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Thread: To All the Pets I've Loved Before...

  1. #1
    Elite Member McJag's Avatar
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    Default To All the Pets I've Loved Before...

    My darling Bogey has been gone since January 2nd and I am doing great,really.
    Different little Bogey things make me smile and even laugh now. I thought it would be fun to have a thread
    where we could share funny stories of pets long gone that amuse us still years later.

    Bogey was a Standard Poodle,jet black and beautiful. When I moved here 2 years ago,most of the people had never seen one in person. One friend says the first time she saw him it took her breath away. That was Bogey.
    Traffic stopping beauty, pranky companion and fierce protector of me.

    My favorite Bogey story: I was cooking supper and took out 3 frozen biscuits. Placed then on a cookie sheet on the counter top. Turned around to set the oven and when I turned back there were only 2 biscuits. I was looking at the biscuits wondering if I'd lost my mind or had not really gotten out 3 when I looked behind me. There was Bogey sitting tall on the kitchen floor. With smoke from the frozen biscuit coming out of both sides of his mouth. Looking as angelic as possible. My devilish darling!

    Now your turn!
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    I didn't start out to collect diamonds, but somehow they just kept piling up.-Mae West

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    Elite Member KrisNine's Avatar
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    Oh, man. Where do I start? First of all, it's been 6 years (this past January) that I lost my sweet Josie girl. She was the first true love of my life. I'm not kidding, including people. I loved her more than anything in my life (up until I had the kid). I always said after she died that the universe sent me my sweet Toby AND my darling daughter to fill the hole in my heart left by Josie. She was just that special

    Josie was a black lab. Full of piss and vinegar. Smartest dog I ever met. One of the funniest stories I have involves a fresh loaf of french bread. One Saturday we went shopping and picked up a loaf of french bread. We left it on the kitchen counter and left the house to run some more errands. When we returned to the house, Josie was acting funny and there was blood all over the house. Not copious amounts, but streaks all along the carpet, walls, our bedding, and other furniture. I panicked thinking she hurt one of our cats or one of the cats got her. I looked at her nose and it was raw. Pink where it was supposed to be black. I knew it wasn't a cat scratch, but had no idea what it was. As I was stripping the bed, getting ready to wash it, a half eaten loaf of french bread was in the covers. The dog was trying to "bury" the rest of the bread because she couldn't eat the entire thing. Then, she proceeded to try and "bury" it in our sofa, under the table, etc. She tried to cover the "dirt" with her nose, which is why there were streaks of blood everywhere.

    Yeah, she was a smart dog, but she was very dumb that day.

    Next up, the entire rotisserie chicken, the order of hot wings, the corn cob in her stomach for four months, etc.
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    Elite Member azoria's Avatar
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    When we owned our mini-ranchette with animals galore of all kinds, I learned how short is the lifespan of our creature comrades, and how quickly and easily they become gone.

    I never stopped grieving their passing but I did learn always they would go one way or another, and that I would have to find a way to live with their passage. I remember my creature comrades one and all, each and every one of them. From ducks to cats, and dogs to guineas and sheep, we had a life together.

    I took care of them and when they left there was an emptiness. I try to remember the good times when we were all vibrant together.

    Life passes by and the things we love leave us. The older you get, the more beloved things are lost. It's a very hard part of growing old.

    I'm sorry you're hurting so much. It is normal for a good and caring human being with a moral compass and a compassionate nature. You did right by Bogey's life and that's the most important thing, always do the right thing caring for that which you love.

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    Elite Member McJag's Avatar
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    One of the sweetest things was written in a sympathy card by the vet. She said:
    If Bogey could have lived on love alone he would have lived forever.
    How true is that??

    I am past grief now and just thankful I had him 12 1/2 years and he only felt pain a very few hours.

    He delighted in unloading drawers. If I left one slightly ajar he would pull it out and get busy. He ate (over the years) TWO lavender bras. Both lace. He ignored beige and black,but lavender was his fave! I suspected he was gay,but we never discussed it.

    I know we have some crazy cat stories untold. Anyone?
    I didn't start out to collect diamonds, but somehow they just kept piling up.-Mae West

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    Elite Member azoria's Avatar
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    When we lived in Russia, one day in winter turned up this skinny short haired striped cat. Tabby markings are not usual for Russian cats nor is short hair, Russian cats are very well furred.

    So I went home and got him some cat food and started asking around about whose cat he might be. Nope nobody knew where he came from.

    We kept him fed for a few days, he showed up every morning for breakfast and let us pet him, then he'd saunter off.

    After a few days of this I decided that the long winter obligated me to take him home and take care of him. So I carried him up to the apartment, gave him some food and went back to work.

    We spent a couple of days in the apartment with him while he bounced off the walls, climbed and shredded the curtains, flew through the air, skied the counterops, and generally went absolutely crazy. Constantly pacing in front of the door.

    Couple of days into this crazy I decided to let him outside for a romp. Down the stairs and out the vestibule door he ran, hit the ground and started rolling in the snow. He twisted and stretched and kveched, rubbed his head and blew snow out his nose. When he was finished luxuriating in the snow, he turned to look at me and then he walked away.

    Never saw him again.

    I thought I was saving the poor kitty from the depths of Russian winter. And he snubbed me with his middle finger in the air and left with his tail held high.

    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    We had another cat for years when the kids were little, he was black his name was Leroy. Leroy loved water, you'd find him in the bathtub or playing in the toilet or sleeping in the bathroom sink.

    I bought one of those little plastic $20 kiddie pools for my son and put it out in the yard with a hose to fill it up. Leroy kept batting the hose out of the pool and playing in the water stream. After it was finally filled he kept going to the pool pulling the side down so that the water ran out all over him till the pool was nearly drained. My kid was pissed that every time he went out to play in his pool, the cat had drained out the water.

    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    We had a pair of guineas which I really loved. Guineas mate for life, which is not usual for birds. These guineas were never more than a few feet away from each other, ever.

    A new neighbor moved in across the street and he had a new pickup truck. The truck had shiny fancy hubcaps. Every day the guineas would fly over the fence to stand in his driveway looking at their reflection in his truck wheel hubs (no shit). They'd just mill around his truck for hours. The neighbor was terrified of them and afraid to go out the door to get in his truck if my guineas were there.

    So he'd call his next door neighbor, who in turn called me, to tell me to come get my guineas so he could get in his truck to go somewhere. I'd walk across the street to find them standing in front of his hubcaps and shoo them back home.

    But as soon as he returned the guineas would go right back to his driveway to stare at their reflections in his hubcaps, I never knew why. And I couldn't stop them, I mean these are birds, they fly. That neighbor pretty much hated us.





    -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    We lived out in the country and started collecting animals. Early on before we had good fences, we had a couple of sheep and a donkey named Socrates to protect them. They were a very bonded group, always together this lot.

    I woke up one morning and looked out the window, the pasture gate was open and the animals were gone. I panicked as there was a major roadway nearby.

    Threw on some clothes and went to look for them. They'd escaped before and usually headed straight down our street for a nearby vacant lot full of delicious greenery. But this time they weren't there.

    I went all around the nearby area and didn't turn them up. Scared to death something had happened to my animals I returned home and called the sheriff's office -

    Me: "Hello, I've discovered my livestock have gotten away and I want to report them missing"

    Them: "Would that be three sheep and one donkey?"

    Me: "Well, yes it would!"

    Them: "They were sighted heading eastbound on the highway about an hour ago."

    Me: "Can you tell me exactly where they were?"

    Them: "Yes, just east of the supermarket"
    Last edited by azoria; February 21st, 2016 at 06:30 AM.
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  6. #6
    Elite Member azoria's Avatar
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    (One more and I'll STFU)

    July one year I drove to visit my mother in Kansas, I had both kids with me in a gigantimous pickup truck.

    Nearby her house I discovered a fellow who raised birds and I got to talking to him. I bought a pair of Canadian geese from him for $50 apiece (we had a pond). Got the geese and all the proper paperwork as Canadian geese are migratory birds and enjoy wildlife protection as such.

    Returning home to Texas in the hot summer, I decided to check into a motel in Lawton Oklahoma and finish the trip the next day. The geese in the back of the truck were frazzled and it was over 100 degrees, I feared they were in deep distress.

    In the motel lobby on the wall behind the check-in desk was the sign, NO PETS.

    No problem, I had geese, these were not technically pets and I had the paperwork to prove it.

    I pulled the truck around to the room, threw some clothing over the cages to carry the geese in so no one would see them. I filled up the motel room bathtub with water and put the geese in there to settle their hot frizzy feathers. They made kind of a mess....

    We went out for dinner and returned where the geese were happily swimming around in the tub and the drizzle of water I had left on for them as they liked to run their heads underneath it.

    Bang, bang, bang on the motel room door. "Who is it?" I call out. I'm the manager he says, he needs to come in and inspect the room as a water leak (!) has been reported in the room below. The kids jump into bed and covered their heads with pillows. I tell the manager it isn't convenient at the moment and he can't come into the room. He bangs some more insisting to be let into the room to investigate the water complaint.

    So I let him in.

    He enters the bathroom to find two Canadian geese swimming around in the bathtub, water and feathers everywhere. The man was staggered. (can you imagine the shit motel managers must see?) The children were beside themselves hiding under the covers, and I was standing there with a bathroom full of geese.

    Oh hell yes. The kids have never let me live that one down.


    Last edited by azoria; February 21st, 2016 at 06:34 AM.
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  7. #7
    Elite Member McJag's Avatar
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    So you found the donkey and sheep ok? I would have paid to see that one! More,please!
    I didn't start out to collect diamonds, but somehow they just kept piling up.-Mae West

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    Elite Member azoria's Avatar
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    In Russia I worked as a groundskeeper with a team of Russians on a fenced and heavily secured property, I was the only American (and a female to boot!). All of the entry/exits were guarded.

    We were called to trap a large rat which had been repeatedly sighted. So the Russians set out a live trap to get the offending rat.

    Next day at lunch time my co-worker took me to a back area where we stored equipment, and here was the live trap with a cute and very small rat in it. He was eating part of a sandwich one of the Russians had shared from his lunch. The rat was just sitting on his two back feet in the cage munching his sandwich.

    They had been told by the supervisor to drown the rat which they didn't want to do, they asked me to think of something. So I said fine, after dark I'll come and make the rat gone.

    I put the rat in his cage into one of my tote bags and zipped it up, headed out the gate and across the street to the subway station to let the rat go free with his many brethren who lived there.



    But by the time I got there the rat had bounced and jostled and he was very upset, when I attempted to spring the cage door he tried to bite me and I couldn't get it open. What to do?

    I took him and returned back to the property, having to pass through security and a multitude of guards, with a pissed off caged rat in a tote bag. Made it!

    Got Mr. Azoria to help me. Back out the gate we went with the rat, back to the subway station again - we had to wait for the right moment when no one was looking, I mean you don't want the Russian public to see you releasing rats behind the Metro. Poor little guy.

    Mr. Azoria managed to get the cage door open without being seen or bitten, and the rat scampered directly away into a big pile of trash with the other resident rats.

    Where I assume he lived happily ever after.

    We caught a rat as instructed (although it certainly wasn't the one that had been complained about) and 'disposed' of him, as instructed. Problem solved.
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    Gold Member VeraGemini's Avatar
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    Cat stories. Do I have cat stories. (And a couple of dog stories, too.)

    It was clear Tazzie was going to be an, ahem, handful, from the time she came out from under the tool shred she and her littermates were living under attached to my best friend's hubby's hand. He still has a scar from that. First trip to the vet, to get all three kittens checked out, when the vet opened the box she was in, a horrible noise came out, followed by the stench of brimstone. He closed the box and said:

    "Ohhhhhkay. We'll just assume whatever is wrong with the other two is wrong with this one, too."

    He said 'wrong' like he thought, indeed, there was something metaphysically wrong about that cat. Surprisingly, despite being far too young to be weaned, they were fairly healthy. A few fleas, ear mites, and a bacterial infection from eating adult cat food that had been sitting out in the heat, but that was it.

    By the time of their second vet trip, a week later, she'd calmed down considerably. No more brimstone or flying pea soup, no more midnight threats to swallow our souls. Until the vet tech came in to take her to be weighed, and have her temperature taken. She tolerated the weighing, but when she felt that thermometer, she let out a banshee wail that echoed throughout the clinic... immediately followed by a chorus of wails, howls, yelps, and barks from every single animal in the hospital and kennel boarding sections. The tech came back out holding Tazzie at arm's length, and plopped her unceremoniously in my lap.

    "Heheh, was that my kitty who did that?" I asked.

    "Yes." She replied, and I noticed fresh bloody scratches on both her arms, as well as bloody gauze wrapped around her hand. She left the exam room, crossed the hall, and returned to the back, still serenaded by the shrieks of the dammed.

    Flash forward a few months. I had just moved into a new apartment with Tazzie and her sister (the third kitten was adopted by my friend with the permanently scarred husband). I was in the kitchen rinsing some dishes, when she hopped up on the counter. Now, this was behavior I wanted to discourage, and since the kittens were so young, I thought I had a good chance. (Let us pause now for a moment and contemplate my youthful folly. Training. A cat. Moreover, training THAT cat.) So, I squirted her lightly with the dish sprayer. She did jump down, and I turned my back to pick up more dishes, or wipe the counter, I don't remember. I do remember the feeling of water hitting my back. I turned back around, slowly, and saw Tazzie sitting next to the sink, dipping her paw in the dishwater, flipping it at me, and staring.

    That was a mere foreshadowing of the next seventeen years.


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    Elite Member sluce's Avatar
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    As a child I had a collie and a long hair cat. The cat was quite the hunter and would proudly leave all he captured at the back door. One day he came walking out of the woods with snake wiggling from both sides of his mouth, and deposited the still living snake at my mothers feet. I never saw her run so fast. The dog and cat were best friends. The collie had a litter of 9 puppies. When she would go outside, the cat would climb up on the piece of furniture next to the pen we had built for the puppies, and he would watch over them as if he was their father. The cat was often targeted by bluejays who dive bomb down to pick his fur to use in their nests. One day we were in the kitchen and were amazed as we watched the poor cat try to leave the woods at the back of the property to walk back to the house, but he was getting attacked by the nasty birds. After a short minute, the dog ran up to the wood line, and escorted the cat back to the house. It was about a full acre to the woods and that cat walked underneath the belly of the collie all the way to the back door. When the cat died at 18, the dog slept on his grave for weeks. They were best friends.
    You don't engage with crazies. Because they're, you know, fucking crazy. - WitchCurlGirl

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    Elite Member McJag's Avatar
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    My sister would take her formerly feral cat to the vet. Without fail,she would -umm-cover the little exam room with loose stool,so to speak. Did she do it on purpose? My sister insisted it was just fright. I have doubts. Once maybe. But we are talking years!
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    I didn't start out to collect diamonds, but somehow they just kept piling up.-Mae West

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    Elite Member KrisNine's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by McJag View Post
    My sister would take her formerly feral cat to the vet. Without fail,she would -umm-cover the little exam room with loose stool,so to speak. Did she do it on purpose? My sister insisted it was just fright. I have doubts. Once maybe. But we are talking years!
    My first cat used to do that. She was a feral kitten that I adopted at 8 weeks. She was never normal. Hated pretty much everything. I loved her, but she was off. The vet even said so. She said some people aren't normal and the same goes for cats. She would do the same thing anytime we went to the vet. She would let out this nasty poop and it was disgusting.
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    Elite Member BITTER's Avatar
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    Our first cat was Miss Kitty, a stray who came up to our door one cold winter night the night after my dad got a new car. The 'rents were still in a good mood, so we kept her. She had beautiful silvery gray fur with greenish eyes - really pretty. She was very playful and loved attacking my dad's buttcrack when he lay on the floor watching TV. She kept us in stitches except on Christmas, when she'd climb up the tree, majorly pissing off my mother. She and Mom did not get along. She'd steal food off the table when no one was looking. She got pregnant twice and my parents got rid of her after the second litter. Our second cat was Smoke, who resembled Miss Kitty. A family friend gave her to us. We trained her better than Miss Kitty too, and learned to wrap food up and keep it out of her claws. Mom and Dad got rid of her too, because they simply grew tired of her. My brother and I were devastated.
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    Elite Member Trixie's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by KrisNine View Post
    My first cat used to do that. She was a feral kitten that I adopted at 8 weeks. She was never normal. Hated pretty much everything. I loved her, but she was off. The vet even said so. She said some people aren't normal and the same goes for cats. She would do the same thing anytime we went to the vet. She would let out this nasty poop and it was disgusting.
    I had a beautiful feral that we captured from my grandmother's barn...mutt siamese with a tabby face and beautiful blue eyes. Every time I took her to the vet she would poop in her crate. The gray cat that recently adopted us (not sure where that's going yet) did the same thing when I took him to get checked out last week. ("you wanted a stool sample, here it is, and you can keep the towel!")

    My big baby border collie doesn't poop, he just releases his anal gland. Quite pleasant for a few vet techs who had the misfortune of holding his hindquarters during his exams. I always warn them, and the vet has a notation on his chart. Steer clear of this dog's ass haha.

    Sorry I don't have any more uplifting pet stories to share.
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    Gold Member VeraGemini's Avatar
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    Tazzie's sister cat, Kisa, was "affectionately" called The Pooper. She had a more low key personality, that was usually completely overwhelmed by her sister, but she did have her moments. She was very attached to me, moreso than Tazzie, who regarded every human she saw as her personal servant and acolyte.

    The day before they were scheduled to be spayed, Kisa went into heat. This resulted in one miserable night Chez Gemini, and made the surgery a little harder on Kisa than on Tazzie. When I got them back, Kisa crawled out of the cat carrier, waited until I was looking directly at her, and pooped on the carpet in front of the TV. (Then she slunk off to a corner to sulk and sleep off the anesthetic. Tazzie, on the other hand, went full tilt "I love you, man", rubbing on every leg - animate or furniture - she could find, while drunkenly staggering and falling over.)

    Before they were fixed, I moved to an apartment to go to school, leaving them with my mother for a few days while I got everything settled in. Kisa pooped right next to the litterbox every day, until I picked them up.

    A few years later, I got married, and my mother was, again, coming over every day to feed them and give them some attention. Poop. Right next to the box, daily, for a week. Sometimes she waited until Mom was watching to do it.

    She had a way of making her sentiments known.
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