Last month Anne Moratto presented a very sweet service called "We Don't Deserve Dogs: How Animals Make Us Human." The graphic featured an heroic shot of her late friend, Bear, who made her way to the happy hunting grounds earlier this year.
And this week we lost two more great friends. My own dog,Gordon Thunderfoot, was a fixture at all the fanciest UUVerdugo events and left us after 12 glorious years. He was a friend to all, unless you happened to be a possum, in which case the relationship got complicated. He had developed an aggressive angiosarcoma that severely limited his motion, but not his personality. This picture is from 15 minutes before he moved on to fight crime in Space.
Then, a day later, Martha Mae, the beloved pet of our Board president, Mary Madill, made her elegant exit. Mary and Mel had placed throw rugs all over their house so Martha (named after Martha Stewart, because she was a boss) would have an easy path over the hardwood floors.
We miss these animals terribly, and their like shan't be seen again. But they made us better people, and we owe it to their memories to be the people they knew we could be.
Yesterday I gave all Gordon's leftover food and treats to these ancient beauties (16, 17, and 19!) who run the life of one of our new congregants. From afar, Gordon counsels his elders to clean their plates as he did.
I mean, come on. Just look at them.
Terry Richman contributed this lovely essay for Anne's service, and it is posted below with her permission.
PETS
Why do we do it? Why do we put up with stressful, expensive trips to the vet, fur in the
house and on our clothes, litter boxes or enforced walks, banging on the bedroom door to
get fed at 5:30 in the morning, grooming struggles (ie., NAIL CUTTING!), panic when
they can’t be found (Did she get out the front door?!), shredded/gnawed furniture...
We pet parents know these negatives are far outweighed by the rewards of sharing life with
our beloved cats and dogs. They enrich our lives with their comforting presence, are with
us through the good and the bad and, not least of all, provide great entertainment. Plus, it
turns out, it’s a good feeling to be needed and trusted.
We’ve had cats over the last decades, but my pet experiences started with dogs.
Coincidentally, I’ve recently had another occasion to remember my childhood pets.
Twenty or thirty years ago we signed up with an investment firm. I’d never had reason to
phone them in the past but wanted to now. Before helping me, of course, the
representative had to ask me a security question. He asked, “What was the name of your
first pet?”
Aww, I thought, memories. That would have been the collie we had when I was in high
school. I pictured his bouncy walk and smiley face. (Also a flea-infestation.)
“Prince!” I told the representative.
The guy was quiet. “No.”
Oh wait, I thought. I’d forgotten about the white German Shepherd we had in Texas when I
was 7 or so. We didn’t have him long. I don’t know what happened but he was suddenly
gone. I was afraid to walk past the big freezer in the garage because, for reasons I can’t
imagine now, I thought he was in there!
“Whitey!” I told the representative.
Quiet again.
“Hello?”
“No, I’m sorry that’s not right. I’m afraid I can’t discuss your account.”
We hung up.
Good grief! Was dementia finally settling in? What other pet could it be?
Then Howard, my husband, guessed what the right answer must have been. When I had first answered that question, my mind had skipped over the childhood pets that I’d never been responsiblefor, to the first dog that was truly mine—Chiam. He was a sweet, happy Pekingese we got soon after we were married. And yes, he was our first child.
Cats came into our lives many years later when a handsome gray cat strayed into our front
yard. Our girls fed him and he decided to stay. My strongest memory of him is when he
got out the door and didn’t come back for days. We were so worried!
He finally showed up, but with a broken leg. The vet put a cast on it, which didn’t stop
Charcoal from continuing to jump up onto the kitchen countertop!
Many years later we were “catless” and the girls were on their own, with cats of their
own. They apparently thought we must be lonesome, so they got us a little black-and-
white cat from a rescue agency. We named her Ripley, after the Sigorney Weaver
character in the "Alien" movies. The name turned out to be appropriate, as she was pretty
wild. Her favorite pastime was hiding under the bed, then jumping out to attack our feet!
More time passed and Howard and I were catless again. We missed them, but this time we
wanted one that was cuddly. At a PetCo “Adopt a Cat” event, we picked out one that was a
beautiful long-haired tortoiseshell color. First though, she had to pass a test—would she
sit on our laps? She did! Right there in the store. She was perfectly calm and happy.
Marley turned out to be a sweetheart who gave us all the affection we could ask for.
It was heartbreaking when she got sick. We decided we never wanted to go through that
again and swore off pets forever.
Until.....one Christmas dinner at our daughter’s house, the grandkids kept giggling and
giving us knowing looks. Finally, they blurted out that they had a Christmas gift for us and
insisted we follow them into a bathroom.
What? I thought. A gift in a bathroom?
You guessed it. There was a little pink-nosed, gray tuxedo cat looking around curiously
from her bed. The kids had gone to a shelter and after much searching, decided this was
the cat for us. They had been right!
Mako is snugly (with very soft fur) and affectionate (she’s right at the door to greet us
when we come home), funny and wild (our entertainer). Sometimes I wonder what
Howard and I would talk about without her.
“Look! She’s attacking her tail!”
“Where was she sleeping this morning?”
“Did you see her skid around the corner and run up into her tower?”
“Does she want on your lap or mine?”
“Uh oh, check out her face. She’s worried.”
I feel it’s a privilege to take care of these loyal nonhuman creatures who trust and love us.
But there is, of course, the one huge drawback. Our granddaughter Ruby, whose family
has a cat and a dog, expressed it recently.
I sometimes ask her a list of conversational questions like: What do you want to be when
you grow up? or Are you more like your mother or your father?
One day I asked, “If you could have one wish come true, what would it be?” She didn’t
skip a beat. “I’d wish that pets could never die.”