Dogs and Horses and Birds Oh My and Writing Assignment #21 - Pets

I hate dogs.  (No, that’s a bit strong).  I like dogs.  (No, that’s a lie).  I tolerate dogs.

My relationship with dogs may have been ill fated from the very beginning:  Mother announces she’s going into labor, she’s quiet, lovely and in control, Dad grabs the pre-packed overnight bag, helps her down the stairs, tucks her into the car and closes her door, he runs around to his side. He’s anxious, his heart is palpitating; he steps on the clutch and jerks the stick shift into reverse.  He looks back over his shoulder, puts on the gas and runs over the family dog. I was born a few hours later.

Now whether it was that or the fact that when I was 7 years old I was walking up the hill to our home holding onto the hand of my 2-year-old brother when two large and angry Dalmatians attacked me.  One clenched his jaws around my thigh and shook me around like a rag doll. The other stood snarling, showing his angry teeth.  I was trying to protect my brother and screamed and kicked at the other dog, I heard a man’s voice yell a single command, I was dropped without ceremony and the attackers ran away.  I pulled myself up and took my brother’s hand and we walked painfully the rest of the way up the hill.  A neighbor lady came running out of her house to ask if I was ok and helped us home. A few days later, at Dad’s insistence, the owner of the dogs came to “look” at my injury; wildly purple, black and blue and with a perfect set of teeth marks surrounding my thigh.  We had heard this man crack a bullwhip in his backyard in the past as we walked by his house and we could hear satanic, frenzied barks with each crack. That particular day he had taken them to the vet to get their rabies shots and said they were feeling a bit anxious so he let them out to run.  Nice guy.

Or it may just be the fact that I have “dog poop” issues (very low gag reflex) but in any case, I’m really not a dog person.  Well in reality there was one time when I actually reconsidered my position.  My Mother-in-law who was famous for blurting out things that either sent shivers up your spine, raised the hair on the back our your neck, totally demoralized you or left you speechless, told my sons out of the blue one day at dinner that if they wanted a dog they would have to choose between the dog and her.  Hmmmm, my mind lapsed into a game of mental ping-pong; “Grandma…a dog…Grandma… a dog” as I awaited their response that seemed to be a long time in coming.  The boys chose to keep Grandma.

I remember very early on in my young life, Dad saying that if we wanted a dog we would have to clean up after it and I thought.  "OK…I’m through, that’s it for me!"  But my sister would happily tend to their every need, love them and clean up after them and they would follow her around as if she were the Pied Piper of Hamelin.  

She wanted a horse more than anything though.  Our bedroom was lined with her horse statues and books about horses, and one day Copper became her very own real life horse. It was so thrilling to see the herd and watch her pick out her favorite steed (I was 9).  I remember the thrill of watching Dad break Copper in the pasture next to Grandma and Grandpa's house.  The gentle coaxing of the bit into its mouth, the cautious placement of the saddle blanket on its coppery back, the way Copper froze and then protested when Dad flipped the saddle on.  But then Dad tightened the strap and slowly raised his foot to the stirrup lifted his other leg up over the top and off he went!  Bucking and kicking and…Yah HOO!!  I loved it! My Dad, my hero! Soon Copper was walking around the pasture with Dad riding atop, giving gentle nudges and calming words. He came back to the fence where I was sitting, along with my uncle, dismounted and stroked Copper’s wet neck telling him he was a good boy.  I was mesmerized. It was all so wonderful.  But Copper was my sister's horse.

I was also there the day a man with a trailer came and took Copper away because we were moving to the suburbs of Los Angeles where there was no room for a horse. Dad said that my sister would be too heartbroken to watch that happen. It didn’t matter, she was heartbroken anyway.

Grandpa’s neighbor had a daughter my age and they pastured their Pinto there at Grandpa’s field.  That was Trigger and I loved him! From the time I was about 6 years old, he would always come when I called and I would climb up on the white picket fence to be able to hop onto his back. He was brown and white and let me climb onto his bare back and ride for hours around the pasture, jumping over the tiny stream and he’d even let me kneel up on his back to pick apples out of the tree for us both to munch on.  When he got tired he would walk under the apple tree branches and try to brush me off.  I got pretty good at lying low on his back and sometimes even holding onto his mane and tipping way to the side.  When that failed to dislodge me he would curl his neck down to the ground, buck his hind legs and I would go toppling head over heels, landing on my back in the soft dirt, looking up at him looking down at me. 

I learned to ride saddleback from my cousin when we were both eight. Her family had a ranch and she could ride like the wind that girl!  They had many horses to choose from and we would have to stalk the ones that were hobbled in the sage brush fields (their back legs connected with a hobble so they could walk but not run), put on their bridles and saddles, take off the hobbles and off we’d go at break neck speed.  The horses, jubilant to be freed from their hobbles, would go into an instant gallop. Over the hills flew two little girls with blond ponytails flying in the wind and trails of dry dust rising behind us. My cousin leaning forward and holding the reins like a pro, her young legs sticking out from the belly of the horse and then kicking his flanks to go Faster ! Faster! Faster!  Me, holding onto the reins in one hand and the saddle horn in the other, (against the laws of good horsemanship but that didn’t seem to matter at the time) my feet too far forward in the stirrups and my knees clenched tightly against the saddle.  Slow Down!  Slow Down!  Slow Down!  But oh what thrilling times we would have.

We did have parakeets at one point. They had such a pretty song to sing, one was turquoise blue and the other was brilliant yellow.  I remember hating that they were caged and wished that they could have been singing in the forest at the cabin along with the chickadees.

Now it's your turn.....

WRITING ASSIGNMENT #21 - PETS

Pets can be a vital part of a person's life.  

Describe your childhood pet(s) and your special relationship with them. Don't just say what breed it was, detail it's unique markings and personality traits and any experiences you had with them.  

Then continue on to all of the pets you have had up to the present, include descriptions and photos if you have them...especially photos you might have of you with the pet(s).