There was a time when my Dad started to accumulate pets. Well, not all started as pets but they eventually became part of the family.
Let's say that someone gives you a live chicken so that you can make a roasted dinner. Then you decide to give this chicken a name, Mary for example. At that point, the chicken can thank the patron of Birds because most probably it will never see the inside of an oven. Once you name an animal, it becomes a pet.
During the last 15 years, I'd say, my parents' backyard contained the following animals:
A rooster called Kiko and a a bunch of chickens (I don't recall the names).
Two parrots and a couple of parakeets.
A bunch of quails, approximately 40-50 of them.
A dog named Pompy (she is still alive and barking).
Two miniature turtles (Bridgette and Geronimo - these were mine).
A slow-in-the-brain turkey called Clo.
An insane dog called Bolin.
There were many others, but these stick in my head for various reasons.
The rooster outlived many, many chickens. I didn't know poulty lived that long, but this one lived at least 5 years. Very strange, but very true...believe me, that rooster woke me up very early in the morning while I was at my folks!
The quails..oh, did I despise them! These little animals where supposed to be a trial business venture my Dad made up. Quail eggs are VERY expensive, so he wanted to start a quail farm of some sort. He wanted to start them off in our backyard (my Mom was not amused). What he didn't know was that those little birds make a lot of noise and produce a great many eggs. My father got bored, and guess who ended up collecting this never-ending egg supply. Me! So, we were having quails eggs every which way. The neighbours didn't want any more eggs; I guess you can only have so much of a good thing. I must say...fried Quail eggs are too cute to eat! The neighbours were tired of the noise, so my Dad opend the coop and they all flew away.
The turkey didn't last very long, but he is part of my family's stories and will live forever in our minds. I wish they were good memories... A friend of the family, knowing how much my Dad loved animals, gave him a turkey very close to Thanksgiving. Supposedly, they were to stuff it and eat but, but alas, my father gave it a name. Same old story, another pet. The turkey was living with the chickens in the backyard. The dog, Pompy, did not take the turkey's arrival very well. It was used to the chickens, but when it took a gander at the turkey, it seemed very confused. It kept looking at the chickens and then at the turkey. I guess it couldn't figure out if it was an overgrown chicken or what, but poor Pompy was obsessed with it. For a few weeks, Pompy would park herself close to the chicken coop and just stare at the turkey, until one day it gave in to temptation and went berserk and pushed down the chicken wire and chased the turkey all around the yard. A big commotion ensued, where the turkey ran into the house, knocked down a few of my Mom's crystal figurines and proceeded to set itself on top of the dining room table (the one that no one ever uses), and made a poop right on top of it. Needless to say, that was one pet that made it to the oven. No one messes with Mom's decorations and live to tell about it!
The latest saga was a dog named Bolin. This animal was a gift to my parents, and it was a mixture of a Rottweiler and a Dalmation. Oh, this is a combination from hell, I assure you! I don't even know how to name this combo...would it be a Rottmation or maybe a Dalweiler? All I know is that some things should never be combined, and this is one of them.
He started out as a cute animal, I should give him that. He was all black, except that his chest was white with polka dots and half his legs all the way to his paws were also polka dotted. It seemed he had a vest and boots! He was named Bolin, which mean 'Little Ball'. Very cute, but very insane.
We should have known that something was wrong when we couldn't stop him from eating off the paint on my Mom's lawn chairs, when he wouldn't stop eating no matter the quantity of food given to him, the biting and digging up of the lawn. My husband says that he even saw him once licking up some transmission fluid, I don't know.
My hubbie and me were visiting. My husband was sitting on a chair on the front porch, and Boling proceeded to sneak up under the chair and tried to bite his family jewels. Later, he snuck up on me and stuck his head in my skirt from the back and bit me on my tush. But, his crazy-fest ended when he dug up my Mom's orchids. That was the end of the Bolin. He was given away and the last time we heard, his owner took him to a farm and he now happily chases all the guy's chickens and no one can come near the house. Oh well, we hope he has a lovely life! That is the picture of the infamous Bolin.
Right now, only Pompy lives with my folks. We are trying to convince them to get a good puupy because Pompy is getting very old.
I think that it will take a LOT of convincing!
Later,
Z.
