REGULAR FEATURES
Although no longer possessing a pet of any description, it made me think back to all those I have known over the years. Way back in my childhood, I seem to remember two “budgies”, sweet little birds of green and blue that would walk out of their cage before taking flight around our dining-room, proving the very devil for my father to recapture. Sadly, I fear they were related to their cousin, the hero of Monty Python's Dead Parrot sketch, and met a similar unfortunate end, being discovered to have literally fallen off their perch. Later, my brother and I were the proud owners of several white mice, less inclined to attempt to fly to the skies due to lack of wings and feathers, but condemned to run for eternity within a small plastic wheel that was supposed to give them exercise. The handling of these small rodents prepared me for their larger cousins, laboratory rats, which I encountered later in my Zoological Studies, and even to view with equanimity the landing on my face of a wild brother, awakening me from my slumbers. You will have to go back to when I first began writing for this renowned publication for an account of this adventure. Only recently, I made reference to my criminal past, (Early Childhood), the breaking into private property to steal dandelion leaves to supplement the diet of Bunny, our pet rabbit, resulting in a visit from the law! My poor father, as if he did not have enough worries! I was told that Bunny had made a daring escape for freedom and had taken up residence in the countryside, but with age comes a degree of doubt and cynicism, especially when I remember the beautiful pair of fur-lined mittens I was given a little later. Safer was the goldfish, the next acquisition. At least, they were meant to bring peace and harmony to the home; we would watch for hours whilst they swam in circles, “I'm forever blowing bubbles” we would sing to them. Then, apart from the frogspawn which we kept for educational purposes in order to observe the wonders of metamorphosis,
That is until Don and I had toddlers of our own. At this time we were living in Australia, and Don suggested a kitten would be a pleasant addition to the family. I spoke to a neighbour, Dale, about this, but she had an alternative suggestion. She had recently returned from a visit to the vet for her animal. The vet was bewailing the fact that he had been asked to put down a perfectly healthy dog as its owners were migrating to New Zealand, which meant the dog would have to remain in quarantine for several months before being reunited with the family, who worried she might suffer from canine separation anxiety. They would, however, be more than happy if a new family could be found for Mitzie, rather than perpetual slumber. I agreed, sight unseen, to adopt her. Healthy? Yes. Pretty? No. She rather resembled a superannuated sheep with curly hair. When Don returned from work, he took one look and pronounced, “That, is not a kitten!” A keen observer of animal life, he was! Mitzie lived with us for years, surviving being trampled on by our two toddlers, but eventually falling foul of a cane toad that had invaded her drinking bowl.
mother-in-law, who had the same middle name. Beautiful she was, but capable of bullying, the main recipient being the handsome golden Labrador, Goldie, who arrived with the three boys we fostered for some time. For a while, we had five kids, a dog, a cat and an ever-increasing number of guinea pigs.
Arrival
IN ISSUE 157 OF THE BRIBIE ISLAND MAGAZINE, THERE WAS AN ARTICLE ON SIX WAYS IN WHICH PETS CAN IMPROVE YOUR EMOTIONAL WELLBEING. IT CERTAINLY BROUGHT BACK MANY MEMORIES OF MY ANIMAL THERAPISTS.
the fertilised egg, to tadpole, to larger tadpole with legs, to small frogs, at which point, my mother insisted on their release lest her kitchen be over-run with small green amphibians, I seemed to have lost enthusiasm for all creatures great and small.
When the three boys were able to return to their mother, Goldie remained with us, much loved by my son, Simon. When Goldie died, we buried him at the bottom of the yard, along with Josephine, whose white-nose had proved her undoing, she developed sun cancer and was put down after the last meal of whiting fillets and cream. Even my husband's ashes were scattered nearby, just as he had desired. We certainly and mourned
loved our animals their passing. They are not forgotten, and, as yet, I am not ready to replace them, unless it is with a pet rock!
After a decent time of grief and bereavement, a cat came wandering into our lives and adopted us, as members of the feline species are wont to do. The cat was a beautiful tortoiseshell, black, orange, with a white nose, to whom I, thinking back to my Sunday school lessons and the musical Joseph and his Amazing Technicoloured Dream Coat, immediately gave the same moniker. Perhaps I should have thought back to the years I had spent in tertiary education and remembered that tortoiseshells are all female. (Wikipedia) Hence a name change was called for; she became Josephine, not best pleasing my
By: Elaine Lutton Issue 159 Feb 11 2022 35
