Mabel, my six-month-old Jack-a-Bee, likes to sleep in my bed at night. One summer evening, she fell asleep by my side. I was awoken at around 7:00 the next morning by a distant jingling sound accompanied by a scratching / scampering sound. I searched my bed and room, and Mabel was nowhere to be found. Had she disappeared? I opened the curtains and found Mabel joyfully galloping around on the wrap-around roof. Turns out my mother had opened my bedroom window the day before-- she has the habit of compulsively opening windows throughout the house. That day, she happened to chose the window in my room that sits at the same level as my bed and is missing a screen. During the night, my puppy, devious and trouble-seeking at heart, discovered the secret passage and escaped.

 So picture this: it's seven A.M., a panicked girl climbs onto her roof in nothing but a tee-shirt and undies and chases a puppy back and forth, yelling its name and uncontrollably giggling. My roof, situated on the second story of a house that sits on the corner of two streets, served as a perfect stage for all the neighbors to see. Embarrassment was not a concern at the time, however. I was on a mission to catch my dog. So, to make matters worse, Mabel has the "charming" tendency of running away from me when I try to catch her and turning the entire pursuit into a game. After a good five minutes of reluctantly playing along with her antics, I managed to capture her and pull her back inside. While I was relieved that the whole ordeal was over, Mabel showed a definite sense of pride. Not only did she get to play in an off-limits area, but she succeeded in getting her "sister" to run around with her. Although I could blame her for scaring me to death and making me risk my life to rescue her, I can't help but thank her for providing me with one of the most hilarious experiences of my life.

Be’en likes to fish. In the toilet. (Don’t worry: he stocks his own pond with fresh game.) It’s like this: he dunks one of his plush toys (a favorite: the Audubon bluebird with embedded bluebird song recording chip) into the bowl and allows it to soak for a while. Then he hauls it up from the depths and drags it about the house. Objective: finding high places from which to drop the fat, saturated, weighty bird, resulting in gratifyingly splatty sound effects. Corollary objective: leaving saturated creatures in bed with the giant hairless mama (moi). Sub-objective: leaving saturated items in the direct footpath of same upon arising. Effects: greatly diminished sounds of bird calls from the cunningly engineered Audubon birds; gratuitous use of the electric dryer, and thus hastening of global environmental disaster; heightened adrenaline response in the hairless mama (contributing, no doubt, to ongoing adrenal fatigue); feline glee.

Tikka Masala, a.k.a. Tikka the Parrot Princess, used to hang out in an open cupboard in our kitchen while we were cooking, cleaning, etc in the evening. It was a great spot for her to hang out with her flock (us); she was a bit higher than us (top level cupboard) and could pop in and out between the wok and baking pans we keep up there. Well, one time I stepped up on a stool to retrieve her, and she was NOT THERE! She had been up there only moments ago, and suddenly, no bird! We frantically and carefully removed the pots and pans, and still....she had disappeared. Finally, we opened the knotty-pine doors of the liquor cabinet below her usual cupboard, and there she was! But the doors had been shut the entire time! How did she get in there? Closer examination revealed that Tikka had chewed a passage at the very back of her cupboard; just wide enough for her to "scooch" down into the liquor cabinet and hide. Now, she owns both spaces, and can go from top to bottom easily. She often entices us into a "peekaboo" game, with her popping her head out to see us, then quickly retreating to.....wherever she has decided we are least likely to look. She can't get into any of the bottles, but has chewed the labels off of a few. And we still have to drag out a step-stool to get her out, so she is more or less in charge, at least until bedtime. Here she is...

It is hard to describe a 22 year old relationship. So many memories. My story with Skip, my 29 year old quarter horse began on July 18, 1987. I had told myself that I would not buy the first horse I looked at but would take my time to find the perfect mate for my weekends of horseback riding. But one look and I w as hooked. I asked how much, wrote the check and there began this marvelous 22 year partnership. Skip was eight years old on that July day.

Skip is described as gentle, but ornery. A carrot or apple always gets his attention and is always expected. When I stabled him in Williamsburg, he was the barn Houdini. He could unlock his stall door and let himself out. If he was lonely and wanted playmates, he would just open a few more stalls and let others out. If he was hungry – which was always the case – and the feed room door was not secured, he would open that as well and help himself.

Being the “pet” of the barn, Skip was allowed to roam the property as he pleased. He was normally good about staying close by, but on occasions he would walk down the road and off the property. A passer by would see him and drive to the barn to let us know we had a “loose” horse! I always joked that he was on his way to Pierce’s Bar B Q.

One hot August Sunday afternoon, I was riding him. I decided to jump a couple of small jumps. He was tired, and ready to quit. I decided to take one more jump and Skip agreed – yes, that was the last jump! For the first time in all the years I had had him, he bucked! And on that second buck, I hit the ground! (An old saying is that it is always the second buck that gets you!) Well, instead of running to the barn as most horses would do, Skip found a patch of green grass and began munching leaving me to fend for myself!

I was so mad at Skip!!! I would not speak to him or even acknowledge him for several weeks. I have another horse, Olivia, whose stall was a couple of doors away from him. I had to pass his stall to see her. After about the third week, he would fling himself against the door when I walked by. But I was really mad at him……my collar bone was broken!

About the end of the fourth week, I received a call from the barn owner. “Lynn, Skip is unbearable. You have to come and show him some attention.” That evening I drove to Williamsburg. Skip was in the pasture grazing. As usual, he recognized my car and lifted his head. When he saw that I was stopping, he came running to the fence. I stood close to the fence, my left arm in a sling. We just stood and looked at each other. I slowly climbed through the fence rail and stood in front of him. He started to place his head on my left shoulder and then stopped. He looked at me as if to say, “I am sorry” and placed his head on my right shoulder. I stood with my right arm circling his neck, tears streaming down my cheek. My friend and I had made up.

A couple of years later, when Skip turned 18, I decided to retire him. I threw a big retirement bar b que for him and yes, the bar b que came from Pierce’s. Along with bar b que and ribs, we had apple pie and carrot cake! Skip had a bite of the apple pie and the carrot cake. Skip had taught many children how to ride and had babysat foals that were weaned from their moms. He had certainly earned this retirement!

Skip is now 29 years old and very arthritic. I know our days are now numbered and I cherish each one. Everyone tells me I will know when it is time to let him go to the “pasture in the sky.” Many nights I go check on him wondering if “this” is the night. Not long ago, I arrived at the barn. He was lying down and I thought to myself, ‘this is it.’ I walked in the stall and knelt beside him. I petted his neck and said, Skippy, is this it? Is it tonight?” He looked at me with his big loving, trusting eyes. I had tears in my eyes as I went to find my phone to call the vet. As I started back to his stall, I heard a noise very much like Santa on the roof in the “Night Before Christmas.” I ran to his stall to see him standing, looking at me. I knew that expression and I am sure I was reading his mind……. “Can’t a guy get any rest around here??!” That’s my Skip and I am thankful for each day we have!

My PETTail is about my 3lb Yorkshire Terrier, Lucy.  Lucy will be three years old in March.  I lovingly say that Lucy is my “partner in crime”.  She goes everywhere with me and is loved by all.  

I have three boys, all of whom play travel hockey.  Lucy of course attends all of the games.  She has attained “rock star status” at the rink. Hockey tournaments throughout the US and Canada are a common occurrence.  Lucy is greeted enthusiastically by people we haven’t seen in over a year, even by the rival teams.  They always remember her by name.  

We probably should have named her, “Polly”, as her favorite place to hang out is on your shoulder.  A more likely spot for a Parrot.  Watching TV, relaxing or driving….Lucy wants to be cozy in the crook of your neck with the optimal view.  Of course no one can turn her away.   

Life wouldn’t be the same with out our little Lucy.