My Furry Children - Part #1 - Furballs are Forever!!
- Colleen McIntosh
- Jun 26, 2024
- 19 min read
Updated: May 20
I needed a vacation from my Growing up Middle(ing) blogs. I’m not even close to being finished – but as a middle child - writing about it (my life experiences) can be formidable! It makes my petite head hurt.
As I was looking down at the black and white furry face gently licking my salty shin and hoping I wouldn’t notice – he sensed my attention had shifted and his tongue stopped mid-slurp while his soulful eyes cautiously looked up into mine. I scowl-laughed and rubbed his soft ginormous ears and realized what my next blog topic would be. My furry children – my furballs! Because furballs are forever in our lives and in our hearts!
My morning routine – Wake up, drink coffee, feed pets, get sloppy kisses – Thank you and good morning!!
I don’t mind being a saltlick. I don’t have children (the humankind) because I can’t. That’s another tale (blog) to tell. But I can’t imagine life without our furry, sweet, funny, loving, whining, meowing, treat-begging, ball-catching, four-legged critters – to trip over (and sometimes even fall over down the stairs)!
Relationships come and go but our Furry Children are forever in our hearts! So many stories to tell - so little blog space. Life is never boring and always full of love!
Whether I’m being licked, sniffed, stalked, rubbed or used as a cushion (pin and couch) – my life would be devoid of a unique kind of relationship. A love that only pets can provide. Our family - dogs and cats - have never failed to give 100% body and soul to Ed and I – unconditionally. (long pause here) Let me clarify – our dogs give 100% body and soul – our cats always have conditions!
Ed and I are part of a special club – DINKWAD(S) – double income no kids with a dog(s). We’ve always had cats – but after our original 2 – we decided we could only handle one cat at a time. Ed and I prefer two dogs because they keep each other entertained and you get
double the love! We have had 6 dogs throughout our 26 years of marriage. We’ve had 3 cats. Cats typically live longer than most dogs. When we combined our households, we had 2 dogs and 2 cats. Ed had the dogs (Quigley and Dixon) and had recently adopted a kitten from the litter born in his backyard by a stray that abandoned the runt (Bastet). I also had a cat (Marvin) – my first pet without having to share – who picked me up in a bar (No, this is not the beginning of a bad joke).
Growing up in a household of 5 children – we had dogs and cats and one rabbit – but they were to be shared by all. So, I never had my own pet – for me, myself and I. I remember some of them more than others. Missy, our beagle, was adopted because Dad loved to hunt and wanted a “hound” to follow the scent, alert his master of a deer’s location or maybe tree a bear! Missy was a purebred, but never once showed interest in beagling!
However, once a year, she would wake up and start baying as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her short hind legs – and would take off on an extended beagle holiday – hunting invisible unicorns in the Maine woods for days! We could sometimes hear her yelps and howls – but we could not locate, catch or convince this dog to come home. Northern Maine is 80% pine tree forest and she had a lot of sight-seeing to do. She’d eventually show up with some heinous wound, on the cusp of death’s door, only to be rushed to the vet just in the nick of time to save her. My parents - “vacations” - were visits to the local Veterinarian in downtown Presque Isle. She was an expensive beagle! Stick in her eye socket, large stick in her torso, broken leg, etc. She apparently ran into a lot of trees and had nine lives. She was our pet and we loved her – but a bitter disappointment to our hunters.
Quote from a person I follow on Instagram (idratherbewithmydog):
When you decide to adopt an animal, it means they stay with you until their last breath. Not until your next vacation!! (or in Missy’s case – your next Vet visit)
When we became adults, my siblings always had multiple pet households. Chaotic and fur-flying fun. We all wanted our own households to be filled with furballs. Growing up, we were leery of getting too attached to any of our family pets. My father’s and his father’s generations treated them like livestock, not furry, cuddly members of the family. We didn’t even get the cliched overt lie: “I’m taking (dog or cat name here) to a tranquil farm upstate for pets, where they play, eat and sleep all day!” We grew up in a less "aware" world and worried for our pet’s tenuous future. It was traumatizing and I am having a hard time writing this with tears in my eyes. My father wasn’t heartless – but it was a time and place where pets were loved, but not indispensable. Now, our pets have their own Instagram accounts, a wardrobe, fancy toy boxes, hand-made petfood delivery services, meme’s, pet insurance, car seats and treated like an equal (or elevated) member of the household. They deserve nurturing and pampering for putting up with all our high-pitched baby talk!! No wonder my current dog, Tater, whines all the time – his sensitive ears are ringing from my “only dogs can hear” voice/pitch!
After my divorce in the mid-nineties and after escaping to safer climes (Baltimore??), I decided I wanted a companion (non-human and non-male). I was in no rush to adopt a pet (or man) – but kept my options open (on the pet – not the man). My landlord only allowed cats (no dogs or ex-husbands allowed). I consider myself more of a dog person and enjoy other people’s cats with limitations – don’t sit your hairy body on my black outfit! I was enjoying my single life and my freedom from passive aggressive people who decided they knew my needs better than I possibly ever could (bitter…says What?).
I was at a local hangout with a group of new friends. We were drinking and singing karaoke and having way too much fun. I collapsed in a chair after a robust rendition of “Piano Man” – when I noticed a kitten was bellying up to the bar. It was a beautiful night and they had left their front door open. Curious, I watched the kitty wander around drunken partiers legs and began to get concerned that it would get squished and wondered who brought a cat to this mayhem!! Before I could react – I looked down and a ball of orange fur was sitting in my lap. We just stared at each other. He snuggled down and I fell in love instantly. I knew in my soul that he had selected me, and without hesitation named him – Marvin the Martian (my favorite Looney Tunes
character). Everyone congratulated our union and we all laughed and joked that I got picked up in a bar by a kitten and that he was going to get lucky tonight! Me-ow! Best pick-up line ever!! The bar gave me a box and towel. Marvin curled up in his make-shift carrier and slept all the way home. I cleaned him up, checked for fleas and any injuries. I had some tuna and put shredded newspapers in the box until I could get all my cat supplies. After he investigated his new surroundings – we cuddled all night in bed. I have never loved a cat more than I loved Marvin. He stole my heart and soul.
We were a happy couple until Marvin decided that he was bored with his indoor confinement, needed some variety and started to charge the door every time I opened it. It was a battle royale for the next couple years and I paid dearly for this malicious offense/prison sentence. I have many salt and pepper shakers that are glued together because Marvin knew how much I loved my S&P collection. One time, while in the kitchen, I heard a noise and looked up on top of the fridge to find Marvin staring at my first and favorite S&P (chicken holding an egg). His head swiveled to look directly into my eyes. I looked back and trembled. He looked back at the mother hen and swatted it off the fridge. I failed to catch the egg. Marvin was calculated and finite with his revenge! He used my love as ammunition – because this was war!!!
When I met Ed, I found a like-minded furball lover. He had 2 dogs – a Border Collie (Dixon) and an Australian Shepard (Quigley - with one brown eye and one blue) – along with a young cat named Bastet. After Ed and I both surrendered our single status and relinquished our hearts to one another – we decided to move in together. We opted to ease Marvin into Ed’s furry family of 3 – because Dixon and Quigley considered cats as something to give chase. Marvin, a street urchin, was not stupid and loved a challenge. Bastet was already used to hiding and defending her runt-sized ass.
Ed lived in a large townhouse in Fells Point – so Marvin was thrilled with the space and three levels of hidey-holes. We introduced Marvin to Bastet first. As young single felines – alley cat and pussy cat – they were intrigued and got along well. When the dogs were injected into
the mix – the newlyweds (Bastet & Marvin) were not amused, and both changed focus and became a unified front. Their mutual desire to cause chaos and bloody noses – cemented their fondness for each other. Ed prevented me from crossing the strike line and letting the pets duke it out and negotiate terms on their own. I was horrified but we both had intelligent savvy pets. All was going well – cats hidden in/under furniture with dogs whining and running back and forth begging them to enter the fray – when Quigley did the unthinkable and shoved his nose into the sharp-clawed nest. Yelping and running in circles while Ed and I tried to see the damage – Dixon ceded his (and Quigley’s) egos to the victors. He had a claw-scratched bloody nose and lucky he didn't lose a brown or blue eye and made it out alive. Quigly was a drama queen. Oddly, that was the worst of it. They got along by avoiding and tolerating each other’s existence. The cats lived high, and the dogs got low. All was harmonious in our furry bubble of cuteness.
I’ve already blogged about our Vegas wedding (Give Yourself a Little Meno-plause!) and immediate move to our current home in the burbs of Baltimore. Quigley and Dixon were confused by the backyard space and grass confounded them. They grew up pooping
on the back cement stoop. They adjusted quickly – because frisbees and tennis balls were finally part of their home routine – not just at the local park. The cats decided they didn’t want to share their new territory with each other, let alone the dogs. The turf war ensued. Rooms were divided up and the bloody divorce battle settled by their legal counsel (Ed and me). Ed decided that our contentious home environment and quiet street was a great time to let both cats be indoor/outdoor. His solution for maintaining the peace. I was not pleased with his ruling. Marvin shook off his indoor shackles, marked his territory throughout our neighborhood and became Lord and Master of his domain. Bastet was happy to stake her claim by delineating our property lines as her fiefdom and to never stray from our yard. She was our sentinel and content to watch life go by from the front porch. Marvin was given permission to enter via the basement cat door. After much deliberation, we all settled into our new home and routine.
Marvin was our street ambassador. Bastet was our mouser, bunnier, birder, ratter, bugger – our home pest control. Judge, jury and executioner. Her namesake is an Egyptian Goddess of home and protects our environs from evil spirits. She took her job very seriously. She loved bringing all her captives into the house – dead or alive. The dogs were thrilled when they found a headless carcass on the rug (she only ate brains and always on our expensive rug). A tasty, unexpected snack. The dogs were even more thrilled when she brought in a live one. One night I heard a massive ruckus downstairs. When I entered the dining room – I saw Ed with a BB gun, both dogs intently at his side and Bastet looking smug. They were all standing next to my antique china cabinet, leaning forward and looking at “something” in the corner. I yelled, “What is going on and why do you have a BB gun?” Bastet had chosen to bring an acquaintance (snack) home to meet (share) with her brothers. The poor unwilling visitor/rodent never stood a chance and I believe died from a heart attack. On another occasion, I got up late one night and was peeing in the bathroom with Bastet in attendance (as usual). She wasn’t looking at me but looking underneath my legs at something behind the toilet. As I woke up, I realized that an uninvited guest was nearby. I slowly wiped, got up and carefully backed away to look at her “present”. A shivering baby bunny was hiding behind the pedestal. I was distressed and frantically figuring out how to save this baby from Catzilla!!! I was able to get Bastet out of the bathroom without incident and with gloved hands safely got this precious newborn outside. I did what I could but know that it probably did not survive the trauma – called Bastet!
Marvin was a cuddler until he wasn’t. He tolerated my mauling him in his early years but as he got older, he was less patient. Bastet was never a cuddly cat and yet allowed me to exist. Her way of showing any affection was stilted and a bit tense – one heartbeat away from
fleeing. I sat in a big comfy chair to watch TV. She would materialize on the arm and would gradually slither into the wedged space – gently moving (forcing) me over (without me touching her) to squeeze between me and the side. I couldn’t move or she would bolt. It hurt when she bolted – emotionally and physically. Apparently, she wanted to be close to me – but with minimal physical contact. I couldn’t brush her or clip her nails. She had to be sedated for her pedicures. Any show of affection specific to her rules. I couldn’t hold or cuddle her. It was very frustrating. She lived to be almost 22 years old. Ed was working on a show when the time came to do her final vet visit, so I had to take her by myself. I was beyond devastated. At the end, I was finally able to pet and cuddle her.
Marvin’s story was cut short and with my heart weeping – too difficult to tell at this time. Everyone who knew him - loved him. He was such a character and had a unique personality. He only lived for 11 years. I’m not ready to write about his demise. It was tragic and it destroyed me. I had every right to sue one of my neighbors and the ER vet/hospital. I never got a chance to say goodbye. Equating my love as a heart-broken spurned lover - always waiting by the cat door for his return. A wooer who never totally committed. Monsters who deserve punishment for ending my baby’s life too soon. It still hurts.
Dixon and Quigley were wonderful dogs. They accepted me immediately as their new mom
and caregiver. I became their primary “livestock” to herd. I used to “Baa” to simulate for their ingrained pastoral urges. One in front and one in back everywhere I went. A lot of humans are sheep, so it made sense! I got used to it! When Ed introduced me to his pups – unbeknownst to me - I was walking the proverbial plank. If they didn’t like me – then I would be escorted into “ye olde briny.” I didn’t know about this gauntlet until we were living together. All I could say to Ed was, “Harsh dude!” Both dogs were handsome, smart, sweet and well-behaved. They were inseparable. Dixon was quiet, gentle , patient and interested in frisbees and food. Quigley was anxious, neurotic, sweet and interested in digging holes. I believe Quigley was an adventurous dog – because he was always trying to dig his way to the Orient! Dixon would have happily died by frisbee. We adored them and were a happy family. Dixon was reserved
(shy) and my cat Marvin decided that Dix would become the new focus of his affections (since he and Bastet didn’t work out). It initially horrified Dixon. Marvin would lock eyes with Dix, slink up and rub/curl his body around him. He’d put both front legs around Dixon’s neck for a cuddle, nuzzle and chew. Dixon wouldn’t budge. Eventually he tolerated Marvin’s hugs and love bites. He was such a good friend. Dixon died from cancer – but was never diagnosed prior to his collapse and falling into Ed’s arms. His death almost killed Ed and me. It was sudden and shocking. He left us too soon. He was 12 years old. Border Collies do not show discomfort when they are ill – they protect us to the end – even from the devastation of their passing. Quigley lived to a ripe old age of 16. He missed his brother/partner so much. When we were all ready and able to consider (easing of our grief) getting another dog – we reached out to the breeder. She bred border collies for herding and sold any dog that was not considered sheep material to families/pet owners. Quigley, Ed and I were still mourning Dixon but when we saw puppy Milo – we fell in love and knew Dixon would approve. Milo was a confident alpha puppy and accepted us as parents with sage approval. He frolicked around Quigley, and they bonded instantly. He was a blue merle border collie with piercing gray-blue eyes. Quigley helped pick Milo and even though he was depressed, Milo perked him up and gave him new purpose. Milo was
the smartest dog we’ve ever had. He understood everything we said. He managed the household pets with calm, dignity and authority. He was beautiful and kind but diligent to minimizing chaos. Border collies typically don’t mingle with other strange dogs but are patient and tolerant if the need arises. They are fiercely loyal and protective. He was regal and an honorable alpha. We knew that Milo needed a mature partner to educate him – but he was so smart that we believe he just humored Quigley and the parental units. He nurtured and cared for Quigley (the elder) until he passed of old age. Milo was a tennis ball enthusiast and would amuse himself in the backyard by bringing the ball up to the back porch and then dropping it at the top – only to run down the steps to catch the bouncing ball at the bottom. He would do this endlessly. He also loved beheading all rubber chicken squeaky toys. Milo could
outstare anyone, whether canine, feline or human. He had precision focus and always won the “who blinks first” game. His gorgeous eyes were intense and made most people mildly uncomfortable – like he was looking into your deepest darkest secrets (soul). A lot of people asked if he was part wolf. Genetically – probably. After Quigley decided to go for an extended holiday with Dixon in doggie utopia – we all mourned his loss. When Milo was
about 4 years old – we ended up going back to our breeder for a new puppy/companion. I was sick (bad cold/flu) when we visited their latest litters. They had red and black BC pups. We always bring our older dog with us to assist in the selection. The breeder let loose the “hounds” all at the same time. The red and white ones were particularly hyper, and they gave chase with the black and white pups trailing – Milo was their prey! He accepted his fate and took off to give us time to pick our new family member. Ed ran off to make sure Milo was safe from the furry barking mob and left me swaying. I was so sick and had no energy to follow. I felt a
presence and looked down at my feet. A little black and white border collie pup was leaning against my leg – watching the chaotic mass of fur chasing Milo. He looked up at me with the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen and I melted. My heart started beating again. I picked him up and told Ed that I’d found our next baby. Milo gave his approval. It was my turn to name the puppy. As I stood (reeling) in the office, the breeder asked me what name we had selected for his paperwork. I was barely coherent, but I dragged my head up, looked at her and said, “first name Bob - middle initial A. - last name Licious. Bobalicious.” The breeder burst out laughing.
Bob wasn’t home 24 hours before he fell off our back porch. It was an accident, and he was given the clear by the vet. We were rattled, to say the least, but it may explain why he became our “special needs” pup. Bob had a habit of letting his tongue hang out of his closed mouth. Just a little bit – but it made us laugh every time. When he slept the tip was usually showing for our amusement. He was not the alpha and had a hard time looking us in the eye. Loud noises (sneezes) scared him. He didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was probably a middle puppy. Bob was the first border collie to exhibit extreme OCD. I had forgotten that BC’s are inherently known for this disorder. Being OCD myself – I found nothing strange about his foibles. Bob had anxiety and certain things would set him off – like sneezing. He had a routine when having an “episode” – going
around the living room and touching specific objects with his nose – all in a precision pattern. It was always the same objects and became routine. Feeding him was a ritual. His bowl in a certain spot – separate from Milo. He would circle the bowl 3 times and only then was he allowed to eat. Bob couldn’t obsessively wash his hands or turn lights on and off – but he could nose and circle his way to calm. Bob was always there for me when I was feeling sad or beaten up by my abusive employer or life. He would put his head on my leg or lean against me (like when we met) or nudge me with his wet nose – to let me know I was loved and had a friend. With all Bob’s eccentricities and anxieties – we understood each other. We found a kindred spirit and true love. Bob was my dog. Milo was Ed’s.
Bob and Milo became a team. Milo tolerated Bob’s OCD and Bob worshiped Milo. After Ed quit wrestling (WWE) and worked in the exotic lumber business – he would bring the dogs to work with him every day. They became the shop greeters and herders. They were also incredible judges of character. Ed used to have lunch delivered from a local deli – with the same delivery guy. When that man walked into the shop – smelling of warmed meat – the dogs growled. He tried bribing them with roast beef, etc. – but the dogs would never take food from him. He was the only person that caused our dog’s shackles to rise and go on alert. Also, our dogs never turned their sensitive noses up to a piece of free meat! Based on our dog’s reaction – I suspected that this man had some dead bodies buried in his backyard!! Ed changed delis. Words of wisdom: Dogs are phenomenal judges of character. If your dog doesn’t like someone – Beware!
When Bastet passed away of natural causes (old age) – I (we) needed a time out before we went in search of our next cat. I told Ed that the only way I could handle getting a kitten was to never allow this cat outside. Bastet never left our property – but Marvin’s death killed me.
Ed agreed and we eventually went to a rescue to find our new family member. A litter of calico cats were available and only 2 were left for adoption. It was a lengthy process, but we finally got our new baby – called Rey Skywalker (Star Wars fans). She was a friendly kitten, and the pups didn’t torture her too much. Rey was a curious cat and loved to play with all her mouse toys. When she sat in my lap, I played with her feet/paws and rubbed her belly and made sure she wasn’t loathe to getting cuddled or her nails clipped. She did well until she hit puberty. I will continue Rey’s coming out party (story) in Furballs Part 2. Her true colors showed around the time we got Tatertot. She is 8 years old now and getting more demanding each year. Her majesty is currently meowing (yelling) at me to get Her Royal furry ass some treats. I comply and bow while backing out of the kitchen. (Sigh!)
We had about 11 years with Milo and Bob. Fun years of traveling to visit family and vacations. They both loved hiking, balls and camping. All was great until we went to visit Ed’s parents in Florida one Xmas 2019. Bob seemed quiet and sluggish. We thought the long drive down had upset him. As we were going to bed one night, my mother-in-law discovered blood on her white tiles. We could not figure out who was bleeding until we wiped Bob’s behind, and it was coming from him. When we saw the vet – we discovered that Bob had prostate cancer and that it was inoperable. We had limited time. All we could do was make him comfortable, love him and make his final days cherished ones. Like most terminal patients – he had some irritating and embarrassing side effects to his illness. Due to his occasional bleeding – he did not like wearing my boxer shorts or diapers. He refused to wear them in public. He was the sweetest dog/child to the end.
Making the decision to have your loved one euthanized – a word I hate – is the most painful decision we pet lovers have to make. Part of my heart dies with them. This occurred at the beginning of Covid. We had to wear a mask in the Vet’s office while we held our baby and said goodbye. I’m crying as I write this because I miss my Bobalicious as much today as I did for his meager 11 years on earth and when he passed in the summer of 2020. He was my special boy.
I need to blow my nose and dry my eyes. I will continue my - Furry Children – Part 2 – Furballs are Forever - in my next blog. Milo and Rey live on to welcome (tolerate) our next BC - Tatertot.
Dogs know how much you love them – but need reassurance from us. They prove their unconditional love for us every day.
Cats know how much you love them and use that vulnerability against you! All part of their evil plan of world domination!
Thank your pets daily. Give them a cuddle (if they let you).
Below are some Maryland rescue organizations for those looking for a sweet puppy/kitty who needs a loving home:
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Colleen McIntosh
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