The Naming of Cats... and Dogs... and Lizards... And...

 I'm currently reading Our Dogs, Ourselves by Alexandra Horowitz, and just finished up the chapter devoted to the naming of dogs.  I really enjoyed reading it; I love naming pets... children... cars... houses... if it can have a moniker, I want to give it one.  (At this writing, my car's name is Flora.)  

Disney

And that got me thinking about all the names of all the pets who have shared my life so far, in my 50+ years on this spinning planet.  Each one has a story.  Each one has an image implanted in my memory, even if, in some cases, it's a bit faded with age.

Mopey and Dopey were my first pets - a pair of goldfish, fantails, who lived in a glass bowl.  It was not suitable habitat for these fish, I now know... but I remember them fondly,
orange and black, wiggling about in the water.  I have no memory at all of their demise.  They were named not by me or my then-toddling sister, I think, but by my mother.

After that point, all the other living creatures who passed through our home have, in some small cooperative part at least, been named by me.  Those animals who lived with me as an adult, of course, were mine to name from the first.  

Riley and my son Daniel on Halloween

I'm ashamed to say that I don't remember all the names of all my pets.  The gerbils, who I bred and raised for show as well as for pets, were rather too numerous to remember - at my peak, I had about 30 - though do I have the pedigrees somewhere, and my first show gerbil, Mask (or more formally, Autumnglory Storybook Masquerade) is lovingly remembered as my favorite.  The fish were arguably more decoration than companions, and I had a long string of Bettas as an adult (all cared for with properly filtered and heated tanks, thank you) whose names are lost to me... at the moment, we have one goldfish, Wiscash, who stubbornly refuses to die, and a pleco named Feebas.  And some pets, sadly, have become just nameless snapshots of memory... I distinctly recall having more than two parakeets, but I cannot recall more than two names.

Some pets stayed for a relatively short time (I'm thinking of Pirate, the Miniature American Shepherd who was just too much dog for our moderately-active family to manage and returned to his breeder to be rehomed, and the Rankin's bearded dragons Steve and Irwin, who started out as classroom pets, had all the personality of a pair of sticks, and were passed along to a more appreciative reptile collector).  Others stayed for many, many years (my first cat, Lollypop, lived to be a grand, if frail, old lady, as did our first family dog, Kris).  But each of them had a distinct name, however long they were with me, and they remain with me in memory.

Here is a list of my pets' names, insofar as I remember them.

Unknown goldfish and my son Daniel

FISH: Mopey, Dopey, Spike, Spike II, Spike III, Hawkeye, Wiscash, Feebas

BIRDS: Parakeets Blue Sky and Pegasus

CATS: Lollypop, Tiggy, Ian, Fox, Alex, Loki, Opie, Disney, Willow, Autumn, Skimble

DOGS: Kris, Sebastian, Cricket, Quentin, Riley, Wilson, Nevin, Pirate, Ariel, Loki

RABBITS: Kilroy

GERBILS: Too many to name.  Mask was the first, and the favorite.

RATS: Mithril the Silver, Trickster, Pippin, Aspen, Merlin Peeps, Scout and her 9 babies, Eeka Rat, BooBoo Rattie

REPTILES:  Steve & Irwin (Rankins Bearded Dragons), Higgins (Russian Tortoise), Jarvis, Sparks, Dreamfinder (Leopard Geckos), Figment (Bearded Dragon), Slinky (Schneider Skink)

Rescue. Me.

Riley, our late Corgi

 I never thought I'd be rejected by an animal rescue group.

Okay, I need to really step back and reframe that.  I am not being rejected.  My application has (in all likelihood) been rejected.  That's important to remember, and it's hard to do... because when your application to rescue a dog gets rejected, it sure as heck feels like you, personally, have been rejected, too.

It all started out when the bug to add a dog to our family bit.  After some talking about traits and preferences, my husband and I decided that we either wanted another Corgi like our late, beloved Riley, or a Corgi mix.  Since in our area, Corgi pups from decent breeders go for $2K and up, we decided we should look into rescue first... it isn't that we can't afford a decent breeder (though doing so would be a stretch), it's more that the idea of dropping that much money on a puppy when good dogs are languishing in shelters every day made us rather uncomfortable.

So I hit Petfinder, and was surprised to see that 20 possible Corgi mixes were up for adoption within a 100 mile radius of us.  Some I ruled our immediately (didn't look a thing like a Corgi mix, were female, were older than our preference, weren't good with other dogs).  Some I thought about hard.  And then I saw Michael and Moe.

Michael

Michael and Moe are the wards of A New Chance Animal Rescue (ANCAR) in Bedford Hills, NY.  Both were listed as Corgi-Lab mixes (well, Moe was listed as a Corgi-Golden mix, but looks more Lab than Golden to me).  Both had write-ups that made them sound like plausible candidates for adoption - young, trainable, friendly.  My heart skipped a beat... either of these cuties would b
e welcomed in our home, if we could only ascertain that they might be good with cats.  Of the two, I was drawn more to Michael (older and with a clearer idea of his personality); my husband favored Moe (younger, more trainable, looked more like a Corgi to him).  I applied for both, telling the rescue that I'd love to hear their opinion on which would be the better match for our family.

I'm not going to complain in the least about the length of the application... when you're out to adopt a dog, you expect that it's not going to be an in-and-out job, like walking into WalMart for a bottle of shampoo.  You know that you're going to be examined minutely by people who don't know you from Adam, whose primary goal is to put dogs into homes where they will live out the rest of their lives.  Anyone who complains about lengthy or detailed applications is missing the point, to my way of thinking.  

Moe

I put my all into that application.  They wanted to know what my current dog was like.  I was brutally honest - Ariel isn't much of a doggy-dog.  She doesn't play with other dogs at the dog park, but will cheerfully allow them to follow her around as she sniffs and pees on everything that doesn't move.  If other dogs get in her face, trying too aggressively to play, she bark-growls to tell them to back off - but she has never, ever attacked another dog or bitten one.  And she did have a canine companion when we adopted her - our beloved Nevin, who didn't mind Ariel's personality quirks in the least.  

Other questions asked if Ariel was, for example, up to date on her vaccines (yes) and heartworm preventative (no, but we would remedy that), and if we had ever rehomed or lost a dog (yes, we had rehomed a dog once.  It was for the best of all parties involved, ourselves and the dog in question, who went back to his breeder and was immediately turned over to one of the families waiting in line for a puppy).

In retrospect, I have to wonder if I was too honest.

ANCAR tells prospective families that their volunteers take between 7 and 10 days to process an application.  Not a problem.  I lined up my references, called the vet to arrange for Ariel to have her yearly physical (including heartworm test and refill on meds), and let the vet know that they would likely be hearing from ANCAR.  Then I sat back and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I started getting a bit nervous when, as day 10 approached, one of my references asked me when she would be hearing from the rescue.  It turned out that none of my references had been called at all.  A call to my vet proved that they, too, had not been called.  Something seemed amiss.

Going back to the confirmation email I'd received when filing my application, I noted that the group would not be replying to me at all, if my application had been declined.  They only contact approved adopters.  That, I felt, was rather stinky.  I mean, how much time can it really take to shoot off a blanket "We're sorry, but we have decided that your application doesn't meet our criteria" e-mail, with a list of possible reasons for the decline?  Too much for this group, apparently.

I emailed the group, letting them know that Ariel was all lined up to go back on her heartworm meds and asking about the status of my application.  No reply.  I sent another e-mail, saying that we were still very interested in Moe or Michael, and emphasizing that we were a very flexible family... if something was not "up to snuff" in our application, we could change the situation, if we could only know what we needed to do.  Again, no reply.

At this point, it was hard to feel anything but snubbed.  Snubbed, and a bit irritated... after all, we are an experienced dog owning family with our own home and a fenced yard.  We know Corgis and are committed to proper training and care.  What on earth could be wrong with our application?

I texted my family, and my mother promptly texted back - "That's mean," she said, and I agreed.

My youngest sister, however, upon hearing me bemoan my state, matter-of-factly pointed out that the rescue could well be busy from an influx of applicants.  I was putting words and feelings into the hearts and mouths of strangers, assuming the worst, she wrote.  

True, I agreed.  But when they say that they don't reply to declined applicants, what's a person supposed to think?  After all, I had waited the ten days they said they take.  And I could think of a million reasons why my application might have been declined... most of which came back to me being too honest in my application, and paying for that honesty in the loss of our potential dog.

My mother, fine non-directive counselor that she is, simply texted, "Let it go."

Gee, thanks, Mom.

But that's hard to do.

Ariel, our current dog

All of the questions swirled around in my head, and are swirling still... was it that they didn't think Ariel was friendly enough?  Was it that we had let her heartworm meds lapse?  Was it that we had once rehomed a dog?  Was it that we don't crate our dogs?  

Or...maybe it WASN'T about us.  Maybe it was, possibly, about them.  Some rescues are notoriously hard to adopt from... they set the bar for acceptance higher than most normal families can leap.  According to an article I once read, even the head of the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals had his application for a dog denied at a rescue.  Was this one of those rescues?  Did they, for example, refuse to adopt to families where both parents work?  I wouldn't know; their website doesn't say.  And as of this writing, I've learned volumes of nothing about what I did wrong, or what ANCAR expects from an adoptive family.

I'm mourning the loss of our potential dog.  In my mind, while I know that no dog is perfect, the image of our family welcoming Michael or Moe into our home is a hazy, sunset-tinged one.  I'm sure that one of them could have been a great dog for us, and we could have been a great family for him.  But we'll never know for sure.

And it's the not knowing that's the hardest part.

Florida's Reptile Ban - Just My 2cents' Worth

 

I've been following the posts on social media regarding Florida's ban on sixteen species of reptiles, from tegus to anacondas, for some time now.  To be honest, my feelings are very mixed.

I feel deep sympathy for the pet owners who take proper care of their pets, enclosing them in safe, escape-proof pens and terrariums, keeping them for life - or surrendering them to a capable rescue if they can't keep them.  Some pet owners have large reptiles because they're allergic to cats and dogs... tegus are a viable alternative pet for them.  Some have a deep and abiding love for a particular species.  Many have sunk a great deal of money into their hobby of reptile keeping, and actively try to help others to do it right.  These people are being unfairly punished.

I feel a burning irritation towards those "bad apples" whose irresponsible reptile keeping has led to tegus, pythons, iguanas, and more becoming established invasive species in Florida.  Whether the release into the wild came because of an act of God (Hurricane Andrew resulted in the destruction of a breeding facility and subsequent escape of python breeding stock into the nearby wetlands) or because of the countless idiots who buy a foot-long hatchling, thinking it would make a cute pet, and then set it loose when it's too big to keep feeding, Florida an epicenter of invasive species.  And because of these flawed human creatures, the ban has come down on all reptile keepers.

However, I also feel a distinct sense of annoyance towards the reptile owners who are flooding social media with indignation and blindered tunnel vision rantings... "They can pry my tegu out of my cold, dead hands!"  "If they can ban these reptiles in Florida, they can ban all reptiles anywhere!"  "Look out - your pet reptile will be next!"  "This will just mean everyone will be buying from unregulated, illegal breeders!"  "Why don't they ban cats?  Cats are more destructive than invasive reptiles."  Um, no.  Sorry.  NOT HELPING, PEOPLE!  Some of these knee-jerk reactions may have a grain of truth in them, but they don't do anything for the cause of keeping pet reptiles.  Such arguments entirely ignore the very real danger invasives pose to the environment.  What's more, they paint all of us in the reptile hobby as whining, entitled children who think it's their right to own whatever species they want, wherever they want.  That sort of attitude, that sort of thinking, isn't going to do a whit of good when it comes to preventing the wholesale (wholeSCALE?) banning of reptiles in other places.

The fact of the matter is that if reptile owners... or the owners of any exotic, potentially invasive species... want to prevent future bans, they need to band together and take steps that might be troublesome to some, downright disasterous to others.

1) We need to push for permits and licensing of potentially invasive exotics BEFORE the government decides to ban them.  This includes licensing or other forms of registration, and mandatory escape-proof housing.  This will be a hassle to responsible pet owners, yes.  But it will also show the world that owners of exotic pets don't want the natural world ruined just because they like to keep certain species as pets.

2) We need to make it harder for the average owner to own potentially invasive species.  One of the problems with species becoming invasive is the careless, clueless, irresponsible owners who let their pets loose intentionally when they can't care for them any longer or by accident, keeping their pets in habitats that are not escape-proof.  In fragile ecological environments, invasive species are like a loaded gun.  You can't just wander down to your local WalMart and pick up a semiautomatic rifle.  Why should any idiot with a credit card be able to buy an anaconda at a reptile expo?  This means limiting the species that can be purchased in "big box" pet stores or specialty reptile stores, yes... possibly even stopping the sales of reptiles in those places entirely.

3) We need to be active in our local politics.  The needs of a reptile keeper in South Florida are markedly different than the needs of a reptile keeper in South Bend, Indiana... and we need to work to be sure that blanket legislation doesn't apply to all geographic areas.  After all, there's little chance of invasive reptiles getting a toehold in a state where brutal winters keep even native species from thriving.  On the other hand, in a tropical or semi-tropical state, stricter regulations may, in fact, be warranted.  

I don't either suggest or suggest against joining political organizations like USARK - on the one hand, I feel USARK is a good, solid, reputable organization that could do a considerable amount of good for the reptile cause.  On the other, they support across-the-board private ownership, sales, and trade of venomous species and the species most likely to pose a problem to the environment, should they be loosed intentionally or accidentally, which I think is a bad idea.  I'm a reptile fan, but I don't think that just because someone likes reptiles that they should be allowed to own any reptile they choose.

I do wonder, though, what the future of the reptile hobby will look like.  Reptile enthusiasts are not like other pet owners... many are "collectors" rather than traditional "pet owners" for one, and collectors who house dozens of reptiles, breeding and trading them, tend to view their animals very differently than someone who has just one beloved reptile as a personal pet.  I wonder how much of the hobby is driven by these collectors, rather than pet owners... and what that will mean, someday.  

A quick Google search pulled up half a dozen green anacondas, generally considered the world's heaviest snakes, for sale on the popular Morph Market website.  Anyone with $2000 or so to spare can buy one and have it shipped to their doorstep - and some, like the male advertised as "NOT a pet - for breeding only" - are definitely marketed to collectors rather than pet owners.  Should there be blanket legislation to stop this?  I don't think so.  But should just anyone be able to buy a snake that can weigh several hundred pounds and needs to eat whole piglets?  I don't think so, either.

It's a puzzling situation, and I don't think I'm ever going to be able to side with one faction or the other, wholeheartedly.