Conversations With Mr. Wiggles and 'Mow'

Up he jumped, ever so lightly, my dear sweet Mr. Wiggles. His unexpected face-to-face meetings on the sofa were always a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of outdoor play, on the straw. (The grass had slowly disappeared, years ago. Dog play had taken its toll.)

Our one-to-one meetings on the sofa were created by this 75 pound, 3 year-old puppy. He would turn one way to talk; another, to sleep. What will we talk about today, I wondered, as I smiled at his beautiful peaceful pink face and stared into his soothing green eyes? Every night seemed so predictable. He looked at me. I looked at him. I was humbled by his presence. He was a joy to behold, a rambunctious little man with a serene, placid and stoic facial expression, at all times. “How is everything going today, my sweet?” “Not bad”. he seemed to say. “Mom, things would be so much better if you could give us  those apples we love so much, now!” I get it my dear little man. But let's talk first. How are your ears today”. 

 

Your sudden jump off the sofa the other day had me thinking. Was there a mosquito or a fly in the room? But then those pesky little insects would bother me first if they were here at all. Must be something else, I thought. Then it struck me. "Your ears could be infected." And so they were, one side only, this time. The regimen of the ear cleanser then medication, followed for a few days, seemed to clear up the problem nicely. "Good as new", I remarked as he sat next to me. "Your ears look and smell good, now".

He continues to stare at me and dad as if to pierce through our thickened membranes, otherwise known as our brains, to see if we knew there were other reasons for his prolonged stare. He wasn't always about play, we knew. He jumps off again to bring me his 'worm', another, in his 'gift' arsenal. The other day, soon after apples were given, he stood, staring at us, tail wagging, in a slow motion swath, as if something was still not quite right. I ran through my check list of things that matter to him and his sister. I looked at him, wondering what I had overlooked. 

 

Today's red delicious apples were tiny compared to the other ones and the grannie smith's of yesterday's evening snack time. Maybe, my sweet Mr. Wiggles noticed the 'discrepancy' and decided to protest, while standing in quiet desperation, as though smelling the aroma of something special wafting through the air. I watched, then agreed. Could he be asking for more? Had he been misled? Oh, dear. He knew! 

 

Off to the kitchen I went for one more red delicious, a larger one, the prized apple most often given to our sweet band of pups. The slices devoured, he rejoined me on the sofa once again, turning away, ever so softly, to sleep again.  ... 

 

The day had been busy. He looked back at me, one last time, as if the say “thanks mom for the extra bites. I needed that”. I looked at him. How did we get so lucky to be his parents? If only he would not eat twigs or the 'other' stuff. He would be absolutely perfect. But then inside the house he was.

Then there is “Mow”, our 13-year-old kitty cat. My husband says hello to her as he enters her room. “Mow”, she responds quickly. They have stories to tell. She leaves the room to walk and bump his leg. “Thanks, dad. I know many would not bother with 'just a cat', an old animal, now, with hyperthyroidism, who hisses at everyone except you and mom. It's just my personality. It's not who I am, however.” "It's been a long journey since 2014 to get me to this safe place." "I know I was not listening but you were and observing, too.” That is what spelled the difference between life and death for me." ... (In Sept. '14, Tiggy was dying, at 4 pounds. But now, at almost 9, life is good.) 

 

The plain Greek yogurt with its life enhancing probiotics has been discontinued for the time being. It served its purpose for well over a year and a half. Now she eats her special food and adores her dry brushing moments. We talk and talk about everything. I enter her room, later. I call her my bunch of cuteness. We talk as I lay on the bottom bunk. She jumps on me to say “Thanks for visiting, mom. I like standing on your hip.” "I also like resting on your legs, too. Seems like we are communicating, sort of." When you dry brush my head, neck and body, I feel the difference. I have not vomited in over 7 weeks. I guess my adrenals are benefiting as they should. Never happened before, mom. What a team.!” "You really do listen“ "I love the fresh water you give me several times a day. Thank goodness you're 'retired'.  Otherwise. .... Now you are all mine.”

The conversations I have with my animal kingdom mean everything to me. They help define me. It is a warm, cuddly place where they listen with their ears and talk with their eyes. As I pet their furry heads, necks and caress their paws, small and large, I am reminded how truly lucky I am that they are in my life. For me, a world without animals is no world at all!