Celebrating With Pets

We always celebrate the holidays with our pets and not just the end of the year ones. My cat's Birthdays, that we teasingly call "Bird" days are the highlight of their summer. They get a two course meal of their favorite gravy-soaked beef, chicken or shrimp. Their veterinarian sends them lovely cards with pictures of other cats on the front which they love to star at for hours on end from their favorite chair.

There is a similar two-course meal for various holidays and at Christmastime, of course, they are flooded with nearly as many gifts as my great nieces and nephews. The homemade gifts they seem to love the most, along with the wrappings and boxes. (They are so like kids).

Once the decorations begin to go up, their little eyes begin popping out of their skulls with a brightness that practically lights up the house before the lights are even on the tree. Although we had to replace all of our glass ornaments with the less breakable plastics on the market we still manage to have a tree that the cats are lured to like magnets for the duration. Keeping them out of it's branches is always a challenge, but surprisingly, it has lasted with a minimum of bent and dangling limbs.

Once the decorations are up, I have no lack of "help" from the swatting, batting paws as I try to wrap gifts with without shredded paper. If you haven't had a cat's help with wrapping presents then you haven't laughed enough to be half as jolly as "St. Nick" The bouncing, batting, swatting, flipping and pouncing that ensues is enough to split your sides or at least make you think they are splitting.

To minimize the damage, I have found that jingly bells and large ribbons make them feel as if they are aiding in my wrapping progress and it also keeps them off of the paper and gifts. Of course, the old sniffers are working overtime, all the while, trying to seek out their own presents among the many boxes and bags. These I discreetly wrap while they are busy elsewhere and secret away in some high place until, "Santy Claws" has visited.

I don't really know which expression is more endearing, that of my little nieces and nephews as they rip into their many gifts or those of my awed and anxious cats as they pounce in wonderment upon their gifts, all claws and teeth gnashing and biting at paper until toys and treats are fully exposed.

My observations over the years have shown me that whether you're a pet or a kid the holidays are clearly the most wonderful and exciting things. I don't know how people can not involve their pets. I wouldn't miss those thrills and the laughter for anything.

Copyright, 2008, M.L. Kiser

Lilly's Angels

A few years ago, at Christmastime, we found some beautiful Renaissance angel statues in a store and purchased them.  Only about a foot tall, their vibrant green and burgundy colors really graced our hearth during the holidays.

After New Years ended, I got a sturdy cardboard box and some tissue paper in which to store them.  Carefully, I wrapped the first one and placed it into the box.  As I did, one of our cats, a gray tabby by the name of Lilly, began to pace anxiously and actually did a couple of back flips off of the fireplace wall. At first, I didn't think anything of it, as cats can be a little crazy at times.  Then I picked up the other angel and began to wrap it, also.

Lilly got especially anxious, laid her ears back and began running frantically in circles.  Suddenly, she jumped up onto the bench where I was wrapping and lightly grabbed my hand between her teeth, as if to bite, but she didn't clamp down.  Clearly she was upset with me and wanted to give me a warning.

With huge bright eyes, she glared at me and released my hand.  Then jumping off of the bench she stood right in front of me, almost as if to challenge me to a fight. 

"You don't want me to put these angels away, do you?"  I looked at her and commented, while observing her wild-eyed glare.  I knew that it was common for Lilly to get attached to pretty things; her last favorite piece of art was a birdhouse on which I had painted a garden scene, during the summer. 

"It's okay", I told her, "we'll put these angels out again next year.  This will keep them safe until then"

Again, she began her anxious walking in circles, ears laid back flat against her head, jumping at and back-flipping off of the wall, this time, all the more frantic.

"I'm going to try something", I thought.  I unwrapped the angel in my hand and placed it back onto the hearth.  Lilly immediately lay down right next to it, her body posed as if to guard it and she then calmly and almost thankfully turned to look back at me. 

"That's hilarious!" I thought to myself.  "She likes those angels!"  But, just to be certain, I walked over, picked it up again and began to rewrap it.  The same frantic tantrum ensued and this time, she clamped down on my hand a teensy bit harder before letting go; a crystal clear warning that she was not going to tolerate my behavior any further.

"Well", I thought, "this is actually very funny." 

The angel's colors did match the room colors and carpet, so I thought that it couldn't hurt to have an angel or two around, even if they were sort of Christmassy.  I decided to put them both back where they were so well loved and enjoyed.

Lilly watched patiently as I unwrapped each angel and placed it carefully upon the hearth where they had been before.  She then laid down right in front of them and they have not been moved since.  We now refer to them as, "Lilly's Angels". 

She continues to get upset whenever our other cat, Isis, or anyone gets near them. 

A couple of years after the incident, a bird had gotten trapped in the chimney.  I located a wildlife specialist who could safely assist in the release of the bird and when he walked towards, "Lilly's Angels", she immediately began throwing her tantrum. 

"I'd better warn him", I thought, "It wouldn't do to have her biting a stranger." 

So, I told him that he had better let me move the angels, for his safety. 

At first, I don't think he believed me about Lilly's tantrums, but as he watched me move them he noticed Lilly's aggressive attitude and tense body language.  Her flipping tail and laid-back ears was a clear sign that she was very agitated by the stranger near the angels.  Our bird rescuer commented: "Boy, she really doesn't like for anyone to touch them, does she!"

Lilly glared as he removed the small sparrow from the flu, examined the bird for injury and released it out of the front door, into the yard where it quickly flew away.  Then she turned and walked to her angels and began to rub her face carefully against them.  She watched as I cleaned away the feathers and gently placed her angels back on the hearth.  They have been there since and are only occasionally removed when dusting or cleaning is to be done. 

Lilly continues to guard them every time they are dusted to ensure that they are not harmed.  They remain; "Lilly's Angels" and frankly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Copyright, 2008, M.L. Kiser

An Opinionated Pooch

Pets have a way of letting you know what they think of your ideas.  Some will growl if they are not in the mood to play; others will bite.  Some are so mellowed out that they'll just turn their back to you and sit for hours that way.  Others will leave a gift in your bed or on your favorite piece of clothing.  Nevertheless we all like to think that our pets will do almost anything for us.

Several years ago I had a magnificent dog, Christie.  She was part Norwegian Elkhound and part German Shepherd; her coloring being the shepherd with the thick, kinky Elkhound fur. She looked somewhat like a small, dark bear cub when she was sitting, so much so that when one of our neighbors would come around, he would do his best to cautiously walk the perimeter of the yard where she couldn't get at him.  The thing is that this particular dog wouldn't harm a person or a flea, for that matter.  She was as gentle as a lamb.  Everyone adored her, especially the kids in our neighborhood.

For the nearly 20 years of Christie's life, she played ball or Frisbee almost every day.  She was poetry in motion as she sometimes leapt as high as 5' in the air and caught her favorite toys.  I recall getting off of the school bus to see our front yard full of kids and Christie in the middle of them with a tennis ball in her mouth, because she also had a habit of clearing our fence.  Sometimes I could swear that there were kids in our yard playing with her that didn't even live on our street, but would pass the house and play with her on their way to or from school.

She was forever going to the park and finding stray balls to bring home; at one point I believe we counted 15 that she had brought home.  Sometimes, she would abandon her own to go for some ancient, dirty ball, abandoned in the grass by some other dog.

. 

One day I read about a Frisbee contest being held at a local park and decided to enter Christie.  I was certain that she could win she was just that good.  She never missed a catch.

I arrived early and had a while to practice Christie with her Frisbee after signing her up and so; we practiced with dynamic success for about a half an hour until the actual contest began.  She was in rare form that day; I was certain that we would win.

One by one we watched as many beautiful and gifted dogs and their people would display their sporting prowess with the little plastic disks.  We saw some amazing stuff.  Christie and I were about the eleventh or twelfth in line and when our turn came, I proudly walked Christie to the end of the performing ring where I ordered, "Sit".  She complied and I continued on to the other end.  When I was ready, I threw out the Frisbee ever so proudly.

Christie continued to sit.  There lay the Frisbee between us where it had hit the ground.  Why, I thought, was she just sitting there?  I picked up the Frisbee and walked over to her; whispering in her ear and rubbing her head, I told her that it was time to play with the Frisbee; that she needed to "get" it.  Then, I walked back to the other end and threw out the disk once again.

Again, no response.  Was something wrong?  Was she hurt?  I walked over, checked her out for any injury or sore spots; she seemed ok, so I whispered, "Get the Frisbee girl", in her ear again, gave her a gentle pat on the head and walked back to the tossing end.  I felt certain that it would work this time.

Once again, I flung the Frisbee high into the air, anxiously watching for my champion to catch it.  Instead, Christie walked to the Frisbee, picked it up, turned and dropped it.  She proceeded to squat over the Frisbee and flood it with her opinion! 

I was humiliated.  The crowd roared, as Christie finished her statement and walked around the perimeter of the crowd as if she'd done something great! 

It was the one and only time that she was just not going to do any bragging about her Frisbee playing ability.  When I got her home, I stepped out of the car and out she came leaping out with the Frisbee in her mouth.  Angrily, I took it, threw it as hard and far as I could.  She streaked after it, catching it in her mouth at about 3 1/2 feet in the air!  It was a glorious catch.

"Why didn't you do that when I needed you to?" I yelled.  She brought the Frisbee back to me and lay down on the ground at my feet.  I never entered her in another contest.

Copyright, M.L. Kiser, 2008

Ways To Train Your Cat

Many people think it's impossible to train a cat, but I have found more than one way to train mine.  Cats can be stubborn and do enjoy being in control, especially of their owners.

Cats, being highly psychic, often do pick up on your thoughts.  Think about it, they know when you're feeling down or when you're ill.  Mine can be outside and they'll just instinctively know that I am cracking open a fresh can off food for them.  Before I get it into their bowls, they're right outside of the door.

Yelling at a cat will never solve your problem; much less train one.  They think it's a game of some sort and will invariably make a mad dash across the room or down the hallway because to them, you've initiated some sort of exciting chase or hunt.

Believe it or not, there is something to thought communication.  I once trained my calico to retract her claws from the furniture by visualizing her claws sliding back into the paws and saying "retract" as a command.  Using the visualization and the word together made for a successful training technique. 

I have doubting family members who are baffled at the cat's behavior when I give them an order.  Of course, there are those times when nothing works, they may be having a bad day and just don't want to do as they are told.  But, I find that the above technique along with rewards can go a long way in getting a cat to do what you want.

My cats enjoy "guarding the house", when I leave.  I started when they were kittens, telling them that they are to protect the house, which fits in with a cat's idea of dominion.  Your house is automatically the cat's house, no matter who paid for it.  So, they are perfectly willing to accept this duty rather proudly.

I started by visualizing squirrels, raccoons, opossums, dogs and other cats entering our yard and would tell them to, "Protect the house"  "You need to let me know if anyone comes in our yard."  I have to admit that it's funny to tell them that and leave, only to return hours later with them sitting in the windows in attack mode as some squirrel or bird scampers across the yard.  A cat will do this naturally, but mine seem to have taken it seriously enough that often I will find them waking me up to let me know that someone is in the yard or on the porch.  Believe me, I have one that will pounce on the bed, do a back flip off and running from the bedroom to living room window and back will pounce and back flip again until I get out of bed to see what is happening outside.               

My other training technique is basically, conditioning.  My cats love "Fancy Feast" and although they can't tell the real thing from any other canned food, they do know what, "No Fancy Feast", means!

I began the conditioning one night when I came home to find a fairly new lamp and it's glass shade shattered all over the living room.  Fortunately, neither cat was injured, but it must've taken a real catfight to break that lamp.

With both staring up at me, I repeatedly pointed to the broken lamp and said firmly, "No fancy feast, you broke the lamp."  If I said it once, I said it half a dozen times a day for about 3 weeks.

Every day, at the same time, little eyeballs would look at me longingly, waiting for their favorite meal, which to them is the equivalent of the "food of the gods".  I would walk to the lamp, point and again say, "No Fancy Feast, you broke the lamp!"  I think it was around day 3 or 4 when they stopped coming to me at mealtime.  If they so much as begged for a treat or looked at a can of the stuff, I repeated my affirmative.  After about 3 weeks without their favorite meal, I felt they'd been punished enough and upon filling their bowls with the succulent tender bits, I proudly said, "Fancy Feast, girls!"  There came no response.

There they lay, sad faces smashed on the carpet, as if I was pulling some evil prank on them.  I said it again, still no response.  I finally had to bring the bowls to them and let them know that it was okay to have some.  They happily gorged themselves that evening.

I have used this "conditioning" several times and find it to be very effective. Although, I sometimes feel very cruel and guilty, I try to adhere to it as much as possible.  It makes for some well-behaved cats.

Copyright,M.L. Kiser, 2008

Cats And Computers

I have two wonderful cats.  A 6 year old calico manx and a charming grey tabby with white chest and feet.  I spend most of my days on my computer, writing or researching and at least one of them spends it with me.

They love watching the cursor on the screen and especially any videos; their favorites being cat-related.  I have one who loves playing with pens, and smacking at the paper as it comes out of the printer.  I kid around, lovingly thanking her for her "help" with my printing.  Sometimes, they will just sit beside the monitor or crawl into my lap, but most of the time one settles into her favorite position and place and naps while I work.

I have the standard computer desk with the pull-out keyboard shelf.  On that shelf is a small drawer, which as I have discovered, surprisingly holds a 14lb cat.  You would think that the shelf, and keyboard would go straight down to the floor once the cat stepped into the drawer, but it never has.

I am quite proud to say that both of my cats are familiar with the command, "Don't step on the keyboard."  I was taught quickly by these cats that it's a necessary command to give and should be given quickly, once they have leaped upon the desk.

Actually, I managed to teach this command very simply, I would tap their feet with my fingers and give the command to each paw as they stepped across the keyboards.  (Yes, I cringed briefly until they learned.)  Of course, it came with a few system crashes, at first.  That's to be expected, mistakes just happen when you're training pets.  But the crashing has ceased and I work happily and on a daily basis with at least one of my felines curled into a ball in my keyboard shelf drawer, beside of me.  I have never worked more contentedly.

Copyright, 2007, M.L. Kiser

The Great Toilet Paper Race

I'm hanging over the bathroom basin, with a mouth full of toothpaste when the innocent gray kitten first enters the bathroom and jumps up onto the lid of the big throne. It's difficult enough to get the teeth brushed when you're laughing at the head stretched across the edge of the vanity, turning slightly upside down as it examines your technique. But then as I go to rinse, I think she's given up the game and I heark'klunk'k'klunk'a' klunk'a'klunk'a'klunk'a'klunk'a'klunk..."

Grabbing the towel, I swiped my mouth and gazed at the throne; there, next to my lovely white throne was an ever increasing wad of toilet paper; spinning wildly as lily-white cotton swab paws smacked, batted and whacked, the roll grew thinner and the pile of paper increased in height in a few short seconds.

"No Tiger-Lilly! Stop it! Stop it now!

Frantically I grabbed the roll, my own hairless paws reverse-spinning it as the cotton swabs beneath fought desperately to keep the spin going in it's own direction.

"Stop it, stop it right now! Tiger-Lilly!" I shouted, trying to hold back the explosion of both irritation and laughter that was about to erupt from my toothpaste-filled mouth. The kitten headed around the back of the throne with the prize piece of toilet paper between her teeth.

"Tiger-Lilly!" I ordered. "Get over here!"

Frustrated, I carefully re-rolled what I could of the clean paper and toothpaste foaming in my mouth, I leaned over the basin, took a big swig of water in my mouth, swished and spat and went after the guilty party.

A flush brought the culprit leaping from behind the throne towards the bathtub. In she went in-between the shower curtain and liner and my search ensued.

Now, the thing about a kitten between the shower curtain and liner is that they are rather slippery and while I was searching one end she was running back and forth f rom one side of the tub to the other, leaping in and out, excitedly. Obviously, this game was fun! With curtains flailing and kitten fur darting, I grabbed and chased. HA! I finally caught her and pulled the saliva soaked TP from her mouth...euch!!!!!

Opening the door to the throne room, I demanded, "OUT, now!"

Tail tucked between the legs, head downwards in disappointment, the defeated little grey-striped thing crept out into the hallway, whereupon I resumed my morning ablutions, the door safely closed tight.

I washed up, opened the door and in ran the critter once again only to attack the roll of paper. I found myself again demanding,

"No! Stop it...Tiger-Lilly...Stop it...Stop it right now!"

Another tower of unrolled TP lay piled on the throne room floor. A very self-satisfied furry face leapt across my foot and ran from the room. Clearly she had won.

If you ever thought you could have the last word with a cat think again!

Copyright, 2007, M.L. Kiser

Animal Magnetism Or Animal Magnet?

It's odd how people seem to ignore each other  much of the time, but animals practically worship their humans.  Unfortunately, those of us "cursed" with being adored by our four-legged friends don't spend our days running across the fields or licking salt blocks and climbing trees.  You guessed it; I am among the "cursed".

I say "cursed", because zoos, animal farms, even real live "Nativity" exhibitors don't appreciate their fences being kicked down by animals trying to get to me.  Over the years, I've had  occasion to learn just how popular I am among members of the animal kingdom. If I were that popular with people I could rocket right to the top of the fame and fortune ladder, but it appears that to most people I'm just another ordinary  face-in-the-crowd.

Heavens no, I'm not whining about it. I actually like the "curse", but rarely get to brag about my adventures with my four-legged siblings.  I love animals and they love me. The fact is that some of my encounters have been rather hilarious so I thought I'd share  them ;  I'm sure there are many others out there who will identify with my "curse".

Once I was invited to the home of one of my former art students on a chilly Saturday afternoon.  When I arrived I was asked to make myself at home in their cozy Living room.  I had barely sunk onto the couch cushions  for a full minute when out of what seemed to be nowhere shot a  black and white fuzzy streak; floomp!  It landed in my lap; obviously it was their cat; no sooner did it land than it began rubbing around my face, neck and  climbing on my shoulders.  The impression I got was, "I'm so happy to see you!!!"  My student, with a rather bewildered look on her face asked, "How did you do that?"

"How did I do what?"  I replied.   

"That cat never comes out when we have company.  It hides under the bed and stays till the company leaves!  How did you make it do that?"

Her husband walked into the room at that point and with a bewildered expression at seeing his cat in my lap,  commented, "I can't believe it; that never happens."

"I have no idea", I replied, shaking my head.  "I just came in and sat down."

The cat never left my lap until I stood up again.  That incident took place several years ago and I am still wondering what the deal was with that cat.

As a young teen I enjoyed raising hamsters.  They all loved me and I loved them.  Most people don't realize that their hamsters have strong emotions.  They just think they're cute little furry things that run constantly on their wheels and go nowhere.  They are so much more than that. 
They are our friends, companions, and they can become very much a part of our family.

Although I've had many, one in particular captured my
heart and soul more than any other.  That was "Dinky"; a golden brown teddy-bear escape artist with a big heart and a lot of determination. 

Over the 3 years of Dinky's  life, we found her inside of shoes, under the bathroom vanity, in my underwear drawer, between my sweaters, in the kitchen, hallway and even under the bookshelf.  She had no trouble escaping her confinement.  But, we always found her thanks to the little brown calling cards she'd  leave behind every few feet.  At some point, I don't recall why, but I had moved Dinky's cage from my bedroom into the other end of the house.

One night as I was sleeping and dreaming something about being outside in the cold. (I have an unconscious tendency to rid myself of my blankets in the middle of the night).  The dream changed to where I was  feeling little cold raindrops on my legs and arms.  This feeling went on for quite a few seconds until somehow in my lucid state I realized that these raindrops were moving up towards my head.  Suddenly, I felt what seemed to be a whisker!

My right hand leaped over to my left elbow where I grabbed the culprit, held it up to my face and screamed, "Dinky!"  I awoke the whole house. I hope I didn't deafen her..

Dinky had apparently escaped and made the long journey from one end of our house to my bedroom and I guess her feet got too cold and she decided to climb into bed with me to get warm and that's  just what she did.

My favorite photo of Dinky is one of her climbing on top of my cat, Thomas Sebastian's stomach while he lay in the floor trying to ignore her.  Thomas was never neutered and he would occasionally get

into a fight.  Throughout his 99 lives he had a piece of his ear torn off, his whiskers torn out along with numerous plugs of hair.  He truly wore the scars of his battles with dignity and before he passed away after 20 of our human years, his eyes were two different colors, one green; one yellow from having them clawed in fights.  Thomas was actually a saint.

Our numerous hamsters and guinea pigs all loved him and I could swear that he loved them!  He never chased them, attacked them or even seemed to consider harming them.  They were all family.  It was as if he just knew that they all belonged in our home.

Now, my parent's paid the vet bills back then and they were determined not to have more than necessary.  One afternoon, Thomas stumbled home with his ear and leg bleeding and his left eyeball hanging out on his cheek.

I suppose it was a partially a natural motherly reaction, but my Mom grabbed him and carefully maneuvered his eyeball  back into the socket and Q-tipped around his eye and face with some hydrogen peroxide to clean him up.  She taped up his ear and leg with gauze and looking like he just left the local "ER". Thomas lay around the house until he healed. Unfortunately, even though it didn't take long, his eye healed; only it healed in a different color.  Thus he lived the rest of his life with one yellow and one green eye.  Believe it or not, he lived all but the last 3 years of his life with no vision problems.  (Don't worry, it was confirmed by his vet on a later date.  Apparently he was also impressed with my Mom's veterinary skills!)

Perhaps the greatest agony I'd ever seen Thomas in was right after we'd found a few broken eggs and a baby mockingbird that apparently fell from a tree.  I must mention that Thomas was never a bird hunter or killer.  Snakes were his favorite prey.  Anyway, we found these eggs and a nest that had apparently blown out of our pine tree and nearby was a newly hatched baby mockingbird; deader than the proverbial "doornail".

Mom and Pop Mockingbird apparently thought Thomas was guilty of this heinous deed and so began dive-bombing his rear end whenever he ventured into the back yard.  With hate glaring from their tiny black eyeballs and their beaks sharp and aiming; they struck.  Hiding in opposite trees one would swoop down and peck Thomas's rear, then swing upwards and on it's ascension the other would swoop down from the other side and peck his rear again.  Over and over this went on until my Mother saw it from our Kitchen window.  By the time we got to him, they had nearly pecked off his tail; you could clearly see bone.

Now the only bandages my Mom had around the house at the time that would completely cover the wound happened to be feminine napkins.  She cut one to fit; cleaned off his wound and filled the newly pecked hole with antibiotic ointment and carefully situated the napkin over this and poor Thomas, wearing his feminine napkin and surgical tape
laid around for days. 

We had to physically carry him to and from his litter pan; place him inside of it so he could perform his elimination rituals.  He was in agony; doing anything seemed to hurt him and so he didn't go outside at all for three solid weeks.  By the time he could go outside again, the birds were heading north for the winter and he didn't have to encounter any more vengeful mockingbirds. 

Over the years I have made a few animal friends from various parts of the world.  One in particular was an Australian Emu.

Emu are rather large birds; not quite as large as an ostrich, but nevertheless, large.  At the time, of this particular family outing they were taller than me.

As with all teenagers, I was a little silly.  On this particular day, I was amusing myself by looking at the animals and saying in the most sensual voice that I could

muster; "Hi sexy!"   Now, the elephants just gave me a curious look when I did this.  However, an Emu will apparently return some sort of gesture which I had no idead of a the time..  In my most sensual sounding voice I leaned over the fence separating us from the Emu and greeted. 

"Hi sexy!"

Suddenly, coming right towards my face was a huge black and pointed beak at what seemed like  about 60mph!  I jumped back and left the Emu standing there with the most bizarre expression in it's eyes.  It lunged, stared at me for a few seconds and went back to its' friends.  Years later I learned that Emus show affection by necking.  To this day, I feel guilty for what must've seemed to the Emu as a rejection.

One winter, I threw financial caution to the wind and bought myself a nice suede leather jacket.  My sister suggested that we go see the live nativity at the local garden center, which hosted this event nearly every year.

It turned out to be really great.  There were two different types of sheep, a horse, half a dozen goats, chickens, a dog and an adorable black pony. 

There was, of course, a wooden fence between the crowd and the animals in the stable, but you could pet the animals as they moved around the crche. 

It was an extremely cold winter and I had worn my new jacket. Up to me came the little black pony.  It nudged my hand over the fence and I rubbed its ' forehead and chin a few times and stopped.

It nudged my hand again; I patted it again.  Again it nudged my hand and I leaned closer and rubbed it s' neck.  Before I knew it my new jacket was covered in pony saliva; it just kept licking.  When I pulled away, it came closer and licked more.  I had to get a good two feet away before I was finally out of reach.

"Aw, it likes you." Chided my sister.

Apparently, it loved my jacket!  Did you ever try to get pony slobber off of suede?  The "Curse" lives.

In Tennessee, there is a little farm where there are several types of deer, goats, cattle and other creatures from across the globe.  On this particular visit they had a zebra in a pen next to a Wild Mustang.  We made our tour of the farm and fed a few animals with grains.  We finally came to the mustang. 

It was beautiful; muscular and tall and gentle as a lamb.  I spent sometime feeding it grains; patting it and rubbing it's neck and then moved on to its' next door neighbor, the zebra. 

I fed it some grains, rubbed it's head, patted it's neck a few times and suddenly the mustang began kicking at the fence; it got as close to me and the zebra as it could.  Nudged my shoulder and kept kicking until I went back and gave it more grains and rubbed it's head more.  I was there for quite a few minutes and decided to move on; as I walked away, I was certain that the fence would be kicked completely down.  The mustang not only didn't like me giving food and attention to the little zebra, but it intended to follow me home if it could get out of its pen.  People glared at me as if I had intentionally disturbed the animal.

That same day, I also had a goat and a miniature pony trying to trample down the fences to get to me.  My sister shot a glance at me and said, "Geez, we can't take you anywhere!" "I'm sorry," I replied, laughing.  "It's the "curse"." 

 Copyright, 2007, M.L. Kiser