A Fish Called Wanda

The excellent relationship Kate and I have developed has progressed to the point where she recently asked me to care for her fish, Wanda.

I reluctantly agreed.

I don't have the greatest track record with pets.

This request was necessitated by the fact that Kate was leaving the area for about a week to visit family in Jacksonville and Atlanta. She had made arrangements to board her wonderfully neurotic Shitzu, Coco; however, there were no takers for Wanda so I became the best of a bad set of options.

"Kate," I said, "I'll do my best, but you have to understand that there is every chance that when you return in a week or so, Wanda will be 'sleeping with the fishes'."

"Are you going to deliberately slay Wanda?" she asked.

"No. I love Wanda with all my heart, or at least that portion of my heart dedicated to slimy, nasty creatures who live in bowls. It's just that..."

I then proceeded to tell Kate about my family's pet history. I told her about our first pet, Mouse, an incredibly muscular and intensely stupid Alaskan Malamute who allowed us to live with him in our homes in Weymouth and Hanover. I think if our pet history had begun and ended with Mouse it would have been a much better history then it turned out to be. Mouse loved Josh, Matt, and Ada, but wasn't all that fond of me. Walking Mouse was like trying to harness a tornado. And like a tornado, there was much destruction and devastation. Rather than show remorse for the chaos and heartache he caused on a daily basis, Mouse just smiled. That's right, the crazy Malamute would smile! To this day I've never seen anything like it. You know how most dogs get that heart-wrenching sad look on their faces when you scold them? Not good ol' Mouse. He would just smile at you as if he were saying, "Yes, I just wrecked your formerly screened in porch...and I'll do it again!" Still, Mouse hung in there with us for about 14 years. His quiet end was met with tears from Josh, Matt, and Ada. I was busy repairing the screens.

It's our family's post-Mouse pet period that is...questionable...to say the least. We went through a series of dogs, each of whom met a mysterious end. First there was Sally the Pally, a nondescript mutt whom we rescued from the local humane society. I don't have many memories of Sally either good or bad because she just upped and disappeared one day. The strange thing is, I don't think anyone in the family really noticed. I don't remember any frantic searches in the neighborhood or calls to the police or handmade posters on telephone poles. Sally just didn't make any impression on us. She probably sensed that which would explain her disappearance. Sally, we hardly knew ye!

Undaunted after the Sally episode, we returned to the humane society to take stewardship of Homer, another mutt of questionable character and ancestry. We dubbed him "Homer the Hose Hound" because of his charming propensity to urinate anywhere and at any time he pleased. We kept a carpet cleaning company on retainer during the brief but exciting Homer period. Homer had another interesting quirk. He loved to bite anyone crazy enough to deliver the newspaper to our home. There are at least three members of one newspaper-delivering family who sport ankle scars to this day thanks to Homer-the-Newspaper-Delivery-Person-Bitin'-Hose-Hound. After the third incident we had to make a decision: cancel the newspaper or cancel Homer. We chose the latter. I packed him in the car for his final walk down the green mile. Dead dog walkin'. Euthanasia seemed like the kindest option for Homer. Certainly it was the kindest option for the newspaper delivery family! However, the vet mentioned that he might be able to farm Homer out to a rural family that works with troubled pets. That sounded good to me. I didn't ask Homer's opinion. He was busy urinating.

After the Homer fiasco, there was a gap in our pet stewardship. We would make occasional attempts at the humane society, but, somehow, the dogs there had heard about us and were reluctant to be adopted. Instead of that sad, "Please take me home" look, they would affect a blank stare. It was as if they were trying to become invisible, like students in my English classes who didn't want to be called upon.

Eventually we did find a pup who evidently hadn't gotten the word on us. This was Panda, an incredibly cute and loving black and white something or other. Panda was a return to pet normalcy for us. She loved Matt and Josh. She was playful and perky, cute and cuddly. She was also dead within six months. She ran under the wheels of a car that was circling our cul de sac. The car was going about two miles an hour so there is only one sad conclusion: a clear case of puppy-cide. We'll never know why Panda felt that this was a better alternative to living with the Getmans. She didn't leave a note.

What a tragedy it would have been if our pet life had ended with Panda's sad demise. Happily, I can report that E.B., a border collie mix from East Bank, West Virginia (hence the name) was just about the best pooch anyone ever had the privilege of sharing a house with. E.B. came to us though the Willett family. Bob was the long time principal of my school and one of his daughters had rescued the infant E.B. from a tough family situation in Appalachia. When Bob asked if we'd be willing to adopt E.B., we reluctantly agreed. What a fortunate decision that was! For the next 12 years, E.B. delighted us with her love, her keen sense of herding, and her distaste for sheep. Her classic border collie looks prompted us to learn about this remarkable breed and to attend several border collie trials. What remarkable creatures they are! Anyone who has seen the movie "Babe" knows what these fine dogs are capable of. And while not pure bred, E.B. demonstrated many of the stellar qualities of the border collie line. Probably the only area she came up a little short on was intelligence. But, hey, we weren't a family of geniuses either!

Cancer took E.B. as it did her beloved mistress. Two very sad days for all concerned.

So maybe now you can understand why I was a little reluctant to take on the responsibility of caring for Wanda. God forbid Kate ever asks me to care for neurotic Coco!

Of course, it would make for a pretty good blog!

Love your pets,
J