When I was growing up my parents never considered having an animal around the house. Cleanliness was the number one rule and staying healthy the number two rule and as a result animals were not part of that equation.
I do remember however, my father buying us a pigeon as a pet and as long as we kept it on the balcony, it was alright to keep it around. He clipped it's wings and made him a home and my brother and I often hung around the balcony watching it sit inside the wooden home. Although I was five at the time, I felt bad for the pigeon or perhaps it was a dove, not sure and I often told it to fly away. Out of shear respect for my father, I did not tell him not to clip the pigeon/dove wings but I often prayed that bird would just leave its unhappy home.
One day, as I opened the balcony door I noticed the pigeon was on the ledge, I turned back to alert my parents but then realized it was best to remain quiet and watch and see what would happen. Sure enough the pigeon/dove flapped its wings and slowly made the attempt to fly away. I cheered as I watched it escape our balcony and never took my eyes off it until I could not see it anymore. I closed the door and pretended I didn't know anything. Later, as my family realized the birds departure, I watched my parents reaction and noticed the relief in their faces and I smiled because all of us new that the bird was truly home free.
It wasn't until I was 14 or so when I decided to adopt a cat from a family that was giving them away in front of a shopping mall. I remember I hid him in my jacket and got on the bus and hoped and prayed no one would hear or see him. I got him home, begged my mother to keep him and named him after a boy I had a crush on from the church, Danny. I was allowed to keep the cat, but only if he remained in the garage. I accepted that but was not happy for the cat, I often felt bad about his home in the dark and damp garage and wanted so desperately to bring him into my room. He was never allowed upstairs into the main house so the cat sat at the top of the stairs and waited for someone to pay attention to him or feed him. Since I was a teenager as well, I didn't quiet grasp the responsibility of having a pet and as a result neglected him and watched him from afar. One day, the backyard door was open and the cat disappeared into the bushes, I was devastated but did not worry too much (does that make sense) I wasn't too attached to him because I hadn't experienced true pet/owner relationship yet. But the next morning Danny was outside meowing away and we opened the door and he came in. He continued to do this for several months until one day he never came home. My heart was broken, I waited for him and looked out from my bedroom window hoping he would return, but he never did. I often think of Danny and wonder whatever happened to him. I do feel guilty for not taking care of him the way I should have, but I didn't know any better then.
At twenty I decided to adopt a dog, so I drove myself to a pound and picked up a Labrador/husky mix and without research or clear understanding of dog ownership once again ventured in taking care of a dog I assumed would remain 10 pounds and 15 inches long. The dog grew and grew and became more and more uncontrollable and ate everything in site. He also was confined to the garage and because of his neglect, he often jumped up to greet us when we went down to the garage and everyone in the family was scared of him, including me. My mother often put him in the backyard just so she could do the laundry. He was misbehaved thanks to me and soon enough he ran away as well. I know I am a terrible person. At this point I vowed to stick to fish and call it a day.
It wasn't until about six years ago I decided to get another pet, but this time with thorough research, serious analysis, and the determination to be a faithful and responsible owner I chose what I felt was the best match for my personality type which so happened to be a Yorkshire terrier. We finally got the puppy in August 2004 at about 3 pounds and nine inches long. When my husband drove him home from Sacramento to San Francisco late at night, he was in a small box with a towel and a toy, shivering. My motherly instincts took over and I took him into my hands, covered him and brought him inside. He was shivering and crying. After warming him up, we decided to let him sleep in his kennel. He cried for about an hour and I stayed awake to take care of him. I realized he was missing his mom and so I took him next to me and he curled up near my stomach and went to sleep. Six years later, he sleeps on the bed with us and every morning around five, he taps me on the arm to let him get under the covers and I let him without regard and worry of germs or illnesses.
I have never been happier in my life, my dog Max is my therapy and he came into my life at the best possible time. He is a true companion who understands my every emotion and believe it or not takes every measure to comfort me in his own wonderful way. We have an understanding he and I, and I am happy because he is happy. Max doesn't live in a garage and he has full access to all beds, couches and everything beautiful around him, he has his place at the window, a kennel if he wants to use it, a pee pad and a backyard. Lots of toys and wonderful music, special treats, proper medical care, picnics in a park, walks along the beach and lots of hugs and kisses and ongoing family time.
I now understand and I am sorry to all the pets I owned before...I am sorry for not treating you well or taking care of you as you rightfully deserve to be taken care of.
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