Life and Times at Cranberry Lake

This blog is about the life, wild and otherwise, in this immediate area of Northeast Pennsylvania. I hope you can join me and hopefully realize and value that common bond we share with all living things... from the insect, spider, to the birds and the bears... as well as that part of our spirit that wishes to be wild and free.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Chapter 38 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

Guinea Pigs - Selling & Breeding

August decided that guinea pigs were the perfect pet… as well as a business. He began developing entrepreneurial skills just as he was becoming a teenager when he and a neighbor, Eric Lanz, decided to raise and sell guinea pigs. It all started when a friend of the Lanz’s gave Eric a guinea pig, and let August purchase a long haired one that this breeder was convinced was sterile. It was not, and when this female Abysian mated with Eric’s male, and became pregnant, you’d have thought that August had discovered gold. The breeder, who I think had a corner on the market of selling long hair guinea pigs to the local pet shops, got wind of their plans, and tried to get August to agree not to sell any of the offspring, as she had sold August in good faith (she thought), a barren female. August was the most assertive of my children, and felt he had bought this pig fair and square, and had no intentions of having this breeder dictate to him as to what he could or could not do.

August and Eric had me drive them to a little print shop in Endicott, where they ordered business cards. They set up their breeding farm in the garage in a portable cage. In good weather they would set the cage out on a platform under the back steps with an exit through 12 ft long black plastic corrugated pipes (usually for leach fields and drainage pipes) to a fenced in yard on the back lawn. They were able to pick up the pipe at the lumber yard, were and cost about the same as those small 12 inch long Habit-Trails which was sold for hamsters at pet shops. They got more of the pipes so the guinea pigs could run through them from one place to another just for the fun. The chicken wire enclosures in the yard were portable, so they could move their outer premises for better grazing. They were beginning to pick up some pet shop customers.

…Then with one horrible fateful incident they were wiped out of business!

August’s sister had a way of bringing home dogs and other animals, with the excuse, “It just followed me home, can we keep it?” She had met friends for a picnic in a park a few miles away, and when she got bored, she decided to walk home. A frisky handsome Husky joined her. She yelled at him to “go home!” But, it still tagged along. I think she may have asked someone nearby in a yard if it was their dog, and it wasn’t. Nevertheless, by the time she got home, it was evening, and getting dark, so I said we’d go back first thing in the morning, since I knew no one in the area I could call to see if they knew where this dog’s home was. Wendy was always very accepting of whatever new pet came into the house …even a stray dog. The Husky seemed to have good habits, so no one was thinking about anything but for him not to soil the carpet when we let him out to do his thing.

I happened to be downstairs at the time. We had a walk out basement to the back yard and to the guinea pig set up. Suddenly I was aware of a commotion underneath the back steps where the guinea pig’s cage was set up. I flipped on the back light and saw the husky’s back and tail and realized he had actually jumped right into the guinea pig’s cage. I then snapped into action, opening the door, grabbing at the dog, and yelling for August, and yelling, “Help!” to anyone, while grabbing the dog around the middle to extract him from the cage while his mouth was full of guinea pig.

It was a horror story. After subduing the dog, August and I tried to take stock of the guinea pigs’ loss of life. It seemed that the dog had first jumped into the fenced in grazing area, killing a few guinea pigs, and wounding a few more which tried to scurry back into the corrugated pipe. Then he jumped into the cage where most had cuddled together for the night. Killing all he could, the rest took flight into the upper end of the pipe.

August and I carried the black pipe heavy with guinea pigs into the garage to their safe indoor pen… safe if one kept the garage door shut. There we reached into each end of the pipe trying to reach the frightened pigs. In one end I felt a furry warm body about elbow deep in the pipe, but was unable to extract this pig.

If the other’s were alive, there was no way of knowing--they wouldn’t make a noise. We set the pipe down, turned down the lights, hoping they would come out and left for a short time to see if any of the other bodies outside sowed any signs of life. It was a carnage. We put them all aside for burial the next day.

Returning to the garage, the black pipe was still quiet. I tried to peer into the perforations to glimpse the interior to no avail. Finally I took my Exacto knife and cut off a length of pipe just past the furry mass blocking one end. The pig that was blocking the way had dashed in after being mortally wounded, and died there. The same had happened on the other end, blocking exit to the last five living guinea pigs which finally emerged… hot and weary.

I think it was about ten pigs which had gotten slaughtered that evening by this stray husky. After a close inspection, I determined that the remaining were going to be okay.

The indoor area had been atop a pool table which had been carefully protected by a tarp from any harm on which the cage was set when weather didn’t permit them to be outdoors.

The next morning, someone tied the husky outdoors in front. In the course of the morning’s activities, Aug’s dad opened the garage door, to take the car down to Vestal Center to get the Sunday Times. The husky chewed through the rope freeing himself, found the rest of the guinea pigs, vulnerable to him in the open garage, and killed off the remaining pigs.

This was to be the single most horrible event in August’s childhood. It seemed so unfair that this would happen, dashing his plans for his first business, and killing his beloved pets. When writing about this later, I didn’t think he appreciated being even reminded of this terrible event.

To add to the horror, Al, who was a city orientated adult, knew nothing about burying animals, and dug too shallow a grave, but piled on rocks thinking that would do it. Wendy was never very interested in the guinea pigs while they were alive, but easily moved away the rocks, and dug them up now that they were getting rather ripe. I hated to criticize Al’s job, as he did the dirty job that neither August nor I had the stomach for… but this resurrecting of the dead pigs was too much. I insisted he dig a deeper hole and dispose of them properly. We finally saw the last of the guinea pigs. The next time August tried to sell things to make money was a few summers later when he and Johnny Frisch built a wired off area in the garage where they set up office, sitting behind the wire, and selling candy and soda through an opening in the fence, much like a bank cashier's set up. It was much more lucrative, and much less heart-breaking. They even filed their earnings for the summer and paid their taxes.

Postscript: The husky which sensed no shame, retaining that sense of being innocent and loveable, was returned to its owners later on that Sunday. I’ve never wanted a husky as a pet since this wolfish beast gave no thought to doing away with all of August’s sweet little guinea pigs. August still begrudges the whole incident… much like my brother Jerry’s never forgiving us for having two of his pet ducks for Thanksgiving so many years ago in his childhood in Woburn; much like the way I still grieve over the loss of my most loved dog, Kiyoodle. I don’t know why we harbor the hurt over these incidents which don’t add up to a hill of beans on a worldly scale of things, but we humans are sometimes blessed, yet also cursed with a tender heart that cannot forget when something seems to cut us to the core, leaving a wound that is tender each time we go back to that spot.

Saturday, October 06, 2007

Chapter 37 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

CRAZY FRED, THE RABBIT

Back when Barney and Wendy were at their rabbit chasing peak, they didn’t make distinctions between pet rabbits and wild ones, and I think they broke into August’s friend Eric’s rabbit cage, killing his rabbit. I felt awful about it. The fact wasn’t witnessed, but I knew, so I bought Eric a new rabbit. I always found pet animals irreplaceable, but I was glad that Eric‘s new rabbit satisfied him.

Now August wanted his own rabbit but it would have been impossible with both Wendy and Barney around. So, when the Ashes left, August began badgering me again about getting a rabbit. Somehow he acquired one, called it Fred, and demonstrated that Wendy was not going to hurt it, so the rabbit stayed… well, kind of.

August was my son, so he didn’t want Fred feeling too penned up. So when he could watch the rabbit, he would let him out to roam…to nibble on grasses and clover. Well, or course, August got over-confident that Fred would stick around. But even when the rabbit roamed out of sight, he usually could be easily found. This animal was August’s responsibility, and a good animal upon which to practice that trait. After all, rabbits are fairly harmless, right…?

…The Garber family who lived up the street from us, had a nice female cat… a calm placid thing. I’m not sure if they had her neutered, as there was no need since there were no tomcats around at the time. I’m also not sure if that would have made a difference to August’s kinky male rabbit who was maturing while still expanding his roaming territory to several houses up and down the street. When he saw the Garber’s cat, it was love at first sight. I understand the poor cat was seen fleeing from August’s amorous rabbit.

Fred looked like a very large wild rabbit. The Garber’s knew August had a pet bunny, but thought a crazed wild rabbit was after their cat. Just to be sure--before they were to call the Animal Control Warden--they called us to check. I verified that it was our rabbit, but assured them he was harmless. However they were really concerned, Mrs. Garber, had seen Fred in action and it was a scary sight to see him try to mount their cat. I sent August out to round up his rabbit and to make sure it didn’t go up the street when he let it loose.

Then the neighbors at the foot of Galaxy Drive called. Their house was up for sale, and the rabbit liked burrowing into their lawn. He wasn’t making actual holes, but liked making oval dusty scoops here and there on their otherwise well-groomed lawn. Maybe rabbits take dust baths like chickens, I don’t know, but the real estate agent didn’t want the lawn to make prospective buyers hesitate.

Then there was the rabid rabbit scare. Mr. Graham who lived up one door from the house for sale was out mowing his lawn, and saw this oversized “wild” rabbit coming towards him when he had stopped the mower to rake up the clippings. He first thought it was going to stay near the edge of his back lawn… but now, it was coming right for him. He grabbed the first thing, and threw some grass clippings at him which only encouraged Fred. Finally Mr. Graham ran for the house, convinced that a rabid rabbit was out to get him. He was one of the only houses where they didn’t have children, but he soon found out from someone that the marauding rabbit was only Fred.

All this didn’t discourage August from letting Fred have some freedom, and it was enough so he began to feel his ancient roots and instincts rise to the surface, and finally did become wild, never to be rounded up again from someone‘s complaint.

De’ja‘-vu clicks in… Will I ever learn, and pass that learning to my children? I guess the answer is no, and will always be no. I guess I’d rather lose an animal to nature than to keep it cooped up and bored, as if an innocent in prison, with barely an existence rather than a life, no matter how short-lived.
Chapter 36 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

MORRIS THE CAT

When I had first brought Wendy home as a pup, our cat Muffin made it clear he had no regard whatsoever for this little pup. Once when something caught around my tiny Springer’s body, Muffin caught the other side and dragged the pup along the floor. Muffin made his point, “Dog, you are nothing to this cat!” But Muffin’s personality was more typically independent of an old grumpy cat. He was loved, but he wasn’t too loveable.

When the Lyons moved into the Ashe’s empty house next door, it wasn’t long before they acquired a yellow striped cat, like Morris, in the cat food ads…thus, he was named Morris. Sue Lyons called me down the hill to her lawn to meet their new acquisition, and Wendy accompanied me. Their two month old kitten came around from the front of their house, and headed directly for Wendy, and slowly wove his way between all for of her legs, giving himself a good rub while he was at it. Wendy stood as stiff as a statue, afraid of what was about to happen. Being used to “Muffin-the-grump,” who let everyone know that “Cats Rule!” Wendy was sure Morris was going to suddenly turn on her. But Morris wandered out from beneath Wendy and came over to me just expecting my picking him up. Morris was the nicest cat I ever met. He had a warm friendly personality and charm that was beyond what I’ve ever seen in a cat before that or since. He was fearless only because he found the world was a kind place. He loved everyone, and everything, and showed his affection without reservation. The most remarkable thing about Morris was that he would come over each evening at the time that August was going to bed. He would nap with August or Alby, but liked the top bunk bed. He would stay for as long as it would take for the boys to get to sleep, then he would trot out to the dining room, and “ask” to leave. It was as if he decided it was his job--to be the warm loving animal to curl up next to the child in the top bunk to help him to sleep.

Morris loved to climb trees, play and chase things, but never got carried away like most cats or kittens, as he never bit nor scratched anyone. He would even get Wendy to play with him and won her trust over as a cat she could trust.

Morris’ life was short-lived. I never really forgave Sue for having him put to sleep when his paw somehow got smashed. While we were on vacation Morris had come home one day limping. His right forepaw was quite a mess. Sue took him down to Dr. Norris. Being a no-nonsense country vet, he asked if Morris did a lot of climbing. When Sue said yes, he recommended euthanasia and Sue agreed.

When I came home, Sue had difficulty telling me, as he knew how much I loved that cat, but we saw things differently. I guess she was being kind in her way of thinking. Maybe Morris would have been miserable if he couldn’t climb…But I doubted that! I never saw or knew an animal before or since who had such a zest for life, even if it was a life with only the use of three of his legs. If I had been home and knew what decision she was going to make, I would have pleaded for Morris’ life. I think the boys and I grieved far more over Morris’ death than Lyons’ family did.

It seemed that special animals that touched my life were impressive, but short-lived. It was heartbreaking. Perhaps their life was a rare and special gift given to us for just a little while, and we should think of the joy we would have missed without them. I miss them still, but if they were greatly loved, they deserved to be missed.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Chapter 34 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

BAD BREAK FOR BARNEY

The Ashe’s were moving. Buck, Karen’s husband had been transferred, so they set their house up for sale. I wondered what Wendy would do without Barney… but maybe we’d have our family dog back… not just this hunting dog that would come back for rest and meals.

We had our Sunday New York Times saved for us at Marty’s Market in Vestal Center. Instead of church, I chose to take Wendy for a walk to Marty’s Market by cutting down through the field and wood, across Route 26, and walking along Choconut Creek south to Vestal Center. Sometimes I felt I got a better sermon from Nature.

We had got to the foot of the hill and had safely crossed Route 26 with the aid of the leash, when I realized Barney had been trailing us about 100 feet behind. I didn’t want to trek back home just to bring him home. He sensed my impatience with him and kept his distance. I figured I would somehow link both dogs to the same leash once I got back near the route in Vestal Center. Barney seemed to like my being the leader for a change, and was fascinated with the wild new territory which we were going through. We were close enough to hear traffic in the distance, but the area was so wild that you felt hundreds of miles away from civilization.

Once I got to Vestal Center, Barney sensed I was going to do something and skirted the parking lot in front of Marty’s getting too close to the road. While trying to control Wendy while approaching Barney with the leash, Barney jumped backwards watching me and the leash instead of the traffic, and a car clipped him …and went on ignorant of the havoc it put upon the pathetic dog. I had thought it only had ran over his tail at first. He howled... And howled! hopping around.

In a kind of dazed shock, I realized one of his hind legs was fractured and dangling helplessly. I was converted instantly into someone I didn’t even recognize who snapped into action, taking the leash, I swiftly wrapped Barney’s mouth muzzling him, as injured dogs bite what ever is close, then picked him up with one arm, while slipping my other arm around him and splinting his broken leg with my free hand.

I then ran up to a young man who had just pulled up to the market in a Volkswagen, not if he could drive me, but if he knew where Dr. Norris’ office was. He did, I think, or knew I’d tell him how to get there. I clambered into his back seat holding Barney who was quivering in pain. Wendy jumped into the front seat, and the man drove us to good ol’ Dr. Norris’… and on a Sunday again. Thank goodness Norris was there… I think he was always there. He was the finest Vet I ever knew even though he confessed that what he knew about some small animals, like guinea pigs, “…wouldn’t fill a thimble.”

I thanked the young man profusely and said I'd call to get a ride from here. Dr. Norris took me and Barney with Wendy in tow into the examination room. Checking out the break, he called the Ashe’s to ask if they wanted their dog treated. I couldn’t blame him for that, as I think if I had a pistol, I’d have put the poor dog out of his misery in the first place. That horror, though, showed me that in a tight situation, I was no longer a Mrs. Milktoast.

The Ashes said yes to his question, and, since I’d sent the Volkswagen driver along, my husband eventually came down to pick me up. I left poor Barney to the Doctor’s tender care. Later that day when telling Karen about how sorry I was about the situation, I broke down into tears, feeling Barney’s injury was totally my fault. I loved Karen. She was a beautiful and gentle blonde woman who had humility that gave me the impression that she had no idea how impressively lovely and gentle a person she really was. She was surprised that I blamed myself or even felt that way, as she too felt guilty that she had let Barney out running, and reassured me that what happened was no fault of mine.

Because of Barney’s injuries still in the process of healing, when the Ashes moved, Barney stayed with us. I had one of those old dangerous accordion type baby gates stretched across the top of the stairs from the balcony out back. Rather than a plaster cast, Barney’s leg was set in a wire frame which outlined his whole leg, and wrapped in something like an ace bandage with a sticky side. This apparatus was lightweight enough so Barney could habble around somewhat, but he missed chasing rabbits. One time when the day was nice enough to leave the sliding door to the balcony open, Barney went out… then he must have tried to jump over the baby gate, causing the wire contraption to get caught in the diamond shaped crisscross holes of the kiddie-gate, and there he was, howling again in pain and fright, and was suspended above the steep stairs of the balcony. I extricated him from this cursed trap. Those gates have since been taken off the market as they were so dangerous. The wire outlining Barney's leg was just a little bent, and I hoped and prayed it hadn’t affected the healing of his break.

His yowling stopped immediately, and he was able to still comfortably hobble around. I was relieved, but decided from then on, each day I’d carry him down the hill to places where he wouldn’t get hung up on bushes or jammed between rocks, and would let him sniff around, feeling the warm sun on his body, hoping it would help him heal faster in giving him a little hope.

I told the Ashes about the kiddie-gate incident when they came to pick him up. Whereas he seemed just fine--no worse off for wear--they were just glad to be able to take him off our hands. A vet local to their new home near Syracuse took over his care. His leg not only healed, but Barney lived many more years, and got to know every backyard and alley within a two mile are of his new home. I doubt if he found many rabbit trails in their suburban neighborhood, but there were cats, and rats, and skunks--several raccoons--and many other dog pals with whom he could roam.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Chapter 32 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

G.P.

Our neighborhood always seemed to be in a transitional state--a house up for sale--another just settled in. The Ashes had moved in next door about the time I got Wendy. They had two girls close to Joanna’s age and a toddler around Alby’s age. They had no pets, but with their love of animals they were destined to have the next stray that came by. Thus they acquired an excellent rabbit dog--a beagle they named Barney. Barney hunted rabbits without a hunter accompaniment, and like most beagles, lost track of everything else while deep in a maze of fading rabbit paths, he somehow snapped out of his trance in our neighborhood…and was completely lost. After a half-hearted attempt to find his owners, Barney was adopted by the Ashes, and Barney became Wendy’s teacher. It was a shame that I wasn’t a rabbit hunter, for the expert rabbit dog that Wendy became. In the process of Barney’s teachings, however, I thought I had lost Wendy as a family dog. She would leave together with Barney first thing in the morning and come back only for food and rest.

Wendy’s first heat put an end to her hunting for awhile, as I did not want her to mate so young, she was still less than a year old, and kept her tied, and when she was inside we were careful not to let her out without a leash attached. Not knowing the timing of her fertile period… or should I say her lustful period, she escaped on her fourteenth day. She was so obedient beforehand, we got a little careless. When she returned later I had already contacted a vet in Vestal that had an after shot to “undo” the effects if, indeed, she had mated while away gallivanting. I took that naughty little lustful dog down to the vet’s office, and, Wendy had the injection; I brought her back, and that evening, while tied out on the front lawn, I caught her and a boyfriend going at it. Ashamed to call the vet again, I just hoped that the hormone injection she previously had would take care of that later encounter. Unfortunately, although Wendy went back to rabbit chasing to the degree that she should have been skin and bones, her stomach began to swell. In time we knew when was going to have puppies. And talk about timing. We were to be on vacation when she looked like she was going to pop.

We left her in the care of the Ashes. My friend Karen Ashe ended up being midwife and helped poor Wendy through a difficult labor while we were away, and the “fruits of that labor” was one giant puppy! When we came back this puppy must have weighted over a pound at less than a week old. All the “juice” to produce a litter of pups went into this one which we dubbed, “G.P.” for Giant Puppy. That was Spring vacation. During the summer vacation we brought our G.P. up to Rhode Island to visit Mom and my new step dad Rocky. The kids wanted to keep the pup, and I was curious as to how big he was going to become, but my new stepfather, Rocky adopted B.P. and renamed her Queenie.

We were sure that Queenie was going to become as big as a Newfoundland, but she only grew as large as Wendy. Rocky already had a dog named Tighe, a long lanky brown and white Heinz 57 variety. Unfortunately, about a year later, shortly after Mom and Rocky moved to Belgrade, Maine, Rocky overheard someone cursing out two dogs that fit Tighe and Queenie’s description. He was describing how those dogs came through his land and killed all his ducks. This conversation was with the store owner. Rocky just left the store, went home, and when he told Mom, they realized there was nothing they could do but… load both dogs into the car, bring them to the local vet, and had them both put to sleep.

I only told my children that Queenie had died. Years later when I told them the truth they thought Grandma and Grandpa Rocky had done a terrible thing. They said, “See, we should have kept the puppy.” They wanted to keep every animal in the world that passed our way. But when a family in our own neighborhood had a pet Pekin duck that everybody loved, that followed all the kids around while they played together, they could understand and forgive Mom and Rocky, as it would be an awful thing if a dog came through and killed this lovely friendly duck.


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Chapter 33 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved, cont.)

Wendy’s Instincts Intact
Wendy’s great sense of direction was probably the reason why Barney never got lost while they chased rabbits together. As soon as August, my eldest son, was old enough to join the Cub Scouts, I was talked into being a Den Mother. I was always taking Wendy everywhere with me, and when I visited my girlfriend Joyce, I’d let Wendy out to chase rabbits in the woods around her place--and sometimes I would absent mindedly leave without her. Joyce would call me and ask if I was “missing anything.” I’d go back and pick her up.

In the same way, when I took the scouts ice skating, I took along Wendy. More than two people to deal with at any one time rattled me, let alone a den of active Cubs. When everyone piled back into the station wagon to go home, I forgot Wendy. When I realized it, and went back to the pond, she was no longer there. She had no friend-of-mines doorstep to wait on, so she was obviously lost… or so I thought. I called the police and drove around the area, windows down with cold winter air chilling us… August and the mascot, Alby, while I called out her name.

The pond was located across the valley from our house, across icy cold Choconut creek, and up the hill to route 26 where she would have to cross the highway, but I had gone the only way I could get to the other side, going a mile one way, across the creek, then a mile the other. I was sure her way of finding her way back by herself would be made more difficult by my zigzag trip. Less than an hour of panic later, when returning home, I was to see a police car coming down Bunn Hill Road, when I turned to go up. I rolled down the window and told them I was the person looking for my Springer Spaniel. The police man described her to a tee and said that this dog he had just described was sitting on the doorstep about half way up Galaxy Drive… exactly where our house was located. I guess once Wendy had realized we had packed up and left the ice pond, she must have just homed in on the direction of the house, and went straight home… safely, thank God.