03-18-2004, 04:39 PM
With out meaning to, I have began a great scientific adventure. It has roots in the nature vs. nurture concept, as well as other topics of interest. It's been interesting to me at least, gaining some sort of insight into how much of our behaviour is hardwired and how much is learned.
I recently, as in the third of March, aquired a 4 week old dog. A Cocker Speagle. (Figure it out) A friend down at the humane society called me and said they have a special needs animal. It needed a home ASAP or death would likely result. Not knowing it was a dog, I called up a driver and went down there to check it out. Said doggy was about 4 weeks old. Mother had rejected both of her pups, and, the old lady bottle feeding them died. There was a little girl and a little boy. Little boy had already found a home with a hunter. The female, with no mother figure at all, and, after the loss of her sibling, had just given up. Refused to eat or drink, and would just lay on the bottom of her cage. She had caught pneumonia. One sick little hound. I donate a lot of money to the humane society and I found my self in a very uncomfortable situation. One sick nearly dead puppy, one friend, and several very sad people all looking at me hoping I could do something.
I had tried to explain that I was the crazy old cat hermit. I have cats. Lots of cats. I have collected a large number of cats. (And one fox) A dog in a house full of cats was insanity. Anarchy. All my words were met with terrible sad looks. With much protesting, I had the puppy stuffed into my arms. Puppy looked up at me with her droopy wrinkly face, whined, coughed, and promptly threw up on me. Nobody wanted her, and the shelter simply did not have the resources to care for such a sick animal.
Well crap. How was I going to say no to that? It was a long ride home. Setting puppy in a crate was a bad idea, as she would use what little strength and life force she had left to whine and whimper. Holding puppy was even worse, as she would puke every four minutes like clockwork. Puppy also had the Hershey Squirts. When I got home, I was unclean in the Biblical sense, truly vile.
Home is where the experiment began, with out me knowing.
Major Players.
Tomb Bomb. The Patriarch of the household. Big fat orange tabby. About 10 years old, about 30 pounds, and mean and cranky as I am. The Watcher.
Blue Meanie. A recent resident. An Old Blue Hair that I utterly hated died recently, much to my rejoicing. She was a board member and our hatred was mutual. So much to my suprise, she had left me her middle aged cat in her will along with a note saying I was the most vile beastly cantankerous animal of a man she had ever met in her life, and, being the animal I am, she knew her cat would be in good company. It's been a long time since I have been so flattered. I had no idea she cared for anything other then her selfish withered old self. It's nice to know she thinks highly of me. Blue Meanie is a Russian Blue. She has made her self The Matriarch through right of might. And of late, she had earned the title of "Mommy."
The Spazmanian Devil. A blue munchkin cat. Built like a weiner dog. Short stumpy legs, long slinky body. The Instigator. Resident Anarchist. Evil in a fur coat. Has all of the charm of a constipated wolverine. All must worship her, fear her, and loath her as a dark evil Goddess. She is truly the spawn of Satan and is Daddy's Little Precious. I dunno what all the fuss is about, she is as sweet as candy to me... Perhaps because I am the animal I appear to be and Spazzy has a "Kill all Humans!" fetish.
Ratchet Head. A brain damaged male Ragdoll type kitty. Dumb as a box of doorknobs. Crosseyed. Tongue dangles out contantly, drools large puddles, and is pretty much a stereotypical Idiot. Was hit in head by a hammer by previous owner. Rescued by shelter, then rescued by me. Despite all doubts, he has learned to use the litter box. Plays role of Teddy Bear for puppy, and, he has learned a skill to earn his keep. He licks envelopes for me. (Actually, he just sits there with his tongue hanging out and I carefully run the gum over it, don't want paper cuts. Then I pat him on the head and say what I good cat he is and he gets excited and drools some more.) Nobody seems to want to love him because of his drooling problem. He is "icky" "yucky" "nasty" or somehow undesireable because of his handicap. Company avoids him. Since owning him, I have forgotten what a dry pillow feels like.
Wobbles. My foxy friend. My constant companion. My flatulent comrade in arms. Three legs, no tail, no worries. The Alarm. Should be interesting having both a fox and hound in the house. For right now, Wobbles is the guardian angel. Wobbles yipes and makes strange undescribeable noises when puppy chokes on mucus.
Charity. The Puppy. Wife named her. One sick puppy. Still recovering, getting used to solid food, and the subject of curiousity. Starting to behave like a kitty...
There are other kitties, but they are bit players. They avoid puppy.
First day home. The cats form two factions. One is the Hiders. They flee from puppy. The others are The Borg. They wish to bring Charity into the Collective.
Blue Meanie and Spaz were the ones with First Contact. Spaz hates most everything. I was very worried, but, my house is much like the great plains of Africa. The drama of nature taking it's course. Much to my suprise, Spaz started to clean the puppy off along with Blue Meanie. Puppy was down in her crate with the kitties, she seemed ok, so I took a shower. (Whew) When I got out of the shower, puppy was clean! Very very black. Black black. Even her claws are black. She has webbed toes. Her coat was practially gleaming and Blue and Spaz were cleaning themselves and looking very proud. Ratchet had found a friend that did not mind the drool. (Even the other cats snub him) Charity was using him as a pillow, and he lay there, that stupid vacant look on his face. Tom had come down from my chair at the Command Centre (My desk) and looked in on the pup. He got down in the crate, poked her with his fat paw, mewed up at me for bringing another reject home, and returned to his throne. Wobbles had laid down beside the crate.
And what of the cats? Contrary to evidence of otherwise, cats are not the aloof uncaring creatures that many think of them to be. While some of my cats have secreted them selves away, the foster parents are amazing. Attentive, loving, playful, and warm. Tom moves for no man nor creature. Yet when Charity cries a little to loud for a little to long, he will go over and bump noses and rub his head against her ears. Spaz has curbed her homicidal urges for the time being, and seems to be enjoying some sort of weird sisterhood bond. Blue Meanie has focused her homicidal urges and has become the fierce protective Mommy Kitty. Anybody disturbing the puppy (Other then the wife or my self) finds themselves at the business ends of the hooks of a 20 pound Russian Blue. (That cat packs switchblades) Anybody that knows anything about Russian Blues should know what I am talking about. That cat embodies everything "Cossack." Ratchet has finally found his place in the world as a toy, teddy bear, and comforter.
And now, I have a puppy that thinks she is a kitten. She plays like a kitten, batting stuff around with her paws. She claws the scratching posts. Most amazingly, she has started using the litterbox. Everybody knows that dogs usually eat what's left behind in litterboxes, and, everybody who hears about a dog using the littlerbox is pretty freaked out. She washes like a kitty. She will come up and "mark you" like a kitty, rubbing her head and ears against you. It is both facinating and a little bit weird. The Borg Kitties are remaking Charity in their own feline image. Charity has even started to "purr" which is strange. It's a very low rumbling growling sound. Not a viscious growl. Something she does when she is happy. Charity loves to play String with the other cats. The radio controlled robo-mousie drives her crazy.
Has anybody else encounted a dog that has all of the behaviour patterns of a cat? What am I in for?
I recently, as in the third of March, aquired a 4 week old dog. A Cocker Speagle. (Figure it out) A friend down at the humane society called me and said they have a special needs animal. It needed a home ASAP or death would likely result. Not knowing it was a dog, I called up a driver and went down there to check it out. Said doggy was about 4 weeks old. Mother had rejected both of her pups, and, the old lady bottle feeding them died. There was a little girl and a little boy. Little boy had already found a home with a hunter. The female, with no mother figure at all, and, after the loss of her sibling, had just given up. Refused to eat or drink, and would just lay on the bottom of her cage. She had caught pneumonia. One sick little hound. I donate a lot of money to the humane society and I found my self in a very uncomfortable situation. One sick nearly dead puppy, one friend, and several very sad people all looking at me hoping I could do something.
I had tried to explain that I was the crazy old cat hermit. I have cats. Lots of cats. I have collected a large number of cats. (And one fox) A dog in a house full of cats was insanity. Anarchy. All my words were met with terrible sad looks. With much protesting, I had the puppy stuffed into my arms. Puppy looked up at me with her droopy wrinkly face, whined, coughed, and promptly threw up on me. Nobody wanted her, and the shelter simply did not have the resources to care for such a sick animal.
Well crap. How was I going to say no to that? It was a long ride home. Setting puppy in a crate was a bad idea, as she would use what little strength and life force she had left to whine and whimper. Holding puppy was even worse, as she would puke every four minutes like clockwork. Puppy also had the Hershey Squirts. When I got home, I was unclean in the Biblical sense, truly vile.
Home is where the experiment began, with out me knowing.
Major Players.
Tomb Bomb. The Patriarch of the household. Big fat orange tabby. About 10 years old, about 30 pounds, and mean and cranky as I am. The Watcher.
Blue Meanie. A recent resident. An Old Blue Hair that I utterly hated died recently, much to my rejoicing. She was a board member and our hatred was mutual. So much to my suprise, she had left me her middle aged cat in her will along with a note saying I was the most vile beastly cantankerous animal of a man she had ever met in her life, and, being the animal I am, she knew her cat would be in good company. It's been a long time since I have been so flattered. I had no idea she cared for anything other then her selfish withered old self. It's nice to know she thinks highly of me. Blue Meanie is a Russian Blue. She has made her self The Matriarch through right of might. And of late, she had earned the title of "Mommy."
The Spazmanian Devil. A blue munchkin cat. Built like a weiner dog. Short stumpy legs, long slinky body. The Instigator. Resident Anarchist. Evil in a fur coat. Has all of the charm of a constipated wolverine. All must worship her, fear her, and loath her as a dark evil Goddess. She is truly the spawn of Satan and is Daddy's Little Precious. I dunno what all the fuss is about, she is as sweet as candy to me... Perhaps because I am the animal I appear to be and Spazzy has a "Kill all Humans!" fetish.
Ratchet Head. A brain damaged male Ragdoll type kitty. Dumb as a box of doorknobs. Crosseyed. Tongue dangles out contantly, drools large puddles, and is pretty much a stereotypical Idiot. Was hit in head by a hammer by previous owner. Rescued by shelter, then rescued by me. Despite all doubts, he has learned to use the litter box. Plays role of Teddy Bear for puppy, and, he has learned a skill to earn his keep. He licks envelopes for me. (Actually, he just sits there with his tongue hanging out and I carefully run the gum over it, don't want paper cuts. Then I pat him on the head and say what I good cat he is and he gets excited and drools some more.) Nobody seems to want to love him because of his drooling problem. He is "icky" "yucky" "nasty" or somehow undesireable because of his handicap. Company avoids him. Since owning him, I have forgotten what a dry pillow feels like.
Wobbles. My foxy friend. My constant companion. My flatulent comrade in arms. Three legs, no tail, no worries. The Alarm. Should be interesting having both a fox and hound in the house. For right now, Wobbles is the guardian angel. Wobbles yipes and makes strange undescribeable noises when puppy chokes on mucus.
Charity. The Puppy. Wife named her. One sick puppy. Still recovering, getting used to solid food, and the subject of curiousity. Starting to behave like a kitty...
There are other kitties, but they are bit players. They avoid puppy.
First day home. The cats form two factions. One is the Hiders. They flee from puppy. The others are The Borg. They wish to bring Charity into the Collective.
Blue Meanie and Spaz were the ones with First Contact. Spaz hates most everything. I was very worried, but, my house is much like the great plains of Africa. The drama of nature taking it's course. Much to my suprise, Spaz started to clean the puppy off along with Blue Meanie. Puppy was down in her crate with the kitties, she seemed ok, so I took a shower. (Whew) When I got out of the shower, puppy was clean! Very very black. Black black. Even her claws are black. She has webbed toes. Her coat was practially gleaming and Blue and Spaz were cleaning themselves and looking very proud. Ratchet had found a friend that did not mind the drool. (Even the other cats snub him) Charity was using him as a pillow, and he lay there, that stupid vacant look on his face. Tom had come down from my chair at the Command Centre (My desk) and looked in on the pup. He got down in the crate, poked her with his fat paw, mewed up at me for bringing another reject home, and returned to his throne. Wobbles had laid down beside the crate.
And what of the cats? Contrary to evidence of otherwise, cats are not the aloof uncaring creatures that many think of them to be. While some of my cats have secreted them selves away, the foster parents are amazing. Attentive, loving, playful, and warm. Tom moves for no man nor creature. Yet when Charity cries a little to loud for a little to long, he will go over and bump noses and rub his head against her ears. Spaz has curbed her homicidal urges for the time being, and seems to be enjoying some sort of weird sisterhood bond. Blue Meanie has focused her homicidal urges and has become the fierce protective Mommy Kitty. Anybody disturbing the puppy (Other then the wife or my self) finds themselves at the business ends of the hooks of a 20 pound Russian Blue. (That cat packs switchblades) Anybody that knows anything about Russian Blues should know what I am talking about. That cat embodies everything "Cossack." Ratchet has finally found his place in the world as a toy, teddy bear, and comforter.
And now, I have a puppy that thinks she is a kitten. She plays like a kitten, batting stuff around with her paws. She claws the scratching posts. Most amazingly, she has started using the litterbox. Everybody knows that dogs usually eat what's left behind in litterboxes, and, everybody who hears about a dog using the littlerbox is pretty freaked out. She washes like a kitty. She will come up and "mark you" like a kitty, rubbing her head and ears against you. It is both facinating and a little bit weird. The Borg Kitties are remaking Charity in their own feline image. Charity has even started to "purr" which is strange. It's a very low rumbling growling sound. Not a viscious growl. Something she does when she is happy. Charity loves to play String with the other cats. The radio controlled robo-mousie drives her crazy.
Has anybody else encounted a dog that has all of the behaviour patterns of a cat? What am I in for?
All alone, or in twos,
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."
The ones who really love you
Walk up and down outside the wall.
Some hand in hand
And some gathered together in bands.
The bleeding hearts and artists
Make their stand.
And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad buggers wall.
"Isn't this where...."