Bitch on the Blog

September 14, 2016

Sticks

Filed under: Animals,manners,Wildlife — bitchontheblog @ 15:39
Tags: , ,

Cheerful Monk aka Jean posted a cartoon on rescue dogs. Since I can’t leave an answer there (I did alert Jean that her new fire wall is the Cerberus of all gatekeepers) I’ll leave my comment here instead:

“Every time a dog wags its tail what I, first and foremost, feel is their sense of anticipation, a dog’s hope. That’s why it’s hard, almost impossible, to disappoint a dog.”

U

Summer

A swallow just caught my attention.

Once upon a time we lived in the middle of nowhere. Even our immediate neighbours, one either side (we were in the middle) were a good walking distance away. Let’s say, not in earshot.

Yes, surrounded by fields, meadows, a little stream, dried out ponds (spare a thought for the frogs), and generally all that I was accustomed to from my earliest childhood I’d spent with my grandparents. And, the FREEDOM. I was allowed to just wander anywhere. Then I met a bull. But that’s another story. I am a fast runner.

So, on the outhouse right next to our patio/terrace there was the swallows’ nest. You think bricks and mortar, the pyramids, the London Eye, a miracle? Look at a nest. That’s a miracle. An act of perseverance, ingenuity, hard relentless work and focus. Not to mention purpose.

Enter the farmer’s (on the left depending which direction you were looking from) cat. When I say cat I mean panther. Nowadays probably classified as feral. I dare say there was no “cat food”. Cats fed themselves doing it by means cats do best: Hunt.

Great. So far so good. Here is the recipe: Enter the swallows, their freshly hatched brood, my father AND the CAT into the mix. Watch this for a while as the baby swallows are being decimated. Swallows getting agitated, cat getting bold, my father getting ANGRY.

So, one morning I wake up and there is a big black panther lying under the outhouse roof. Shot. There was no blood. But that big black Tom of a cat was dead.

Not so. Apparently it was all in my imagination. I was never to breeze so much as a word to said farmer neighbour and generally condemned to silence. That’s when I decided to become a spy.

I don’t know why, twelve years old, a long time ago, I do remember the cat’s body.

The swallows? Did they come back the next year? I don’t know. By then we had moved.

U

June 5, 2016

Primal

Just listened to the news. The script said: ” … the shark responsible for the attack …”.

Surely, an animal can’t be held “responsible” since the concept implies a conscience?

U

January 30, 2016

Shades

Whilst I do believe that colour does not beat the starkness of a black and white photograph I do have difficulty liking those who paint the world in black and white. Those who indulge in generalizing instead of taking their magnifying glasses to the particular.

Yes, the general and the particular. What a marvellous subject. Lending itself to all FACETS of life. Today, going the way of least resistance, I shall focus on the soft subject of dog and cat lovers.

Please note that I said ‘and’ NOT ‘versus’. There is no law to say that you have to be either or. Or can’t be both. Sure, we may have affinities. Men, mice. Some even keep hamsters. A friend and neighbour of mine used to. I can’t say I loved them (I loathe anything on a treadmill) but they were living things (not that they knew it) so I looked after them when friend was on holiday. Even when friend was not on holiday I’d get those blasted things over to my garden and let them chew the grass. I’d have preferred a sheep or a goat but friends can’t be choosers.

If I were technically as adept as all of you I’d now attach to this post a photo of my fifteen months old self and Pongo. Pongo was my first body guard, an Alsatian. Sitting, at my side and on his hind, taller than me. And yes, the picture is black and white. Which is just as well because Pongo’s fur was black and it was midwinter and the snow was very very very white.

Where were we? Cats and dogs. Animals. By temperament I’d say I prefer cats, for purely selfish reasons. Cats want nothing from you. They give (not least half dead prey put at your feet as a sign of affection) but that’s about it. Dogs? Dogs are takers. They – not by desire, by default – may look at you as the leader of the pack. Don’t let yourself be flattered so easily. As leader of the pack you are looked upon to provide. PROVIDE. Like what? Fun, entertainment, and, naturally, food. You are at their beck and call. And those eyes. Those EYES. Pleading, needy. That’s ok. I don’t mind pleading, needy, that’s what makes dogs human. But, for heaven’s sake, there is that never ending sorrow in a dog’s eyes. It’s why, and please shoot me now, why I firmly believe that those prone to the metaphorical black dog on your shoulder should not keep dogs. Keep a cat – if you must have a pet – instead. Cats are affectionate to the point of suffocating (me) yet they never expect you to throw a stick. And to reciprocate I never expect them to fetch it [the stick].

As an aside and whatever you do: Do not keep a gold fish. They are soul destroying (their own and yours).

Hugs and hisses,

U

August 30, 2015

Mucks maeuschen still

Filed under: Amusement,Animals,Elephant,Wildlife — bitchontheblog @ 20:11
Tags: , ,

Caution

The bird was brought up to say to itself: “Man soll den Morgen nicht vor dem Abend loben.” Roughly translated: “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” True. Better translation: “The bird that sings in the morning may be caught by the cat before sun sets”. Emphasis on “may”. So don’t get dispirited before dusk.

Yes, the mouse. Which I keep spelling when typing as ‘mouth’. Such are the joys of the English language. You hear one thing it’s spelled another.

Ever heard of Gas Lighting? The film? Well, Sweethearts, I am not given to paranoia but if someone told me I was being had in this mouth/mouse saga I’d believe you.

It’s all gone quiet. Or maybe I am so exhausted I sleep through it. Or maybe the mouse has died. Like where? There is no exit from that room. Not even the tiniest gap a mouse could squeeze through and under. Bring on Monsieur Poirot, Miss Marple, even the Danish and their gutturals. This is true mind messing stuff (see gas lighting).

In the meantime I am making do (in the study) with a fruit fly.

U

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