Father's Day - 2007

Father's Day - 2007 - © Kent Fletcher
June 17, 2007

Well, I wasn't going to say anything about today, cause I ain't one of ya. Not in the biblical sense, not in the literal sense, nor even the figurative sense. And yet, I suppose I am one of ya, in that I do truly care for the animals who have cohabited with me in times past, and in the present as well.

As with the real fathers, and mothers, too, in the world today, there is a certain satisfaction seeing an animal grow and mature to adulthood, to see it learn how to behave around humans, to interact in daily goings-on, to get on a schedule of meal-times, play-times, sleep-times. Of course, the animals the human race has decided to domesticate - cats, dogs, ferrets, hamsters, small and large furry ones, and some not so furry - have become as dependent on the human race as a human child in the formative years. How so, you may ask?

Domesticated animals have slowly lost a lot of their natural instincts of survival, such as preying on other animals for food, seeking shelter where they can find it, fighting tooth and nail for territory. Some of these traits can still be seen in feral animals, and even in border-line domesticated animals. For instance, at my present abode, I cohabit with three inside cats, and God-only-knows how many outside ones. Some of the outside ones are quite tame, others are a bit more skittish. When a litter is hatched, I make a concerted effort to at least handle the kits some, not much, to get my scent in them so they won't scatter at sight or sound. However, sometimes this is not good, in that the skittish ones may take the traits I pass along as humans are not a dangerous sort. And we all know about that statement, eh?

One thing is for certain at my abode: there ain't no mice or rats anywhere around. While I'm not going to permit the outside cats - even the tame ones - to starve, all they get is dry food, the cheaper the better. If they want meat for dinner, they find it on their own. I also feed the birds and squirrels, and I'm sure a bird or squirrel has paid the ultimate price.

At times the outside cats also serve as a make-shift alarm. If they see something, or someone strange approaching the yard, they scatter. Course, it helps if I'm outside at the time to see the alarm. As the heat keeps rising out here in TX, I only go out on the stoop in the evening, and even then sometimes it's just not comfortable.

Enough about cats. I've got them, I take care of them, and I care about them. Nuff said.

Dogs. What can I say? Domesticated dogs have a devotion to human beings that cats, at least the cats I've known in my short life, will never exhibit. There are exceptions, such as Prook, my mother's Siamese cat, and maybe Zack, my own Siamese, or Felix who passed last September. Prook loved to ride, windows down, anywhere, anytime. In fact, he got so bold as to get in any open window and lounge until the driver at least took him around the block. Many times he went to Arkansas with the family, to visit my mother's folks. Zack would walk with me when I took Zeke and Hercules, my two cockapoos, around the blocks. But no leash for him, just a fly-swatter. That was his calling card. He had his own fly-swatter, too, and would bring it to me to beat him. Seriously.

Felix would come to a whistle in his later years, and would ride, albeit begrudgingly, to the vet. I don't know if he ever got a vet, but he did get me on more than one occasion. And not love-bites either, but defensive bites. He let a human know where the boundaries were in no uncertain terms.

Well, I digressed a bit, fell back on the cats. Sorry bout that, so let me continue on about dogs. The first dog I remember was a collie of some kind. I was very young then, probably three or four. The second dog was Spooky, who actually lived across the street with the Albrittons. But Spooky was waiting for me every day as I walked into the yard from an arduous day at the Hill Demonstration School. He and I played for hours outside, my constant companion, a typical boy-and-his-dog relationship. Don't know how the Albrittons felt about it, but they never said anything. One time he swallowed one of those little red rubber balls. My father paid to get Dr. Wiggins to slice him open, retrieve what was left of said ball. I can't remember for sure what happened to Spooky, but I think he got nailed there on College Street. He was a cutey, too, a terrier mix, white with brown spots. I run across the one picture I've got of him on occasion.

Next was Blue, 1/4 Spitz, 1/4 Beagle, ½ Labrador. Smart. Quick. Cunning. My father's dog. They went hunting a lot together, for squirrels, rabbits, and one time a skunk. A very stinky result when my father shot the skunk and Blue dived in for the kill. I think my father could have killed him for that stupid act. But he survived for several years, only to be nailed on College Street. I've never come across another dog like Blue, faithful to the end.

I didn't cohabit with any animals in my adult life until I was marred and living in Colorado. The ex was aching for a pooch. The pooch - a cockapoo - came from a puppy mill in Kansas via a pet shop in Pueblo, CO. When we took him in, the vet told us if he lived six months, he would make it. He made it from 1978 to 1993. He done good. We had a couple of other dogs along the way, a cocker spaniel from a pound in Lakewood, CO, who evidently had a major heart attack while we were out one evening and died (he was still warm when I opened the door) and a terrier mix, also from Lakewood, who got nailed by some bahstad outside Oxford, MS, in 1981. Shortly thereafter along came Hercules, another cockapoo, who was absolutely, emphatically the best dog I've ever owned.

It was Zeke and Hercules who helped me keep my sanity after my divorce in 1987, who gave me something to live for, as I was really on the edge of ending everything for a very short period of time. They were my constant companions, traveling around Virginia, always, always ready to go for a ride anywhere. They helped me get to Texas in one piece back in December, 1990. They helped me acclimate Felix when he came into the fold in May, 1991. I've written about all three of these clowns elsewhere. I was torn apart when Zeke passed, but I was absolutely devastated when Hercules left me in February, 1994. I miss him to this very day, Father's Day, 2007.

My last constant companion was Lil Darlin. After Hercules passed, I had no desire for another pooch. The good Lord had other ideas, however, in November, 1998. Radar, as Lil Darlin was first known, was an ugly but cute little pup, I'd say in the vicinity of six-month-old when I first saw her. She was being drug around a yard by a five-year-old kid, literally, with a rope around her neck. The kid and his mom had just picked her up at a humongous flea market in Grand Prairie, TX. Seems as though a couple "passing through" had given her up for free, but I suspect a puppy mill ordeal. Regardless, she was soft and fuzzy, full of pith and vinegar, and just as cute as a bug in a rug. She had a little top-knot of sorts, pure white, right on the top of her head. As she got older this top-knot would raise when her hackles did.
In short order, I had another small companion, one who really required nothing more than a pat on the head, some food, some water, a little daily play-time, and a ride to anywhere. Happy times once again settled in my household. LD went everywhere with me, knew when to get off my lap, and knew when to get on it, too. She never complained about anything. She required no schooling, no obedience classes, no training. She was a constant companion, and I miss her as much today as I miss Hercules.

So, while I'm not a biological father, I suppose I can accept the moniker of a pseudo-father for all the animals in my care, and in my company. It breaks my heart to see animals tortured, brutalized, whipped, and otherwise mistreated, and I'll do all I can, physically and financially to ensure the well-being of my animal companions.

So, for all you real, human fathers out there in the world, who read this simple words of wit, a very much appreciated Happy Father's Day to you! Be thankful for who you have, or had in some instances, you are all wonderful to someone!