My husband doesn’t remember not having a pet in the house. At the time I started hanging around with the family, the pet-in-residence was a black cat named Shadow, who to my notion didn’t like much of anyone or anything except for ham. My someday-to-be-mother-in-law actually spelled out “h-a-m” in conversation because the cat might hear and go nuts. I came from a home where all animals stayed outside and were mostly used for hunting, breeding, or food, so I thought this whole notion of “pet personality” was more than just a little silly. After all, they are dumb animals, right?
Well, maybe not.
A couple of months before we got married, hubby and I got a chance at the perfect rental place to set up housekeeping. One of us needed to stay there, and he was the logical choice. He’d only been in residence for a few days when he decided the place was lonely and announced that he was looking for a cat. His mother is one of those folks who either “knows somebody” or “knows somebody who knows somebody” and so, a few weeks later, she whispered to me that she had located a kitten, and that said kitten would be delivered as a gift at our shower.
Hubby announced his name, and so I wrote about “our beloved cat, Ali” in our wedding book. Hubby read the entry and informed me that I had misspelled the name. “Don’t you get it?” he said…. it’s Aloycious, short for Alley Cat.” I didn’t. My dad the farmer and hunter didn’t think much of cats, so we never had one. I didn’t change the entry because I didn’t want to mess up the perfectly penned page in the wedding book, but for the next 14 years, Alley was a fixture. He was the first of our furry family. We became “pet people.” We have the sorts of memories that pet people have:
Trying to explain to a two-year-old visitor that kitty didn’t mean to take her sucker (he tried to play with the stick, which stuck to his paw).
Explaining to the drive-through attendant at McDonald’s that we’re okay with the dog licking the ice cream cone (we’d bought it for him anyway).
Apologizing to our neighbors because our labrador retriever thought their chicken coop was a hunting range with 24-hour walk-up restaurant. (There was no explaining that one…)
As I write this, I am sitting a few feet from the latest addition to our household. The day he came to live at our house, everything changed. He is a Jack Russel Terrier. We named him Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson after the sea captain whose life is described as similar to the temperament of the Jack Russel – smart, charismatic, and ornery.
Our most recent adventure with the dog is still in progress. The in-laws now live two states away, where they moved shortly after the first utterance of the “g” word (grandchild). We don’t see each other as often as we should, given that a good day’s drive separates us. Labor Day weekend presented a good opportunity for us to make the journey. Normally when we go out of town Nelson goes to “kennelgarten,” but since the folks don’t mind him coming to visit, on these trips he goes along for the ride.
Remember the cat who went gaga over ham? This dog goes gaga over “go.” Normally, on any other weekday morning when he sees makeup and toothpaste come out of the cabinet, he’s off to his favorite hiding place (under the bed) in the hope that we will forget him and he’ll have a glorious day of freedom outside of his in-home kennel. Friday morning, he spun in circles and whined and looked at us with that “come on, we should have been on the road thirty minutes ago!” look. He was the same during potty and stretch breaks. But hubby and I get fussy after a couple of hours in the car, and so we need a few minutes every now and then. On this trip we should have called him “Sergeant” – he marched off and did his business and was immediately ready to march back to the car. He doesn’t understand that where I go potty you have to wait in line.
He was the first one up the morning we started back home. He beat hubby to the car and got in the driver’s seat. He was quite perturbed to learn that trip from the house to the car was only the first of several to load luggage and goodies Grandma was sending home. He was frankly put out that I wasted valuable time on one last potty break where the best seat in the house was available without waiting. He settled comfortably into his crate the minute we hit the highway. He is happy and content to be on the road again. He’s napping now, most likely dreaming about what he’s going to do to harass the cat when he’s back home.
I wonder how long I should wait until I tell him we’re hungry and down to a quarter tank of gas.