The pet-free life
I grew up with dogs. First we had Woody, a Lhasa Apso mix we named after Woody Allen. We should have been suspicious of a 2-year-old pure-bred dog at the humane society, but the chance to have a dog that required me to put ponytails and bows in his hair to keep it out of his eyes was too appealing for the 9-year-old me and so we took the underbite-y Tibetan-rooted pooch home.
Sadly, Woody contracted or already had a terrible disease called distemper and he went into fits of rage, once trapping a friend and me in my dad’s La-Z Boy chair while we were alone in the house and my parents were grocery shopping. It was terrifying: the dog was charging at us and running in circles and making devil dog noises.
Where’s Lassie when you need him?
So Woody was euthanized and I was heartbroken and so we got Emma, a little rat Terrier mix of some kind that mostly slept under a mini afghan my grandmother knitted for her.
Emma had, quite possibly, the least personality of any animal, vegetable or mineral ever, but she became as much a part of my parents’ home as the gold-flowered wallpaper in the kitchen.
RIP, sweet Emma.
Years later, I had a parade of dogs and cats and rodents, including a Samoyed named Red Sonja who moved with an ex-boyfriend back to Idaho and a couple of cats that I left with a roommate when I rented a pet-free abode. (I still feel crappy about this.)
Another roommate and I had a parakeet bird with bum wings – we named him "Ned The Walker" – and my son had three hamsters: Lavender 1, Lavender 2 and Lavender 3. For some reason, we had bad luck keeping those wheel-runners alive and they usually passed within a year or so. My son insisted that each hamster death required a hamster funeral complete with soulful weeping, candle lighting and paper plates marked with their names over the dirt next to the garage when they were buried.
Lavender 2: March 2006 - August 2006
Then there was a chocolate lab named Clay who I loved for 13 years. This is the d…
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