Growing up, my dad had hunting dogs. Not just your normal, run-of-the-mill hunting dogs, mind you; these dogs were
stupid unique. We always had two, although not always the same two. They were nothing more than yard decorations because they couldn't track worth a damn and instead of being his mighty helpers when he took them hunting, they instead saw it as more of a day off. He'd release them and they'd run off into the woods, relishing their freedom. After two hours of calling for them, my Dad would give up and drive home--only to find them sitting on the front door-step waiting for him.
Skipper once let a stray hunting dog move in with him. We called this dog Mooch, because he ate all Skipper's food and slept in his dog-house while poor Skipper would sleep on top of it because when my dad built the dog house he never considered the possibility of a room-mate and made it a bungalow. He apparently didn't realize the dog was gay, either, but with a name like Skipper, I think he must have at least suspected.
Skipper was also afraid of bees and hated green-beans like daddy-Bush hates broccoli. I don't care how well you stirred the green beans into the mashed potatoes and covered them all with gravy, the next day his food dish contained nothing but green beans, licked perfectly clean. It was kind of amazing how he did that, actually.
My current dog has some pretty quirky eating habits herself. We once bought her Beneful dog food in which some of the chunks were shaped like drumsticks. For whatever reason, Bonnie hated those particular pieces. She would pick them up in her mouth just long enough to wing them off to the side so she could better get to the non-drumstick shaped morsels.
You have to wonder how an animal that regularly licks it's own butt can be so picky about what it eats. Perhaps if we would have molded those pieces into a sculpture of her ass she would have then found them delectable.
Kewpie was one of my bizarre cats that I owned. She loved water. Absolutely
loved it. She'd climb into the bathtub with me occasionally to lay on my chest in the water and she always played in the toilet. You could never sit on the toilet without first cleaning the seat because Kewpie always had toilet water splashed all over from her latest escapade. She also drooled when she was happy and foamed at
the mouth when she was scared. Trips to the vet were a nightmare because by the time we got there she had so much frothy saliva hanging from her mouth that all the other pet-owners would immediately rush their animals to the other side of the room when we entered.
Kewpie hopped like a bunny when she ran and she loved to play with the wrappers from candy kisses that we'd roll into little foil balls. My mother loved candy kisses and always kept a supply in the small crock on her buffet table. Kewpie knew the clink of that lid being lifted and was immediately at your feet when you opened the crock. She wasn't allowed out after dark, so when she was being particularly bratty and hiding at dusk, we'd carry the crock out and clink the lid. Problem solved. She hated her curfew, but she'd give up her freedom for the promise of a little foil ball.
Snorkel was probably one of my favorite cats. He was my lover-boy and would leap from the ground into my open arms--at least until he got too fat to make it that far. In his later years he could only make it to my waist and finally, to my kneecaps. He love
d shower-time because as I exited the shower, he'd leap into my arms. That cat just loved a good naked hug. He used to wrap himself around my head at night which was by far his favorite sleeping place. Joe used to wake me up by saying, "I see that you wore your cat-hat to bed..."
Snorkel used to answer the phone. When it rang, he'd leap up, knock it off the cradle and peer intensely into the receiver as he listened to people talk. Some of my friends who knew his little trick used to meow at him which probably didn't help matters. Whenever the answering machine was beeping he'd push the blinking button and listen to the messages which could have been useful if he had opposable thumbs and could take notes, but sadly, I missed a lot of messages. At some point Ed McMahon probably called to tell me I'd won $1M and my cat erased the message.
Then there was Maxie. Maxie-doodle was a beautiful black lab who was always startled by his own farts. He'd be laying on the floor, and when his back-end trumpeted, he'd whip his head around and stare at it, dumbfounded. He never got used to it, either. He was a smart dog, but he just didn't understand his ass.
Everyone always brags about how smart their animals are. I've never been blessed with smart animals, just crazy ones. Fortunately, I wouldn't have traded any of them for the world!
