Dammit, dammit, dammitall. I knew I was gonna cry. Hate that.

My boss left a book on my desk one day, with a note saying he thought I’d enjoy reading it. The book was Marley & Me by John Grogan, about the big adorable wrecking ball of a yellow Lab that was part of his family for many years. There were plenty of warnings in the reviews on the back cover—“a funny, touching tribute…“, “tenderly follows its subject from sunrise to sunset…“ I knew I’d thoroughly enjoy most of the book, even while dreading the end. And sure enough, Marley’s exploits were a pure delight. Last night I was still reading for a good while after Kevin had gone to sleep, and I had to stifle several good outbreaks of mirth. A great book. I guess it’s a trade-off that those of us who will enjoy such a book the most will also be the most saddened when the wonderful furry protagonist’s time on Earth comes to a close, in large part because it brings to mind our own experiences of losing a pet in the past, and our dread of losing the dear ones who share our lives now. Lucy benefited greatly from my finishing that book—she got invited in for hugs and treats even though she was kinda wet.

I’m going to have to recommend that book to some folks who live in our neighborhood. Their goofy yellow Lab, Sandbag, comes to visit us sometimes despite the electronic fence around his yard. (I have got to ask them one day if he got his name because someone saw him all curled up as a puppy and said “Aww, he looks just like a little sandbag!“) I get the feeling they think he’s quite a handful, and I won’t disagree, but he’s also a very sweet boy—and next to Marley I bet he’s a model of canine deportment!

When Sandbag comes to visit I take him home. Someday when we get a proper fence I’ll be happy to let him romp with Lucy for awhile (she seems to think he’s an absolute rockstar—I swear last time he came by I saw her throwing a bra—and he’s not discouraging her one bit!) For now, I take him right home, and I hope his people don’t misunderstand. I tell them every time, I love him and I love his visits, I just want him to be safe. There are a couple of women who walk in our neighborhood (I don’t think they live here, so who invited ‘em anyway…) carrying big sticks. They seem to be quite irrational about dogs. One time Lucy ran up to them in her usual “Ooh, more people to love!“ fashion, which if they had any grasp whatsoever of canine body language they should have realized, but one of them raised her huge stick over her head and whacked it hard on the ground in front of Lucy—fortunately not making contact, or she would have had to deal with me. OK, I can try to have some sympathy for severe dog phobia because my mom has it too, but dang it, even with the phobia Mom adores Lucy. So those women need to get a clue, and give a sweet loving dog a chance.

I’m not sure, but I’d almost bet those women were involved in a disgusting episode several years ago. The dogs next door at the time were Smokey and Cassie. Smokey’s part Chow, and he does bark (that’s all!) at what he considers potential invaders. Also, at that time, he wasn’t contained in the yard, so he might have ventured into the cul-de-sac. But somehow, the dogcatcher was called to come get him out of his own yard. And when the dogcatcher couldn’t corral Smokey, he instead picked up and hauled off poor Cassie, who was so old and arthritic she could barely walk, much less bother any pedestrians. I caught this performance, gave him a piece of my mind which he of course ignored (and then lied barefaced to me, denying it all when I confronted him about the Auschwitz-like extermination methods used at our lovely Coweta County “humane” facility…) In the end, all I could do was to track down my neighbor at work and let him know, so poor harmless Cassie could be sprung as quickly as possible. Grrrrr… Yeah, I know, I’m irrational too—but mine’s the good kind!

But anyway. Next on my critter reading list is a story I know has a happy ending (and in my brain it’s going to freeze-frame that way!)—From Baghdad, With Love, about a puppy who was adopted by some Marines in Iraq, and who has now been brought back to the States to live happily ever after with the unit’s commander.

My mom’s cat Fred gave us quite a scare a couple weeks ago. My stepfather has entered the wandering phase of Alzheimer’s, and apparently in the middle of the night he opened the front door and managed to shut both Fred and Cookie in between that and the screen door. (Yes, new locks have since been installed…)

As you might expect, Fred was not amused, said nuts to you fella, tore a hole in the screen door and left. Cookie did hop through the hole Fred made (this is a guess; we’re blaming him because he was apparently the most motivated!), but she hung out on the porch until Mom discovered the situation in the morning. Cookie is still a very petite kiddo, even though at two years old she’s theoretically full-grown; not being quite so squeezed, plus her easygoing nature, may account for her equanimity in the face of such an insult. But Fred has been known to make himself scarce inside the house for hours when, say, Kevin and I would come in the door with suitcases (this was early in Fred’s and our relationship; he’s completely cool with us now.) So this quite understandable disappearing act was not exactly out of character.

Mom didn’t let me know about this until Fred had been gone for a day and a half, and she was just at her wits’ end. She had gone all over the neighborhood talking to people and putting up flyers. The neighborhood children, trying to be helpful, had run around all over the place calling him (which was just about as likely to bring him out of hiding as, say, a 747 landing on their street.)

After we got off the phone, I tried to think of ways I could help. I wondered if any pet detectives worked in the area. A Google search turned up the website of Carl Washington, Pet Detective, plus a number of highly complimentary articles about him from other sources, including one that mentioned his successful search for a dog in Chattanooga.

I will admit, I was still a bit skeptical—then I saw that one of the recommendations was by none other than noted cat expert Carole Wilbourn. Ms. Wilbourn’s book Cats Prefer It This Way has been a favorite of mine for years.

So, at 10:30 at night, I called Mr. Washington. He was on his way to Miami for a search, but said if necessary he’d head to Chattanooga afterward.  Meantime, he suggested his very reasonably-priced service where he examines aerial photos, etc. and draws up a specific search plan for the owner to follow, based on his years of experience with the behavior of lost pets. Sounded good to me, so I sent the money via Western Union the next day, as requested, so he could pick it up where he was.

Immediately, even before he had a chance to prepare the custom map, he sent me the generic verbiage that goes along with it, telling what the various marks mean, and what to do at those locations. I immediately forwarded it to Mom, and the instructions were clear enough that she could implement some of the ideas even before she got the map itself. Lo and behold, Fred was enticed home that evening as a direct result of one of the suggestions. Mr. Washington, you have gained several more fans, and you have our heartfelt gratitude.

“Combine Cats and Celts and you have Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers, a CD for the wonderfully demented kitty cat fantatic.“

I think if you look up “wonderfully demented cat fanatic” on Wikipedia, you might just see my picture.

Now Hear This World: I have officially begun my Christmas list.

Sad news this week about Laurence Simon’s cat Edloe.

I was reminded of an article that appeared in Guideposts magazine this past February. It examines Judeo-Christian Scripture for an answer to whether our animal friends join us in Heaven, and the answer is very comforting. Recommended reading for everyone with fur families, past, present and future.

This past summer, when Lucy-the-honorary-cat joined our family, I decided to (if you’ll excuse the expression) “bone up” on the subject, never having had a dog before. A visit to the local bookstore turned up a book by Stanley Coren, “How To Speak Dog: The Art of Mastering Dog-Human Communication”.

Are the catblog police going to keelhaul me for recommending this book here? Not at all. One of the many topics entertainingly addressed by Coren is why cats and dogs traditionally have trouble getting along. It turns out that dog and cat body language are basically opposites. Dog tail waving vigorously from side to side: Probably happy. Cat tail lashing vigorously from side to side: Probably not happy. Dog lying on side, belly exposed: Happy, submissive. Cat lying on side, belly exposed: May be “pointy side up”, ready to defend self. The book provides many more (better explained) examples, showing how a dog’s reaction to cat body language might be the complete opposite of what’s appropriate according to the cat, and vice versa. A very informative and entertaining read.