March 25, 2011
Archive for the ‘Animals’ Category.
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February 27, 2011
FW: How To Give a Cat a Pill
A STEP BY STEP GUIDE ON HOW TO GIVE A CAT ITS PRESCRIBED PILL!
1. Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby.
Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa.
Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand.
Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.
Call spouse in from the garden.
6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws.Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat’s throat vigorously.
7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail.
Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit.
Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw
9. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans and drink one beer to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse’s forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10. Retrieve cat from neighbor’s shed.
Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink.
Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.
12. Call fire department to retrieve the cat from the top of the tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat.
Take last pill from foil wrap.
13. Using heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed, tie the little *&#%^’s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of filet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour two pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14. Consume remainder of scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
15. Arrange for RSPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.
How To Give A Dog A Pill
1. Wrap it in bacon.
2. Toss it in the air.
YUMMIE–HOW ABOUT ANOTHER ONE???
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January 26, 2011
FW: Baby Monkey (Going Backwards On A Pig)
Why this is so popular I will never understand!
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January 18, 2011
FW: Pantyhose Riddle
Q: How many animals can you fit into a pair of pantyhose? Now, think about it…
Ready? Scroll down, you’ll love this……….
Answer:
10 little piggies,
2 calves,
1 ass,
And an unknown number of hares,
Come on, you know you’re laughing!
Life is too short to wake up with regrets.
So love the people who treat you right.
Forget about the ones who don’t.
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January 12, 2011
FW: Rescued Baby Hummingbird
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January 8, 2011
FW: Good Dog Story
Long story, BUT good. Enjoy!!!
They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen.. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.
I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must have thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner.
See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too. Maybe we were too much alike.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls — he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes. I guess I didn’t really think he’d need all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he settled in. But it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn’t going to.
I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like “sit” and “stay” and “come” and “heel,” and he’d follow them – when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when I called his name — sure, he’d look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he’d just go back to doing whatever. When I’d ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
This just wasn’t going to work. He chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff. I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the “damn dog probably hid it on me.”
Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter…I tossed the pad in Reggie’s direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home. But then I called, “Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I’ll give you a treat.” Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction — maybe “glared” is more accurate — and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down …. with his back to me.
Well, that’s not going to do it either, I thought. And I punched the shelter phone number.
But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that, too.
“Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
To
Whoever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner.
I’m not even happy writing it. If you’re reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter.
He knew something was different. I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time… it’s like he knew something was wrong. And something is wrong…which is why I have to go to try to make it right.So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them,
he’ll bound after it, so be careful – really don’t do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I’ll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones — “sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”
He knows hand signals: “back” to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and “over” if you put your hand out right or left. “Shake” for shaking water off, and “paw” for a high-five. He does “down” when he feels like lying down– I bet you could work on that with him some more. He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.
I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He’s up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they’ll make sure to send you reminders for when he’s due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time.
I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you….
His name’s not Reggie.
I don’t know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I’d never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything’s fine.
But if someone else is reading it, well … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It’ll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change in his demeanor if he’s been giving you problems.
His real name is “Tank”.
Because that is what I drive.
Again, if you’re reading this and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone…call the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting downright depressing, even though, frankly, I’m just writing it for my dog. I couldn’t imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family … but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.
And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
That unconditional love from a dog is what I take with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things … and to keep those terrible people from coming over here. If I have to give up
Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don’t think I’ll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every night – from me.
Thank you,
Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
“C’mere boy.”
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months.
“Tank,” I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.
“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek. “So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again. “Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?” Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.
And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
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November 27, 2010
FW: Baby Hummingbird Rescue
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October 24, 2010
FW: Best Bus Paint Job
and The Wildest Bus Ride Ever!
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October 16, 2010
FW: Read The Sign at the End Slowly
Read the Sign at the End Slowly
Worried about squirrels getting
into your bird feeder??
Exactly what is that line made of?
Only in Canada would you see a sign like this!
Read the whole sign.
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October 4, 2010
FW: Your Duck is Dead
A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary
surgeon. As she laid her pet on the table, the vet
pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird’s
chest. After a moment or two, the vet shook his head and
sadly said, “I’m sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has
passed away.”
The distressed woman wailed, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure. Your duck is dead,” replied the
vet.
“How can you be so sure?” she protested. “I mean
you haven’t done any testing on him or anything.
He might just be in a coma or something.”
The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the
room.
He returned a few minutes later with a black
Labrador Retriever. As the duck’s owner looked on
in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his
front paws on the examination table and sniffed the
duck from top to bottom. He then looked up at the
vet with sad eyes and shook his head.
The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out
of the room.
A few minutes later he returned with
a cat. The cat jumped on the table and also delicately
sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back
on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and
strolled out of the room.
The vet looked at the woman and said, “I’m sorry,
but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck.”
The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a
bill, which he handed to the woman.
The duck’s owner, still in shock, took the bill. “$150!”
she cried, “$150 just to tell me my duck is dead!”
The vet shrugged, “I’m sorry. If you had just taken my
word for it, the bill would have been $20, but with the Lab Report and
the Cat Scan, it’s now $150.”