Four Labs & a Tomcat named Trespasser

Howdy y'all!  That's "Okie" for "G'day, mate!"

And that's apropos of nothing except it's my day to blog about dogs and cats.
The first Lab I knew up close and personal was a guide dog for a blind girl named Kibby. She was a black Lab named Dolly.  Kibby was in my physical anthro class at OU, and we were lab partners.  It was an amazing partnership. I could "show" Kibby things she couldn't see with words, and she could show me things I couldn't see with words, but which she could feel when putting her small hands inside a human skull.  It goes without saying what a help Dolly was to Kibby, but she was the best "Lab" partner an old lady like me (I was 49 when I when back to finish my degree.) could possibly have.  Dolly was getting along in years herself, and the class was in a cold basement with a cement floor.  Dolly liked to sleep on my feet, and I appreciated the warmth, both physical and spiritual.

The second Lab I met was a yellow female named Ralph. The kids down the mountain who "owned" her named her Toto.  It just didn't fit, and she adored my friend Bill, followed him everywhere on his farm. He's the one who named her Ralph.  We were visiting on the occasion of my daughter marrying Bill's son.  One day we were all sitting out on lawn chairs smoking, drinking coffee, and eating cookies.  The only part of that social event my grandson, the Cookie Monster, was sharing in was the cookies.  He had one in each fist, and Ralph trotted by, helping herself to the one in his left hand.  Ethan immediately began to cry over that lost cookie. C'mon, he was only 3 1/2 and he was there to be the "ring bear."  He was deeply disappointed he didn't get to wear a bear suit.  He got over that when he found out he got to wear a cool grey tux just like uncle Blaine's.  He got over the loss of the cookie, too, when we assured he did not want one with doggie slobbers on it and magically replaced it with one just like it.  I don't know why I don't have a picture of either of them, but these two could be Ralph and Bear:

Bear was an abused pound puppy rescued by my grandson Ethan and his mom.  She was truly a loyal, loving creature who saved my grandson's life more than once.  As I mentioned in my post about Bubba, my Basset Hound,
my grandson was one of the smallest preemies ever saved back in those days. As a result, he's had sleep apnea all his life.  He was only on oxygen and a heart lung monitor until he was about two, but he would still stop breathing in his sleep.  One night, in the middle of the night Bear woke my daughter up barking insistently. Thinking the dog need to go out, Kristin said, "Okay, okay." But Bear wouldn't go past Ethan's room and insisted Kris go in there. When she did, Ethan wasn't breathing, and Kris had to revive him.

When I had sell to Mama's house, Kris and Ethan had to move to an apartment where they couldn't have dogs.  Bear came to live with Tom and I.
She stayed until I had to find homes for both Sky and Bear. They were just too big and Tom kept tripping over them. Once I had to call 911 to help me get him up off the floor.  So Sky and Bear went to live with our friend Sarah on her blackberry farm in Tennessee until Sarah got a divorce.  She gave Bear to her three grand daughters, who fussed over her and played "dress up" with her.  Last time I talked to Sarah, the girls' parents had just bought Bear her own yellow Lab puppy, and her heart's desire to be a mommy was fulfilled.  Sky had gone to live with Sarah's son Joel, a grad student in Boulder, CO, so he finally learned that Huskies DO like snow!

The last Lab is a sweet old girl named Dottie.  Like me, Dottie is a senior citizen.  She lives next door to my God daughter in Dongola, IL, where I started writing Ghost Walk.  Dottie loves to play ball, especially with a basket ball.  She'd rather watch someone else run down the hill and fetch it.  So, thanks to Dottie, I lost about 40 pounds while living there.

Trespasser 

 

This big ole marshmallow goes under a couple of names.  He doesn't belong to anyone, just to himself.  Carlene, my God daughter's neighbor, calls him "Papa," because when he first arrived on the scene his goal was to people the neighborhood with little replicas of himself.  After the first litter by another stray cat arrived, the mama cat died.  Carlene helped Papa care for the kittens, then coaxed him into a cat carrier for a trip to the neighborhood vet.

 

Mary Rae has four adorable cats, Pokey a long haired calico, Iesca a big black and white, Pancake a white cat, and Sparky a black cat. Pokey and Iesca are litter mates and don't get along well.  Pancake was a rescued cat, hit by a car on Hwy 51 near Dongola.  His jaw was broken and his tail bobbed.  Mary took him to the vet and he survived.  Sparky we found in the electric company parking lot.  She'd been abandoned one night in a driving rain.  Anyway, Iesca was prone to misbehaving when upset.  Once Pokey was particular mean to him, so he pooped in the kitchen sink.  Mary Rae tossed him out in the cold to ponder his miscreant ways.  Papa promptly beat the snot out of Iesca, and Mary Rae just as promptly let Iesca back in and dubbed the grey tabby Trespasser!

 

Trespasser loves to share meals.  One morning I was sitting on the back stoop eating a bowl of oatmeal with butter and brown sugar in it.  Trespasser stuck his paw in to beg for a bite, and was thrilled to find himself in possession of the entire bowl.  At noon he reciprocated by bringing me a dead frog.  I declined, but that didn't stop him from bringing me more frogs, once a baby bird, and once a shrew or a vole, I'm not sure which.  He's a love, and I'll miss him when I move back to Oklahoma.