Topic 157: Evidence of Humor and Joy in Animals

Carol:

Animal Tales   

Tail #1: The Name Game
Chainsaw’s adoption records describe him as a shepherd mix , but he looks more Chow and Pitbull ,  breeds that  require frequent exercise, “strong leadership” and consistent training.  Chainsaw is 55 pounds of strength and power, well-muscled in chest and thighs, whose appearance might cause strangers to back away out of caution.  Did someone name him “Chainsaw” out of a peculiar sense of humor, or was he expected to become a guard dog ready to draw blood on command?
 
As mentioned in many of our daily theme essays, we  prefer his new name, Milo. Does he express joy or humor? He sneezes repeatedly first thing in the morning until he is let out the back door. Upon return, he looks out the window with pitiful longing, escalating to a series of mournful mewls until the Pack Leader grabs a leash from the front hall. Then, Milo leaps into motion, running around in circles until the leash is on and dog and Pack Leader head out for the morning walk.
 
After the return home and  a morning meal, he settles down in a sunny spot and is ready to be petted and scratched—the dog, not the Leader.  At night, Milo reveals his mischievous side while we are watching television.  Somehow he has perfect comic timing to grab and toss a toy up in front of the TV screen just as the plot is starting to crescendo.  Such antics arouse emotions from the other animals in Milo’s pack--appreciative laughter (Mother, Daughter) and unwarranted frustration (Dad).
 
Tail #2: Are you my mother?   
Three-month-old Benelli is a German Short Hair/Labrador Retriever mix.  Both breeds are sporting dogs, easily trainable “people pleasers” with high energy that require extensive exercise. Benelli’s original owners are avid hunters,  which explains why Benelli and her brother Winchester were named for high-end sporting guns. The two pups were so attached to each other that the owners of their mother--a purebred GSH who had an elicit affair with the black Lab across the street--were delighted when someone agreed to take both puppies.
 
Somehow, Benelli and Winchester ended up at the Humane Society, re-named Lorraine and Lipton, and recorded as “hound/lab mix.”  We her adoptive family  prefer her new name Bella. She immediately transferred her affections to Megan and Milo.  Whenever Milo leaves without her, she begins a low, husky, hound-like noise that  crescendos into a howl. When he gets back, she leaps up and grabs his ear or runs underneath him to tug at a leg. They spend much of the day either curled up asleep with their bodies touching or in energetic, playful tug-of-wars over toys. The rest of the pack members respond—Mom laughs hysterically, Daughter sighs in exasperation, and Dad seethes.
 
How Chainsaw got his name or ended up at the Humane Society is a mystery, but Benelli’s story comes under the heading of “strange but true.” Yesterday afternoon, I   picked Marc up from his part-time job in Chino Valley.  The ladies who work with him wanted to meet the new puppy, so I brought Bella. There was an instant shout of recognition from one of the women, an avid hunter whose German Shorthair had an elicit affair with the Black lab across the street. “Benelli,” she cried as our little Bella broke into a joyful run at the sound of a familiar voice. After a call to the animal shelter and the news that Winchester had also been adopted, we put Bella back in the car for the ride home. She jumped out of the car and leaped straight up in the air when she spotted Milo staring out the window, waiting for his little friend.
 
And so ends my story, a Tail of Two Sitees.

Megan:

 It's not all Humor and Joy

Just as I sat down to write this, a bird flew into the window next to me. It cracked the glass and left an imprint of feathers, and when it fell to the porch it was immediately set upon by Milo and Bella. You know how new parents are always saying, “I knew it was going to be hard. I just didn’t know there would be so much poop!” That’s how I’m feeling right now. I didn’t know there would be so many dead animals. 

This is exactly what it looks like, but with a shorter tail.

For three days now I have been trying to trap a mouse-type creature that is living in my room. It does not look like a mouse, but it is the size of one. It is flatter and has a drawn out snout and a short tail and internet searches tell me it is an Etruscan shew, except they are only found in Europe and Asia.  It could also be a North-American pygmy shrew, but apparently their habitats are only in Alaska and Canada. There is even an Arizona shrew that it resembles (most shrews look alike to me), but according to the websites, their habitat is limited to the southern part of the state.

Anyway, I have been trying to catch it before the dogs do. Every other day or so, it appears running along the baseboard in my room, out to the living room to do a couple of turns under the piano and then back to my room. Shutting the door is no use, because it is very small. We cannot use poison because of the puppy and I think mouse traps are cruel (so is poison actually), so I have been improvising with boxes and dog food in a half-assed attempt to trap it. I haven’t been giving it my full attention though because I’m not feeling great, so I keep forgetting about it and then the dogs eat the food that’s meant to tempt the shrew. Then, last night as we’re sitting around watching Doc Martin, I see the shew come running out of my mother's office, run crazily around the landing and then return. It was also sighted by my father when he (my father, not the shrew) emerged from the shower and walked into the bedroom.  It has now been spotted in 3 distinct areas of the house, two separated from the other by a very large (by shrew standards) staircase. I’m convinced we’re dealing with more than one animal now.

This isn’t really keeping with the tone of the topic, but I’ll leave that to Mom. Yesterday she came home excited because she had traced Bella’s heritage (does the woman’s interest in genealogy know no bounds?) and adoption history and then forbid me to write about it. “You can’t use it,” she said. “It’s mine.”
“But it’s my dog.”

This seems unfair to me. This morning I had to collect a stool sample from that dog, which is now in my purse sealed in a plastic container, inside TWO ziplock bags and I can still smell it. I should get some reward for prying lizards and mice and injured birds from her jaws, for carrying a vial of poop in my purse.  I guess Bella sort of makes up for all the hassle by leaping like a gazelle when she thinks she’s going in the car, and chasing her tail and being very happy to see me even if I was only gone for a minute – you know, the usual things which endear pets to people. 
(Turn on the sound for my narration)

PS: When my mother went to deal with the "dead" bird, it flew away.

Image of shrew came from here.