bullfrogs & bulldogs

sometimes the good die young

I knew the day would eventually come. It could have happened when I was living in the suburbs of Seattle but it didn’t. It happened here, on the farm.

If you are an animal person it’s never easy losing one of them. In a post way back in June I talked about how I anthropomorphize. In writing it I was of course trying to be funny but in all honesty, there was a bit of truth in it. My pets are members of my family and it started way back when and to this day, hasn’t changed. They may not give monetarily or even be able to give their opinion on aspects of life but they do give something pretty darn special. Otherwise, nobody would have domesticated them to begin with.

Whenever I lose one I always find myself surprised by the sadness and huge amount of loss I feel. It’s an eerie feeling not knowing what happened. Our minds start to go to those sad places, those places where one wishes and prays they went instantly with little to no suffering. My mind goes to those places, especially when finding evidence in the yard of the contrary.

If there is something as a perfect pet it was her. It’s ironic, I never really wanted her in the beginning. For one, she didn’t have a tail. What cat doesn’t have a tail? But she did everything in her power to get my attention and I realized that I wasn’t leaving that shelter without her.

I know, I know. I sound like a crazy cat woman. But if that’s the label one wants to give me because I care for my pets and think of them as part of the family, well, I’ll wear that one proudly.

You were a sweet little girl Lucy. I’m glad your determination shined through and I got to have you for these past four years.

Taken by a friend who was watching her as I was traveling the world. Lucy in her snuggie.

I guess this is the part of farm life I know I’ll never get use to. Actually, this is the part of life I’m not sure I’ll ever get use to. To be honest, it’s just a part of life that sucks. That part where sometimes the good die young.

my dirty little secret

I anthropomorphize. I can’t help it. I have ever since I can remember. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s an addiction or anything. For one, I don’t think it could be classified as an addiction or even a disorder but, it does have one of those really long, unpronounceable names that ends with a -ize meaning, you just may actually be able to find it in the DSM manual.

My older brother use to make fun of me for it when I was younger but the severity of my problem wasn’t really brought to my attention until I moved onto the farm with David.

I feel like I should begin by standing up and saying, “Hi, my name is Amanda, and I anthropomorphize.” In laymen terms, I give animals human attributes. Traits such as thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams.

It all started with my first cat Blueberry. Yes, that was his actual name (I blame that one on my older brother and his friend) and he had a brother named Raspberry. He was our neighbors cats. Blue, as we often called him, was a mild manured, perfectly pleasant, orange tabby. He put up with everything, including me dressing him up in my doll clothes and pretending he was a baby all while pushing him around in a doll stroller. Yes, there are pictures somewhere out there but out of respect for the diseased, I will forgo showing them. He was, in my eyes, the perfect cat.

As the years went by and I grew older, I started to realize that people can be mean and well, animals don’t care if you have curly, frizzy hair, braces, and somewhat resemble Chelsea Clinton. They don’t say mean things and tease you. They love you unconditionally, especially if you provide them with food, water, and a the occasional nice warm place to sleep at night.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized I just may have a bigger problem on my hands then I ever thought.

The second night after I moved in, I was getting ready for bed and I came out of the bathroom with big, wet tears in my eyes. David, rather concerned, asked me what was the matter? I crawled in bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and through my sobs, I managed to blubber out, “I’m never going to be able to cuddle up with my cats in bed again!” David has a no animals in bed or on the furniture rule. I knew it from the beginning but I just assumed I could bat my big blues at him and he would give in. Yep, not so much.

As I sat next to David, listening to the words coming out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous I did sound. But, since I sometime can be prideful, I decided I had already made my bed so I just went with it. Mildly embarrassed, I sat there while David told me he thought I was a little weird and that I live on a farm now. I just can’t view animals the same as I did before.

From that moment on, I vowed to work on my anthropomorphizing. I promised I’d get help. I would overcome this! David is right after all. I am a farm girl now.

It’s been a month since that eye-opening night and although I will admit, I’ve fallen off the wagon several times, it’s gotten easier and easier to view all the animals on the farm as just that, animals. Not my friends, not my confidants. Animals. Food. Not cute furry sheep and goats, dogs and cats.

Okay, I’m totally lying. I still anthropomorphize and often. But only when nobody is around. Give me a little credit here, I’ve only been a farm girl for a month.

In time, I will get stronger.