A Blossoming Friendship

When I opened my side door yesterday morning, the vibrant red cardinal flew to my porch railing. It's as if, on cue, his excellent bird hearing knows precisely what this sound means. Crumbs of bread, succulent seeds are soon to be on their way for he and his little friends. He paused, looking at me in that way that birds do, with head tilted to the side. In close range, I had time to take in the stunning black mask on his face and the tufts of red feathers which poked from his tiny head. Those dark eyes, so filled with intelligence. In the voice usually reserved for my darling cats or very small children, I began speaking to him telling him what a pretty bird he was and how happy I am that he greets me each morning. I talked and talked, making clucking sounds or tsking noises, anything to hold his interest so that we could communicate he and I in any way possible.

My cats took this as a sign that I was calling to them when they heard my loving sounds, and proceeded to investigate why their mother was speaking in that special way to another.

The cardinal flew to another part of the porch, this time lighting on one of the chairs. I still spoke, and he listened, all the while the little head tilted as if trying to discern what I said. He flew up from the chair, actually hovering in the air for a moment or two, bright wings flapping as if dancing for me. To the top of my grill, then onto the wicker porch swing, Mr. bird paused, never leaving, appearing to take in the language as foreign to him as his chirping is to me.

Next, he landed on my car, and I reveled in the special moments meant only for me, not worrying that I didn't have camera or phone to record this special time, but recording it to the memory of my heart.

For I believe we have a blossoming friendship, the cardinal and I. It's been at least a year that he and the missus have lived in our backyard pine. Never straying very far, he knows my movements, when my car returns from a work day, and he is there to greet and to sing, giving me gifts that only he can.

Nature has always been such a big part of my family. My mother grew close to a female raccoon to the point she was able to hand feed her. When the raccoon had babies, she brought them to my mom as if waiting for approval, and teaching them that this human was kind; this human will not hurt you.

My parents enjoyed watching the birds around their home, and eventually hanging a hummingbird feeder for the last several years. As Dad would sit on the porch, those little darlings would hover near to his face, investigating him before whisking away in that speedy fashion they have of flying to seek more nectar.

I walked outside yesterday, and grabbed the bag of seeds to fill the bird feeder. The cardinal flew to the lowest branches of a nearby tree, waiting patiently. Though I filled my hand with seeds and called to him, inviting him to a more intimate feeding, he would not come; would not breach the gap between human and animal.

Perhaps someday, I thought. For there is a friendship growing between the two of us. A precious trust that reminds me of our Heavenly Father. God invites me to those more intimate times. Will I dare to give up control, trusting Him for friendship, for more beauty than I ever dreamed possible?

May we all appreciate nature and every good gift that comes from above.

Meet the Fur- Bombers

Meet the Fur-Bombers! is a pet blog starring four highly active dogs, four cats and two humans sharing stories and adventures with the intent to brighten up peoples day, and occasionally bring awareness to little known or talked about pet health issues that they've had to deal with or are currently dealing with.

Victoria Carter, the caring owner and administrator has this to say about her loving fur family:

Our family consists of four highly active dogs, four cats and two humans sharing stories of our adventures both good and bad, but mostly good.

Memphis and Belle (named for the WWII Memphis Belle B-17 Bomber): My mom and I were in a mom and pop pet store six years ago (they aren’t there anymore) and they were working with a small rescue (that is no longer working anymore). We saw these two little small white fluff balls, at the time they were ten weeks old, had just had their first set of shots and were recovering from a flea infestation. I honestly was more attracted to Belle (original name Angel), and my mom was obsessed with Memphis’ toes (originally named Marshmallow). When we found out that they were the last ones of the litter I couldn’t split them up, not when I knew that I’d be working full time, so, I took them both! It was a good thing too! As it turns out, Memphis is deaf, and has a genetic heart condition along with being a polydactyl, and he is deeply attached to Belle and myself, being deaf he relies on touch to help him know what is going on so he lays right next to me or his sister for security. I don’t think he would have made it to Six years considering being deaf with a heart condition.

Pete, we believe was born in my husbands neighbors shed six years ago (yup same age as Memphis and Belle), his neighbors wife was the one who noticed their dogs going crazy at the shed, and went to rescue him. He was the only kitten that she found, no momma or littermates, and since her dogs weren’t to keen on cats (her husband wasn’t to fond of kitties either) so she asked if Kevin wanted him, and that as we say is history. He’s had him ever since, and once I moved in after our marriage, Pete took an immediate liking to me and has now become a spoiled housecat, who occasionally likes to go sunning in the yard. (all our kitties have daytime outside privileges, they all come in at night)

Q.B. 2.5 was born in our house 11 years ago. My husband had received a good mouser from a friend, she was solid white, and was named Q.B. 2 (after a solid white dog he had in the past). She ended up getting pregnant while he was deployed to Iraq, when he came home shortly after her kittens were born the only one that his house sitter kept was Q.B. 2.5 (the rest of the litter is spread out with Kevin’s brothers) who was named after his mother (who ended up disappearing shortly after the kittens were weaned) since he was the spitting image of her but was only a kitten thus the .5 instead of going all the way up to 3.

How we acquired the dogs is also somewhat similar, the only thing I could say is; despite having a houseful if we were to find another critter, or one was to find us, that was in need and was easily accepted by our current group they would probably end having a home too.

It is always wonderful to meet such caring animal friends.

 Please stop by their Facebook page:
  https://www.facebook.com/Furbombers?fref=ts

And for more touching animal stories and amazing photos, check out their blog:
http://www.meetthefurbombers.com/

I'd like to thank Victoria and her furry crew for being on my blog today! 

Those Strays

It feels wonderful to be chosen. When we were little, to be picked first for a pick-up sports game or in gym class to not have to feel the head hanging shame of being one of the last ones chosen.

I think this is why I'm so up in arms about a tiny stray kitten that suddenly appeared near my son's home this summer. Someone took God's tiny creature and not caring what might happen to it, they "chose" to drop this precious sweetheart off on a busy road without a second glance as they drove off to their busy lives.

Mewling, scrawny, eyes too big for its little face, I spotted the tortoise-shell kitten between my son's house and the neighbor's home. At least there was a dish on their porch, and I could see the neighbors had a soft spot for this little stray. I, of course, ran into my son's house grabbing handfuls of cat kibble and a cup of water. The grateful stray rubbed against me, purring gratitude, looking up at me with those huge, starving eyes.

My son has a heart like his mama. Recently he asked what he could do for this cat. He couldn't take it in with his own two, we were unsure if it may have caught some sort of disease or infection in all its time outdoors. But he wondered if perhaps PetSmart would take it.

I had an idea. A compassionate veterinarian works down the block from me. It was she who found me my own two fluffy, gray, long hair ragamuffin cats. I prayed, "Dear Lord, please. Please let this little cat find some love and care in this world." I phoned the vet the next day and she agreed to take her.

My son and I brought "her", as I began referring to this cat as a girl, to the vets office where she was greeted with smiles, loving, caring hands and sweet voices talking to her. She may have never heard anything but, "Shoo. Get out of here!" in her short life.

God's creatures are special. And sometimes if we are lucky enough, we are the ones "chosen" to take care of them. Other times, a little kitten or puppy are chosen by a new, family and brought into warm, loving homes.

Let's not choose to do harm though. Let's never consider an animal something we can easily get rid of by "dropping it off" in a neighborhood to fend for itself. I think God smiles when we offer a little help, a little of His goodness and heart for the unloved strays of this world.

On a truly happy note: I visited the little cat several times while she was at the vets office. They took amazing care of her, and got her ready for adoption. They had a name tag of "Jenny" on her cage out in their waiting room which warmed my heart. Weeks went by, and I prayed that the right family would find her and love her as she was truly meant to be loved.

Two weeks ago, one of the girls that work at the veterinarians called me to tell me little Jenny had been adopted by a woman. She said that the woman phoned their office once she'd gotten the cat home to tell her that Jenny was doing great, getting along with her dogs and ruling the house. She re-named her "Sheba" because she is queen of their castle.

I write this ending with tears in my eyes. You see, we have the opportunity to do such good in this world. A little animal, carelessly thrown away now has  the chance of a great, new life.

Sometimes you just gotta laugh

     Not too long ago, Mom told our family her partial denture was lost. She swore she put it in the same place as always as she went off to bed. Yet the next day, my father and brother searched high and low without the pink of acrylic gums or white of acrylic tooth to be seen. Dad emptied trash cans, spilling contents out and sifting through to see if perhaps Mom might have accidentally thrown it out.
     They searched under couches, pillows and rugs. They sat back exhausted, their efforts in vain as I made another dental appointment for Mom to take impressions for a new partial.
     Mom jokingly said, "I think it was Kitty or Mya, the dog. I think they took it and were playing with it." We all shook our heads snickering a bit, wondering just what would a dog or cat do with teeth? Wear them perhaps?
     Time passed, Mom got her new teeth and all was well with the world, Until about a week ago when she announced they were missing once again. This time I was visiting as well. The search was on. We overturned every item in the house. We retraced steps like Jack Bauer in "24." Nothing. Not until Dad picked up a favorite sweater of Mom's and announced, "Here they are." Ahhh, the pocket. The source of many a shriveled kleenex and other assorted brick- a- brack.. This time it housed the partial, still intact. I think Dad felt a bit smug that day, as he heralded himself as champion.
     Hold on. You may be thinking, oh, it's just one of those things. Parents getting forgetful, etc, etc. Until today when I visited them once again. Dad met me at the door, putting a finger to his lips. "Shhhh," he said. "I have a story to tell you, but don't tell anyone else."
     I wondered what on earth he did.What secret would I have to uphold now? Dad proceeded to tell me he laid his denture in its usual spot last evening. At least that's what he thought he did. When he awoke this morning, no denture was to be found. Hmmm, maybe he left them in another convenient spot. He retraced his steps, a bit embarrassed at doing the same thing he'd teased my mother about not so long ago. Checking this place and that, he came up empty when at last, he spotted them on the living room floor.
     We chuckled together, he and I, as he realized Mya, the dog, indeed must have snatched them from an unusual spot. They were no worse for wear, no pun intended, and after cleaning them as thoroughly as possible, he proceeded to smile a huge smile at me, showing me his full compliment of teeth once again.
     I've worked in the dental field for over thirty years. We warn partial and denture patients all the time not to leave their prosthetics anywhere a dog can get to them. For a plastic item with the scent of food is a most awesome doggy toy.
     As I left my parents house today, I pictured Mya with a set of dentures in her mouth. I could swear she winked at me when I said goodbye.

Not just another "animal" story

We've all heard dramatic tales of owners and their beloved pets of many years becoming separated when a move is taking place, the pet becomes lost  somehow, or runs away. I've always found these tales to be almost unbelievable. How can a dog travel hundreds of miles, following some sort-of scent, only to be reunited with his cherished owner weeks later?

The power of "belonging" and how even an animal may feel this way, was taught to me in a big way many years ago.

We've always owned cats, even a dog, but sometimes the occasional "stray" would find its way into our yard. My mom, being the kind-hearted pet lover she was, would make certain food and water was left out daily causing the stray to return time and again. One such year, a scruffy-looking orange male tabby cat, stole his way into our hearts. He appeared to be the type of cat that nobody wanted: a bit worse for wear, an old "Tom" type cat. That time, Mom went a bit farther than before. She let him into our house, worrying over the weather conditions. She made a small bed for him out of some old blankets and put them in a corner of the kitchen where he slept many blissful hours away.

A time came when he wasn't looking so well. Mom could tell he was very sick. My brother and I, also being animal lovers decided to take him to the local vet. Maybe there was something the doctor could do to make him a bit more comfortable perhaps. We had no cat carrier, and the old boy was moving so slowly, we bundled him into some blankets and off we went.

We pulled into the parking lot of the animal clinic, and I opened the door with Mr. Kitty in my arms. Now you have to remember, this is a cat that barely moved except to eat a little from his food dish and then returned quickly to his bedding. The cat bolted from my arms, ran across a road and disappeared into a heavily wooded area. My brother and I frantically drove around for the longest time, calling for a cat that had no name. We never found him.

I felt a sort-of relief in some ways. He was out of our concern now, and hopefully would live out his remaining days in peace somewhere.

Weeks went by, and life settled into a routine. My parents returned from a trip to the grocery store one day when Dad made a startling discovery. "Look who's back, hon," he said and pointed. There, at the end of the driveway sat old, orange Tom cat, the cat who had no name. A cat who really wasn't "ours". He'd made his way over several miles and at least two or more weeks to come back to what he felt was "home." Perhaps nobody in his little kitty life had ever treated him with such respect and kindness. A short time later, he ran away, never to be seen again. I'd like to think he came to say goodbye to a family who loved him just for a little bit.