The Razor

And the entire household is on tenterhooks. Here’s an introduction to Little Girl.

They need to come out with a feline edition of “What To Expect When You’re Expecting,” ...

UPDATE: 2:32am Friday May 8, 2009

One ER visit (for a bad cat bite to the Wife – who got a little too close during a kitten birth) and 4 kittens later…

Note that 3 of the 4 are completely black.

Guess I just can’t escape my goth heritage…

A few weeks ago the Kid came home with a kitten in his arms. We had thought the cat had a home, but after speaking to the supposed owner we learned that the kitten was in fact a two year old feral female. Although tame outside she would not stand being stuck indoors. Several people in the neighborhood had tried to bring her in and tame her, but she always managed to escape. Unfortunately no one had ever thought to spay her, so she had already had two litters of kittens. The neighborhood kids had given her an ordinary name which I didn’t like, and until I could come up with another name I took to calling her “Little Girl” after her diminutive size.

Although friendly outside, inside our house her personality changes. She is extremely aggressive with the other cats and the dogs and doesn’t take too kindly to being handled by the Wife or myself. Perhaps a better name would be ”Vixen” or something connoting her feisty temper.  However she’s gentle with the Kid and allows him to hold and pet her. I set up a litter box for her which she uses and figured that I would make arrangements to have her spayed and then release her back into the wild.

Two weeks ago I prepared to take her to a warehouse where cats are spayed and neutered cheaply. In the days before I watched her carefully and became suspicious that she was pregnant. Chances were she was – a healthy young female, outdoors in the springtime who had already had two litters.

I am pro-life and couldn’t in good conscience have her spayed if she were indeed pregnant. I decided to keep her indoors until I was certain that she wasn’t pregnant or she had kittens.  The idea of taking her to the backdoor of a warehouse to have an abortion just repulsed me. Her presence is a big inconvenience in my life, but taking lives should require better excuses. Nothing worth having in life is convenient; in fact some of the best things in my life were “inconvenient” at one time or another. Depending on her litter size I will keep them all or find homes for them. Each will be neutered or spayed – as she will be once the kits are a month old.

It’s been three weeks now and there has been no sign of her going into heat, plus her belly is bulging slightly and has a bit of sway when she walks. She’s calmer around the other animals and becoming a bit more social with me and the Wife. Since the death of our main cat in January I’ve been looking for a kitten to help fill the void created in my heart after her death; so far I’ve come up empty handed.

But as usual I don’t find the animals; the animals always find me when the time is right for them.

The Family took a drive through the Brandywine Valley to blow off some steam; the Kid was brooding about things a 12 year old broods about; I was stressed out over taxes and the Wife was bummed about her friend and her dead husband.

At such times a drive in “the country” tends to soothe the soul, but we got an extra comfort in the form of tens of thousands of 3/4 to 1” frogs known locally as “Peepers.” Peepers are like cherry blossoms in Delaware; they are only around for a few days so when you find them they are quite a treat. Wikipedia notes:

Spring peepers breed in southern areas from October to March, depending on the local temperature. In northern areas, they breed from March to June when the warm rain starts. P. crucifer typically lay around 900 eggs per clutch, but up to 1000 is possible. In very cold weather, they hibernate under logs and loose bark. Spring peepers are nocturnal frogs, and they are mostly heard but not seen. They are especially easy to hear due to their extremely loud mating call which gives them the name “peeper”, but it is often hard to pinpoint the source of the sound, especially when many are peeping at once.

After finding a particular loud crop we pulled off the road and searched the flooded marsh to see if we could find the little critters. The noise was so loud it was like someone was blowing a whistle in your ears – it rattled your ear drums. We searched but didn’t find them – although we did find nice crops of slimy frog eggs.

We then hopped back into the car and drove around listening for peepers until the sun went down. Those 3/4 to 1” frogs sure improved our mood.

I supported the study of a wild chimpanzee population in Tanzania for a full year in 1994-95. I lived in an isolated area where researchers (including Dr. Wife) daily followed a large group of wild chimps from the time they started stirring at dawn until the time they bedded down at dusk. I’ve even had the honor of meeting Jane Goodall a few times.

Chimpanzees belong one place and one place only: in the wild. They do not belong in zoos and they sure as hell do not belong in people’s homes. Therefore I don’t have much sympathy for these walking Darwin awards:

Police said they had no idea why the chimpanzee, named Travis, attacked the woman as she got out of her car to visit the animal’s owner, Sandra Herold. Conklin said Herold wrestled with the animal, then ran inside to call 911.

“She retrieved a large butcher knife and stabbed her longtime pet numerous times in an effort to save her friend, who was really being brutally attacked,” Conklin said….

“He’s been raised almost like a child by this family,” Conklin said Monday. “He rides in a car every day, he opens doors, he’s a very unique animal in that aspect. We have no indication of what provoked this behavior at all.”

Maybe the only indication you need is that you own a wild animal.

I can take a dog and treat it like a cat but it’s not going to ever purr. I can take a lion and treat it like a dog but I’ll never be able to trust it around the neighbor’s kids. I can even take one of my favorite handguns, the Beretta Px4 Storm, put it in the bathroom and brush my teeth with it – but that’s not going to turn it into a toothbrush. And if I accidentally shot myself after flossing it would strain the meaning of the term “accidentally.”

Chimpanzees are wild animals; you can treat them like children all you want and they will remain chimpanzees. They are also incredibly social animals. The only time they leave the group is when females leave their home group and emigrate to a new one. Their society is incredibly complex and their social lives are full. Travis is fifteen – a young adult chimpanzee who is completely alone and cut off from his own kind.  Unfortunately for wild chimps, once they are taken from the wild they can never go back.

Now I hope the mauled woman recovers from her injuries, and I hope that Travis the chimp can find a chimp sanctuary. But when will people stop poaching these animals from the wild and making them pets?

UPDATE: Travis was shot dead by police. He’s probably better off.

I came through the door after walking the dogs to find my wife and son wailing over the limp body of our main cat. She had been purring away with the wife enjoying the warm air near a heating grate when she made a funny sound and gasped her last in the Wife’s arms.

She had been rescued in Japan from a “pet shop” that sold endangered species and  kittens in filthy cages to feed exotic pets. The owner was protected by Yakuza – but that protection wasn’t enough to keep it from getting shut down a few years later. The Cat tended the Wife through her pregnancy, and was the Kid’s special pet throughout his childhood.

The Cat loved everybody equally. She was friendly to strangers, never missed the litterbox and loved snuggling with us under the covers.

As far as death’s go, it was a good one. But knowing that doesn’t take the sting away.

I have two dogs. Our main dog is a black chihuahua and our backup dog is a black lab-border collie mix. I grew up with dogs and know my way around them whether they are big or small, wimpy or domineering. However tonight I made a stupid mistake and got one of the nastier bites I’ve received from a dog.

After running an errand the dogs were happy to arrive home. They are also happy to “go bye-bye” but they are dogs, so they are also happy to come home. Now the lab mix and I attended training classes and she behaves herself fairly well. She’ll obey commands unless she’s distracted. The chi won’t obey anything, and since he’s older – and a chihuahua – I pretty much don’t try to train him. Anyway we get home and as soon as I open the door the chi bolts down the alley. I call out to him but he ignores me. The lab gets out of the car and looks at me. “Get your brother,” I tell her, and on command she runs off after the chi – not to corral him as I had hoped but to have a run down the alley herself.

Since she listens – most of the time – I run after the chihuahua; he eventually gives up and rolls over onto his back which his way of saying “I’m done now; pick me up and carry me back home.” So I pick him up and I command the lab to follow.

She obediently does but as we are passing the next door neighbor his dog, a long legged and beefy mix of something bolts the fence; immediately the lab and the neighbors dog start tearing at each other. The neighbor comes running as I yell at the dogs to break it up; I have one hand free and the other holding the chihuahua.  I cannot let the chi go because he’s 9 pounds and a chihuahua. I quickly learn that you cannot separate two dogs with one hand, especially a forty pounder (mine) and an eighty pounder (my neighbor’s). Of course as I am trying to grab one of the dogs by the collars the neighbor’s dog bites my hand, piercing the thin skin on the back of my hand as well as the thicker skin of my palm.

Being in IT my hands aren’t as thick as a mason’s or a landscaper’s but I do a fair amount of yard work and carpentry so the skin of my palm isn’t exactly girlish either. Nevertheless the neighbor’s dog bit a nice chunk out of it – enough that I was dripping blood while trying to break up the dogfight.

My lab’s name matches her sensitive nature. She one of the gentlest animals I own. But she’s a dog, and for some reason known only to her she doesn’t like the neighbor’s dog. She wasn’t cowering: she was going for the other dog’s throat. The neighbor ended up picking her up with one hand as I finally got a grip on his dog with my bleeding one. He carried her into my fenced yard while I held his dog back, and boy she really strained to get at mine.

The point of this is not to blame my neighbor for the fact that his dog jumped the fence as easily as one of our cats leaps onto the sofa, rather it is what he said after the fact “I didn’t think she could do that.”

Dogs are animals but they are also our pets, and as such we believe we know them and understand them completely. That might be true 99.9% of the time; the problem occurs during that .1% when they manage to surprise us. Although the lab-mix has never bitten another human, I always hold her leash tightly when a child approaches her wanting to give her a pet. In fact to use a driving analogy, I manage the dog the same way I handle driving: defensively. I try to always anticipate what could go wrong and plan ahead just like I do with the idiot drivers from New Jersey who infest our Philadelphia area highways.

But there are the times when I don’t and I let her run down the alley after “her brother.” The chihuahua isn’t her brother, and she is not a child who can be ordered around to do my bidding. I broke the cardinal rule of dog ownership and forgot she was just a dog.

It was a stupid mistake on my part, and luckily for me no one but me was hurt. This time.

My son plays with a bunch of kids in the neighborhood from one family I call “the Gypsies.” Their house is pretty messed up with toys scattered around the front yard, and children being tended by other children. I’m not sure how many generations are in the house but I suspect that the oldest people I’ve seen there, being in their late 30’s or early 40’s, are the grandparents of some of the kids running around. Being somewhat libertarian minded I don’t think too much about their situation. They are nice people and their personal life is none of my business.

Somehow the kids got wind that we had a male guinea pig. They had a female guinea pig and told the Kid that they wanted to breed the two to make guinea pig babies.

My son asked me if I would let them “borrow” the pig for little while, and I said “No.” “It’s just for a few minutes.” Again, no. For several days he tried to get me to relent and I stood my ground. I would not let him take the guinea pig down to their house to “show” them, let alone stud him.

Friday night the Kid asked if he could take the guinea pig outside on the front lawn. I agreed but said that it couldn’t leave our property. So being 11 years old and knowing exactly where I stood on the issue, he consciously defied me and took the guinea pig down to the Gypsies. After I caught him walking back with the pig, he admitted to his defiance.

The Gypsies threw both pigs into a cardboard box, and according to the Kid the female danced around the male a little but he wasn’t interested. I’m not surprised. The pig isn’t the smartest pet I’ve owned. In fact the gerbils I care for show more personality than the pig does even though he’s 15x their size.

We inherited the pig after the Kid got it from one of his friends whose parents were getting divorced a few months ago. There was some deception there as well, since he called and told me that “Mom says it’s okay to get the guinea pig.” I later learned that the Wife had not said any such thing, and had said that we would “discuss it later.”

After I caged the pig the Wife and I grilled him on his defiance. He broke down crying and promised never to do it again. Since it was his first offense and most of our information came from his “confession” I made it clear that he would not be punished this time, but that any future defiance would be punished regardless of whether we obtain a confession or not. I made it clear that confessions would mitigate the punishment but not prevent it altogether. We also explained why we didn’t want to breed the pig, how the parenting skills of the Gypsies weren’t the best (a few days before I saw grandpa/dad riding a ten speed with a toddler on his shoulders; neither one wore a helmet although I’m sure the toddler would have acted like one had he fallen) and we didn’t want to be responsible for being babies into an unhealthy situation. That finally got through to the Kid better than the threat of punishment, and now I’m pretty confident he won’t mess with the Pig again.

He’s 11 1/2. I know this is only the beginning but I am prepared.

Take a love for animals, an interest in photography, a talent at Photoshop and a Cafepress store, combine them together and this is the result:

First off, his demeanor seemed contrite. For the most part he spoke in the “active tense” and avoided the non-apology of we’ve heard so often “to those who were hurt by my actions, I apologize” vs the active voice “I apologize to those hurt by my actions,” (weak) or even better, “I apologize to those I’ve hurt.” He did have a tendency to speak about himself in the third person, which really, really annoys me.

Still, the only way he will ever get beyond this is to speak openly and bluntly about his actions. I think his attorneys are still controlling what he says, to help influence the sentencing in December and the pending state charges he’s facing.

The “court of public opinion” is in a sense even more demanding than federal and state criminal courts. What he said at today’s news conference didn’t go far enough.

Michael Vick: What I did was very immature, so that means I need to grow up.
I don’t see the connection. In my more immature moments I watch cartoons, I don’t fight dogs.

MV: I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m totally responsible – and those things didn’t have to happen.
Notice the disconnect between his responsibility and his actions the “things” that “didn’t have to happen.” These dogfights didn’t occur spontaneously without his effort. This is the mindset of typical criminals – who separate themselves from their heinous actions so that they can live with them.

MV: I made a mistake in using bad judgment and making bad decisions.
There’s that separation again. It’s semantic, but any psychologist would jot it down on his notepad.

MV:Dogfighting is a terrible thing and I do reject it. Through this situation I’ve found Jesus…
I’m sure you reject dogfighting now because doing it is sending you to the slammer and possibly ending your lucrative football career. As for Jesus, I personally hope that He’s busy helping the truly contrite.

MV:I accept the responsibility for my actions and what I did, and now I have to accept the consequences.
But what were those actions? What did you do? We’re still not clear about this – and your newsconference didn’t help.

MV:I will redeem myself.
Mike, I don’t care if you redeem yourself or not. The ball is in your court now to rebuild your fan’s trust and faith in you.

From my perspective as an animal owner and football fan, I doubt I can ever watch you play without remembering what you did to those dogs. Those hands that grip the football also gripped a dog’s neck as you squeezed the life out of it. When I see you spike a football to run out the clock, I’ll remember you smashing a dog’s brains out on the concrete floor.

You had it all. You realized your dream – unlike most of us. You had wealth, fame and talent in measures that few of us will ever achieve. But deep down you were simply a thug who got your jollies by causing pain and suffering.

I’m no saint, Michael. I’ve done stupid things in my life just like anyone. But I’ve never done anything as bad as what you’ve done. My parents raised me to avoid doing those things – killing for sport and torturing for kicks. I’m no sadist, and seeing a sadist stand there as the camera shutters whirr away really pisses me off.

I hope you turn life around, Mike, but if you don’t I won’t lose any sleep. You can then rot the rest of your life having tasted success while knowing you will never, ever taste it again.

I don’t like PETA. I think they are extremists who devalue human life by treating it the same as other animal species. I don’t believe that, just as I don’t believe that chimpanzees are just as valuable as a sea cucumber; they are more valuable. I’m a conservationist along the lines of Theodore Roosevelt – not John Muir and especially not the flakes who belong to PETA.

But I do agree with them on the issue of Pit Bulls and breeding. I like the Staffordshire Terrier aka Pit Bull, but it’s a breed that has been irrevocably altered by humans to emphasize its aggressive nature. I believe that all Pit Bulls are not killers, but I also believe that you can’t trust them. I would never have a Pit with a kid around. In fact I’m not sure I would ever have a Pit at all.

And that brings me back to PETA. PETA thinks the breed should disappear, and I agree with that. I also agree with their position that breeding should not be allowed when millions of dogs and cats need homes and get euthanized every year for want of a home.

All of my dogs and cats are rescues. Over the course of our marriage the Wife and I have rescued over 20 cats and dogs, finding good homes for each and every one. We consider it a moral duty, just as we believe it is our moral duty to help others in need.

So for once I’m going to speak well of PETA. Good job, PETA.

Last night our backup dog was chasing after something that was low-flying. Since there are several bird’s nests in the yard I kept her at bay once I realized what was happening. This morning I found these little guys:

There is a significant size different between these two little guys that the pics don’t seem to capture. Both are in good condition. I don’t see any apparent injuries or broken bones. The bottom guy wanted to be fed when I picked him up – or he wanted to bite me – either way he’s in pretty good shape.

Mom & dad are flying around, issuing warning chirps whenever I get close and trying to distract me. Every once in awhile I hear the begging chirps of a fledgling and I know they are being fed. Our backyard isn’t the best place for baby birds; we have two dogs and a feral stray that we feed plus a small pond that the babies can stumble into if they aren’t careful. However the yard is fenced with lots of low laying plants to hide under and trees and bushes of various sizes to leap into and try to fly from.

And best of all, I am a supporter of Tri-state Bird Rescue. I called them this morning to discuss the situation and decided that the best course of action was to let Mom and Dad handle things. They’ve been doing a good job so far keeping their babies alive with a lab mix and chihuahua gunning for them, so they should do okay if I leave them in peace (and yes, that means no more handling/picture taking).

I’ve got the windows open and can hear what’s happening. Just a few “Where are you?” “I’m here!” chirps between parent and fledgling, so things are going okay I suppose.

The biggest problem with animals and children is deciding when to let Nature take its course and when to intervene. I’m learning that it’s much harder to do the former than the latter.

At quarter to eight tonight I was walking the dogs home when my chihuahua started throwing a seizure. I immediately picked him up and gently but firmly held him while his body stiffened and his front legs stretched fully in front of him. I checked the time and allowed his body to gradually relax.

The gran mal lasted less than five minutes. Anything over ten and I know to take him to the emergency vet clinic so I was relieved when he came back to consciousness. Although he couldn’t walk, he responded to my voice with his customary licks.

It’s 10pm now and the dog is curled up next to me. Judging by the alertness of his ears which are responding to the sounds of the Kid’s video game, he’s slowly getting back to normal.

This is the Chi’s first seizure since early April. Dr. Wife is on call tonight saving human lives while I tend the home fires. I live an odd life, one that accepts the responsibilities that come with my eccentricities – such as a home teeming with animal life. I was raised with animals and have had them around me ever since. While I recognize they are not people, I know that they are more than “just” cats and dogs (and gerbils, fish and even frogs). They are Life with a capital “L”, the culmination of billions of years of evolution.

Long ago I realized that there are creators and destroyers in this world.

There are Destroyers among us – those who seek to destroy whatever we build. We create skyscrapers that caress the clouds, and they destroy them. We build peace between nations, and they destroy it. We nurture understanding between faiths – and they destroy it. And even in the ashes of despair we create hope – and they seek to destroy that as well.

They blow up children instead of educating and loving them. They kill and maim instead of healing and comforting. They speak hatred and lies instead of Love and Truth. They reap what other’s sow then burn the fields and plow salt into the land. They hide in darkness and pray to a disfigured god – twisted by their own ideas and horrific visions into something debased and foul.

I create life and tend it, protect it, care for it and cherish it. But I would not lose a minute’s worth of sleep if I had to kill a destroyer. I do not torment myself with futile questions or misgivings.

3 months ago we got this critter:

Since that time this little guy has really livened up the house. Even the Wife, who once considered herself as solely a “cat person” now loves dogs – thanks in part to Rocky aka “Rockstar.”

I remember when I was in college and how I imagined myself as striding the moors of northern England with my Irish Wolfhound at my side, thinking deep thoughts and writing famous poetry.

Twenty years later I stride the streets of Delaware with my chihuahua and Lab mix scrambling at my feet, wondering whether the neighbors will notice that I didn’t pick up the dog crap my canine companions left on their lawns. As for writing, my most popular post on this site is about Gerbils. Life sure has a sense of humor.

But I don’t mind. Rocky is a fun, lively dog – fierce to everyone outside of the family, and loyal to the core. One could do worse than to come home to a house with a chihuahua wiggling in excitement at your feet as the Lab leaps around you in joyful celebration of your return.

One could do worse.

If you don’t neuter your dog, don’t bring him to the dog park.

Last night some guy brought his “unaltered” male schnauzer to the dog park. The dog commenced to hump everything in sight. At first he politely pulled his dog off the other dogs but got tired of it after awhile and pretty much forced the job onto the other owners.

Soon a rather attractive young woman came into the park with her small Chiahuahua-mix. The guy zeroed in on the girl as soon as she entered the enclosure, and his dog was all over the chiahuahua. He tried to chat her up as the woman struggled to keep her dog away from the male. The guy was completely clueless that the actions of his horny dog pretty much outweighed the moves he was putting on the girl.

... a young dopey lab-border collie mix with a gentle nature and a fear of vacuum cleaners.

Pix are forthcoming.

I’m looking forward to going home again.