DaddyHood and Pets

I never needed the ‘Rulebook For Perfect Daddyhood’ to remind me that all kids need a pet. I grew up with the best dog in the universe, Penny.  When I was four, my family returned from a vacation visiting my grandparents to find a small black and white puppy huddled in the rain on our front porch. My surprisingly softhearted Dad brought the puppy inside, where I promptly named her “Penny” because I had also found a penny that day.  I then fought with my sister about whose dog it would be.  Even more surprisingly, I won this argument in spite of the fact that my sister was five years older than I was.  It turned out that my sister thought the puppy looked more like a drowned rat than a canine, and didn’t really want it anyway. She only wanted to fight me over ownership so she could keep me in my rightful place, low man on the family totem pole. 

Penny was mine and she was a frisky wire haired terrier mutt. She was delightful company, obedient, a great listener, and liked to get her ears rubbed. She never asked for much, just a bowl of water, can of food, and a couple of walks a day. In return, she gave steadfast loyalty, lots of love, and a playmate whenever I needed one.  Yes, my family had other occasional pets too-- a parakeet, kitten, a bunny, a field mouse, 300 fish (guppies), but Penny was a certified member of the family. She sat in the corner by our kitchen table during meals, watching my Dad eat every bite of his evening meal. She would give him the ‘Puppy Dog Eye’; silently staring at him until she managed to get his attention. Dad would finally stop eating and a small piece of meat or roll would then be handed down to her with the usual comment, “OK, you win, now go lay down.”

           Penny was a major factor in my memories of a pleasant childhood. Many years later, when I left for college, I remember saying goodbye to Penny and thinking how old she suddenly looked. Not even 2 months later, I received a note from my sister that Penny had died. I remember thinking I had not only lost a dog and friend, but a big link with my childhood. I never got another dog, but figured if I ever had kids I’d get them a dog. Hopefully, it would be as good as Penny.

          I was wrong. The kids I got, the dog I didn’t. Why?  My wife and is allergic to fur. No dogs or cats are allowed in our home. Actually, with the fast-paced, stressful life of the ‘80’s, ‘90’s and new Millennium, I’m not sure our family really would have time to take care of a dog.  Besides, while I am really glad there are “pooper-scooper” laws, it is another reason I’ll pass on dog ownership. So, instead of dogs, our household has turtles and frogs--- Lots of them.  When our oldest daughter, Alexis was in first grade, her teacher -- Maria Locopo, brought her entire class over to our house on a field trip. I gave the students a science demonstration on turtles and frogs and showed off our pets.  The kids enjoyed it, I enjoyed it, and my wife even made a frog shaped backpack full of frog books, frog games, and frog puzzles for the class.  

Alexis and her younger sisters, Erin and K.C., thought it was natural to have frogs and turtles around the house.  Erin already has asked me if she can inherit the family turtles. They’ve also learned a bit about life and death – frogs don’t live too long in captivity, but at least they’ve also seen tadpoles develop into frogs, and have released many into our pond.  When the girls were very little, I had gotten a green tree frog, which was promptly named “Sticky” since it could climb the glass walls of its tank.  They loved watching “Sticky” hang around. (Actually, they really don’t do much more besides that.)  A few months later, however, I found  “Sticky” dead in the tank.  Not wanting to see the girls upset, I promptly went back to the pet store and bought a replacement. None of the girls realized “Sticky” was actually Sticky II, then Sticky III, and then Sticky IV. Three years later I was up to Sticky XVII, but the girls finally caught on when the store ran out of common green tree frogs and I tried switching Sticky XVIII with a narrow mouthed toad.  As a tribute to Sticky I through XVII, Erin named her stuffed frog “Sticky”. 

 In addition to our own menagerie, I’ve been a volunteer leader at a local bird sanctuary not too far from my home in Garden City.  My wife calls it ‘Daddy’s Big Backyard’ because I seem to be spending a lot of time at the preserve ‘playing’ and coming home dirty.  Actually, I work very hard on this project, but I also enjoy seeing the wildflowers, birds, lizards, rabbits, snakes, toads, and neighborhood cats that hang out at the nature preserve with me.  Unfortunately, my volunteer work resulted in some people thinking that I am the ‘Audubon Guy’ and every year, people call me to help rescue a hurt bird or baby squirrel.  Most of the time, I’m more like the Village Bird-Brain than I care to admit as I have “rescued” many baby squirrels, rabbits, and birds. These “rescues” are sometimes rescuing the baby bird from misinformed people who think the animal actually needs rescuing, when it’s merely in need of a drink or dead tired trying to get away from all the people chasing it around and around while they try to ‘rescue’ it.  (Actually, the first thing I do with “rescued” birds and animals is merely give them a bit of water, keep them warm, and call a licensed animal rehabilitation expert.)

 I thought pet life was pretty much under control until this summer. Unfortunately, “Rescue Dad” happened again this Memorial Day weekend. My daughter K.C. and her cousin Emily found a baby bunny in the street. They brought it home and by the time I came home myself, the baby rabbit was already making itself at home in a cardboard box in our den.  I no sooner got in the door than K.C. called, “Daddy, can we keep it?” 

 “No, No, a thousand times No!!!!”, I automatically answered, but I didn’t use enough No’s.

 “Daddy, Emily found a baby bunny in the street. It’s in the den and we’re keeping it, right Daddy? I love you!” K.C. responded, completely deaf to my thousand No’s.

 “Your cousin Emily found it?” I switched tactics, trying to reason with a 10-year-old. “Well, then let Emily bring it home! Her Daddy manages a pet store and her Mommy works for the NY State Department of Environmental Conservation. The baby bunny just hit the Lucky Bunny Lotto!  Both of Emily’s parents know how to take care of it.” 

Unfortunately, Emily’s Mommy nixed my evasive maneuver by packing up Emily quickly and driving off—without Bunny.  Rats, just when I was going to beg her using my ‘Penny’s Puppy Dog Eye’ look! I was stuck.  We spent the next several hours with a pet baby bottle, canned pet milk, and a handful of alfalfa sprouts.  The baby bunny sat comfortably in KC’s hand and they bonded faster than Crazy Glue.  A few hours later, Baby Bunny was christened “Basil” and rested comfortably in a pile of soft cotton rags in Sticky XXVIII’s former glass tank.  Three days later, Basil had her own genuine, certified $60 rabbit cage, with $40 worth of rabbit toys, $15 in alfalfa, a $5 deluxe water bottle, and a $9.50 rabbit blanket.  All this in spite of my absolute ruling that wild bunnies are not pets and Basil was going to be released as soon as she was big enough to outrun a cat.

During the last day of school my middle daughter, Erin, called me at work and asked if she could bring home one of the gerbils from her science class for the summer.  “Why not?” I  said with good humor, “It’s only for the summer and there’s at least 8 cubic inches of free space in the den. How much room could a gerbil take up?”  Unfortunately, when I got home that night, I found out the truth. It wasn’t merely 1 little gerbil visiting for the summer, it was 4 gerbils --- permanently.  Erin couldn’t separate “Big Momma” from her three new babies. By the next week,  Big Momma and her babies; Roo, Bilbo, and Allegro were set up in their new $70 gerbil cage, with $50 in gerbil toys, $5 deluxe gerbil water bottle, $25 in gerbil food, and an $8 gerbil exercise wheel and I could no longer afford a summer vacation. My wife and I also found that we could no longer get any sleep. The gerbils spent entire nights running around on their metal exercise wheel ---their squeaky, metal exercise wheel.  Their loud, annoying, squeaky, metal exercise wheel that was the only thing left of the $50 in gerbil toys that they hadn’t completely chewed into dust.  

Two months later, I found out that gerbils do a little more than eat, drink, chew plastic, and run on their squeaky exercise wheel. Big Momma quietly built a sawdust nest and quietly had four more babies. I didn’t realize there was only a short window of opportunity where you had to separate the mommy from her children after weaning…. and I then changed Bilbo’s name to Oedipus….  The next gerbil tank set me back another $72.50, but it had 2 locking lids – needed to hold back sex-crazed boy gerbils who could sense the presence of 5 lovely lady gerbils in the next tank over.     

 Meanwhile, baby Basil had now grown from hamster-size to guinea pig-size and was contentedly munching way on baby carrots, broccoli flowers, spinach leaves, and all of the good, healthy vegetable snacks my daughter, Erin, was supposed to be nibbling on.  K.C. was even picking flowers from my garden so Basil could have some fresh greens.   While baby bunny was being hand stuffed, I was outside defending my flower garden from 16 other neighborhood rabbits – one of whom I was sure was Basil’s neglectful father.  I was also carefully tending a flat of rare, wild blue lupine seedlings I was trying to grow for the nature preserve. These hard to find perennials have wonderful bright blue flowers each summer and attract hummingbirds with their sweet nectar. I had spent the entire previous autumn scouring rock outcrops along the New York State Thruway to collect some seeds. 

By August, Basil was nearly full-grown, and as fat as a pig.  She was getting harder for K.C. to hold and began to squirm if we even reached into her cage.  It was time for her to be set free.  K.C. resisted, but we were going on a family trip to visit colleges that my oldest daughter was interested in attending.  We couldn’t possibly take Basil with us. There was no more room in the car after packing the 8 gerbils. (I was all ready to hand out gerbils in little trick-or-treat bags at Halloween.)  I brought Basil outside, opened the rabbit cage lid and waited. No movement. Nothing. Basil looked at me with Puppy Dog Eyes. “Basil, one of us has to go, and you’ve been volunteered.” As gently as I could, I turned her cage upside down and Basil dropped onto to soft grass.  “Remember, Basil, you’re a wild rabbit. Live free and fly!  Go forage.”  Basil made a weak, reluctant hop towards my forsythia bushes.

The trip was a usual Alvey household adventure. Just me, my wife, 3 daughters, and 9 gerbils in the car.  For the Millennium New Years, we had vacationed at a friend’s home in the Catskills. Ellen and Hank welcomed us graciously, but “Patty”, our caged quail, was the hit of the century.  Patty was another of Erin’s science class animals that needed a place to hang out for the holidays.  (She must have passed the word to the other lab specimens that the Alveys were easy prey.)  Actually, the college trip had one benefit. While Alexis took a tour of SUNY Environmental College in Syracuse, the rest of us hung out in the Environmental Science building. All of us. Including the 13 gerbils. (I guess ‘Roo’ can pick locks.) K.C. had used the entire remains of my retirement savings and bought a $3.75 pink plastic gerbil roll-a-ball.  While we waited for Alexis, K.C. put Big Momma into the roll-a-ball, sealed it shut, and let Big Momma roll around the Environmental Sciences Building main hallway. Big Momma loved her semi-freedom in the wide-open spaces, and rolled back and forth across the hallway, bumping into chairs, corners, and the Environmental Sciences Dean’s leg. OOPS.  The image of Alexis’ application being shredded by the Dean flashed across my eyes. 

Instead, Enviro Dean bent down, picked up the gerbil filled roll-a-ball and called out, “Who’s gerbil?”  K.C. raised her hand, introduced herself, and went to retrieve it just as Alexis returned from her tour.  Enviro Dean turned to Alexis and said, “Well, you certainly must become one of our Environmental College students! Any girl that brings gerbils to school is the type of student we want!!” 

Instead of politely asking if there were any gerbil scholarships available for poor children of government workers, Alexis merely turned beet red.  Alexis, who had spent almost 12 years near the top of her class, studied 10 hours a day, did science research in addition to being a top notch gymnastics and ballet student, award winning artist, and spent 300 hours putting together the world’s best transcript and resume, was being told she would be accepted to SUNY Environmental College merely because her little sister had 26 pet gerbils.  

The trip home was a little less eventful.  I was disappointed that Alexis had decided to not even apply to SUNY Environmental College, and that she made K.C. and I sit in the car with the 34 gerbils while she toured Cornell.  Still, after 3 days we all made it home safe and sound.   As I pulled into the driveway, I wondered if Basil had managed to adapt to her freedom, or whether I would find a limp bunny body on my lawn.   K.C. got out of the car and carried the 47 gerbils into the house.  I got out of the car and carefully walked into the back yard.  Suddenly, a rabbit hopped from the base of my apple tree.  Basil! She looked up a second, then hopped quickly into my forsythia bush and disappeared. “Well, that’s a relief,” I thought. “Basil will be all right after all.”  Wait a minute…..something was missing. I looked at the base of my apple tree again and realized Basil had just nibbled the entire flat of my prized wild blue lupine seedlings into stumpy nothings! My shoulders sagged.  As I walked back into the house my only thought was that if I ever catch Basil I’m going to change her name to– Hassenpfeffer! (cooked rabbit).