For the first time in our lives, after moving to MN we are without domestic animals, pets. Jerry is vehement that we not get any dogs or cats so that we can come and go when we want to. Besides we live in the city limits now, not like Newcastle, Ca where the animals had over 6 acres to roam free. Living in the "city" means a leash law and no loose animals.
Well every once in a while I peruse the want ads and think, maybe we should get some animal--a small poodle, a schnauzer, a Siamese cat--something that I could talk to. But as quickly as I mention it, Jerry puts his foot down again.
We have always had animals. Sometimes we had two or three head of dog; once along with the dogs, our circus included two Siamese cats and a cockatiel bird. I wanted such a bird after meeting one that a friend had which talked and was so adorable. George, the bird, was named for King George because we got him on Independence Day 1977. (Photo of George sitting on my arm 1977 above) He was a misnomer as after 4 years he went into a terrible molt. I didn't know what it was then, but he had hardly any feathers left and I thought he must surely be dying. What to do with a bird? Off to the bird doctor which took some searching and a referral of our veterinarian who did horses, goats, farm animals of all kinds, dogs and cats but not birds. As I recall, I packed George into a portable cage and drove about 40 minutes away, to somewhere in Carmichael.
The bird doctor took one look and said, "she is molting." Huh? She? turns out George had a "deferred hormonal system" which took 4 years to shake loose. And immediately following that she developed a deep psychological yearning to mate and was sexually frustrated. So She had pulled out all her feathers. This was according to the bird vet. I did not want to mate George. I learned that though George was amusing, sat on my shoulder and liked to fly around the house, the upkeep on a bird is tremendous. Seeds flew everywhere near the cage requiring daily vacuuming. Daily cage changes too due to other droppings. So the vet said, my other option was to administer thyroid medication to George and hope for the best.
This was a new challenge to animal husbandry for me--crush the thyroid pill in a teaspoon of water and pour down the bird's throat. Not at all as easy as it might sound. But somehow I persevered without wringing George's neck. By the way, the male cockatiel has the Bright orange/yellow spots on the cheeks. George had the great color so we never once thought he was a she. The vet explained that "it happens in the animal world, one sex is mistaken for another and so on." As we lived in CA this did not even surprise me--I worked around all kinds of people.
Well after several months George had restored herself and was back to looking colorful. But she developed a very strange habit of sitting on the bottom of her cage and swaying. Again, we watched this for several days; she was eating, but acting strange. I thought she was heavily constipated as she wasn't eating much and wasn't dirtying up the cage with droppings. Even odder, George refused to come out of her cage, screeching and pecking at me like she never did whenever I opened her door to let her out. Another phone call to the bird vet who said "she is likely trying to lay eggs but she will not be able to because she is sterile." Nobody told George who acted like this for about a week. One day we came home from work and there were two eggs in her cage. Only George wanted nothing to do with them. We removed the eggs and George went back to her normal self.
Only after her hormonal resurgence and her sex change she never did try talking again, no more "pretty bird." George shrieked so loud that we heard her a mile away outside out in the orchard. We had George for nearly 10 years. People told us that they didn't live but seven years max. No one told George.
We had two Siamese cats who ruled the house during the same time, Roscoe (male) and Mimi (female). We would come home and find Roscoe lying spread eagle across the top of the bird cage--one paw in the cage trolling. He never got to George. Roscoe trolled while George protested the intrusion by hiss, peck and nip at the troller.
George' demise came suddenly without warning. I felt responsible because at the time I was singing with a woman's chorus. I had the lead vocal parts and was working hard on the high ranges and soprano notes. George would screech with me. That Saturday I did not hear George singing along. He hit the higher notes easier than I did. One look into the cage revealed a peaceful George, on the floor. We buried George out in the back by the big oak trees and the swing, a park like area overlooking the hills. I've never since wanted another bird; one was all it took.
I remember my grandparents in PA had canaries. I always thought they were pretty. My grand pap had been a coal miner and raised canaries for the miners. My grandmother enjoyed the chirping. Grandpap was devoted to canaries because they advised miners of oxygen or bad air in the mines. My uncle told me that my grandfather, Teofil Kochanowski, was always crazy for animals and would go out of his way to get dogs, birds, whatever. I know he always had hunting dogs and Boston Terriers when I was growing up. He would cut their tails off--I always cried about that. I don't think Grandpap ever took a dog to the vet.
Uncle Carl told me that once when they were growing Grandpap brought a ground hog into the house and went to bed. I believe he came in late and had been out with some of the guys drinking "N Piwo" and possibly won this ground hog in a card game. The story goes that my grandmother arose bright and early the next morning, just like normal, came into her kitchen and saw a ground hog and likely broomed it out the door in no time. My grandma, Baba, was an excellent housekeeper and would not have wanted a wild animal in her house. When Granpap awoke and came downstairs, no trace of the animal. He asked where his ground hog was and Baba just looked at him, like "what the heck are you talking about, Pap?" She never admitted to anything and so Grandpap didn't confront her further. Uncle Carl said, that all he could say was, "no proof that Rose did anything." He knew he didn't have a ground hog anymore and never again brought one into the house that anyone knew. But now I know that I have likely inherited my love of animals from Granpap. Even worse, my son, Steve has compounded love of animals. Today in CA Steve loves his dog, Bandit. I know we were animal people but I'd never thought that it was an inherited trait.
My most famous best dog pal of all time was my Great Dane, ACE whom I'll write more about later. He was the dog of all dogs, in his heyday weighing about 170 pounds and still preferring to be a lap dog. He did commercials for the local Newcastle rib house starting a trend at folks sharing their animals love of Spencer's Ribs.
Our first Siamese cat, which found Jerry and became our famous Lady Godiva is another entertaining tale. When Jerry called and said, "Do we want a cat?" I said, "Sure but what about the dogs?" He replied, "Oh this cat will take care of herself." And she did claiming the house as her territory from the day she arrived. It turns out that she was in heat; this was likely the reason she had gotten out. Or someone had tossed her out. There is no earthly sound like a Siamese cat in heat! We lived in a two story home with high ceilings--she raced up and down the stairs, clawing the carpets, drapes and screaming. We took her to the vet, because I was sure she was sick. The car ride with her was absolute torture. The vet explained that she would soon pass through this but would be in perpetual heat unless she were fixed. We did not want to hear those screechy wails, so we had her fixed and peace was restored to Fair Oaks.
Lady Godiva became famous, featured in columns in the former Sacramento Union newspaper. She was a self taught toilet user. I accused Steve, our son, of neglecting to flush the toilet. I could not understand his behavior because he was about 9 at the time. "But Mom I do flush" This went on for several weeks until one day I was home alone, just me and Lady Godiva. I will never forget being at the counter between our kitchen and den and hearing a trickling noise in the bathroom off the den. I walked there and there sat Lady Godiva on the toilet. Indignant as only a Siamese can be! She looked at me as if to say, "Look I allow you your privacy, might you respect mine?" I could not wait for Jerry to get home to hear about this! We don't know how or why she figured it out. But she never did learn to flush! We never had to have those nasty cat boxes around!
Friends awaited the chance to witness this. She indignantly allowed people to observe her at toilet--all the while keeping her long Siamese tail up in the air over her head. She was quite the Siamese. When we moved her to Newcastle she transitioned to going out side too and became quite the huntress. Before that she had been a strictly an inside cat. It was a sad day when she layed down and gave it up after about 12 years. We buried her out in the backyard too.
We've enjoyed many animals as part of our family over the years and I will write more later. But for now after babysitting and walking Abby, my neighbor's old lab dog for a week while she went to FL, I am in complete agreement with Jerry. No more animals in the Morrison house.
