Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part XII

So here we are on the Paw Paw pets Part Poo... I mean Two. Sorry, I was on an alliterative roll there. But poo isn't too far from the truth, either. That's the trouble with dogs, no matter their age or continence, they still manage to mess all over the house.

Anyway, the first dogs we acquired were stray puppies that showed up on our porch eating cat food. Also probably cat poop, because that happens and we all know it. So there they were, two black lab pups maybe two months old at the high end, and we apparently had no other choice but to take them in and make sure they didn't die. Immediately my brother and sister took to them since, yet again, I wasn't really in the mood to take on the responsibility of a dog. The caveat was that they had to stay outside until we got them shots and made sure they weren't riddled with fleas and ticks. And so there they stayed because they knew food was there and since it was summer, they had company. If I remember right they received the names Shadow and Ashley. We had them for a few months until something really bizarre went down one night.

If you recall, my parents were long since divorced at this point, but my dad would come by once a week and every-other weekend to spend time with us. Well one night he had just dropped us off from dinner and was backing out of the driveway. He had to stop to let a rare car go by (traffic on our road was virtually non-existent). Well, at the same time the dogs had gotten riled up because we were home and they were off their chains to greet us. I think you can see where this is headed. Shadow ran into the street and the passing car creamed him. It was a loud, cacophonous mess to say the least: a terrifying yelp, a shouting sister, barking dog, wailing tires, crying mom... it was a split second nightmare. Well, as I gathered my sister and tried to calm her, my dad actually comforted my mom (I think my step-dad was away). It was pretty odd, by nice. And then I helped my dad bury the dead dog. Two weeks later we woke to find Ashley had ran away, likely due to the loss of her sister. And that was that for our first two dogs.

Eventually, two more dogs arrived at the house. The first was a new Ashley (my brother liked that name, apparently) in the form of a Beagle puppy who was the runt of the litter and evidently just too cute for my brother to pass up. Ashley was pretty adorable and stayed relatively small her whole life. She became an inside dog since she was quickly brought up to health code and licensed, and we all really liked her. Well, not to be deterred, my sister found a pup of her own from a stock that belonged to a friend of hers. This one in particular was a mutt, but equally as cute, and looked like a tiny black fur ball. She was named Mariah. As she grew, she took on a tall, lanky, bizarre appearance and no one was quite sure which mix she was, but she was very smart and learned a bunch of pretty impressive tricks (she'd later go on to have pups, but we'd sell all of those). Ashley and Mariah were around about a three years when tragedy struck again.

Since Ashley was the runt, she often had health issues. Nothing major, but occasional seizures and odd things here and there. But it was one of these seizures that ended her life. Apparently, as she was outside one day, she was over near our neighbor's that had a giant pond. The dogs loved this since they could chase bugs and ducks and stuff and the neighbors didn't mind since they really didn't do much with it. So on this fateful day, Ashley seized and rolled into the pond and drowned. My brother was obviously quite saddened, but in a way it was his fortune that he was the one to find her. Not too long after, he found another pup to replace his Beagle in the form of a German Shepherd mix, which he named Manitou.

And Manny and Mariah were fast friends and inseparable for many years. Eventually a third dog was brought in because my sister wanted a new puppy. So, in an act of brilliance, she and my mom picked up a Lhasa Apso (yeah, another one) at the mall pet store. I hate those places, so I'm glad at least at the fact that she was saved from that death trap. But to say that the dog was anything shy of annoying and bitter is to say far too much. She instantly fell in love with my step dad and became very protective of him. I'm not sure if she felt his impending cancer coming on, but I've heard of dogs being able to sense such things, so I don't discount it. She was his dog, no doubt, till the day he died. Oh, her name was Maggie and she ended up moving on with my mom when she eventually moved out after my step dad passed. But that's another story for a far later time.

So, that about covers it for the dogs. In short: we had a lot of pets. Most of the time they were great and just friendly as can be. Sometimes they were psychos and fought each other, like dogs are wont to do. And sometimes they destroyed things and pooped all over the place. Again, as dogs will do. I haven't had one since I moved out. Dogs annoy me.

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part XI

Hi. I kinda took an unintended hiatus there, didn't I? Busy stuff going on here at the Miller Collective. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. Anyway, on with the memories...

Oh, and I've decided to subtitle this episode: "Pets, Pets, and More Pets: Part One" or, "How I Found Out I Really Hate Cats".

So living in an old farmhouse on a couple acres of land with a barn and a chicken house more or less eventually leads to pet ownership by proxy. And that's really how it happened. One day the cats started showing up out of nowhere. Well, maybe not nowhere, in fact I'm pretty certain they were just shacking up in the barn when we moved in and came out when they knew humans were around and therefor likely offering food. And we were, too, because at the time we hadn't had a real pet in a while and having a cat or two seemed like a good idea. At the time. In retrospect, it really, really wasn't.

So one day, the first cat of what would eventually multiply into more than twenty over time, stepped into our lives and we named her Big Mama because it was apparent immediately that she was pregnant. And thus we adopted her, as it were, and brought her into the house. This proved to be a big mistake, but we'll get to that later. I wasn't too thrilled right off the bat to be a pet owner, and so I left much of the responsibility to my brother and sister who were more than happy to argue over whose turn it was to change the litter box (though the cat did often go outside more than in, actually), and keep the food and water bowl topped off. I just kind of skirted the issue and let them have her. That is until the day she gave birth. And she wasn't messing around.

If I remember correctly, she had seven kittens, two of which died. So now we had six cats. But this would mark the day I temporarily fell in love with a cat. Temporarily. The one I chose was a wiry little kitten with a really slick black-and-white pattern that looked a little like he was made from two different cats. I didn't have a proper name for it until it got old enough to play and jump. That's the day it became Spider-Man. That little cat could spring around like you read about. My siblings each took on the rest of the kittens and they soon became our house pets. The cats I mean, not my siblings.

Ah but then came the reality of cat ownership to an unbeknownst family of allergy sufferers. Sure, I discovered mine were bad the hard way: with triggered asthma outbreaks and sleepless, itchy nights.But it was my step-dad's reactions that were epic and legendary. His got so bad that he had to go to the hospital a few times. But he never said a word to us about getting rid of them because he knew we were happy with the cats. Well, at least for a little while. Eventually it had to all come to a head for both of our suffering health problems, and it was decided that the cats had to be moved to the barn. Can you guess what happened next?

If you said, "the cats bred with every other damn cat in a mile radius", you'd be exactly right. Soon, we had kittens and more kittens, while some of the adult cats managed to wander off and find new homes. For about two years we had an on-and-off supply of roughly twenty cats and kittens at any given time. But, despite that, at least we allergy sufferers were happier without dander and whatnot floating about, and we kind of enjoyed the endless parade of pussies. See what I did there? But, I'm still not fan of cats because secretly I know they know I'm allergic and do all they can to get all up in my face. I avoid them if possible.

So, during the reign of the cat, we also managed to acquire a multitude of dogs... and I'll get into that next time...

Pages From The Memory Vault Book III Part X

So apparently I'm doing these around every ten days now. Seriously, I'm not really planning this, it just seems to magically be working out that way. Oh well, moving on then...

Ah, the life of a High Schooler. One can never be too sure what to expect out of High School until it's thrust upon you and you either go with its ebbs and flows, or you attempt to fight its current like a salmon. I kind of fell in the middle category. I was more akin to a frog hanging around in the rushing waters not really wanting to feebly attempt to join in on any one 'clique' (not that I was invited, you see) or hide out among the lilies and pretend not to be noticed. I had friends. That wasn't the issue. I never actively tried to be the morose teen who stuck to the shadows and was always referred to as 'weird'. Well, that's not entirely true either. I was 'weird', but for vastly different reasons. What I was, was popular not because of the groups I freely associated with, but because of the fact that I could move freely among all the groups like some kind of chameleon. A chameleon with the ability to draw.

Drawing came in instantly handy when I was first introduced into the fray of kids who -in a broad sense- already knew each other and had already coagulated into the various gelled groups. I felt a little lost at first, but as I said, having a talent immediately garnered me a kind of 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card and I was quickly absorbed into various collectives. I would doodle incessantly and those who sat around me in class latched on and took a liking to what I could do. Word spread pretty quickly and soon everyone, for one reason or another, was asking me to draw things for them. I would do work on posters for big sporting events, work on posters for Homecoming Games, artwork for projects kids were doing for various things, and even artwork for teachers for their classrooms. Sometimes the artwork both got me in with the cool kids and a better grade with the teachers, like killing several birds with one stone! It was pretty sweet.

But, as I said, I still had friends who were just friends whether I drew for them or not. And soon I had kind of formed my own little group of kids who all felt like I did: we didn't care about the cool cliques or the jock cliques or the nerd cliques... we were just kind of a rag tag crew who liked hanging out and that was all there was to it. It was more or less an 'All Are Welcome' deal and we all liked it that way.

Eventually, the artwork would both elevate me to High School stardom, and destroy me. And we'll get into that next time. Why? Because cliff hangers are neat!