PETS I'VE LOVED AND LOST

Lucky Samson, nicknamed Sambo, is outside playing in my kennel with his now spayed lady love, Brandi Delilah. He is alive because I am writing another check for payment of his liability insurance, insurance that is needed due to an incident last year in which he attempted to do damage to a poodle, also un-neutered, who made a pass at my Golden Retriever female (now spayed) while she was in season. Some of my neighbors suggested giving up on Sambo, having him euthanized, or sending him away to live somewhere else. I could do none of the above. I pay $400 annually, now, for continuance of his company. Obviously, I'm not going to understand anyone who drops their dog off at the local animal control kill-shelter, claiming his or her care is more than can be afforded. While I try not to pass judgment, understanding such thinking is beyond my capability. The bonding between me and my animals cannot be measured in dollars and cents. Perhaps losing so many loved ones in the past against my will is another reason i am unwilling to part with any more of them by choice.

My parents did not become as attached to our family pets as I do to mine today, but we always had them, and some were almost legends. Our white cat, Fluffy, and yes my present Fluffy is his namesake, was a legend within my family who was given credit for being one tough cat who lived all nine lives to the fullest. He had one blue eye, and one green eye, and supposedly was able to defeat and intimidate bad dogs in our neighborhood. Definitely a fighter, he almost lost his life when cornered by a group of neighborhood dogs who almost killed him after he jumped into the washing machine and found it full of water. Apparently, Fluffy often used the washer as a refuge, but this time it did not work so well. We expected him to die, but he lived on, and at one point managed to escape our car while we were on a vacation trip. We returned home sadly never expecting to see Fluffy again, but a few months later, he made his appearance. To this day, I don't know how he managed to find his way home, but he did. We never saw Fluffy dead. I guess when he got ready to die, he protected us from the experience of seeing him do it. He never died, he just faded away, and since he often left for long periods of time, it took us a while to realize he wasn't coming back.

Toodles was a mixed breed puppy we received around Christmas. The truth is Dad would not listen to mother's objections while he was somewhat intoxicated (Dad loved his wine), and mom would not allow Dad to back out of his promise that we could keep the puppy, on the following day when he was sober. Toodles was playing ball with Dad and Jim, my brother, on Christmas Day, ran out in front of a car, and died instantly. Dad felt so bad he had a fence built, but it was a while before we had another dog. Our Christmas was ruined, as we cried most of the day.

Our next family dog, Flub, was a mixed breed we selected from a group of puppies born to the dog of a neighborhood friend. He was a planned pet, and lived a number of years. When Mom and Dad purchased the lakeside property I now live on, it was a second home used for weekend get-a-ways, and Flub often accompanied the family on these trips, as well as on the visits Dad and my brother made for hunting and fishing. One weekend, Flub went to the lake with Dad and Jim and two of my brother's friends. Apparently, Flub jumped out of the back of Dad's pick up truck, and my brother's friends failed to mention it until they were all back home. Dad went back looking for Flub, but was never able to find him. The rest of us blamed my brother's friends for not beating on the rear window of the truck to make sure Dad and Jim knew Flub had jumped out, but none of that brought Flub back. We missed him, and never had another dog as a family.

During my prolonged adolescence and heavy partying days, I kept a mixed breed cat's kitten and named her Brown Sugar, after the black girl in the Rolling Stones' song, because she was a solid black female cat. When I went off to college, I could not take Brown Sugar, and found her a home with a guy I knew from the junior college from which I had obtained my Associates Degree. While I loved all these pets somewhat, my love for them did not compare to the love I felt for those later, nor for my animal companions today. The first dog with whom I truly bonded was Fancy Free, a Shetland Sheepdog I obtained while living in a North Atlanta singles apartment complex. My present Golden Retriever dog, Ginger Fizz Fancy Free, is named after Fancy Free, and the also deceased Golden Retriever dog once belonging to my Florida family. Fancy's story appears in my novel Undercover, and is also told in a recent hub written about Domestic violence against animals, women and children. Click the link below to read it.

http://hubpages.com/_2pvzhao591xs4/hub/DOMESTIC-VIOLENCE-AGAINST-WOMEN-CHILDREN-AND-ANIMALS

In Undercover, Fancy was an innocent victim of domestic violence and drug induced rage on the part of my former boyfriend as a result of methamphetamine addiction, and a false assumption I was sleeping with his former drug dealer. Fancy was the victim of domestic violence, while some details of the story have been changed in order to avoid social or financial repercussions should the novel become well known. My love for Fancy eventually led to my rejection of the lifestyle, though my denial was too strong to accept that her death was intentional until much later, while today it appears it should have been obvious.

Snow Angel was the victim of poverty, rather than an intentional victim of a cruel person. While running a substance abuse facility, I was also a hobby breeder. After the employment situation ceased to be, I was left with too many dogs for which to properly provide, but a strong attachment to each of them. My dogs barked, and I had too many animals to keep on the small area of land on which I live. One neighbor in particular, called animal control every time my dogs barked at all, and I often had to bring the dogs inside to keep them from being picked up by animal control, and possibly euthanized. In spite of my love for them, I began looking for homes for some of my pets, and ceased breeding.

While arrangements had been made for Snow Angel to go to a young couple who were friends of one of my nieces, the arrangement was put on hold until the couple could get their new home ready for the addition of a pet. In the meantime, my air-conditioning unit broke down in mid summer heat, and I could not afford to replace it. The house was extremely hot, I could hardly stand to be in it, and kept my dog's water pails full outside. Unfortunately, my neighbor called animal control during that time, and the dogs had to be brought inside. I fed them ice cubes continuously, and continued looking for homes for some of them.

A day or so later, a friend had a medical emergency and asked me to accompany her to the emergency room. I did so and was there all night and on into the morning hours. When I finally made it home, it was too late for Snow Angel. I put her in the tub of cold water, and poured water over her head, but she died in my arms. I promised myself this was the last time an animal would die while still young because of my personal problems. Angry and hurting, I manged to find forever homes for all but four of my dogs, and they are still with me today.

My most recent loss was Pete, the cat, Fluffy's brother, an outside cat who refused to stay inside, but survived outside for about five years. He and Fluffy were a team, guarding our home from all other cats. They were inseparable, though Fluffy always appeared to be the dominant lead cat. I noticed Pete was missing, but was not sure what to do. Last summer, my neighbor's son found the skeletan of my cat, with very little orange and white hair left. His mother laid the skull by a tree where Pete loved to sit, and often relaxed in the sun. I visited him once or twice, and left his bones where he would want them, by the tree. My choice had been for Pete and Fluffy to be inside cats, but he chose to live outside, and died doing what he wanted to do, living the way he wanted to live. Fluffy, now comes inside daily, and spends equal time inside, but refuses to be inside 24/7. He sleeps with me and Sambo at night.

My dogs and cats are not only animals, but my friends. It is difficult to describe the feeling I have when Brandi Delilah jumps around in my living room, stub tail wagging, and full of energy, or when Sambo moves from door to door at night to protect all of us from harm by anybody with bad motives who could be lurking outside. Ginger, my Golden Retriever, recently helped make me aware of a snake that had somehow gotten inside my house, and later helped the police officers locate it. Pete Jr. is my sweet, submissive clown, always gentle and loving, that is, unless you are the black lab who once stayed in my kennel, and is now my neighbor's dog.

Perhaps my devotion to my pets is a misplaced mothering instinct, but whatever it is, it isn't going anywhere. I would protect my pets with my life; it is definitely till death do part. With few exceptions, they have been more loyal than most of my human friends, and they are always here when I need them, that is, as long as they have a choice in the matter, which some of those discussed above no longer have.

So next time you see a stray dog on the street, or a feral cat looking for food, remember that in these creatures is the potential to make a drastic difference in somebody's life. I have noticed that animals look directly into our eyes, and see right into your soul, and at times I feel I can see into their souls as well. So, will there be animals in heaven? I don't know about other religions, but my former pastor once reminded his congregation that Jesus rides up on a white horse in the Biblical book of Revelation. So what do you think?