My Dear Ken,  I think I have found your pet problem--it's the names you
give them!!!!!  Here we name them quite ordinary names and they go on to
live quite ordinary pet lives.  Midnight, our super expensive black Lab
does, however, like to nibble on underwear and socks.  The most outrageous
name I ever gave a pet was a cat named Melvin Sekaywitcz, I guess.  I never
tried to spell it before but pronounced C-K-wits.  I named him after a long
night of whisky drinking with the friends who gave him to me. Ruth, telling
tales from my youth






At 1:14 PM -0400 10/4/02, Ken Follett wrote:
In a message dated 10/2/2002 8:08:00 PM Pacific Daylight Time,
[log in to unmask] writes:

Hey, but I'll Fed Ex that crazy Lab my ADULT daughter dropped on us to you!
And Sparky will help stuff her in the box!



Guttama Buddhama Govinda Moses Jesus Khrishna Rebecca Ruth was the
multi-deity mutt that showed up on our communal porch one morning. I was a
sucker for stray dogs. A bad angel dropped in on us. The bitch was problem
from day one. If left alone in the house it would go in the bed and shit on
our pillows. I left it for a while with my mother and it ate her, and my
sister's underwear. I can tell you, that was fun to hear about. Talk about
conflict resolution, it was the only dog I ever took to the pound with
deadly intent.

Don't get me wrong, I have had many friends that were dogs. Monster was the
best dog I ever knew, half Lab, half Shep. He loved to chew rocks, not
stones, not pebbles, but rocks. We got two dogs now, Dixie & D-dog that,
despite my not wanting them to know, together don't quite add up to one
Monster. I can only imagine how hard it is for them to be extra special.
One stays home waiting for a petting, and the other wanders to visit the
neighbors and pretends to be deaf when we call him.

And then there was the wild cat that was left us when my surrealist poet
friend left town after their house burnt down. I was a sucker for stray
cats. I have a lack of patience for cats that shit and piss on the papers
and books on my desk. How they figure these things out I have no idea. I
don't care how rough a cat's animal life has been, enough is enough.
Despite getting a full paw of claws embedded in my hand, working to protect
my face, I finally stuffed Jelsammina and her anonymous kittens in a burlap
bag with a brick and was headed for the crick when Kathy intervened.

Then there was Humphrey Rock Custard, the white cat that loved goat milk
straight from the teet. I still feel sad that he jumped out of the car one
night when we were moving, never to be seen by us again.

][<en

--
Ruth Barton
[log in to unmask]
Westminster, VT

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