Zoo Stories

P.S. When you are going to be gone for eight days, and you have two dogs that non-dog friends will be watching, buy dog bones. Lots of them. Apparently, this works so well that the dogs won't even notice you're gone... Or at least, they hardly notice we're back.

If you have a very needy cat, on the other hand, who only sleeps well when she's curled by your legs under the covers... Well, you're out of luck. Or at least I was. Annapurna bit into my thigh with all of her might and left red tooth skidmarks and bruises. She came back to cuddle not a minute later. And fell asleep.

Who said cats are more independent?

We're on our last bag of puppy food.

When Kaia was becoming housetrained, we hung a cowbell from the door on a string. We would ring it everytime we asked if she wanted to go Outside (a term not used lightly in this house... we even spell it out if we don't plan on letting our two Canis lupus loose on the world). One day Kaia got the idea, and now we have a surefire signal that we need to get to the door on the double.

Annapurna has always been an inside cat, and she will remain so due to the large number of predators Outside (including owls, hawks, foxes, and our neighbors' dogs). However Annapurna has grand dreams of one day romping in the yard with the dogs. She watches jealously from the window ledge as they play in the snow, and her yowls can be heard through the window from across the yard. Her little nose twitches vigorously when fresh air enters a room, and her sniffs can be heard across a room. When it was 20 below, Annapurna would even bravely take a gingerly step onto the frigid porch. We would dump snow on her head to discourage this behavior.

Now that it is nice Outside, she's becoming more certain that there is a world of adventure that she is missing out on. She's a smart cat. She knows the drill. So she will walk up to the door, ring the cow bell, and take a step back. She looks at me and waits patiently. When I make no move to open the door, she gives me a look. It's withering. "What's the problem? I rang the bell... now open the door." It's hard to tell her no when I rush for the door every time the dogs ask. Poor Annapurna. There's no explaining to her that this is for her own good.

I have a carbohydrate-addicted dog with an eating disorder. He binge eats, and then he vomits.

I discovered this problem a few months back, when I couldn't find my bag of bagels. We'd had a breakfast party at work, and I had bagels left over. I was almost certain I had brought the bagels home for the weekend. When I couldn't find my bagels on Saturday morning, I felt like I was losing my mind. Particularly because I had the cream cheese for the bagels. I looked everywhere. No bagels.

At work on Monday, I also could not find my bagels. No one in my office is cheap enough to take an almost full bag of bagels that they didn't buy. I looked in my car, under the seats... no bagels.

A few days later, I was sitting on the couch when I noticed a shiny plastic something in T.J.'s crate. It was just peeking out from underneath his doggy bed. Walking over to investigate, I discovered the remains of the bag of bagels... one quarter of the plastic bag, which T.J. had so carefully tucked underneath his bed.

I have to hand it to him, the dog isn't exactly stupid. He had pulled the bagels off the shelf; and because he knew this would get him in trouble, he hid the evidence. I also have to say that he isn't exactly smart. If you're going to commit the crime of bagel stealing, you should never hide the evidence under your bed.

I found this toy the other week, and I think it would be a great joke to buy it for T.J. If it doesn't smell like a bagel, he won't really get it. But I'll sure have a good laugh!

I think perhaps T.J. has learned his lesson, after facing a very furious, very hungry Mommy. Yesterday I discovered that my moldy half-loaf of bread was stolen from the trash can overnight. Proof that T.J. applied more brain power to this event: the bread was no longer wanted by anyone in the house, thus its disappearance could possibly go overlooked, and he placed the chewed-up plastic bag back in the trash can, where it would hardly be noticed. Of course, he has been a very sick boy ever since. Maybe next time he'll think twice if he smells mold.

So, yes, my dog Ken's dog eats three days' worth of carbs at once and hides the evidence. I think if he were a person, this would land him in the hospital for an eating disorder.

I hate mowing the lawn. So does Ken, and so we hardly ever do it. It's not a good thing when you have multiple dogs running around in the yard. Too much potential for a special surprise. And so I always vow to be better about mowing. But I hate mowing the lawn.

Last summer, I came up with a solution to the problem. Because we live in a commune, or close enough, I proposed my idea to the members of the commune. The women are all in agreement. We should get a goat.

What a perfect animal. It will mow the lawn. It will play with the dogs. It will provide milk, from which we can make cheese. I love goat cheese. It will also provide a sustainable source of wool. And it will provide manure for my garden. I think this is marvelous! The commune will even help me take care of it.

One member of the commune even theorized that we could quit our jobs and open a stall at the farmer's market. The Commune of Lower Stone selling goat's milk, goat cheese, goat's milk soap and lotions, and mohair knit bikinis! It would be a wonderful life.

But Ken doesn't want a goat. How could you not want a goat?