Animals July 2010

Duchess the grouch

Animals July 2010

Samantha

Animals July 2010

Hangin' with HoJo

Animals July 2010

Pensive Cindy

Animals July 2010

Smitty at the ready

Here Comes Peter Cottontail....

If you excuse the crappy cell phone picture (my nice camera is out of commission while I wait on my new computer), you will realize that this is a very small baby bunny.  Why am I holding it?  Because I am now his temporary mommy.  Sadly, I must admit that though I will refer to this bunny in the masculine form, I am incapable of sexing him.  (Yes, I am a vet, and yes, that makes this rather embarrassing)

This little guy was found in my friends' backyard yesterday evening.  I tried saving him from the multitude of dogs in the backyard by relocating him to the front.  He looked lost and sad in the front yard, and even hopped up to me whenever I approached him, so I said to hell with the dogs, he might be happier in the backyard in familiar surroundings.  Enter Cindy, my greyhound/bunny-killer.  I had her in the backyard for less than 5 seconds before she had this little fellow in her mouth and he was making noises like a deranged squeaky toy.  (Keep in mind all the other dogs never even knew he was in the yard).  Aside from some slobber and perhaps some mild ataxia he seemed unscathed.  Of course, I now felt even more guilty, and I once again transported him to the front.

I checked on him several more times and found him consistently re-exposing himself and crawling out from bushes where I'd put him, and gravitating towards the noise and people, me especially.  My guilt and his adorableness got the best of me, and I now have a baby bunny living in an old litter box in my bathroom.  I'm hoping once he's fully weaned and a bit bigger I will be able to release him back into the wild. Or, at least if I don't think he's going to make it then I can humanely euthanize him and know he's not going to die in the grips of a hawk or my own damn dog.

This will be my first time rehabbing a bunny...I don't have high hopes, but we'll see how it goes!

Anybody want a bunny?  :)

Peachoid

For those of you who have yet to make its acquaintance, meet the Peachoid.  Actually, until today I never knew this landmark/eyesore was referred to by any name other than "Peach Butt," but thanks to Wikipedia I am now more enlightened.  

When I think of childhood road trips, the Peachoid, (sitting adjacent to I-85 in Gaffney, SC), along with South of the Border (just south of the NC/SC border on I-95), always come to mind.  Each trip from Wilmington to my visit my aunt, uncle, and cousins living in Lexington, SC, always involved watching the overly-dramatic billboards that counted down the miles to SOTB.  However, the few times we stopped for an emergency bathroom, food, and/or beverage run were always met with bitter disappointment.  (I remember once being charged $0.25 to use a frighteningly unsanitary ladies room, and Pedro's Coffee Shop shouldn't call what they serve "coffee").  

The Peachoid, in all its fruity glory, has never been a disappointment, but instead a constant source of amusement and amazement.  This one million gallon water tower sits a few miles from my granddaddy's house, in an area of South Carolina that is--would you ever guess?!--known for its excellent peach crop every summer.  Now I understand produce pride as well as the next gal, but why erect a water tower in the shape of a peach (a peach that looks suspiciously like a giant baby's butt from most aspects of the highway!)?  The Peachoid was built the year I was born, and according to Wikipedia the peach design was campaigned for by the good people of Gaffney to remind folks that South Carolina, and not that adjacent state known as the "Peach State," actually leads the US in peach production.  

Well Gaffney, you, your peaches, and your Peachoid have done South Carolina proud, and have spiced up the otherwise-boring stretch of I-85 for truckers and travelers alike.  Bravo!

Spring cleaning

Today I went to visit my wonderful mom for Mother's Day.  It was a beautiful day, and a nice relaxing drive--I was, of course, listening to an audiobook on my trusty iPod to pass the time.  While I was in town, I helped my mom go through (throw away) some of the old stuff (junk) in my room.  Among other things, I came across a poem written about my cat Tinkerbell, circa 1994 (I was probably about 13).  I found it both amusing and disturbing, and definitely worth sharing!

Tinkerbell

You lie awake, staring until all is still,
Your eyelids heavy with sleep,
                    Then--whishhhh!--
A sound--you are alert once more.
You look at me with confusion and weariness.
You tuck your head back into your fur,
And pretend I don't exist,
You want to sleep.
I scoop you up in my loving arms,
Despite your protesting.

I drop you upon the floor--
                    Pit-pat.
Realizing I will not let you sleep,
You begin to bathe.
You lick your paw,
You wipe your face,
You arch your back,
You stretch your legs.
In an attempt to open the door,
You stand upon your hind legs and push.
                    Nothing happens.
You let out a cry of despair,
Realizing you are trapped.
You sit in front of me and stare.

As I pick you up,
I hear and feel your purr of contentment.
                    Quiet,
                    Soft,
You speak to me.
You return once more,
To your post at the door.
You realize your attempts to leave are futile,
It is time to explore.
You curiously go over every inch of the room,
As if it were all new to you.
You return to the door,
Staring at the feet that pass on the other side.
You continue your exploration route,
And you wander into the closet,
Only to glide immediately out.
Once again you utter a cry,
You want to be set free.
My heart goes out to you.
                    Alas!
I open the door,
You are gone.
Good-bye, Tinkerbell.