No fur, feathers, or fins

At 2227 West Front Street, in Burlington, fur, feathers, and fins were scarce. In our household, when my sister and I were growing up, we had no long term pets.

That absence was a holdover from when our parents were growing up. For my mother, it was surviving a journey from Mississippi to North Carolina after her father deserted his wife and their three children.

My father’s family was a different type of survival. He was one of ten children whose parents miraculously made a living as tenant farmers in Alamance and Guilford counties.

I sense shelter, food, and clothing were the essentials that my grandparents held as a priority for their children, not kittens and puppies.

Yes, I do remember short timers on West Front Street. From the circus at the Greensboro Coliseum, my father purchased me a small turtle.

At some point, I had a chameleon. I kept him in a homemade terrarium in a shoebox. Once I pinched the tip of his tail with the top. My mother told me the tip would grow back. I think the chameleon died before the tip returned.

One spring, a handcrafted cage arrived in the backyard. A few days later, my sister was the proud owner of white rabbit.

Then there was a day when the bunny slipped out of the cage while being fed. In the uncertain chaos that followed, lots of coaxing took place to get the stubborn rabbit back into its home.

Neighbors around us had dogs. I remember Maverick, Brownie, and Penny.

A few times, I was the dog sitter for Brownie when our neighbors were out of town.

As it turns out, my sister and her husband who reside in Snow Camp are the animal lovers. My sister’s childhood love of horses continued. Over the years, she has owned and cared for several. Her knowledge and skills are impressive, and everyone of these beautiful horses has a story.

Chickens are a part of their farm landscape too. I’ve heard the stories about sly black snakes sleuthing for eggs, red tailed hawks skydiving on an unsuspecting hen, and the carnage left from a neighbor’s roaming dog who attacked when no one was at home.

My real introduction to pets came from my wife’s family. I still recall meeting their Cape Cod black lab, Joshua. What I took away from our first meeting was that Josh had more energy than anything powered by an Energizer battery. Josh exuded an exuberant excitement like greeting a long lost friend.

Also, in this household was a huge black and white cat named Kiwi. During Christmas visits, the bedroom where my wife and I slept had a trundle bed. Unknown to me that trundle bed was a favorite sleeping place for Kiwi. One night, I woke to hear what sounded like human footsteps trudging across the carpet. I looked down to see Kiwi walking toward the bedroom door.

Turns out my father-in-law had a soft heart for all creatures. There might have been one exception to that affection, a beagle named George.

At some point during George’s tenure with the family, he thought it would be a good idea to urinate on my father-in-law’s foot. Not long after that irrigation, George found a new home with the milkman.

When my wife and I started our family, we occasionally had conversations about pets. From my childhood experience, I politely held to no dogs and cats. Goldfish and a few hermit crabs mingled with our three children during their youth. When our children asked about having a cat or dog, my standard line to them was “when you’re 21, out on your own, you can have whatever pet you want.” To this date, none of them have any pets.

Now, I don’t want you to think I’m an anti-pet person. I appreciate the joy pets bring into families. But, I’ve also seen the wear and tear. Veterinarian bills, putting a beloved family friend down when the cherished pet becomes incapacitated, and the hopeless fear when a pet goes missing and never returns.

Over the years, I’ve enjoyed hearing pet stories at the dinner table shared by friends and neighbors.

Our across the street neighbors, Barbara and David tell a good story about a former dog, Dwayne. Dwayne learned how to jump their backyard fence. He also knew how to navigate the city streets to where Barbara’s parents lived.

One day, Dwayne showed up at her parents house with two unopened packs of dinner rolls. Clever Dwayne figured out access to the dumpster at the A&P grocery store on the way.

Another neighbor tells the harrowing story of how a maintenance worker at the University of Richmond saved their cherish dog from drowning in the university’s lake. The dog had become entangled with a drain pipe.

Over the years, I’ve learned that pets are similar to humans. Sometimes, they just need a bit of attention.

Etched in my memory forever is a former neighbor’s yellow lab. On pretty fall afternoons, when I was in the heat of my annual battles with leaves, Zip would wander into our yard with his slobber covered tennis ball.

Zip wanted to play. He’d drop the ball at my feet. With my gloved hand, I’d pick it up and toss the worn ball a few yards away. Even though Zip was aging, he would scurry off and bring the ball back every time.

Despite pets never being a permanent part of my life, they offer something that has become a rarity in our often divided, impatient, and selfish world—loyalty.

That bond, that loyalty between a pet and its owner is “a sight to behold” as Gomer noted when admiring a car on the Andy Griffith Show.

From my no pets experience, I wonder if my take away is this—might our world improve if we could become more loyal to each other, especially on those days when everything goes wrong.

Author’s note: This piece was submitted to the essay contest for O. Henry magazine. I was notified today(11/6/24) that the piece didn’t make the cut. Internally, I knew these ramblings had no chance, but I enjoyed trying.