All of us have had a pet in our lives which we have lived with for many years. We know what sort of interaction we had with each of them.
In my childhood house hold there was........
Lassie the collie. She was sold to a man who flew to Alaska; she became his companion.
There was Jigs, who chased cars, the second time he was run over, the neighborhood kids and adults had a funeral for him in the back yard. He was buried in a peach crate. He was a Boston Terrier, Daddy presented him to the family by taking him out of his suit pocket.
There was Diamond, the weimaraner that Daddy bought at a kennel in Minneapolis. When he bolted in the door for the first time, he snatched a loaf of bread out of Grandma's hands as she was moving it from the oven to the counter. Diamond was given away thirteen years later to a good home when couldn't walk the stairs due to his arthritis. He continued to train other dogs to hunt. He was given away for a short time after he bit the mail man. The pound couldn't put him down, he was too fine a dog and decided the mail man may have had something to do to pester him.
There was Spook, a black cocker, who contracted distemper at the lake the summer of 1952 and died.
There was Jewel, a black lab, who after being spade, ripped out her stitches, got infection and couldn't be healed. In those days, dogs were shot by their masters.
There was Troubles, the collie cross who came to live with us at the farm at eight weeks old. He would meet you at the back door and carry your hand in his mouth. When we left the farm, he stayed behind.
There was Alex McGregor, the Scottie, that mother ordered from somewhere in Southern Minnesota. We picked him up in a crate at the train station early one morning.
Daddy trained all those dogs to come when they were called and to do tricks. Diamond was sent to college twice to get him to mind. We had Diamond the longest. It is said that in his drinking days, when Diamond was in the bar with Daddy, that Diamond carried the money up to the bar to order another drink for him. He also picked up dimes from the floor. There are numerous Cesar's Blue Diamond stories. He was Daddy's dog.
.......And then there were cats. Lot's of cats. Sure to please Siamese, all named Amos; males and females a like. There were barn cats, the greatest of which I remember was Sapphire, a black long hair that would stand on the dog house and meow to come in when Mother and I were doing dishes. All you could see where her frosty whiskers, her pink tongue, and her green eyes as we did supper dishes. Mother would let her in, she would eat, and want back outside. Mother washed dishes three times a day and that is how often Sapphire stood on the dog house. Sapphire stayed with the farm when we left.
Today's blog is dedicated to Elory's Max A Million. He was a smoke Persian who came into our lives in June of 1990. Max was a kitten out of Snickers. The owner of the litter was an oxygen patient I had been visiting monthly or greater after the kittens were born. She told me to get all the supplies needed for a kitten and she would charge me the difference for the cat.
Now, Max had brothers and sisters and half sisters and brothers. One kitten, whom we named Whisper, was purchased by my boss, she died of kidney failure at three or so.
Max, on the other hand, seemed healthier than the lot. When I moved to Fargo in 1998, Max came along. He was a quiet cat; he took a shine to Tom and would jump into his lap when ever Tom was sitting on the sofa. He liked to bat wrapped peppermints around the floor and when they disappeared under the furniture, he would look at you like, "Get that out for me, please."
He spent his days wandering around the house and sleeping in the little crannies. We went to the lake with us and lay on the back of the sofa and watched the birds at the feeders or sat by the door and watched the squirrels run about. He liked to sleep in his kennel, although the door was never closed.
Last year on a Friday when I left for the scrap book retreat, I told Max were I was going. I was restless about leaving. When I returned on Sunday near noon, Tom met me in the driveway. Max had died on Saturday, in his kennel. We stood in the driveway and held each other and cried. Max liked Tom best, perhaps that is why I had asked him years before if he would consider adopting him, which he took as an honor. Later, we would drink a toast to 'good ol Max'. It was a lonesome time for Tom. He would pick up the dishes, the litter box, and the kennel. He would put him in a box and bury him after I got home. And he vacuumed and he vacuumed and he vacuumed. And he said it was really lonesome without him when I was gone.
One doesn't have a pet for that long without being affected in some way. I am not comparing Max death to that of a human. But he was always there. He was always looking at you with his copper eyes. On Friday morning when I was sorting paper for scrap booking, he just had to sit right in the middle of the pile, because that is what cat's do.
He liked Tom best. Max was a SMART cat to adore Tom.
It's been a year since he died. Ode to Max.
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