Dogs are far more than just a pet

Some friends of mine recently had to put down their beloved dog.
They had two dogs, but tragically one died over the summer and this one was a senior and had developed hip problems that caused her pain.
Putting her down was the right thing to do, but it was a hard thing to do.
I have had several dogs over the years and as every pet owner knows, they are more than just an animal.
They become members of the family, companions and friends.
They are always happy to see you, they don't care how much money you make or what your social status is.
Sure they may eat their own vomit once in a while, but dogs love you for you and that makes them invaluable.
Some people take having a dog to the next level, buying them clothes and even jewelry. Yup, I have seen doggie necklaces – not to be confused with a collar – and other forms of bling people adorn their  hounds with.
We had to buy our current mutt, Murphy the Wonder Dog, a sweater to keep him warm in the winter. It was for practical reasons because he has short, fine hair and shivers and shakes all winter, but he still wants to go for a walk every day.
I will never dress a dog up just because it makes then look cute. God already made them look cute, so spending my hard-earned money on fancy duds to make my dog look dapper is unnecessary.
But to each their own I guess. If you want to spend money on doggie clothes, go ahead. Who am I to judge?
I will also never  - ever - share an ice cream cone with a dog as I have seen people do on more than one occasion. I have seen what dogs lick and the things they are willing to eat, so any food I am eating will never come in contact with a dog's tongue – ever.
They may get a few leftovers now and then, but there is no way I would ever directly share my food.
Disgusting dietary habits aside, dogs do have a way of working their way into your heart. Some people do not like dogs and will never know the joy of owning one.
I call those people weird. Who could not like a dog? They are the only animal on earth who cares more about you than they do themselves. History is filled with stories of dogs committing heroic acts to save the life of their master or others in need.
And they are doing this while the cat sits by and watches without so much as a meow. Now, before the cat huggers get their dander up, there are a few (very rare) occasions where a cat has actually come to the aid of a person, but I suspect they are more concerned about losing their meal ticket than the well being of their owner.
Anyway, cat comments aside, dogs really are man's best friend. They are loyal, faithful and can always be counted on.
Sure they bark, leave little doggie land mines all over the backyard and have been known to chew things they were not supposed to, but their unconditional companionship makes it all worth while.
That is why I felt so bad for my friends who lost both of their loyal friends in such a short period of time.
They still have a couple cats, but we all know it is just not the same. They gave their dogs a good life with plenty of space to run around in, a nearby river to swim in, healthy food and were cared for as well as any animal could hope for.
The dogs lived a long, full life, but their passing is still a heartbreak for their people.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh

A hunter, a killer, an angry furball

Gilbert the Cat is not a happy feline.
But his discomfort was caused by his own paw.
You see, Gilbert is a hunter, a killer, a wild beast that tracks, slays and eats mice and birds.
He does not have to because we do feed him delicious and nutritious cat food whenever he wants it, but that predatory heritage is hard to shake and he still prefers to grab a meal on the go whenever he can.
I watched him catch a mouse one day and realized cats are more heartless than a gas company executive.
He did not just catch the mouse – he tormented it. He would hold it down with his paws for a while and sit there and look around while the mouse said the rodent equivalent of a Hail Mary or two, or three, or a million.
He would then let the mouse go and the little guy would take off like his life depended on it, which it did, only to have the cat grab him again.
A couple times, Gil would throw the rodent in the air and try to catch it before it hits the ground.
He was having a grand old time. Gilbert that is, not the mouse who obviously went between moments of hope of escape to the dread of being captured time and again.
Then with a final crunch of his jaws, the mouse was done for. Gil chewed his head for a little while before grabbing Mickey's cousin between his front paws and essentially pulling the insides out. I did not know cats did that, but it seemed a very efficient way to prepare a meal.
The icky bits were left in a pile on the front lawn, while Gilbert strutted away feeling proud of his kill.
More than once I would head out in the morning and find a pile of feathers or mouse remnants in the yard, another victim of the killer cat.
They will never know it, but those birds, mice and whatever else the cat managed to catch, kill and ingest administered a measure of revenge in their deaths.
They gave Gilbert worms. Big, white disgusting worms. We did not know he had worms until he barfed one up the other day.
Yup, it was pretty disgusting. As if cat puke is not gross enough, to see a white wiggler writhing around in puddle of kitty barf takes it to a whole new level.
So we called the vet and bought some potion we have to squirt down his throat twice a day, much to his immense displeasure.
I don't imagine the stuff tastes very good and I am not about to try it to find out, but it is his own fault. If Gil wasn't so enthusiastic about hunting and killing things, he would not have to endure the eye dropper full of this brownish liquid.
I hold him wrapped in blanket while the Missus – who is a nurse and can transfer those skills to the animal realm – squirts the stuff down his gullet. He  makes a very unhappy sound while thrashing his head around and trying to spit out the offending liquid.
He then gives us an evil glare like it's all our fault he has worms. I am sure he is plotting some form of revenge and I always look in my shoes before putting them on.
The vet said he needs the 'treatment' for a full week, so twice a day I wrap him up, hold his head still and the Missus squirts the medicine into his mouth.
The vet said when the worms die they will come out in his poop.
“You should check his bowel movements for the next week or so and keep an eye out for them.”
No.
I will simply trust the medication did its job and the cat is worm free because as fun as looking at a pile of cat poop sounds, I have other things to do – like anything.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh