|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 22, 2010 11:17 pm
(>^___________________________^)>
This thread needs big hugs.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 22, 2010 11:48 pm
*wipes at her eyes* You guys are amazing... so resilient too
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:00 am
`Swirly *wipes at her eyes* You guys are amazing... so resilient too *gives tissues*
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 5:42 am
Swirly my dear, your stories of this wonderful girl make me both cry and smile. They remind me of all of me of almost all of my pets in one way or another, which in turn makes me cry some more and smile some more.
I'll be 25 this year, August 2nd to be exact. Over the last 25 years I have had many pets, and even though not near as many as I would have liked I realize that what I have had is more then some people get and I appreciate what I've gotten.
I have many stories I'd love to share about all my babies, but I will try to pick out the best ones as not to make this to long and boring.
I'll start at the beginning. (I don't remember a lot of this first story as I was young, but I've been told it a lot by the family.)
When I was very young, under three years old actually, my mother and biological father separated. He wasn't exactly a good man. Terrible husband and father. (Not that I remember him much as the last time I saw him I was 5, but my mother and brother, who is 9 years older then me, have told me tales.) My mother, brother and myself lived is a very small town. My mom met the man I now call Dad, the dated and then we all moved into his house. He had a daughter, I got an older sister, she was 15 at the time. And he had a dog, to the best of my knowledge he was my first pet.
Askhim, yes that was his name. Dad was amused when people would ask his name and he'd tell them and they would kneel down and ask the dog. Anyway he was a three year old American Cocker Spanial, a stubborn self centered little brat that hated me because he was no longer the baby. Needless to say we butted heads, literally. We never hurt each other from what I'm told. But he would n** me so I'd tug his ear or something. Little stuff. We'd get in the way a lot doing this as the house was small and only one floor really. One day we where in the kitchen while mom was cooking dinner and she tripped over us and had had about enough. She grabbed us both and made us look at each other and said we had to either get along or stay away from each other but this was enough fighting. From that day of we where the best of buddies. We played together and slept together. He'd watch me in my sandbox and keep me from going up to the highway. He'd swim with my in the lake we lived on. In the winters Dad would get up for work in the morning and wouldn't be able to find Askhim to go out to pee. We live in Canada and where up further North then we are now so cold doesn't go near describing the winters there. And Askhim had learned that the one place they wouldn't look for him was my room. So he would push my door open and come in, push it shut again and crawl under the covers with me to hide.
We only lived there a short while after my parents got together before we moved. But the winter we where there I got very sick. My parents where very worried as when I got sick as a child I would get very weak. They watched me like two hawks and Askhim stayed with me at all times. He wouldn't leave for anything but bathroom breaks. My parents moved me into my sisters room, which was a cooler room, to try and keep my fever down. They couldn't stay with me all the time and when they went to have dinner one night I got up and left the room. In my high fever delusional state went outside and lad in the snow to try and cool off. The parents didn't see me, they had no idea what I'd done. But my boy did. He went to get them. Askhim was well trained and never, I mean never, went to the dinner table if food was out. This time he did. It took them a moment but they figured out something was wrong. He took them to me and they rushed me to the hospital in the next town. I was fine, my fever actually broke just as we got there and I woke up confused as to were we where.
Since we moved together as a family my dad's son, who was the same age as my other brother, had moved in with us. His mother had decided she didn't want him any more and dropped him off with his stuff. We where more then happy to have him with us. My mom most of all I think, she'd always dreamed of having two daughters and two sons even if they weren't hers by blood.
Things seemed perfect. I had two older brothers that did everything with me, treated me like a princess. A sister that I loved and wanted to be like. A mom & a dad. And my pup. That all changed, as all good things seem too.
My sister went to visit her mother at the coast, the same mother the had dropped her little brother with us, and she never came back. Something had changed from the time we moved in to the time she took that trip. When we had moved in she had been happy about it. She said that she had planned for us to all be a family and was glad we where. But then she left and acted like she had done so because she didn't want us there. We moved here not long after that, the summer after I was sick to be exact. My dad had put in a transfer request at work so my brothers could go to a better school. They looked and looked for a house for a long while but there was nothing they could afford. In the end we wound up in a strata run complex that didn't allow pets. The parents promised that it would only be a short while and Askhim would stay with our Grandparents. He did... or three years. Then came the day I started to break. My Grandparents where getting older, they wanted to travel and visit family far away but like with having kids they where tired down, by my dog. My parents still couldn't afford to move so they had to do something I know they still regret. They put him up for adoption. I hated them! How could they give my protector away? He'd saved my life.
He was given to a nice lady in town first, and she said that if we even wanted to we could visit. Two weeks later however she gave him back, her poodle didn't like him and was attacking him. Then he went to a man, who lived on a farm and had three slightly handicap children. He wouldn't let us know exactly where he lived as this was the third dog we was adoption for him kids, the last two the children had gotten attached to when the last owner showed up and took it back. I understand his point now, as a grown up but I didn't like him then. Mom says after that I hardly talked for weeks. Ate little. Stopped playing with my brothers and the other kids in the complex for about two weeks. I never got over it completely, likely never will. I still think about him, wonder what his life is like. If he's happy. Or at least what it was like and if he was happy. I often forget that it's been so long and by now, even if he lived a good long life, he has likely passed. The thing that makes me really sad is it was only a few more months before we moved into my parents current house with a huge back yard that would have made him happy. And to this day any time I see a dog like him I point out the "Askhim Puppy" which makes me teary eyed. There is one living in the complex my boyfriend and I live in and I have trouble not going over there and cuddling it when I see it out.
Another chance.
As a child I was one of those kids that when I wanted something I would ask a lot even if a knew the answer was no. And even though a new dog would never replace Askhim, we lived in a house now where we made the pet rules and had a yard a dog would love. But my parents just kept saying "One day." One day never seemed to come for me.
The parents had kept the old house, renting it out to family after family before one of dad's old friends moved in. After all once you have a house on a lake you keep it if you can. Well they went out to check on things there and left my brothers and myself at home here. Well we got a giant surprise when they got home. We where called out into the yard my mom and then dad brought him into the yard to meet us.
He was a beautiful, almost girly looking, german shepard. He had shown up in the driveway at the old house when the parents where there, looking scared and hurt. He was scared of my dad but even more terrified of my mom. The belief is that he was beaten by his owner, likely a woman. But my parents cooed him into the van and brought him home. He was the new family dog, but really Buck was mine.
This time around however I was the protector for the most part. I had to teach him that all the things he feared from his old life where not going to hurt him any more. Sometimes he got it and other times he didn't. My brother had to teach him to chase the stray cats off the yard, instead of watch them eat his food. Not that we didn't like that cats, but there where hundreds of them at one point, the old lady that lived in our house before use used to feed them. So they would eat his food and attack him sometimes if he wanted to have some.
I remember he was a great actor too. When mom would be upset with me he would sit so he was between us and look up at her with these big golden brown eyes and cry, with real tears and everything and whimper. Until she felt bad and left it all alone.
Oops... they did it again, but we don't mind.
We'd had Buck for a few years when the parents made another trip to the lake house. This time the friend they brough back was not of the canine kind but feline instead. As in most very small towns the best and fastest way to see everyone you know during and trip without a lot of travel is to wait till work gets out and head to the only bar in town. Everyone goes there for there one drive before heading home. So my parents made that stop the last day there and are sitting with a group of people chatting when someone enters through the front door and behind them comes this super tiny kitten. Little kitty walks around the bar looking and sniffin till he gets to my mom, and he climbs up on her lap and goes to sleep.
The next morning, I wake to my mom putting the kitten in my arms as I lay in bed. We'd only had one cat before, when we lived at the lake and I don't remember him at all really. He was a wild cat, and would visit us and we fed him but he'd leave when he please and come back when he pleased. He had basically vanished before we moved, though others have told us for years he was still living out in the woods.
Kayla was thought to be one of Satin's offspring by my parents but it's not like any of us where ever sure. He was so tiny mom thought he was a girl for a long while. Buck was told that this cat was allowed and he was not to hurt to chase the little one, which Buck took to heart. He would let that kitten do anything to him to the point that mom sometimes had to stop the cat for fear of damage to the dogs eyes. But Buck loved the little kitten, never growled or barked at all even when he was hurt. Little kitten claws do damage easy.
I was happy until two weeks before my 12th birthday. Buck loved my mothers spaghetti sauce. Homemade, with lots of ground beef, it was his favorite meal and one that he was wait for forever. Mom would start in early in the morning and simmer it all day to get the flavors well mixed, and the dog would stand at the kitchen window watching that pot all day.
This day was no different then any other, except Buck would never get his beloved meal. When dinner time came around he knew it was almost his turn. We ate and then mom got his bowl ready, went out to give it to him and he wasn't there any more. She called and he didn't come. She searched the yard and nothing. He was gone. Now as a former beaten stray he would sometimes dig out and spend a week wondering then come back and wait to be let in again. The parents had done what they could to prevent this, burying brinks under the fence and such. There was no sign he had dug out. He had just vanished with all the gates closed.
My parents and brothers looked everywhere for him. I made and put up signs but we never saw him again.
We found out later that all the German Shepard's within like two-three blocks of us had vanished around that same time, including a very well trained guard dog across the ally, we are sure they where all stolen. All I could do, all I can do is hope he was ok.
The years pass to quickly.
When your a kid all you want to do is grow up so you can do all the things your not allowed to do as a child.
I was not a very good child. I had a bad temper and didn't control it well at all. I still have trouble but I am far better. My mom says I get it from my real dad, which bugs me a lot. I never want to be like him. But after some of the stories I've been told it doesn't surprise me that I have the temper at all. For a long time my dad worked with me to calm me down. My brothers also helped a lot. They still took me everywhere they went, even when they went out with there friends. Mom had been asking them for a long time to leave me at home sometimes, take me less, you won't be able to take her with you forever.
But they didn't listen, they loved spending time with there little sister. The did all my household duties as well, not that I had many at that age. They always told me that they would be there once I got to high school and they would take care of me and protect me. But as I mentioned my brothers are 9 years olden then me and they didn't really thing that part through. I was picked on a lot in school, not sure why I was just one of those people that everyone loved to make fun on and they didn't want that when I got to high school I guess.
But time proved mom right. The boys where gone by the time I reached high school. Infact I was still in elementary when they moved away from home and I was left alone. I went from doing everything with them to doing nothing. I had to friends to do stuff with. I was by myself. I don't remember a lot of those first few years. Mom says I got depressed. I went to school but that was it. Non school hours I just sat in my room alone. I got angry as well. With everyone, I hated everyone and for the most part I took it out on my mom. I regret it now and would change it if I could, but the past in the past.
Kayla was the only one that could help. See the elementary that I went to was crap, the teachers treated me just as badly as the other kids did, because my parents worked. So when I'd get home from a bad day and mom would have me tell her what happened and then go in and talk to the teacher or something, things got worse instead of better. So eventually I stopped telling her. Instead when Kayla would come to see me because he seemed to know something was wrong, I would tell him everything. And he'd give me kissed, I taught him to lick the end of my nose as a kiss, then I'd cuddle him and we're go to sleep or just sit there while I did homework or drew.
He learned things about me that to this day no one else knows. He was better then a diary. Diaries only give paper cuts and people can steal them and learn what's in them. Kayla the pirate cat would never tell. My little pirate cat, he thought he was a parrot, I'd pick him up and hold him for a little while before he would decide to crawl up on my shoulder and stand, sit or lay there. We're walk around the house doing stiff with him up there all the time. He liked the view I think.
He was a brat then he was little, well forever actually. He loved kinder surprises. Once when I was younger I bought some for Easter for my parents and hide them in my room. He found them ate the chocolate and hide the toys and wrappers under my bookshelf. He ate several diefenbakia's over the years. Which are deadly poisonous to cats. That never fazed him. When you have an animal that does all the things though should kill him and he's fine you get to thinking he'll live forever. Somewhere in the back of your head you know that it's not possible but you squish that though with all your might every time it surfaces it's ugly little head, and you go on.
Well the years passed and things got better for me. I finally got out of school and got as over other things that had happened as I could. Got a job and eventually a boyfriend. Moved out of my parents house and though I would have loved to bring Kayla with me he was brought home as mom's cat when he became part of the family. And it was agreed that he would likely try to find his way back to there house if he did move with me. I now live way on the other side of town, so that wouldn't have been good. I visited as much as I could with work and life.
About two years ago now he started to show signs that he might have arthritis in his legs, front mostly. There was a time when I could trim his claws and he's just lay there and pur, but it had gotten to the point where he would pull away and twitch like pressing on the paw to get the claw out would hurt. But his claws would hook on things and cause even more pain so mom would hold him and talk softly and I'd be extra gentle. He was happy with that, and he'd hug me and drool on me as he purred when I was done. But we still knew he was in pain, even if just a little. He would sleep on, on by, but on the office heater. When I'd bath him he'd let me wrap him in a towel to dry him off, something he never did before.
But he was still to strong to die. The last few months where bad. He was having bathroom problems. Never in all his life had he relieved himself on the floor, unless he had gotten himself locked in the office by hiding when it was time to leave. But he had been doing so in my parents room quiet frequently as time when by. He was sleeping lots more, frequently refusing to leave his bed for anything even food. When I would go to visit he would come and great me, and I'd pet him. He'd go to the treat drawer and look up at me with 'The Look'. I'd give him a few treat and he'd eat them before returning to his bed. Mom said that was about the only time he'd move willingly.
Last Friday the boyfriend and I went down, mom needed some computer stuff down in the office and the boyfriend is also her computer tech. We where there about a half hour when I noticed that the cats beds and food dishes where stacked on top of the washing machine.
I knew, and it hurt. I could feel that rage I've spent so long trying to keep down. He was gone and I hadn't gotten to say Goodbye. I screamed at her, I couldn't help it, I just did. I shouldn't have, and I felt bad about it later. I had known it was coming soon, I was mostly upset that I hadn't been told and didn't get to see him first. But it turns out that was my brothers fault as he thought I would deal with it better did I didn't go with them when they put him down. But she had told me yet, she didn't bother to tell me before I figured it out myself. I didn't get to be there when they buried him.
I can't stop thinking about him, which makes me cry. I have dreams about him, that makes me cry. I keep seeing him and ... you guessed it, it makes me cry. I have met 6 cats this week that look like him. Makes me cry. I keep crying and crying and for a little change I sob. I feel lost. I miss him so. But he had a good long life, longer then a lot of cats. He'll always be in my heart and I have to remember that. I also have to remember that he was likely suffering and if it hadn't been done he'd still be suffering. But why doesn't that make me feel better? Maybe I'm just selfish? But does that make me a bad person? Loving something so much you want it back as badly as I want him back. Not that I care if it does. When I'm not crying I feel numb mostly, not happy, not sad or angry. Nothing. My heart is just gone.
((Edit: Oh good lord, this got so long, I'm sorry. I get on the subject of pets and could go on forever, even more so right now. I'm sorry. I can cut a bunch of it is you'd like. And now that it's almost 6am and I haven't slept I'm going to go to bed, likely with lots of tears.))
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 10:13 am
<3 i'm hoping for some happy tears here.
i had to edit the lines quite a bit, hah. i hope its okay.
i need a temper for her, and i can have her certed for you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 11:11 am
Ohmygod Kait... She's perfect beyond all belief.. you got her tail done .. and dear lord she has her pretty.
Goodlord... Can her temperament be... healing?
Edit:: *getting ready to read Ame's story* Have to smarten my brain up... *just rolled out of bed* Ame - *saw the bottom, scrolling to the top* don't even -think- of editting anything out + I'd love more whenever you're up to it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 11:20 am
<33 it sure can. i'll post her for certing when i come home from work.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:08 pm
I'm sending my love and support - your story brought me to tears several times. I wish you and your family healing and support continued health.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:16 pm
Lyda - Thank you so much <3 All the kind thoughts and prayers mean a lot.... I'm in the process right now of working to get Kai's story published in some sort of anthology... It's rough since I have to take what's on the front and make it run more "smoothly" together but... my dad would love it
Ame - I laughed and teared up throughout your post... I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been able to be with Kai in those last moments. It broke my heart but I would have screamed and raged if I Hadn't been there. Askhim.. is probably the most adorable name I could imagine xD
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:31 pm
Sending love and support you way <3
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:39 pm
You're very welcome. I'm sure he would love it, I know you will too - having something solid to look back at can help. I know processing can be difficult - but hopefully it will make the memories easier and highlight the happier ones. No shiny [can't draw chains] but here you are:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:43 pm
Bunni - <33 thankyousa so much
Lyda - OMG.. the expression is priceless and I adore her. Kai sometimes didn't have her pretties on although if you've ever seen a 70 lb dog sulk you know how funny that can be. *squishes the little happy Kai. Thankyousomuuuch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 12:47 pm
You're welcome - it's not much - but I'm glad you like it.
And I'm out for lunch - have a great one!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 1:39 pm
Kai sounds amazing. I cried. I'll admit that freely.
Since I've lived in Texas, I've had two main pets. Star (dog), and Cali (cat). Star's my mutt...she's like a little sister; I've had her since I was 5. Cali's my baby...and a bit**...I've had her since I was 6 or so. Star is 16, Cali is 15. They're both still alive. Amazing, right? Star's slowly going down hill; she's deaf now, but she can still see. She sees one of us, and her tail starts wagging, and she smiles at you. Seriously, she looks so stupid doing it. The remarkable thing about Star? She's an outside dog, and she has been from the beginning. She's inside when it's a really cold winter night. 16 years of Texas weather...not bad. Cali's all good, though. She's just now allowed to go outside some...I dislike it. (:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:48 pm
Swirly you have my deepest sympathies. I, too, know the pains of deep loss. My companion however, was not a dog, but a bird. A very small bird in fact, a society finch. Your story deeply touched me, and so I will share mine with you. I hope that you find peace and maybe a little something more. Reading your story has made me consider getting Junior as a familiar, thank you.
While this story is about a bird, it starts with a cat. My parents had promised me a cat if I got good grades. We went down to the animal rescue and picked out a lovely black and white cat. Circumstances would have it that my dad retired from the military and we had to move. Shortly after we left Alaska I became allergic to Misty. I was forced to give her up.
My parents agreed that I could pick another non-feline pet. I went for birds. Being still in high school, we wanted something simple I could take care of. This left out any of the larger avians such as cockatoos, parrots, and the like. A little bit of looking around online and finches were decided upon. We went down to pick out a pair of finches from the local pet shop.
I was so pleased with my society finches. They would hop from perch to perch and sing pretty songs. I named them Songbird and Orca. (Yes, odd names for finches and you should hear some of the others that later finches have had to put up with.) Life went on. I came home one day and looking into the nest discovered an egg. ^_^ Yes it was so cute. As cute as a tiny white egg could be anyhow.
I was excited; I told my friends at school and teachers. Each day I would report another egg laid. There was 5 or 6 by the time Orca was finished. Then there was the long wait to see if they would hatch. During this time, tragedy struck. Songbird died. The eggs did hatch. We did our best to help Orca, but despite our best efforts only one chick survived. He was named Junior. It was getting close to spring break as he grew. Then tragedy raised its ugly head a second time. Shortly after Junior had begun eating on his own, Orca passed on. I was sad, but still had Junior.
Over spring break I bonded very close to that little bird. He was my best friend and feared nothing. I could hold him, pet him, kiss him, anything I wanted. Holding out my hand and making burrrp noises I could call him to me. He loved to come out. Sitting on my shoulder and playing with my hair was his second favorite thing to do. The first standing in front of any mirror and singing to himself. He was adorable.
He would let anyone hold or pet him, but he was truly mine. Spring break ended and I had to return to school; my mom told me when I came home that he called and called and called for me. Junior didn’t like to be alone. I had to take him from the dinning area so my dad could cook. Putting him in my room, I went back out to watch a movie with my mom. Suddenly my dad yelled, “Help!” Thinking, of course, there was a kitchen fire I jumped up and ran in. To my chagrin there was no fire, but a finch sitting on the countertop. He had squeezed himself out between the bars and flown back out.
I would take him into my room with me while I read. He’d fly around or find my mirror then come find me. When I’d get tired from reading I would take him into my hand and lay down. He’d make himself comfortable in my cupped hand with my fingers curled over his back just barely touching his feathers. I loved those quite moments.
I graduated high school and began college. I’d been there less than two years. There was no way to predict it would happen. No warning signs. I had just finished making myself scrambled eggs and gone to the table with the bowl to get salt. I’ll never forget that moment. I didn’t see him on the perches and he didn’t show himself when I called. Worried I looked around the cage for him. I can’t make scrambled eggs without thinking about him.
I heard a squeak from the bottom of the cage, and that’s where I found him. Birds on the floor are a very bad sign. They crash so quickly. Eggs forgotten I pulled him out and cradled his twitching body. Tears ran down my face as I gently held his beak so his head wouldn’t twist 180 degrees. I will never know what caused his death.
I was utterly devastated. I’m not someone who cries very often, but my tears could not seem to stop for days. Most nights I fell asleep crying. I couldn’t function; I couldn’t think. I acted more on remote than an actual person. I went through the motions of living, but I really wasn’t. School work had to be done; chores to do. My mom and teachers were concerned during those long months to took me to accept.
And now for the scary part…..
Several years before Junior’s death during Halloween, I had gotten a little creepy noise maker. You know those little black boxes with motion/light detector that you stick some where? (Don’t remember exactly how I got it, but I did.) I had it on one of my bookshelves tucked behind a few other items. It would go off now and then when the lights were turned on/off or if I picked it up/bumped it. I don’t think it went off more than a couple times a month. (Didn’t always go when the light got turned on or off.)
Some time after his death, I was sitting on my bed reading. I remember specifically that nothing was moving in my room, the light was on, my door shut. Suddenly the box started going off. I looked up and around. To be honest I was spooked. It had never done that before! From then on it would randomly go off. Some days as many as three or four times. Maybe you don’t believe in ghosts or spirits but I believe he knew I wasn’t ready to let him go. And so stayed, triggering the little noise maker to let me know he was there.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|