An ancient gopher tortoise was Billy dog's best friend. Old Grumpus had a burrow in a vacant lot and our daily walk always included a house call in which Billy would sniff the entrance and a tortoise head would emerge briefly in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Billy would continue his business walk.
When Grumpus visited our house he would appear through the shrubbery and as slow as only a tortoise could be he would make his way across the lawn. Billy would wait in the corner of the lanai watching his poky pal stump through the grass.
Through the screen wire, dog and tortoise nudged noses in greeting. Shoulder to shoulder they would walk to the far end of the lanai where the night blooming jasmine bush would block their progress. Billy would turn, sit and wait for Grumpus to make his much slower turn, then side by side at a tortoise' pace they would return to the meeting corner.
Swinging his reptillian head, Grumpus would continue around the side yard, Billy watching until he was out of sight.
Down on the farm
Out of the woods.
Showing posts with label Critters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Critters. Show all posts
Friday, July 30, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
In Memory of a Really Good Dog.
Billy, gone 3 years now, is still so part of our lives we look around for him. Baby turns to look when we say his name and some days I swear she is searching for him. Or maybe just something to fill that blank space in the heart where he used to be.
On the other hand she now has toys of her own...Billy insisted they were ALL HIS!
One day after he died I picked up all the toys he had left around the house and placed them all in a basket in the bedroom. Baby watched the last toy go in, looked up at me, stalked over to a basket which is taller than she is...stood up, and tossed Billy's fave back onto the floor. She backed off, looked to see what I would do. (Nothing)
Over the next few days all the toys came back out and were placed on the bed...where they reside to this day. Twice a day at 3:30 p.m. for the kid who used to come home and play at that time, and at bedtime, she tosses and squeeks, then replaces them at the foot of the bed until tomorrow.
On the other hand she now has toys of her own...Billy insisted they were ALL HIS!
One day after he died I picked up all the toys he had left around the house and placed them all in a basket in the bedroom. Baby watched the last toy go in, looked up at me, stalked over to a basket which is taller than she is...stood up, and tossed Billy's fave back onto the floor. She backed off, looked to see what I would do. (Nothing)
Over the next few days all the toys came back out and were placed on the bed...where they reside to this day. Twice a day at 3:30 p.m. for the kid who used to come home and play at that time, and at bedtime, she tosses and squeeks, then replaces them at the foot of the bed until tomorrow.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Sam was walking Baby, a 10# Westie who is generally afraid of her shadow and/or yours.
Baby was getting into her excited mode, little woofs that indicate friends are coming to play. She did a little dance as 4 raccoons came out of the woods.
Bob, the12# white male cat who owns the Westie (according to him, anyway) had been hanging back, guarding the rear as he usually does. Like a streak he was beside Sam, back arched, hissing at the invading patrol. The coons hesitated, but another raccoon appeared on the far side of the road.
Four,The Bob could handle, but five was too many. Bob looked up at Sam, says "MEOUT!" and stretched out, racing toward home. A few yards down the way, The Bob stops, looks over his shoulder, and rowrs at Sam and Baby, and takes off again, stopping every few yards to hurry up the stragglers.
When his little troup was safely home, he stalked to the door and demanded to go back out.
Maybe he was going to have a talk with a group of raccoons. He is, after all, THE Bob.
Baby was getting into her excited mode, little woofs that indicate friends are coming to play. She did a little dance as 4 raccoons came out of the woods.
Bob, the12# white male cat who owns the Westie (according to him, anyway) had been hanging back, guarding the rear as he usually does. Like a streak he was beside Sam, back arched, hissing at the invading patrol. The coons hesitated, but another raccoon appeared on the far side of the road.
Four,The Bob could handle, but five was too many. Bob looked up at Sam, says "MEOUT!" and stretched out, racing toward home. A few yards down the way, The Bob stops, looks over his shoulder, and rowrs at Sam and Baby, and takes off again, stopping every few yards to hurry up the stragglers.
When his little troup was safely home, he stalked to the door and demanded to go back out.
Maybe he was going to have a talk with a group of raccoons. He is, after all, THE Bob.
We have a guest pooch this week while sister Kate is up north. Shaggy is a male yorkie who weighs about 6 pounds wringing wet. The rest of the cast you know.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
Baby trying to bully Bobcat into playing.
Written about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Nancy Guenther Chapman, Laura Larimer King and Sandy Maszkiewicz Johnston like this.
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The Bear under the chair game. Add to the story.
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Tuesday, July 7, 2009 at 12:49pm | Edit Note | Delete
"Grammers," said Sammers, "there's a bear in there."
"A Bear?" said Grammers, "in there where?"
and Sammers replied "He's under a chair!"
"Oh, Sammers could it be the chair by the stair?
Where its so cold, dark and drafty," Grammers declared
"Yes," Sammers said, "it has two eyes that glare!
And two ears, a nose, and claws that can tear
If anyone comes too close to his lair."
"Well, Sammers," said Grammers, "the harder I stare,
I see a nose, paws and tail, but absolutely no hair!"
"Grammers," said Sammers, "that bear there is bare!
He is red with embarrassment and blue with despair."
Grammers replied "A bald bear is rare!"
Updated about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
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New Bob the Cat story
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Friday, July 3, 2009 at 8:45am | Edit Note | Delete
Dick was walking Baby (Westie) while Bob the cat alternately lounged road center or lurked in the swales. They met one of the early dog walkers, Jan with Peanut (medium adorable mutt). While the humans talked, the dogs nosed, nudged, circled and Bob lay watching just out of reach. Then Sherry turned the corner with Scooter (a tall sweet tempered, bouncy wire haired terrier...Airdale I think, runs about 100 pounds at a guess).
As they approached, Baby started out to meet her buddy Scooter. Bob circled the group and got between Peanut, Baby and the approaching Scooter.
Hackles raised, white fur upstanding and hissing madly Bob the 10 pound white American shorthair prepared to defend his Baby from the giant. We should rename him "David".
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
Baby trying to bully Bobcat into playing.
Written about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Nancy Guenther Chapman, Laura Larimer King and Sandy Maszkiewicz Johnston like this.
Write a comment...
The Bear under the chair game. Add to the story.
Share
Tuesday, July 7, 2009 at 12:49pm | Edit Note | Delete
"Grammers," said Sammers, "there's a bear in there."
"A Bear?" said Grammers, "in there where?"
and Sammers replied "He's under a chair!"
"Oh, Sammers could it be the chair by the stair?
Where its so cold, dark and drafty," Grammers declared
"Yes," Sammers said, "it has two eyes that glare!
And two ears, a nose, and claws that can tear
If anyone comes too close to his lair."
"Well, Sammers," said Grammers, "the harder I stare,
I see a nose, paws and tail, but absolutely no hair!"
"Grammers," said Sammers, "that bear there is bare!
He is red with embarrassment and blue with despair."
Grammers replied "A bald bear is rare!"
Updated about 7 months ago · Comment · LikeUnlike
Write a comment...
New Bob the Cat story
Share
Friday, July 3, 2009 at 8:45am | Edit Note | Delete
Dick was walking Baby (Westie) while Bob the cat alternately lounged road center or lurked in the swales. They met one of the early dog walkers, Jan with Peanut (medium adorable mutt). While the humans talked, the dogs nosed, nudged, circled and Bob lay watching just out of reach. Then Sherry turned the corner with Scooter (a tall sweet tempered, bouncy wire haired terrier...Airdale I think, runs about 100 pounds at a guess).
As they approached, Baby started out to meet her buddy Scooter. Bob circled the group and got between Peanut, Baby and the approaching Scooter.
Hackles raised, white fur upstanding and hissing madly Bob the 10 pound white American shorthair prepared to defend his Baby from the giant. We should rename him "David".
A Bob Cat Tale
We have a guest pooch this week while sister Kate is up north. Shaggy is a male yorkie who weighs about 6 pounds wringing wet. The rest of the cast you know.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
This morning Dick was walking Baby and Shaggy. Sherry came around with Scooter (regulation size Airdale), who doesn't like male dogs.
Scooter went into attack mode and ol' Shaggy squared off with a dog about 50 times his size. He wasn't backing down either. He was going to have a tiny little piece of that monster!
Sherry was trying to control a crazy dog who probably matches her body weight and has a lot more muscle power.
Then Bob came flying out of the shrubbery, hackles raised, hissing like a live wire in water. Bob the Lion Heart, Protector of the tiny. Scooter didn't know which paw to use to bat the mosquitoes off! Bob probably aimed for the throat but I think he bounced off a knee.
Dick wrestled Baby and Shaggy back into the house with much cursing, barking and hissing. Scooter went on his way. A not so sure winner in the battle of the Bob.
The Doggie Gazette
My dogs have always been better reporters than I. They have no compunction about getting down to the nitty gritty filth of it all. They revel in it, and as a team they are incredible.
Billy, the slightly scrufty older reporter has seen it all, mostly twice. He never met a bone he couldn't worry down to the marrow or a smell he couldn't put a name to. Cautious and slow to make decisions, he waddles with all glacial speed down the block.
Baby leads at the end of her tether. She appears to be a mini sled dog, tugging and pulling along to the next sniff, the next and better story. I am stopped short by 20 pounds of stalled Westie male newshound and jerked forward by 11 pounds of Westie girl reporter.
Baby bounds ahead. Cat, cat, cat, racketycoons, dog, cat, cat, BOBCAT! Dog, dog, turkle. SNAKEHOLE! Bounce, bounce, bounce, tug.
One sniff at a time, Billy follows, accessing the facts. Mommy and 2 kittens, family of racoons. Bad dog, stay away. The old tortoise, cat, Elisabeth's cat, Billy's own Bob the cat. Mozart, and Rascal are good dogs, friends. Our old friend Grampus the turtle whose tunnel must be visited each and every day. Stay away from the snake hole. Slow down!
The owl hoots in the 11 acre jungle across the road. It is growing dark and I can barely see him in the top of the tree. Both reporters become wary. Billy in front, on guard, he'll take on anyone or anything that threatens his story or his family. Baby slides behind me, taking on the better part of valor. She will let the big dogs handle the big stuff.
Billy swells to an amazing size. His shoulders widen as he plants his front feet in warrior fashion. His usually placid face takes on a ferocious grin. He has gained 15 pounds of sheer attitude. I don't think the owl is impressed, but I am. Billy can handle it. He is Baby's hero. We proceed along the street, Billy slowly subsiding to normal size. We walk on into the dark.
At the corner Billy stops to peer down the dark road. He parks his backside and makes it clear that he is not going down that path.
Wisdom says not to go where Billy does not want to go. We turn back toward the lights at the far end of the woods. Home, with stories to report for the doggie gazette.
Billy, the slightly scrufty older reporter has seen it all, mostly twice. He never met a bone he couldn't worry down to the marrow or a smell he couldn't put a name to. Cautious and slow to make decisions, he waddles with all glacial speed down the block.
Baby leads at the end of her tether. She appears to be a mini sled dog, tugging and pulling along to the next sniff, the next and better story. I am stopped short by 20 pounds of stalled Westie male newshound and jerked forward by 11 pounds of Westie girl reporter.
Baby bounds ahead. Cat, cat, cat, racketycoons, dog, cat, cat, BOBCAT! Dog, dog, turkle. SNAKEHOLE! Bounce, bounce, bounce, tug.
One sniff at a time, Billy follows, accessing the facts. Mommy and 2 kittens, family of racoons. Bad dog, stay away. The old tortoise, cat, Elisabeth's cat, Billy's own Bob the cat. Mozart, and Rascal are good dogs, friends. Our old friend Grampus the turtle whose tunnel must be visited each and every day. Stay away from the snake hole. Slow down!
The owl hoots in the 11 acre jungle across the road. It is growing dark and I can barely see him in the top of the tree. Both reporters become wary. Billy in front, on guard, he'll take on anyone or anything that threatens his story or his family. Baby slides behind me, taking on the better part of valor. She will let the big dogs handle the big stuff.
Billy swells to an amazing size. His shoulders widen as he plants his front feet in warrior fashion. His usually placid face takes on a ferocious grin. He has gained 15 pounds of sheer attitude. I don't think the owl is impressed, but I am. Billy can handle it. He is Baby's hero. We proceed along the street, Billy slowly subsiding to normal size. We walk on into the dark.
At the corner Billy stops to peer down the dark road. He parks his backside and makes it clear that he is not going down that path.
Wisdom says not to go where Billy does not want to go. We turn back toward the lights at the far end of the woods. Home, with stories to report for the doggie gazette.
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