Horsin' around

I waited all of my life for my first horse, literally! I've been a huge fan of horses and riding since I was about 2. Thanks to the kindness of my aunt and uncle, I spent my summers at their house, petting, brushing, cleaning up after, dreaming about, and riding their horses. This photo below is of me and my cousin Kim, on an unnamed horse (simply because I can't remember its name) in my aunt & uncle's pasture. This is about when the love affair started.

My mother was a single parent. She sometimes worked 2 (once even 3) jobs so that we could have things that others had. So that I could have some semblance of a normal childhood. I have so much respect for the single moms I know.

Anyhow, this extra money went mostly for groceries and necessities, but it also went for riding lessons, horse camp, and making sure I had access to the furry love(s) of my life, even though it was impossible for me to own one.

When I moved away from access to my aunt's horses and to riding, I sort of gave up. We lived in what was a small town in the high desert of California, and if there were horses around, I wasn't aware of them. And when it came time for me to pay for college, horses weren't even on my list of priorities. I was just trying to survive; to grow up, educate myself, and find a job that would pay a living wage.

Fast forward 22 years: I'm married to a great guy, with 2 super kids and a job. I'm at work one day, when my friend comes in to the office where I work and proceeds to tell me how she's in the process of purchasing her first horse. She had no experience with horses, other than a childhood love for them, as I had. Bells went off in my head. I followed my friend's progress with her horses (yes, plural). I started thinking maybe this was something I could do also. Heck, I was employed, why not?

Zips Crimson Whiskey needed a home. No, it's not a new brand of hooch, "it" was a handsome sorrel gelding, who needed a home. His family had 3 other horses, and no time for him. He was a wonderful, horse, spending his life as a pasture pet. Here's a picture of him:


I adopted him, and was absolutely in heaven being a horse owner, until the reality of owning one of these intelligent, emotional creatures hit home. I had no time for him. two teenagers keep two parents very busy. Not to mention work, and any other thing I might want to do. I was only riding him one or 2 times a week. It was a problem of distance to the stable (45 minutes from home) and the fact that no one else in my family is interested in horses. My daughter loved "Whiskey" as a pet, but thinks that horses require too much work (which they do; I love horse-work). I kept him for about 1-1/2 years, and sadly, had to give him up for adoption. He now lives in a great home, with people I trust, and is a lesson horse who gets ridden daily. Also, he's learning a new job: team penning. (google it).

What does the future hold for me and horses? I'm not sure. I'd love to own horse property, or at least live very close to someone else's horse property. I'm in the process of reinventing what I do for a  living, so who knows? I really hope that horses are in my future. Right now, I don't want a future without them.

Gir

We've had Gir for almost 4 weeks now. Poor thing has yet to emerge under her own power from the downstairs bathroom. It's usually dark in there, so she may actually change into a bat, eventually.

We adopted her from PAWS, which has some great cats up for adoption if you're looking. She is our 3rd PAWS animal, and we couldn't be happier with them and how they handle adoptions. (Our dog Ink Spot and our cat Rex are both from PAWS).

Her PAWS name was Ophelia, which we all really liked, but daughter wanted dibs on naming this cat, so she is now known as Gir. Which with all the growling this cat does, is a really appropriate name.

So far, she has caused husband a trip to the emergency room (bite) and in the middle of the night this weekend, she gave him a good gash when he tried to move her. Things aren't going well for the two of them.

Gir seems to love people, be indifferent about other cats, but the worst thing is she seems to HATE dogs. She is terrified of our dog, and interactions with the dog are what caused husband's wounds. Ink barked at her on her first day home with us, and that caused her to go into hiding. In the bathroom.  I hope eventually she will overcome this fear. The vet said it could take awhile.

Fries (as in "french fries")

We put Fries to sleep almost 2 months ago. My daughter said, "This was the worst thing that's ever happened in my life." I have to say it was one of the worst experiences in my life also. Fries went quietly and comfortably, with my daughter and I petting her as she drifted off to her final rest. We sobbed as she went. Did she know that we were there for her? I hope she's in a better place now, and the health problems that plagued her final years are forgotten.

We've started becoming more comfortable with the concept that our old friend is gone. Her health problems wreaked havoc on our house, and there is no more daily cleaning or emergency clean up jobs, done in work clothes, at 7:30 in the morning. There are no more clean-ups of cat snot on the hardwood floor.

Fries was ...an interesting cat. We adopted her right after we moved to a new house when the kids were still little. We picked her out of the website "lineup" at Purrfect Pals, and we drove up to visit her. My son fell in love with the shy, small cat who was hiding when we arrived. "Little Jo" came home with us that day.

My husband had a really hard time calling her Little Jo. He kept singinig "Little Joe from Chicago" (it's a Nat King Cole song) every time someone said her name and it was driving us all nuts. I kept calling her Jo Jo Fries, as in those "jojo" fried potato-wedge things one can purchase at the Safeway deli. Plus, our neighbor was named Jo. I couldn't stand our neighbor. Eventually, we just called our cat Fries. Once, a vet at a very chi-chi, cats-only veterinary office tried calling her "Free-ess". Like I had named her something intellectual. "Nope. It's Fries, like french fries," I said. He didn't comment.

Fries had a herpes sore in her left eye, which flared up on occasion. You couldn't really see it, it just made her eye water. She had sinus "issues." Once when some friends, luckily very good friends, came over for dinner, Fries was being her friendly self. She liked to sit wherever the people were. Fries sat down with us. When I brought in the hors d'ouvres everyone said "aah". Everyone was really hungry. I set down the hors d'ouvres. Fries sneezed. Repeatedly. I took the hors d'ouvres away. We waited until dinner was ready to eat.

Fries had grown from being small into being quite a substantial cat. When she trotted anywhere, her tummy swung from side to side, sort of like cow udders. People would point and gape. Eventually, she just looked like a calico bowling ball with legs.On the flip side of this obesity problem, what finally got our girl was thyroid disease. She started to lose weight. A lot of weight. So I took her to the chi-chi vet who suggested the even chi-chi-er option of radiation therapy, which was crazy-expensive, and not a proven outcome. The medication option we chose for her  made her act as if she was close to death, every day. She'd lie around and then throw up. So we decided to take her off the meds and just let her live her life until the end. She got very skinny, but seemed very happy until the last few weeks before we made the decision to put her down.

Fries loved people.She would always come to greet us at the door or first thing in the morning. She would carry her toy over to us when she wanted to play. She allowed my husband to hold her like a baby. Fries would watch TV with us, and she loved sitting under the Christmas tree. We'll really miss her.

Fries is the calico cat on the left of my profile picture.

The parrot meets the roommate...

The Players in this episode:

• Max, the Parrot
• Eric, the roommate

Max the parrot had quite a reputation. If you know anything about parrots, you know that they have the intelligence of a 4-year-old child, and the maturity of a 2-year-old. Which means they don't share very well, they want to always get their way, and they really don't like anyone else interracting with their human.

Eric also has  a reputation. Eric is a force of nature at 6'4": when he comes into your house, he doesn't knock, he just bounds up your front stairs, throws the front door open and starts talking to you, no matter where you are in the house, or in what state of undress you currently find yourself. Anyone's house. If he knows you, he just does this. We adore Eric.

Eric was moving out of my husband's house when I was moving in. Eric had no idea that I owned a parrot, who at the time was sitting calmly on top of his cage in the kitchen, not plotting any sort of attack. When Eric came bounding in that day, he indelicately stomped into the kitchen only to find himself being attacked by some sort of flying creature which might or might not have been a giant fruit bat for all he knew. Eric, all 6'4" of him, hit the dirt.

"Auuuugghhh!", went Eric.

"Skreeeeeeeech!", went Max.

"Auuuuuuuggghhh!", went my husband and I at the same moment.

It was quite noisy for about 10 seconds. Max flew around and around the kitchen, finally hitting the wall and landing in the corner. Eric, finally realizing that he had been hit by a flying parrot and not a giant fruit bat, stopped yelling. I can't print what he said next, but it was justified.

It's been about 20 years since this incident, and people still tell this story at  parties. Eric now has a great family and owns no parrots. Sadly, I had to give Max away once I had kids, about 14 years ago. As i mentioned, parrots don't like to share their humans, and they really don't like to share their humans with little kids in our case. So Max now lives with a nice family who owns a vaccuum cleaner repair shop. He's the shop parrot. I'm not sure if he's attacked anyone lately...

This is an etching I did of Max in my printmaking class at CSUN.