We do love our animals
My son keeps one of his cats in his freezer.
OK, before you throw up or stop reading, let me explain. I am not saying I fully agree with his decision, but let me explain how he resorted to that action.
Most of us love pets. In fact, America loves pets. According to a survey conducted by the American Pet Products Association, 68 percent of households, around 85 million families, own a pet. In 2016, about $62 billion was spent on pets: feeding, bathing, grooming, vet bills and, yes, even funeral expenses. Really. Research tells me Arkansas, where I currently reside, owns more dogs than any other state; Vermont is reputed to be the cat winner. I don’t know where Colorado, or Holyoke, falls in the ranks of pampering animals in America. You be the judge.
Interestingly, dogs are owned by 44 percent of families; cats are owned by 49 percent. In 2013, the most owned pet, however, was fish: 142 million fish were kept as pets (fed, stared at, but not eaten). Of course, I don’t even want to talk about folks who keep chickens, potbelly pigs, tarantulas, iguanas, horses or reptiles as pets. My son’s girlfriend had a pretty boa constrictor, but that is another gripping story, pardon the pun.
I remember my first dog, Brownie, a cute little Heinz 57 dog that followed me home from first grade one day. She was a sweet dog and pretty bright, except for the time she decided to sneak up on a squirrel and found out that was an insane idea. She was with our family for many years and sadly expired while I was at CSU in college; sister Roxi had to deal with Brownie’s demise, which is good, as I would have cried my eyes out.
When I went to the Air Force, my two roommates and I, at our first duty station, obtained a gorgeous Siamese kitten, Tasha. She was a wonderful companion and I loved her dearly until her death from feline leukemia after a little over four years. My wife, Judy, loves cats, too, and we obtained a gorgeous Burmese cat, Sultan Jo, who loudly told us that he was the number one “person” in the family — if we had guests over, he would meow constantly, telling us that they should leave. Jo was with us for nearly 19 years; in fact, my mom, Aggie, took Jo for a few years when Judy discovered she had an allergy to cats. Just before we headed for Germany for an Air Force assignment, mom told me that Jo played way too rough and his scratches were causing her to have infected wounds. Sadly, before heading overseas, I had old Jo (slightly crippled due to a car accident) put to sleep; he is interred in the sand hills near the Ron Miles Farm. I still miss Jo.
We also had a very nice dachshund, Lady, who had a long, fancy formal name, since she was born into “royalty” in a kennel in Hawaii. A male “standard” weiner dog, she had a barrel chest and gorgeous long, black and brown hair. Lady was wonderful companion until she got older; at age 13, she would snap at kids and folks, and she finally had to go to the vet for the last time. I cried like a baby that day, too.
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