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In defense of goats ...
So every once in a while the heavens part and down comes a PR person -- a PR person who actually reads The Poop instead of simply including us on some mass market mailing list that begins with something like, "Dear Michael Peter, have you ever had that unfresh feeling?"
I admit they DO look cute. But they also look kind of hungry -- hungry for human fingers.
While this might be right up Peter's alley, I admit it drives me crazy.
But every once in a while -- once a year, I think, if even that -- we get something that is wholly charming and wonderful and just ... perfect.
You may remember Whitney Mares came calling with Jim Beam and we practically turned her into a booze-wielding demi-god. And now, we have Kris Ellenberg of SuperGoat.org -- an actual web site. At least, I think it is. I have yet to click on it, because I'm completely freaked out by those garbage-chewing devil spawn that even a picture of them would lead to horrible bouts of Victorian fainting spells. SO not pretty.
But I was so taken by the delightful acknowledgment of the fear I wrote about earlier along with the casual defense of these apparently "wonderful" animals that I admit to thinking twice. That's how good the pitch was.
Take a look: Read More 'In defense of goats ...' »
| April 14 2010 at 06:04 AM
The greatest movie and TV pets of all time
Little-known fact: This was almost a pet blog. After a series of events in early 2006 (a story for another time), I decided to recruit some co-workers and start a blog. The two topics with the most potential at the time semed to be kids and animals. Unlike other areas in the nation, market research showed that adults in the Bay Area were approximately equally obsessed with both.
impawards.com
Stop crying ...
Ultimately, the deciding factor was that I hate pets.
If I started a pet blog, I would probably have to get one. We've already covered my family's horrible luck with pets growing up, but my lack of desire for a four-legged addition to my current household goes beyond that. I feel like my job and parenting duties have already forced me into a very precarious balance between sanity and Ally Sheedy in "The Breakfast Club." Add an animal and feedings and little poop baggies and dander to the mix, and I will almost certainly end up in a fetal position humming "Losing My Religion."
Still, I must prepare for the inevitable. Two of the three people in our house who can speak a complete sentence (my wife and nearly 5-year-old son) really want to get a dog. And the fourth spends half his time wanting to be a dog. So I'm taking a baby step today in the direction of embracing a pet. I thought a good start would be to pick some tolerable pets from popular culture that I wouldn't mind owning.
My five favorite fictitious pets of all time are below. Yours in the comments ... Read More 'The greatest movie and TV pets of all time' »
| March 19 2010 at 06:06 AM
Kids, pet deaths and the poetic aftermath
I know everyone deals with grief differently, but I guess I didn't expect to find my kid's methods so interesting, so unintentionally macabre, and so sweet. A couple of months ago our old cat Meeka got really sick, and we took her to the vet. The short version is that her quality of life was likely to be really horrible with treatment, so we were left with the option to euthanize her. And we did.
rob-clarkson.com
It was her time.
True to form, I was totally broken up, because I am a big baby about stuff like this. I went in to the vet thinking, "Hey, she's had a long, happy life" and I left with swollen eyes and the inability to speak without bursting into tears. Before we said goodbye, the vet asked us how we wanted to deal with the body, and we opted for cremation. This was after I thought about burying her in the backyard and watching our dog dig her up and parade around the lawn with our dead cat in her mouth. And if you think that's a morbid image, just wait.
I broke the news to my daughter, who cried a little. Then she requested we get another cat that looked exactly the same and name it Meeka. I'm pretty sure that's a typical kid response to death, but I wondered what would she would suggest if a person we loved died. Should we find a doppelganger and start calling them by the deceased loved one's name? "Hey Grandpa Number Two!" I nixed the rebound cat idea.
However, my kid was undeterred. She surprised me the next day with a cardboard likeness of our cat she created. It was pretty good, actually. "I am going to put this in all the places Meeka used to sit," she announced. And that's what she did. The next few mornings I was often surprised by the life-sized cutout of our dead cat, staring at me from the top of the microwave or perched somewhere on the couch. It was a little disconcerting, sort of like being roommates with Norman Bates and running into his mom watching television. Thank god the cat stayed out of the shower.
Read More 'Kids, pet deaths and the poetic aftermath' »| June 18 2009 at 07:03 AM
Your best childhood pet
As I mentioned in the worst childhood pet post last week, pretty much all of the animals my family had growing up were obedience challenged. I'm sure some of you had dogs that saved people from burning buildings and cats that could count to 10 with their paws and play Boggle with you. We were happy if our cats and birds didn't spend the day trying to claw our eyes out.
Mittens loved me despite my bowl cut.
But we did have one pet that elicits positive memories among all who knew her: Mittens the cat. I barely remember this brown and black tabby, which I think was a girl. She died of cat Leukemia when I was 7 or 8. Her demeanor was exactly what you'd want out of a college roommate you were sharing a small dorm space with -- quiet, congenial and seemingly gone for hours or even days at a time.
Mittens wasn't overly affectionate, but I do recall that she would follow us to the end of the block when we walked to school or piano lessons. Once during one of my recitals (in the middle of "The Spinning Song," no doubt), she followed us to our piano teacher's house, and meowed by the front door until my mother or father brought her home. Not exactly Lassie behavior, but still pretty sweet.
That's all I've got. Seriously, our pets sucked. Please tell us all about the golden retriever that played on your high school baseball team in the comments.
| February 09 2009 at 08:08 AM
Your worst childhood pet
My parents' dog, a beagle named Buster, is on his last legs right now. Buster flunked out of obedience school twice, barks too much and has a strange habit of leaning against whoever is sitting on the couch. He was also a bit of a leg humper in his more youthful years. But I'll definitely miss him when he's gone. Even with his faults, he was still one of the best pets that my family has ever had.
Mikey preferred to sleep in a box.
My family has always adopted loser pets. That's why I'm going to start Part One of The Poop's good pets/bad pets series by focusing on the worst animals from your childhood. Don't limit the list to cats and dogs. Stories of loser birds, hamsters and even fish are welcome as well.
My three worst all-time pets are below. Please add yours in the comments. We'll do all-time best pets later this week.
Second runner-up
The name: Mikey
The species: House cat
His deficiencies: Mikey wasn't an evil pet. The only animal-on-human violence I ever saw him commit came one cold early morning when I was a Chronicle delivery boy, and he didn't want to get off the stack of papers that were still hot off the press. But, and I can't emphasize this enough, he wasn't very bright. He was to pets what Lennie from "Of Mice and Men" was to field hands. One example: he was deathly afraid of roller skates, and backed off a second-story deck once to escape one. He was also the only cat I knew that had no sense of personal grooming. (Not a great thing, considering he was a long-haired pet.) It wasn't unusual to see him walking across the yard with an earthworm hanging off of his tail. I liked Mikey personally, but he still makes the list. Read More 'Your worst childhood pet' »
| February 04 2009 at 09:34 AM
About a boy (and his dog)
We adopted our dog, Manny, after finding out my wife had a miscarriage.
Miscarriage.
Now there's a word that sounds absolutely absurd when placed anywhere near the word "blog." With that in mind, the only thing I learned from those (sadly, two) experiences is that there is nothing any well-meaning loved one can say to make a couple going through a miscarriage feel better -- and quite a lot to accidentally make them feel a little bit worse.
Which is what makes the wisdom of a hound all that more profound. Because during those times when no one is sure what the hell to say, this face pretty much says it all ...
Manny, short for Manfred, is a Treeing Walker Coonhound -- basically a Foxhound that prefers to chase raccoons up trees. They look like beagles on stilts or steroids. They bark and bay in several dialects, ranging from beached seal to the classic canine howling at 'ol the moon.
We adopted 'Fred from the good folks at the San Francisco SPCA, around Christmas time in 2004. Read More 'About a boy (and his dog)' »
| December 18 2008 at 03:26 PM
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