You’ve surely heard of “A bird in the hand.” Well, I have a bird on the foot. My precious cockatiel Grant (my good friend has his brother who she named Lou) is an odd duck, er, I mean bird. (Aren’t ducks birds?) He is a bit standoffish, doesn’t like to fly, eats like a, ah, flying pig, and is obsessed with my feet.
Yes, that’s correct, my feet. You see, Grant’s cage is up on a high stand, and shortly after I remove him from it and put him on top of the cage for a change of scenery, he flop-flies down to the floor and toddles to my feet which are usually under the desk as shown here. He then scrambles up onto my shoe where he happily meditates. Frankly, I do feel plenty foolish with a bird thusly ensconced on my foot.
I’ve had a number of birds in my life, but never have I had one with such an unfailing foot fetish.
It’s that season where daffodils, like lace collars, surround neighborhood homes and broken robins’ eggs, way early to be hatching, end up cracked victims to strong spring storms. It’s also the season when mother animals forage for food for their babies, prowling mostly at night when they are “safe,” only they often aren’t.
Enter Rosie – our ferocious and fearless hunter. Several days ago, Dominic was up early with the dogs, and as is his 5 a.m. routine, he let them out. This is then what he described to me: He saw a dark thing run like a bullet across the yard, followed by another bullet by the name of Rosie. This same duo shot across the yard again, and then a third time. And then – Rosie approached the back door, tail wagging, with a mouth full of rabbit, and a good size rabbit at that. Needless-to-say, the rabbit was no longer with us.
I wanted to cry when Dominic told me this story, and all I could think of was a nest full of baby rabbits who were now without their mother. My instinct was to get mad at Rosie, who by the way, is part Boston Terrier and part Cavalier King Charles. However, a little research enlightened me to the fact that Boston Terriers do indeed have a high prey drive , and since she’s ¾ Boston Terrier, well … I just hope that all remaining local rabbits do not find their way into our yard under the alleged safe cover of night.
My dear sweet friend recently lost her precious pup to kidney disease and at the same time, a beloved family member moved out for distant horizons. It is now, she has decided, time for a new puppy.
Always hot on the trail of puppies, I did some research for her and found an ad in the Buffalo, NY classifieds for a French bulldog. Price? $900. Red flag number 1. This is a ridiculously low amount for a French bulldog.
Buffalo is only an hour from us, so no big deal to hop in the car and see these puppies for real, except, said the “breeder,” – they were already gone. However, she said, she “had a friend in Texas” who has Frenchies for sale and gave my friend the contact information.
My friend contacted the Texas breeder, who also claimed to have 2 puppies, also $900 or 2 for $1500, including transportation. Too good to be true? You got it! Still, a picture arrived that tugged at both of our hearts. However, my friend is a very wise woman. Something just doesn’t feel right, she told me. And it wasn’t.
This morning I did a Google search on the photo the Texas “breeder” sent to my friend. Lo and behold, there was the exact picture with the now 18 month old Frenchie that was “sold” a year ago.
Puppy scamming has been on the uptick, like so many things, during the Covid pandemic. But like my friend and I did, there are things to watch for. These include:
“Breeders” that do not want you to “see” the puppy on premise. Always see the puppy with your own eyes, and touch him with your own hands.
Emails or text message communication only, often with poor grammar and spelling
Payment with gift cards or wire transfer only
Pictures that turn out to be fraudulent. To check:
Download the picture and save to your computer
Access Google Images
Load the picture to the search box
Click search or hit Enter
For scams, you are likely to see the exact photo on another site, which is what happened with my friend.
We all need companionship and love during this time, but the key is to avoid scams where perverted people prey on the needs of others.
My friend will definitely get her puppy, and when she does, she will have a warm, loving baby to cuddle up with and adore.
Do you remember the song, It’s a Small, Small World from the wonderful rides by the same name at Disney World and Disneyland? For some reason, that song is stuck in my head– not that it’s a bad thing. In fact, I think it’s meaningful because my world has become very small indeed. Like many of us, I only go to the grocery store, have Zoom meetings with colleagues, friends, and docs, and spend lots of low-key time and reading, reading, reading.
Now that it’s summer I do much of my reading in my little backyard swimming pool. It’s not exactly lap-material, but it is plenty big to let me float with my butt tightly wedged into my inflatable donut. Thus, I drift happily along while absorbed in my latest tome.
I have always been a homebody, so the pandemic didn’t cramp my style, too terribly, anyway. I relish the daily routine and rhythms of our home. I look forward to my everyday walk with my Boston Terrier, Finja, and my regular bicycle rides. Granted, I spend way too much tine scouring for the latest dirt on Trump, wishing that the bottom falls out from his 2020 bid.
The fall looms, and with it, more time cozied up at home. My classes for the fall will be held online, so no worries about walking through rain and snow, or driving on icy roads. Like so many others, I’ll be working here in our home, with my precious dogs at my feet, my conure-bird in her cage as I grade papers, and being safely cocooned in my very own small, small world.
My good friend asked me to go with her to a local bird store several months ago. I should have known better because this was right after my beloved cockatiel died. As soon as we walked into the store, Ryan, the manager, thrust this little, feather-less creature into my hand and it was love at first flight!
Of course, the story is complicated, but the bottom line is that I am now “mother” to Ethel, my adorable, 4-month old green cheek conure.
This is just a brief introduction, but there will be many more tales to come.
Hint: How Ethel loves to watch what’s on my computer screen and add to its interest by pecking at the touch screen to see what she can come up with next,
For over 20 years our paths crossed almost daily when he was walking his dog and I was either riding my bike or running in the days before my knee said enough. He had two dogs during those 20 plus years. He didn’t walk for a while after his first dog died. I missed them. I was happy to see him back with his newly adopted friend.
In all that time we never spoke more than a comment or two about the weather or some other silly thing, yet he and his dog became part of my daily rhythm. They could be counted on when other things couldn’t. He, with his jaunty little walk, and his faithful lab marching along beside him. It gave me a comfort I couldn’t understand to see them pass each day.
Then one day, he wasn’t jaunty anymore. His chin began to
drop until after a few short months it became attached to his chest. He
couldn’t raise his head or talk and a friendly greeting was met with a grunt.
Drool soaked the front of his chest and he wasted away before our eyes.
ALS, or so he told us before he was no longer able to speak. Still, he walked. His pace became snail-like, but twice a day, no matter what, he and his dog walked by our house. Until they didn’t. And that’s when I knew.
Somehow, someway, a vacant house calls out to you, telling
you it’s lonely. This week his house called out to me. It might have had
something to do with the dumpster in the driveway, the lack of footprints in
the snow, and its darkness now at night. He’s not there, and neither is his
I feel a tremendous sense of loss for this man, who I barely knew. It’s like a song off key with no beat or rhythm.
I fell in love when I first saw her. She was old and ugly in
that way that is endearing. She looked at me through the bars of her kennel with
rheumy eyes that spoke of things I didn’t want to know. One ear stuck up
straight, the other flopped, giving her a lopsided look. Her old, gray face was
tired. She had served her previous master well with untold numbers of litters
now weighing down her tits so low they reached the ground. Her people got what
they wanted from her. She got nothing. I opened her kennel door and I spoke to
her – quietly – but I am sure she understood me.
Today I ran right to her kennel and she looked at me, wouldn’t
stop looking at me even though others stood before her kennel. After 2 weeks of
being confused, though well taken care of and loved by everyone in the shelter,
she was going to a foster home where she would be warm, cozy, and loved by a
family. Wonderful news for her. I started my shift whispering sweet somethings
in her ear and when my shift was done, she was gone. Her kennel still held the
blanket she cozied up on, and the toy some kind soul gave her, but her essence
was gone, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, I had to wipe away a few tears of
grief and loss. Please, family, give her the love she needs and deserves.
Author of Living Well in Froggy's World of Plenty: Sweet Talk to Read Aloud; A Bisl of This, A Bisl of That: Eating Our Way; and Career Success in 12 Easy Steps: A Journal; and Owner of Shenouda Associates Inc., Provider of Technical, Marketing, and Business Communications