Petulant about Pets
We are never getting a pet. We never were getting a pet. Getting a pet was never on the agenda.
Despite this, Daughter#2 chose to throw a tantrum because we are not getting a pet. Who ever said anything about getting a pet? Son of Sanstorm and Daughter#1 are used to the idea. They know that when they move out and get a place of their own to live they are perfectly free to get a pet. I have no problem with that.
My facebook friends were full of sage advice. Most of it boiled down to “Get a pet”. Others encouraged me to hold my ground.
Here is my pet history:
This was my sister’s rabbit. I think it was half brown and half white. All I remember about it was that it had a chicken-wire run. And it died. It was sad.
This was MY guinea pig. He was an Abyssinian cavy (?) with ginger and black fur that had kind of circles of hair radiating out from lots of crowns – I don’t know if that makes any sense. He used to go “POY, POY, POY,” and scrabble about in a hutch at the back door. His food looked the same as his poo. He used to be able to do a cool thing with dandelion leaves – sooking them in the same manner as a skilled child with spaghetti.
I wrote a poem about him. It began:
My guinea pig’s called Toffee
His ears are rather floppy
It’s never time for sleeping
It’s always time for eating.
I can’t remember the rest, but it has been about 32 years since I wrote it…
My friend’s brother called him Chocolate, just to annoy me.
I didn’t like to touch him. I held him twice. My sister (owner of the by then deceased Frisky) took to do with him. He had wee scratchy feet and pee that looked like watery milk.
Sometimes he would be decanted into a washing basket while we cleaned out the hutch. Scraping all the sawdust and poo away, disinfecting the floor and then re-stocking the hutch with sawdust and straw.
Then he grew a huge growth on his neck and, I believe, died under the knife.
Morecambe and Wise.
I had some disease or other – maybe measles or German measles and someone gave me fish. I have no memory of them apart from they were there and I was in bed. I doubt they lasted long.
Reginald and Troy
These were goldfish that my *friends* bought me for my 21st. Thanks guys. I named them after Reggie Perrin from the … what was it?… “The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin” and Sergeant Troy from “Far from the Madding Crowd” – both of whom faked their own deaths by leaving their clothes on a beach. Reginald and Troy had to go through a lot, living with students. They survived all my toaster-related escapades, and they survived shuttle running between Glasgow and St Andrews on my knee in the car.
Eventually they died.
So, those were my pets. I didn’t really like them. I didn’t like to handle them. They just made me anxious about them.
I’m just not a pet person.
We are never getting a pet.