Tuffy-Basset Hound I only remember my mom telling the tale of how she found him snuggled next to her first baby (me) in the bassinet.
Riley-beagle Too young to remember anything about this dog.
Tiger-Cairn Terrier He was a biter. I believe Jenny, my middle sister, and I both still bear scars from this mean little bastard. He eventually met his match when the Shaw's (the "bad" family in our neighborhood who lived next to the reservoir) scrappy German Shepard mauled him. I suspect Tiger's bark was writing checks his bite couldn't cash.
Tuffy-turtle. Found on the roadside by my dad. Met his maker in the maw of the aforementioned Tiger. A real gorefest according to my parents, who only confessed that when I was well into adulthood.
Riley (version 2.0) male beagle (Don't you love how we recycled pet names?) Riley suffered out the first ten years of his life in a doghouse exposed to the elements. He was a sweet puppy who never got enough attention. I couldn't imagine treating an animal like that today, so I overcompensate by letting a 100 pound black lab share my bed.
Riley eventually worked his way into the house when my family lived in North Carolina. He was old by then, and when we prepared to move back to Ohio, my parents told my sisters and me that a farmer had come to take Riley to live with him. When the overall clad farmer looked at our dog, (I think in the earliest versions of this tale, it was reported that he was even chewing on a hayseed) he drawled, "This dawg's got some age on his bones." In spite of the dawg's geriatric status, he took Riley back to the farm. My middle sister sardonically commented some years later that Riley had, in fact, bought the farm and my sisters and I roared with laughter at the elaborate tale my parents had fabricated. The color drained from my mother's face as we laughed, and she insisted that Riley's last days were spent frolicking in the pastures. Riiiiiight, Mommy.
Stinky Pot-Male cat, orange striped Tabby I have no idea what actually happened to this cat, he only lived with us a very short time. I don't know if it's a coincidence or not, but he disappeared shortly after my sister Jenny tried to iron him.
Mitzi, aka Mittens-My all time favorite, a gray striped tabby cat Mitzi was rescued by my dear Aunt Gwennie, who was also one of my all time favorite people. She told my parents about the kitten and suggested they adopt her. The cat was clearly mine from day one. She slept with me, and was indifferent to everyone else in the family. When I was in second grade, she had a litter of five kittens. Jenny (yes, the same one who ironed Stinky Pot) took their tiny umbilical cords to her Kindergarten Show and Tell.
Mitzi disappeared one afternoon, and after hours of calling and shaking her food bowl (methods that normally brought her running), she finally dragged herself out of the woods near our house. Her hind leg had been caught in a leg-hold trap, and was hanging on by a small piece of skin. I screamed and ran from her; I couldn't even bear to hold her broken little body. Jenny bravely scooped her up, and we took her to the veterinarian. I remember her licking me through the cage before we left, and waking the next morning to learn she died in the middle of the night. To this day, I get a lump in my throat thinking about that cat.
Various gerbils-Never, ever, ever would I allow a rodent as a pet in my home after that experience. Did you know these wretched little beasts turn carnivorous? The last straw for my mother was the morning she awoke to our screams when one gerbil was munching on the tail of it's dead comrade. God. And the smell. The fragrance of fresh cedar shavings lasts about an hour and is quickly replaced by the overpowering stench of gerbil urine. The herd escaped their Habitrail one day and we recovered only two of the eight or twenty that we owned. I had nightmares for weeks that they were coming after me. (shudder)
Angel, hamster The gerbil incident should have cured us of the "rodents as pets" phase, but I suppose that empty Habitrail was just begging for a tenant. (I cannot believe they still make these things.) Angel lived comfortably for about a year, growing fat on sunflower seeds and hamster treats. I remember Jenny crying over her bloated body one morning, cause of death unknown.
Chester-male hamster Chester was found, literally, belly up the morning after he'd spent hours having rigorous sex with the aforementioned Angel-who was twice his size. After their fornication (and unintended sex education seminar for three mesmerized little girls), the little guy was nicknamed "Chester the Molester."
Felix-male, white cat with orange striped tale Felix was an awesome cat. He survived a nightmare relocation from Ohio to North Carolina in a cramped Volkswagen Rabbit. He was stuffed into a wicker cage and suffered a prolific case of diarrhea for the next 700 miles. At one point, I remember my cursing father "bathing" the feces caked feline in a mud puddle. My youngest sister, Betsy, contributed to the misery with a virulent case of carsickness. I still get dry heaves thinking of the stench of that car. It is a testament to my parent's strength that they didn't kill each other, any of their children or pets somewhere in the Smoky Mountains during this awful trip. Felix disappeared mysteriously a year later after a savage thunderstorm.
