Reading ‘Marley and me’ made me think about all the animal pets I have had. I come from a family of pet lovers. Let me correct that statement, dog lovers, because we had superstitions about cats and snakes were a no go topic as we saw them often and dreaded having an encounter with them in our backyard.
Growing up, we had different breeds of dogs. We never wanted the same breed twice. The only challenge was that the exotic breeds were very expensive. The first dog we had was named Sally the Santana or we sometimes called her Sally the superstar. She was Sally for short. She was a cream and brown-coloured local mongrel. (I call her a mongrel because that’s the closest name for her breed I could think off. The other would be ‘bingo’). In Australia the word ‘Mongrel’ is a derogatory term used to refer to an ill-bred man; a man of poor manners or morals. That is how I would describe sally. However, she was a loveable dog. We had fun running around with her and pulling stunts but she was way different from the Marley in ‘Marley and me’. She wasn’t much of a watch dog but she backed fiercely when friends come to visit. I cannot really remember how the end came for her but she suddenly vanished from our lives. Then we had another set of mongrels, we named then Jack and Jill. My dad gave out Jill to a friend just as you would give a basket of fruits to a friend who comes to visit. Jacky soon became bored because he was now alone. He would sit and stare into oblivion. Then there was the howling cry. It was quite chilling to the bones. I used to think it had seen a ghost or there were evil spirits around. Although Jacky was a sad dog, he was still a bit rambunctious when it was in the mood to play. However, things turned around in the following months.
During the Christmas season of that year, my father’s doctor gave him a big, smelly ram. The ram was tied to a guava tree in our yard and my dad used to cut the blades of the elephant grass for its consumption. At first Jacky was weary of the huge presence in the yard, but later he soon learnt to ignore it.
One day we woke up to see Jacky and Mr Stinky playing together. Talk about networking from different walks of life. You know how the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, that was what happened to Jacky. He started to eat grass. I know that some dogs eat grass to regurgitate but this one was eating grass like it was dessert. Jacky would lie down beside Mr. stinky and chew away. We were amazed and saw Jacky as ‘the dog that thinks it’s a ram’. Dooms day reared its ugly head when it was time to kill Mr. stinky for the celebrations. Jacky ran away. We didn’t find him for days. When it came back home, he was not the same again. He refused to nibble on the well seasoned bones of Mr. stinky. All darling Jacky did was eating grass and wailing out loud. The wailing worse than the time Jill left. It avoided us and became a troubled creature. It started biting everybody and soon became a menace to ‘society’. Daddy, a giver at heart, gave out Jacky to another friend. Looking through the eyes of Jacky, we saw ourselves as we really were- ‘killers and eaters of ram alias Mr stinky.
An Uncle’s German Shepard had just delivered multiple puppies as was expected of dogs. We got a male dog which we named Prince. Another uncle got a female he named Sheba, after the queen of Sheba. Prince was ‘The Dog’. He was a playful but fierce dog. While I went away to a boarding house, Prince grew bigger and stronger. On visiting days, my brothers would tell me of how Prince attacked people, chased them, and tore their clothing. I was distressed because I knew this dog would not know me anymore. Coming home for the holidays was now a big issue. Prince, the proud Alsatian, never liked me. It would bark at me and push at the door of the kernel. My dad would say ‘don’t worry about that, once he gets used to your face he will calm down”. Prince never did. During the day time I would throw bones to it, prince would not eat. It would look at me sternly till I leave then it would sniff the bones before nibbling. My brothers however would throw this stupid dog a bone and it would run to catch it as if its life depended on it. After a year of trying to make the dog my friend, I gave up. It started to hate it like it hated me. I knew Prince hated lighted lanterns so I would toss a lantern at him when he was tied up. My brothers never played much with the dog because it was such a rough player. Its teeth were too sharp, its nails were like scissors, and the force at which it would jump on you was so powerful you would find you self on the ground in seconds. They couldn’t even take him for walks because he was stubborn and would cut its chain or he would threaten the passers-by who would swear at them and almost run into oncoming vehicles.
The long and short of it, Prince got bored and sad, my brothers got busy and I didn’t care. My dad suggested a play mate; we got coral. Coral was a nice, people pleasing German Shepard. She wore her emotions on her hoofs. Apparently prince liked her because they had some puppies together but you never know he was a dog after all. They had Major, then kiki which my dad used to pronounce as chi chi. Then Prince died. It was a sad time. We all looked very sober. My mother said she felt like shedding tears and I understood. On my part I was sad but I felt peace. No more feelings of being house arrested, no more fears about an animal that did not even have a soul. After the death of Prince, Coral, the female dog, became sober and died too. We gave Major out because we were tired of dogs.
After years without dogs, my brother got a Rottweiler. It was a change from the regular Alsatian. He was named Baron. Baron has a lot of self respect. Once you tell it to buzz off, it would leave but not scurry away like some boneless dog. Sometimes it would ignore everyone and at other times it would act indifferent and then give you a chase with its strong teeth ready to hook your legs from behind. I like Baron but I am not crazy about it. I might get worried if I don’t see it but I don’t worry about his feeding, bathing or emotional state.
Growing up, we had different breeds of dogs. We never wanted the same breed twice. The only challenge was that the exotic breeds were very expensive. The first dog we had was named Sally the Santana or we sometimes called her Sally the superstar. She was Sally for short. She was a cream and brown-coloured local mongrel. (I call her a mongrel because that’s the closest name for her breed I could think off. The other would be ‘bingo’). In Australia the word ‘Mongrel’ is a derogatory term used to refer to an ill-bred man; a man of poor manners or morals. That is how I would describe sally. However, she was a loveable dog. We had fun running around with her and pulling stunts but she was way different from the Marley in ‘Marley and me’. She wasn’t much of a watch dog but she backed fiercely when friends come to visit. I cannot really remember how the end came for her but she suddenly vanished from our lives. Then we had another set of mongrels, we named then Jack and Jill. My dad gave out Jill to a friend just as you would give a basket of fruits to a friend who comes to visit. Jacky soon became bored because he was now alone. He would sit and stare into oblivion. Then there was the howling cry. It was quite chilling to the bones. I used to think it had seen a ghost or there were evil spirits around. Although Jacky was a sad dog, he was still a bit rambunctious when it was in the mood to play. However, things turned around in the following months.
During the Christmas season of that year, my father’s doctor gave him a big, smelly ram. The ram was tied to a guava tree in our yard and my dad used to cut the blades of the elephant grass for its consumption. At first Jacky was weary of the huge presence in the yard, but later he soon learnt to ignore it.
One day we woke up to see Jacky and Mr Stinky playing together. Talk about networking from different walks of life. You know how the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, that was what happened to Jacky. He started to eat grass. I know that some dogs eat grass to regurgitate but this one was eating grass like it was dessert. Jacky would lie down beside Mr. stinky and chew away. We were amazed and saw Jacky as ‘the dog that thinks it’s a ram’. Dooms day reared its ugly head when it was time to kill Mr. stinky for the celebrations. Jacky ran away. We didn’t find him for days. When it came back home, he was not the same again. He refused to nibble on the well seasoned bones of Mr. stinky. All darling Jacky did was eating grass and wailing out loud. The wailing worse than the time Jill left. It avoided us and became a troubled creature. It started biting everybody and soon became a menace to ‘society’. Daddy, a giver at heart, gave out Jacky to another friend. Looking through the eyes of Jacky, we saw ourselves as we really were- ‘killers and eaters of ram alias Mr stinky.
An Uncle’s German Shepard had just delivered multiple puppies as was expected of dogs. We got a male dog which we named Prince. Another uncle got a female he named Sheba, after the queen of Sheba. Prince was ‘The Dog’. He was a playful but fierce dog. While I went away to a boarding house, Prince grew bigger and stronger. On visiting days, my brothers would tell me of how Prince attacked people, chased them, and tore their clothing. I was distressed because I knew this dog would not know me anymore. Coming home for the holidays was now a big issue. Prince, the proud Alsatian, never liked me. It would bark at me and push at the door of the kernel. My dad would say ‘don’t worry about that, once he gets used to your face he will calm down”. Prince never did. During the day time I would throw bones to it, prince would not eat. It would look at me sternly till I leave then it would sniff the bones before nibbling. My brothers however would throw this stupid dog a bone and it would run to catch it as if its life depended on it. After a year of trying to make the dog my friend, I gave up. It started to hate it like it hated me. I knew Prince hated lighted lanterns so I would toss a lantern at him when he was tied up. My brothers never played much with the dog because it was such a rough player. Its teeth were too sharp, its nails were like scissors, and the force at which it would jump on you was so powerful you would find you self on the ground in seconds. They couldn’t even take him for walks because he was stubborn and would cut its chain or he would threaten the passers-by who would swear at them and almost run into oncoming vehicles.
The long and short of it, Prince got bored and sad, my brothers got busy and I didn’t care. My dad suggested a play mate; we got coral. Coral was a nice, people pleasing German Shepard. She wore her emotions on her hoofs. Apparently prince liked her because they had some puppies together but you never know he was a dog after all. They had Major, then kiki which my dad used to pronounce as chi chi. Then Prince died. It was a sad time. We all looked very sober. My mother said she felt like shedding tears and I understood. On my part I was sad but I felt peace. No more feelings of being house arrested, no more fears about an animal that did not even have a soul. After the death of Prince, Coral, the female dog, became sober and died too. We gave Major out because we were tired of dogs.
After years without dogs, my brother got a Rottweiler. It was a change from the regular Alsatian. He was named Baron. Baron has a lot of self respect. Once you tell it to buzz off, it would leave but not scurry away like some boneless dog. Sometimes it would ignore everyone and at other times it would act indifferent and then give you a chase with its strong teeth ready to hook your legs from behind. I like Baron but I am not crazy about it. I might get worried if I don’t see it but I don’t worry about his feeding, bathing or emotional state.
Personally, I’m done with dogs. If another one comes into the house, good for it. It would probably die of boredom because we have all become very busy. Maybe if we had a poodle or one of the hairier breeds I would be excited again but my worries are well grounded. The ticks and other animal parasites that I find on the dogs when they have not had a bath in a while are not so appealing not to talk of the slobbering. Enough said about dogs, I don’t want dog lovers to have a go at my head for not showing them the love and care they require. In the future, if I really have a need to get a dog, I’ll get one that is cute, more poodle like and most importantly stuffed.
this one, yeah this one esp...must confess i dint digest most of ur blogs until now...uv got it gurl! ur expression and conveyance of rather mundane issues as spectacular...plus ur sense of humour, i think it's an uncommon skill.no flattery!
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