“Armadillos make affectionate pets. If you need affection that much.”–Will Cuppy
“I…discovered you can get used to a man, much like you do a household pet.”–Terry McMillan
There is no greater futility in the Sackler household than to complain about the animals that share our home. Not their numbers, their habits, their exotic variety nor their ruling of the roost.
“What did you expect? You married me when I was a veterinary student ,” is invariably the response I get.
Heck, I married a vet; I did not marry the Bronx Zoo. And , as I often point out, I was a sportscaster when we met. This has not kept her from complaining about all the games I watch on TV. The least she could do is accept it and keep the chips and dip coming during the NFL playoffs.
But I digress. Our current pet count is nine, a rather typical number. Six dogs in the house, two horses in the paddock, and one cat in the barn, appropriately named Barney. In the past, our critter count has numbered as high as 17 at one time, and not all of them with four legs. Critter is an appropriate term, as it is a rather extreme stretch of the imagination to call some of them pets. These have included rabbits, hedgehogs, guinea pigs, guinea fowl, turkeys–both domestic and wild–chickens, hermit crabs a gecko and a donkey. We’ve also had visits from–but thankfully not made homes for–an iguana, a boa constrictor, an African millipede and Madagascar hissing cockroaches. The variety, and the stories that go with them are never ending.
One of the earliest tales dates to our first apartment during Cheryl’s years in veterinary school. We had a visit from a very special friend, Kate–the very woman who had introduced us in the first place. She entered to find us in a frenzy.
“We can’t find Archibald. Archibald got lose. Help us find Archibald!”
Kate was all too happy to comply and began scouring the premises with us. She looked under the couch, behind the dresser and basically mimicked whatever searching patterns she saw us following.
Ten minutes into this, she suddenly stopped, and stared at both of us with a quizzical look.
“Um, excuse me for asking, but what are we looking for? What exactly is Archibald!?”
A good question, if a bit late for the asking. Archibald was a tiny hermit crab. And it was Kate who ultimately found him–once she knew what she was looking for, the quest was not so daunting.
From my perspective though, the most annoying of these fauna have been those that shatter the calm with odd and unusual calls. Screeches, brays, cock-a-doodle doos. The Guniea fowl screamed bloody murder during their spring mating season. The first spring we had them, they did this while stampeding on the roof over our heads in the middle of the night. Fun. A donkey and a rooster on our premises made noises, while I worked from a home office, that must have sounded to my customers on the phone as if I was selling grain out of a silo in Iowa. More on these lovely experiences in a future installment; in the meantime, step a way from the barn. You never know for sure what might be in there.