About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
I still drive by that farm...sigh
My first pet was a Shetland Sheepdog. I named her Heidi because I had just seen the movie Heidi and I wanted to be Heidi (picture borrowed from marianland.com). I was just seven years old, and I loved that animal like any young girl loves something she’s just named after a Swiss mountain orphan: with all my heart.
But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. One month after we got Heidi, my parents decided she was too much work. I can’t remember, but I am sure I scooped poop—I was so diligent I used to give the neighborhood kids homework assignments when we played school so I could correct them.
Anyway, we gave Heidi back to the farm from which she had come so she could run and chase rabbits and be with her brothers and sisters. Sometimes my father would blow by the farm on the way to Woolworths or Caldor and he would say, “Quick! Look! There’s Heidi!” but somehow I always missed her.
(Do you need a Kleenex yet?)
In what can only be described as Cosmic Canine Coincidence, Chuck also had his childhood dog—a Border Collie named Charlie—wrenched from his juvenile grasp because his parents said the dog was too much work. He studied abroad at 17 and when he came home (after deflowering most of England, I might add), Charlie was gone.
There are some lights at the end of this beastly tunnel, I promise.
First, we have two cats, which our parents have never tried to give away. They behave like dogs, which is good for them because I hate cats. They lick our guests and come when we call them. Sometimes they baby-sit. Our vet has suggested we walk them—they weigh 25 pounds each—but we all know that if I actually did that I’d end up on the front page of the Mulletville Chronicle.
Second, when Junior gets a dog—which would be today if I had my say—he is keeping it forever. I’m talking taxidermy, people. No child should ever have to suffer the injustices inflicted on his parents by their big, bad parents.
This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by Burger King Corp. If I win the $250 gift card to pamper my pets, I’m taking the above pictured mongrel to get a Brazilian wax and a Jenny Craig consultation.
P.S. Cutie Booty Cakes has a much cheerier childhood pet story, if you need the warm and fuzzies.