle.
Dreamy, a Scottish terrier.
Parakeet #1, name lost to time. (Tweety? I loved me some Tweety Bird when I was a kid.)
Midnight, cat.
Peppermint and (temporarily) Esther, Butch and Mittens. Midnight’s progeny.
Gali (not a typo), cat.
Dixie, cat.
Travis, cat.
Pip, cat.
Spike, springer spaniel.
Dulcie, retired racing greyhound.
Spike the Second, springer.
Most of the animals listed above died natural deaths, after pretty good life spans. Midnight — a black cat, people who praise children’s imagination should give them a pet to name to test that hypothesis — was hit by a car, as was the first Spike. If I were Tess Monaghan, I would find out which of my neighbors left my dog to die in the alley behind my house at the time, and bad things would happen to them. (I can’t blame someone for hitting a dog that got out of his yard, but leaving him while he was still alive? That’s pretty cold.) Pip disappeared, but I think she ran away to die. She was clearly ailing at the time.
Travis, who ended up going to live with my parents after Dulcie, the “cat-tested” greyhound, tried to eat him, inspired the best stories. The time he caught fire. (He was fine, after a visit to the vet’s.) The time he got a horrible wound that required me to irrigate it twice a day. The time he ate plastic grass from an Easter basket. How did I know he had eaten it? One blade . . . protruded. I took him to the vet. X-rays were taken, and I was advised that the dark masses seen in his lower intestines were either more plastic grass, wrapped in such a way that he would require surgery, or — gas. We waited a couple of hours. It was gas.
That Internet “real age” test says I’m 38.5 and the only way I can bring my score down is by getting a pet. A pet, and more potassium. The pet part is not to be for now. No yard, too much travel, some allergies in the household. So share your favorite pet stories. Or favorite pet names. Or, if you prefer, your porno name, made by matching childhood pet to childhood street.
Sandra, If none of my comments here have been removed for being out of bounds than I can’t imagine anyone’s will be.
I have a miniature weiner dog now named Stewie. I love him almost as much as my wife and my son and my wife constantly threatened to get rid of him until she realized Spenser adores him.
My only other two pets were dogs that my mom got rid of within a year of getting them. Crushed me.
Porn names: Poochie Dennison. Lottie Fuller.
Have always had animals. Lady Lottie Merlotti was the name for three beagles. Tiger was my first cat.
These were childhood pets and yes, I had the turtle with the plastic dish and palm tree and remember vividly flushing the corpse down the toilet.
Had Kunta Kitte for 11 years before cancer claimed him. He was my last male animal. Sorry, but males do have the habit of humping and spraying.
Had a Shih Tzu/Poodle mix for 14 wonderful years, named her Kobe. Loved that dog!! She was a black and white and my best friend forever. We also adopted a cat, a muted calico, named Mali. She was gorgeous and very sweet and she stayed with us for 16 years. After Tiger, I never again allowed a cat to go outdoors. Tiger was hit by a car and died too soon.
I now have a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Dia. She was imported by a breeder from Finland, but, and I say this with love, has no “champion” qualities whatsoever. We adopted her at 2, so I claim no responsiblity for her many, many neuroses.
For Christmas last year, we gave ourselved two Torti kitties. Named already Louise and Lexie and I can’t believe how much I missed having a cat after Mali died. They are great fun.
Porn name: Sandy Moorgate
Pets:
Sandy (mixed breed dog)
Lucky (a not very ‘lucky’ dachshund-he got hit by a car)
Phineas (dachshund)
Emma (dachshund) & Mr. Knightly (cat)
Cassie (mixed breed from the Baltimore City Animal Control shleter and the world’s smartest and best dog ever)
Mr. Darcy (dachshund) & Lizzy (orange tabby cat)
Very fun thread-thanks Laura.
I’ve owned several male dogs and dog sat for many more and if the dog is neutered indoor leg lifting is not be a problem. But humping behavior remains.
Ruffy Fairchild (Is it wrong to love your porn name?)
this thread has certainly released a flood of memories.
i had one of those small turtles and it lived in a brownie pan, i don’t think for too long. rather a nasty thing. mother didn;t like it. it got disappeared. i did not mourn its absence.
i had a shetland pony named ‘sweetie pie’–until it bit my mother.
bunny named ‘thumper’-father built a hutch for it in workbench in garage. i was gone for summer camp and it was not there when i returned. my father said they ate it; while i did not necessarily believe this, i do remember the whooshing feeling i experienced when i heard it.
i had a number of arabian horses, but i would never categorise them as ‘pets,’ and we never considered our dogs as ‘pets’ either, although i suppose that is what they are, officially.
tonya-alaskan husky–stolen
alex–purebred great dane, hung to death by hind legs after not clearing fence he was leaping that my dad had to have made higher and higher. guess he almost picked the right height that last time.
inger–black lab mix, pride and joy of the family, and last dog in juvenile succession. we still cry 25 years later when talking about her. brain tumour.
ginger-my one and only dog that i selected. purebred goldie, named in part for inger. euthanised four years ago. i personally pushed the meds tomake her go gentle into that good night. i can barely talk about this. my eyes are tearing up. a not inconsequential part of me died with her.
must stop. getting wine. maybe patron instead.
//k
My porn name: Rusty Chicago
Childhood pets, Sam, Rusty, Crist.
Adult pets, two cats; Scott and Zelda (my name was Janet at the time)
Since I got married we’ve had three dogs; Seamus the Irish Wolfhound, O’Reilly the Wolfhound/Lab mix and our current one Clancy the Irish Mutthound. They have all been great dogs. Reilly was an escape artist. He was being boarded at the kennel one time when we were out of town and got out of the cage. They put a second lock on it and he got out again, ran around the whole building and set off the burgler alarms. At one point he got out of the building. That was when the staff told us that he might be happier if he went to a different kennel next time!
Childhood pets were dachsunds named by the breeders. There were also 2 rabbits that I won in some kind of Easter competitions (kindergarten and third grade) but my mother got rid of both of them as soon as possible.
Three weeks ago we had to put down our 18-yr-old cat named Shyler and I am still very sad. He was named by my then-5-yr-old because he looked like Shy Little Kitten.
We have a cockatiel that I named Kiro. She is of a variety with LOTS of yellow, and Kiro is a mispronunciation of the Japanese word for yellow. At the time we got her both my kids were taking Japanese. She does NOT like to be petted. Her predecessor (named Pancho) wanted to be petted much more than I was willing (hurt my arm because she wouldn’t come out of her cage, and the angle to pet her inside the cage wasn’t comfortable) Maybe the next cockatiel will be a happy medium.
lois,
i was wondering why you were keeping your dog in a cage. then i re-read your post and realised that you said cockaTIEL and not cockaPOO, and it suddenly became much clearer…
and i haven’t even had any of that wine yet…
go lakers!
//k
My various adult film star names are:
Dreamy Valley
Travis Natalen
Pip Magnolia
Condolences on the loss of Sally.
Porn name = Dusty Drexel
(also Ed Paulding and Twilight Lindenwood)
Dusty was our first and only dog; my brother got him from a customer on his paper route, in (approximately) 1969. He lived until 1983 – the same year my dad died. Come to think of it,1983 was a Bad Year all-around – as that was also the year I was first married, and within 12 weeks found that the marriage was over! (really though – I guess that was a net good-thing, being as uncomplicated as it was, but we digress!)
We also had a parakeet – way way back (mid-60′s?) – named Fidel. Presuemably this was a sly bit political satire – but who knows? Sometime after the Bad Year of 1983, I had a tom cat named Ed for company; he was having more fun than me, and came and went as he pleased, until finally he went and failed to come again. My lovely wife, who was a farm girl, has many (many!)interesting pet stories – much more colorful than mine. I believe her porno name would be Fluffy-fluffy 100 West.
Currently, we have a fish with no name; he’s been around for more than a year now. We also have a bunny named Twilight (named by our daughter), who is low maintenance and very easy to please
AH those little plastic turtle bowls with the plastic palm trees and ramps! I completely forgot about those things. I kind of tortured my mother with different reptiles as a kid, but I don’t think I ever brought home any turtles.
I’ve had so many pets, these are just some of them.
as a kid:
Ethel (cat)
Ziggy (Labmutt)
The Quincies (2 cats)
as an adult:
Bob (cat named after another cool cat named Bob)
Cosmo (cat named after Cosmo Topper)
Calvert (cat found on Calvert St)
Pepe (cat, named after Pepe Romero)
Helen (cat we’d all like to forget)
Chloe (greyhound)
Sampson (inherited Rottie)
Bobbin (cat who was named after my beloved Bob)
Angel & Princess (cats)
Then there are the horses, Steamer (the name he came with) Pixie & Hektor (my current guy, aka Man-Slaying Hektor.)
(I have 3 cats too many right now, because my dear friend Erin does some rescue work, and I couldn’t refuse.)
About to get a Shih Tzu puppy. Terrified!
Sandra, do you have a name for the puppy?
My sister and I had two cats (we must have been anywhere from 8 to 11 at the time) named Pixie and Jinxie. I do not remember which one of us had which cat, not that it mattered.
Memory One: One morning, I was going out the door of the house barefoot (my usual state in summer) and stepped on something both mushy and hard. I looked down to see that one of the cats (who I think sitting nearby waiting for my thanks) had brought a gift to me of a dead bird. I don’t know why the but feel of that dead bird on the sole of my foot was horrifying and still makes me shudder. I washed my foot a lot to get the feeling to go away.
Memory Two: At some point the cats got fleas (they were indoor/outdoor cats). My father doused them in some pesticide (not a cat-approved flea killer/repellant) and they both got very ill. My mother couldn’t stand thinking that there were fleas in her house. I do not remember that my parents took the cats to a vet to be treated. I think that they recovered on their own somehow. However, shortly after that (weeks?) both cats went missing and never returned. I am convinced (know in my heart) that my mother made my father get rid of the cats because they had fleas. I have never asked her about it because I wanted to retain a glimmer of hope that she hadn’t really robbed us of our beloved pets. I have never asked my sister about her memories of the cats dissapearing for the same reason. It was the second worst betrayal that my mother has done to me. The first? Oh, that will have to wait until the right MP topic comes up.
Well, I’m thinking that the rights to our higher-than-average budget ‘erotic motion picture’ would be purchased by the Dreamy Valley studio, and would be co-produced by Travis Natalen and Rusty Chicago.
Our leading lady would be the buxom Lottie Fuller, with bravura supporting perfomances by Poochie Dennison and Ruffy Fairchild. We’d have cameo appearances from vintage fan favorites Pip Magnolia and Musty Plum.
And our PR and legal teams would be headed by the no-nonsense folks over at the Sandy Moorgate agency…
and now, all we have to do is come up with a name for the movie!
Ethel story.
Ethel was a grouchy pastel calico who we found in Carolina Beach, NC. I wanted to name her Lucy, but my sister insisted on Ethel. When we later got the Quincies, she was not pleased by these new boy kittens and she started going off for weeks at a time. After one jaunt, she came back with half her tail broken off. It was really gross looking, like a skinless finger. My mother took her in to the vet’s, and he amputated the rest of her tail, stitched it up, and she was cute as a button with her little bobtail. We never really wondered about where original tail was, but one day when my mother was vacuuming, she let out a hellacious scream. She found the tail. It was under the wing chair in the den.
(My sister also was the namer for the two brother cats named “Quincy”. Only my sister would give one name to two cats.)
Betsy,
Perhaps your sister had a huge crush on Jack Klugman?
[wink]
For almost the entire run of my first marriage, we had a cat named Toonces, named for the SNL sketches. He was a little hell cat for the first five or so years we had him, then calmed down when he had to share the house with our cat-crazy roommates cats. Shortly before our separation, age caught up with Toonces, and we had to put him to sleep. His last act was, despite a stroke that destroyed most of his motor function, was to playfully fight with Diane as she held him. I bawled like a baby for three days straight. His footprints sit on a bookshelf in my office now.
My current pet is Gurl, and when I started dating my current wife, Gurl did something unusual. She took to the latest man mommy was dating. We joke that we had to get married or the dog would get upset, but Gurl really does hate it when I leave the house. If I’m working in my office and she comes in, she flies down the stairs to make sure I’m home.
Gurl’s already six years old, so I’m getting nervous. That’s middle age for a dog her size, which means we’ll likely lose her before AJ graduates college.
(Totally OT)
Jim, I just went to your linked website and saw the best news ever there…..”Futurama” is coming back with new episodes!!! I am delighted. Thanks for brightening up my day.
Sorry to hear that you got your ‘realage’. Now you’ll undoubtedly start getting targetted medical junk mail. Yuk. Those people are evil.
Why no turtles < 4″? Probably because they tend to carry salmonella.
(Porn name)
Snoopy Wizwall
Haha, actually a big fan of Quincy Jones. (I liked Quincy though, my early fascination with forensic medicine.)
We don’t pick out the puppy until June 28th. Our wonderful Persians, Nick and Nora, died last year. We felt we could never replace them so the next best thing was to get a Shih Tzu with a plate face like they had. As for a name, we bandy them about, but I don’t think we’ll name him/her until first sight. I do have a question and a problem if I can do this here. Remove this part if you think I’m out of bounds.
We have first pick and wanted a female but the black and whites are all male. The worry is the lifting of the leg in the house. I had a male dog who I could never break of this habit. Any hints or warnings Perhaps people can email me about this instead of taking up room here.
Sandra,
With your cats being Nick and Nora, how can you not name the new dog Asta?
Musty Plum
I remember those turtles! My mother was an elementary school teacher who brought the class turtle home when school let out for the summer. I would watch it for hours because it mostly did nothing. I always felt the turtle was relieved to go back to school in the fall.
I had a parakeet named Jackie Wilson (after the singer) who died mysteriously in 1962 while my family was on vacation. To this day I believe my aunt killed him because she didn’t want to be bothered parakeet-sitting for me. Since she doesn’t understand computers I feel safe in making that accusation.
No cats, only dogs and oddly I don’t remember any of their names. The one I remember most fondly was an oatmeal colored Cocker Spaniel who ran away except my mother told me later that it was black, was hardly a Cocker Spaniel and that my father had her put down because of an injury. Parents can get away with such tall tales (lies) when explaining things to small children.
Oh, I just remembered Princess, the Lhaso Apso that belonged to my stepdaughters. They never liked to walk her, preferring to open the front door and let her wander. Once she was in heat so badly that a German Shepherd tried to break into our house. I eventually took charge of the dog and found her a better, saner home.
lol–not mine. but i still love it..
magdalena rancho san francisquito.
ah, california street names…
Bootsie University
Feisty Southview
Dixie Skiathou
Molly Greenfield
My beloved dog, Molly, died Labor Day. She was 16, although she was often mistaken for a puppy until last summer, when she was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. I wonder how long it will take for me to stop looking for her little furry face in the window when I come home.
Molly found us at the Waverly Farmers Market in May 1995. A young law student had found the little dog running on Pratt Street and had brought her to the market to find her a good home. When Molly and my daughter, Colleen, saw each other, it was love at first sight. Newly separated, laid off from my job the previous month, and living in an apartment, I did not want to get a dog. But I changed my mind when I saw Molly and Colleen together.
On her first night home, I made Molly a nice little dog bed in Colleen’s room. The next morning I found them both under the covers, a little furry head on the pillow next to a little curly-haired head.
Colleen considered Molly her sister. They played soccer in the courtyard (Colleen kicked the ball and Molly threw her body on the ball to stop it) and they played Whiffle ball in Wyman Park (Colleen hit, Molly fielded, and I was drafted to pitch).
I have so many wonderful memories of the two of them together. Colleen painted Molly’s toenails with red nail polish to match her collar. On one memorable special occasion, she dressed Molly in the new velvet dress her grandmother had just given her. Then she borrowed my pearls to complete the outfit.
When Colleen decided to train Molly as a circus dog, she taught Molly how to climb up the slide and slide down. For a time, Colleen kept her dog food on the kitchen counter and Molly had to catch all her food in midair.
Molly was part Jack Russell, part Springer Spaniel, part Pointer, and part God Knows What. Even though her legs were short for her body, she was the fastest dog in the park for years. She never met a stick she wouldn’t fetch. Colleen and I looked for the biggest sticks we could find to test how far Molly would go. One day we found a log so heavy it took both of us to pick it up and we could only toss it a few inches. But Molly found a branch sticking out of the log and dragged it back.
When it snowed, Colleen wanted Molly to sled down the hill with her, but Molly wanted no part of that. Instead, she ran alongside Colleen, barking all the way down the hill. At the bottom of the hill, Colleen tried to convince Molly to pull the sled back up the hill, but Molly declined.
Colleen had been away for nine months when she came home on Memorial Day weekend. I was praying that Molly would live that long, and thankfully, she did. The first time Molly wagged her tail in a week was when she saw Colleen.
Colleen and I have come to believe that the way Molly found us was a miracle. Molly’s death was just as miraculous.
On Sunday night of Memorial Day weekend, we made the painful decision to put Molly down. The next morning I carried Molly downstairs to the courtyard before dawn and sat with her for hours, petting her and thinking about our years together. Many of Molly’s favorite neighbors stopped by to pet her one last time and say good bye. We waited for Colleen, who had spent the night at her dad’s house. Just before Colleen came into the courtyard, Molly wagged her tail for the last time. Six of us sat around Molly, all of us crying. Then everyone left except Colleen, Richard and I, who had the sad responsibility for taking Molly for her final trip to the vet.
And at that moment, Molly died, peacefully, next to the people who loved her most.
Sorry for long post.
Eileen,
That was a very beautiful tribute to Molly. Thank you for sharing her with us all.
Soap opera name: Elizabeth Galena. Professional best friend of all of the angst ridden children of rich, detatched parents
I have always preferred my soap opera name, circa 1995. (Middle name + current street name.)
I was Madeline Keswick, clearly the matriarch of my small town, the iron fist in the velvet glove.
And one of my co-workers had the incomparable soap opera name of Tony Labyrinth.
Soap Opera name: Joseph Lindenwood (aging plutocrat and wire puller)
spouse: Dawn Lindenwood (blingy trophy wife; easily underestimated – the real brains of the outfit)
Soap name: Diane Savin. Quiet cardiganed librarian by day, escort service madam with a heart of gold by night. Just don’t cross her.
I’m still crying over Molly’s death. What a story about a beautiful dog and relationship with the daughter.
My stage names would be:
Soxy Kimbark
Swizzle Austin
Sasha Groton
Blackie Grove
Floppy Grove
Molly Franklin
Tweety Kimbark (my parakeet)
Nellie Kimbark (my parakeet)
Kathy
Off-topic, but just wanted to say that I was flipping chanels yesterday and caught an interesting newspaper man speaking to the National Press Club (taped Monday), and was quite taken with his comments even BEFORE a subsequent graphic informed me that he was the SO of this site’s inventor!
Honestly, I couldn’t have picked him out of a line-up before seeing the talk – I don’t know what I thought he’d look like, but confess that my opinion was somewhat negative, based on (what I perceived as) the somewhat strident voice in the (few) things he’s written that I’ve read.
Indeed, what stopped me in mid-channel-flip was a series of expletives he was in the process of utilizing, in speaking about the priorities within the newspaper newsroom he was part of.
By way of saying – any day some scales can fall from your eyes is a good day, and I had a good day yesterday!
His rhetoric, spoken or written, has what I’ll call a semi-ironic magisterial quality.
For some reason, the George Clooney character in O, BROTHER WHERE ART THOU? just popped into my head. I have a feeling I’m going to spend the rest of the day saying, “I’m the paterfamilias,” and “He’s a suitor!”
When I was a kid we had a sweet mutt named Pepe. For quite a while I thought she was named Peppy by me because she was energetic. I was later informed that she was named Pepe by my mom because she was black and would probably stink. I’ve been skeptical of my memories ever since.
I’m pretty sure I did name my brother’s turtle, though–Gravis Mushnick (sp?), from the original Little Shop of Horrors.
Then I was petless until I was about 40 and began cohabiting with cats. Gone but still loved are Acupuncture (called Punkie), Max Plank and Isaac Newton (Maxie and Zackie), and Narfot (named after an online username). Currently sharing horizontal surfaces with me are Leo Kattke (named for his voice, like “goose farts on a muggy day”; he was going to be Gershwin until he got vocal on the way home from the shelter), Desdemona (Mona), and Nipper (cuz she duz).
In college I semi-adopted a local cat, who used to climb onto my lap and suck my earlobe while I was reading. I was a lit major, so there were plenty of opportunities for lobe-sucking. If I remember correctly, we called that cat Moron.
– Mark
i must say that i rarely listen to any commentaries on a dvd, but i do enjoy those of DS on That Show, largely because i enjoy his idiolect, and the sharing of tidbits about historical baltimore are just [wonderful] icing.
and has anyone read the online manifesto of the holocaust museum cretin? what a creepy read. i am not sure, but i think that somehow i am comforted by the fact that he sounds every bit as nuts as i hoped he would. it is just hard to grasp that people actually well and truly believe some of this stuff. and of course, the bible can support any side of an argument, however specious, but i can’t remember the last time that i saw cicero and hegel and others used to support what is basically a form of terrorism within bigotry. sorry for the rant, but folks in washington are not really over a murder in a museum quite yet.
tangentially yours,
//karen
or evelyn bernard or…
For my noms de porn I could have:
Punkie Mary
Pepe Westlawn
Or, if I was doing the books for the porn firm:
Leo Lewis
– Mark
My husband and I have both been lifelong animal lovers so our pet stories abound. Surely among the most unusual, however, began on a particularly wintry March day, when we stopped to drop a letter in a drive-up mailbox � and noticed a tiny shivering creature digging gently in a patch of earth below. Not entirely sure what it even was at first, we spent more than a few moments eyeing it (a bit warily), finally realizing by the cinnamon-colored back- and broad white belly that it was a domestic/pet-variety rat.
While we�d owned many dogs, cats, horses � even a hedgehog � over the years, this was a wholly new experience. Still, with the mailbox situated on a tiny island surrounded by roadway, not to mention the freezing cold temps, we knew we couldn�t just leave the little gal (as we later learned her to be) to meet an almost certainly terrible fate. Finally, my husband knelt down and reached out his hand � and much to our surprise, she immediately hopped aboard!
Clearly grateful for the assistance, she showed no aggression whatsoever, and we rummaged through our pickup for something that might serve as a makeshift travel home. At last locating a small bucket, she allowed us to place her inside, but quickly let me know that she vastly preferred my lap. Of course, in need of some assistance ourselves, we also put a call in to our vet. He informed us rats make excellent pets and eat a wide variety of foods � the latter info proving particularly helpful as she started nibbling on my sleeve in an apparent search for something to eat. Since we had another errand to run, we stopped at a convenience store and purchased a bag of party mix � breadstick pieces, pretzels, cereal, etc. � on which she eagerly began munching away. Immediately, we were struck by her tiny �hands� and how delicately she held each morsel. Realizing she must be thirsty as well, I tore the bottom off a soft drink cup and offered her some water, which she took with equal grace.
We�d already fallen utterly in love with her by the time we arrived home, and set her up in an old aquarium we found stored in our basement. Still completely ignorant of rat husbandry, we offered her an oatmeal-box-type cylinder to hide in, and reeled off reams of bathroom tissue for her use in making a bed � all with no idea the mountainous cocoon she created from this had any special significance beyond the obvious ingenuity and industry of this amazing little creature. As a result, life settled into a contented routine of bringing the little gal out for visits on the couch every evening over the next couple of weeks, assuming the bit of weight we�d noticed her putting on was merely attributable to her obviously improved diet. But, we all know what happens when one �assumes�… meaning I can�t begin to explain my shock when moving aside the tissue cocoon one evening to bring her out for her nightly visit � and being met by the sight of two tiny pink �piglets� (so they appeared). Of course, the squeal I emitted made me sound not unlike a piglet myself � and it was therefore no surprise my beloved little friend didn�t allow me any more glimpses of her offspring for quite some time. In the weeks and months that followed, however, they grew into (not so little!) beings every bit as wondrous as their mom, and our lives were changed forever by the many things they taught us, and by all the love they gave.
As a result, I now write for pet rat publications, sport rat photos on my checks, debit caddy, and various articles of clothing � and surely in the eyes of many live up more fully than ever to my website moniker �artist insane.� But then, I�ve always been convinced sanity�s highly overrated.
One final note � I�ve purposely neglected to mention the little rat�s name in light of the beautiful dog story already shared among these comments. But, I must add in conclusion, she, too, was Molly. And, just like that other Molly, she was truly one of a kind.
andtoday, on cnn:
miami teen charged with serial murder of 19 cats [technically charged w/19 counts animal cruelty, etc.] sigh. hello, dexter.http://bit.ly/LalGB
mil,
what a great story…frankly, i didn;t know rats were domesticated, but of course, i can’t see why not. i live in DC, so i don’t know that molly would have had as fortunate an outcome had she gotten lost here.
one of my fave lines: “…rats… eat a wide variety of foods…” this, by your vet, must qualify as one of the understatements of the year! and i guess that the adage about ‘there is never just one rat’ holds true even for pet rats.
when i first moved to the area, i had never seen an urban rat before. i kept talking about how large the mice were here until someone not-so-kindly pointed out that those little creatures were rats [the district is pretty well crawling with them, even in the nicest areas. some of them wear suits.]. i don’t know what i was picturing, but certainly it was something much larger and more, uh, ratly, with fiendish incisors, crawling with plague-carrying vermin, and a tail like an oppossum–i guess something the size of a cat. too much dickens or something. i was very wrong.
glad molly has found such a home. is there such a thing as a rat rescue?
//karen
Karen,
Thanks for the kind words — and the recognition that even wild rats aren’t the gigantic villainous creatures perpetuated by urban myth. It seems fear and misinformation can forge a powerful (and powerfully distorted) magnifying glass.
Also, yes, there are many rat rescues across the country, including one called Small Angels in Maryland (which aids not only rats, but mice, hamsters and a few other pocket pet species as well). I read an article recently noting Clint Eastwood (a longtime rat owner himself) recently made a sizable donation to a similar organization in Philadelphia.
Lastly, it’s funny you should pick out the line about eating habits. An interesting fact about rats is that they possess the same highly developed taste buds we humans do (as opposed to cats and dogs which I’ve read distinguish only palatable and unpalatable). As a result, they’re particularly amusing to watch with treats. Pasta is a great favorite — and the juggling act which ensues with a strand of spaghetti is hilarious. So, is the sight of such a tiny tongue eagerly lapping a dollop of whipped cream. Unbelievably entertaining — and surprisingly endearing.
I’ve often said in describing Molly’s discovery, the experience can be summed up as “the devil you don’t know may be an angel in disguise” — a lesson surely applicable beyond this specific example to anytime we exchange fear and ignorance for accurate knowledge — and possibility.
Thanks again.
Mil
mil,
given today’s converation re: teeth, i am considering that i would have been better off with rat teeth. only a few, but anything that can chew through concrete and cable is better than my lettuce-challenged bits.
i promise to see rats in a whole new light now.
//karen
Porn name – Princess Girard
Soap Name – Ann Ray (young good girl character or trusted nurse if a hospital soap)
Pets:
UFO (stood for unique feline one- I was way into “The X-Files” at the time)
Cricket
Margot (named by someone else after the Gwyneth Paltrow chracter in “Royal Tenebaums” She has a dark mask like the kohl in the movie so I can see where they got it but I don’t like that movie so I call her Gogo)
Everest (she’s a Himalayan-get it? Geography humor is the best!)