Fuzzy Guys

First published May 13, 2005

A number of readers have emailed with comments about the photo of me that runs with this column. First, let me clear up the main point of confusion – I’m the one on the right.

The one on the left is Brenna The Dog, who not only thinks she’s human, she thinks I’m sending her to Princeton next fall.

We have three cats and Brenna The Dog living in our house right now, which leaves us just about one goat short of a petting zoo. All four members of our livestock contingent enjoy a similarly elevated view of their position in the overall scheme of things.

This, like pretty much everything around our house, is my fault.

In this space a few weeks ago I mentioned that if something is alive around here, my wife is in charge. In the case of the animals, this is because when it comes to anything with fur and sad eyes, I’m a C. P. – a Complete Pushover.

Being a C. P. has its advantages. When I come home, all the animals converge on me like hungry panhandlers. If I’ve been gone for more than about fifteen minutes, they hold a tickertape parade and present me with the ceremonial Key to the Litter Box.

As much as I’d like to think this adulation reflects their undying esteem for me as a person, I know better. In their eyes I’m really more of a giant Milk Bone and Tuna Snaps dispenser.

This leaves my wife to be the disciplinarian. She’s the one who has to say things like, “No! You do not eat Hondas! Bad Dog!” while I stand behind her and silently make conciliatory gestures in Doggie Sign Language. She takes them to the vet and throws the pills down their throats, while I let them lick out the ice cream dishes. She makes them get off of wherever they’re not supposed to be on, and I… don’t.

Of course, this inter-species love fest is a two-way street. Brenna The Dog is always willing to snuggle up with me and share the scent of the dead bluegill she’s been rolling in, while the cats are glad to favor me by hocking a hairball into my loafers.

One thing I don’t understand is how every animal everywhere seems to know that I’m a C. P. All I can figure is that there must have been some sort of feature article about me in the Fuzzy Guys Newsletter.

In any case, everywhere I go I’m a magnet for everything from pet ferrets to a friend’s little dog that is basically a cotton ball with a tail.

The ultimate expression of my C. P-ness came a few years ago when my son, then about eleven, came home with a puppy that was apparently half Rottweiler and half kangaroo.

True to form, I said, “Sure, let’s keep… it!” I was already designing a brand-new Beast House by the time my wife came home and sent little Slobbery back to the neighbors who owned the mother and who had discovered that my son and I actually did just fall off a turnip truck.

It’s a good thing somebody’s in charge around here.

If you have a great pet story, please send it to mike@learnedsofar.com.

Copyright © 2005 Michael Ball