Author: Crystalann

This is my fourth story that I am putting on here.
This is the story about a bird
that I grew very attached to,
and a lesson I feel that he taught me.

When I was about one or two years old I asked for a puppy, but my aunt whom I live with said no, because I was so young. I was disappointed, and she took me from Des Moines, Iowa – where we live – out to Great Falls Montanna, where my aunt Mary lives – and a baby Cockatiel was plopped into my hands. He was hardly weaned, and he couldn’t eat bird seed, so I had to chew up food that he could eat (it didn’t always taste good) and I had to feed him out of my mouth – and I named him “Lucky,” because everybody said he was Lucky to have me – but I felt that
it was just the opposite.

Lucky grew to be very smart – he would whistle, and sing along while I played “Hot Crossed Buns” on my recorder when I was in Elementary school. He also learned tricks: he could tell pennies, quarters, dimes, and nickles apart from one another: he also had a horse. You know those little automatic horses that you can put batteries in, and they will walk? Well, I had one, and I would put the saddle on, and the reins, and he would sit on the saddle, hold the reins in his beak, and he would ride that little horse as it walked across the room. He would also follow me everywhere – whether he would walk on the ground after me, or fly short distances and land on things and follow me, but he loved to be with me.

Then I got another bird, a female Cockatiel named Misty. They tried many times to try and have babies, but they (being a little old) never succeeded. I took Lucky to school when I was in the 8th grade, and a boy tried to tease him, and he chased the kid all around the room. The teacher thought it was funny, and laughed.

Then, that same year, on May 22, 2004, I walked into the dinning room…Lucky had lost the eyesight in one of his eyes, and had to be in a different cage then Misty, and I noticed that Lucky wasn’t sitting by the mirror that I had in his cage. (He was a ham, and would always sit next to that mirror so that he could see himself.)But this time, Lucky wasn’t on the perch next to his mirror. He was not sitting on the perch eating his seeds. He was not sitting on the edge of his water dish, drinking. He was lying on the floor of his cage, curled up in the corner…and the first pet I had ever had, who had taught me how to love, and had given me the love of animals that I now have, was gone.

I felt like I had failed my best friend – I felt like I had lost my “little brother” as I called him. I buried him with the help of my friend, Madison. We put him in a pretty aqua marine box, and I wrapped him in a towel with a pretty duck on it, and I buried him in my side yard where my bunny, Bambi is buried.

I miss him, and I know that to some, it might seem stupid to miss a bird – but I grew up with Lucky. When I was sick, he would sit on the pillow next to me, and he would also “give me kisses”. Now I will never see Lucky, and This makes the fourth life in my life that I have lost: my grandpa, bunny, and my dog died this year as well.

Lucky did teach me something that I can never forget: Lucky taught me how to love animals – and he taught me the responsibility of having a pet. And I miss him, even though I know it is silly to say that I miss a bird, but to me, Lucky was not a bird – he was a friend.
He was One Lucky Bird.

 

This is my second story I am placing on here on this website. The first was “An Angel Named Missy.” Well, this story is kind of connected to that one. After my St. Bernard/Lab mix, Missy was put to sleep because of cancer about a year after she saved my life, I was dog – less, as I called it. Well, I decided to get another dog, but I couldn’t find a dog that I liked. I guess a part of me was trying to find another “Missy” dog, which I, like all owners find out after the death one great dog, is impossible.

Well, my mom and her new husband, Mark, had a Chinese Sharp Pei named “Maylee”, which they had had for years. Being irresponsible dog owners(I never have/never will live with them) they never got Maylee spayed, and, seeing as she was tied outside 24/7, always was pregnant. Well, one day their male dog, named “Fat Boy” got Maylee, the Chinese Shar Pei pregnant. FatBoy was an Old English Bulldog,
and he was a huge dog.

Anyways, a few weeks later, a litter of puppies was born. Out of those was a black and white male, the second largest in the litter, the first being a tan female. There was also a tan, black, and white one. I took the tan, black and white one, and named him Blaze. Blaze later went to live with my gym teacher. As far as I know, he still lives with her. My friend Veronica took the largest female and named her “Sadie.” Now, Mark and my mother decided to keep the black and white male, the one I had wanted, but they wouldn’t let me have him, claiming they wanted him. Well, his name was “Pugsly” which didn’t fit him at all.
He grew into a handsome dog.

“Pugsly” was kept in a 6 by 12 kennel in the back of the yard from the time he was 4 months,
up until 2 years old. “Puglsy’s” life was a living hell. He should have weighed 55-60 lbs, he only weighed about 35-40. He was severely underweight, only being fed when the kids who were about nine and seven felt like taking the time out to go and feed him. His water was given to him in a bucket encrusted with mud, and he didn’t know his name, how to walk on a leash, sit, and he wasn’t even housebroken. “Pugsly” was never taken inside the house. His kennel was always muddy, and was so full of feces that you couldn’t tell the mud apart from the dog crap. The kennel in which was his prison was sinking into the ground, and he was always miserable: being covered with mud, stinking, and being kicked, hit, starved, neglected and abused. The dewclaws on his feet were never clipped, and they were growing into his legs. Having never been on gravel or cement, his pads were soft and pink, not hard like they should be.

Well, since the death of Missy, I had been thinking of getting another dog. I was wanting a male dog, and one that really needed a home. On a visit to the house, I noticed that everybody was complaining about the dog they called “Pugsly” so I went out and saw the dog that I had been wanting since he was four weeks. I finally gained the courage to call and ask if they would be willing to get rid of “Pugsly”. Lucky for me, and for the dog, they were more than glad to be rid of him. I went up with a leash and put it around his neck. I got stuck in the mud and feces that filled his kennel, and it took me about a minute and
a half to get myself unstuck.

“Pugsly” stunk terribly. He was horribly dirty, and you couldn’t tell he was white with black markings- he looked white with dirty brown from feces. I took him home, fed him up, and bathed him. It turns out that “Pugsly” was worse then I thought. He had never been to a vet, even though he was 2 years old. He didn’t have any shots done, wasn’t altered, and had flea bites and dirt on him. I bathed him with dog flea shampoo. It took me three times with the flea shampoo before he was critter free. I then bathed him with Pantene Pro V to get him smelling at least partly decent. “Pugsly’s” feet were dyed yellow from walking in his own feces, and you couldn’t touch him without causing him to flinch. He didn’t know how to accept love or affection, and
was scared of everything.

It took me twelve minutes to find out I could not have a dog named with the stupid name “Pugsly”. It is a good name for certain dogs, but not a large dog like “Pugsly”. So, he was renamed. He had many names before we finally decided on the name “BUCKBEAK”, which I got from my favorite set of books, “Harry Potter”. I decided on that name because in the 3rd Harry Potter books, a Hippogriff attacked Draco Malfoy, and I thought that name was cool. So we call him “Buck” for short,
but mostly it is Buckbeak.

Well, now Buckbeak is properly named, altered, up to date on shots, happy, well trained, well fed, taken care of, and is an indoor dog. He is my buddy, and even has a room mostly to himself, shared only by his other dog “brother”, me, the family cats, and on occasion, my friend Madison Greer, who he considers his other owner.
When Madison is there, he is her dog.

This is just one example of a good ending, but please remember that not all dogs have happy endings. If you see ANIMAL CRUELTY going on, please remember that it is a LIVING, BREATHING, HEART AND BLOOD PUMPING LIFE THAT IS SUFFERING – THEY CANT TURN IN THEIR OWNERS, NOR HELP THEMSELVES, AND THEY DON’T DESERVE THIS KIND OF TREATMENT. WE WERE TOLD BY OUR VETS THAT IF BUCKBEAK HAD BEEN IN THAT CONDITION FOR ANOTHER MONTH, HE WOULD HAVE DIED. PLEASE, IF YOU SEE THIS GOING ON, REMEMBER YOU HAVE THE CHANCE TO HELP ONE OF GOD’S CREATURES. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO SAVE A LIFE!!!!!!!!!

 

In 2001, my uncle Paul and I were working in my Grandpa’s backyard garage. My granpa was blind, and he didn’t come outside too often. Well, it was summer, and Paul and I were in the garage talking when I heard something. It sounded like it was coming from under my grandpa’s old truck. I bent down and looked, and Paul and I found a cat. A female cat that was so thin, dirty, and smelly that we thought she was dead at first.

I recognized her as a cat that had been born as a stray in the garage a year before. I had named all of the kittens, and I had called her “Socks.”
Well, Paul took her home with him, seeing as I couldn’t have a cat at the time. It soon turned out that Socks was an Ocilot mixed with Abyssinian cat. Ocilots are a cat that is from wild ancestry, and Abyssinians are cats from Egypt. Socks had a few litters of kittens, and they all found homes.

Well, Paul got into a situation where he could not have any more kittens. He was working, and he had no time, and not much money to care for a litter of kittens and a mother that needed a lot of work and attention. But he loved them, and refused to take them to the pound, where she should have been put to sleep. Since we had been wanting a cat, we agreed to take Socks. Well, the day I was to take Socks, my grandpa died. That night, the kittens were born. The daddy was a calico, who we never really knew, seeing as he was “gone on business”, visiting other single unspayed cats. There were seven in all: three males, and four females. They were all big, beautiful, and healthy-except for one. The runt kitten, which was a male. Socks would not feed him at all/hardly like the other kittens, and she kept moving the kittens around, which would have been fine-except for the fact that she left this kitten behind.

I finally went and bought a bottle and nursing milk from the veterinarian. They told me “You can try, but I dint think that he will make it.” I told them they were wrong, and I would not let the kitten die. I stayed up almost all night that 1st night taking care of the kitten. I had to do CPR on him twice, and we almost lost him several times. I had to keep him wrapped up in warm wash rags. He was so small that he fit in my hand very easily. I would wake up 3-5 times a night to take care of him, and check on the other kittens, but mostly him. As he grew, he showed the shape of an Abyssinian, with the coloration pattern of an ocilot. He was light smoky gray, with dark gray stripes. And on his back was a single black line, and another black line going across his shoulder, forming a cross.

I decided to keep him instead of the mother, because I knew from seeing that cross on him that he was special.

This kitten was the last to open his eyes. The last to walk. The last to get weaned, but the first to truly win my heart. I named all of the kittens. The females were: Ratha, Tigress, and Mittens. The males were: Boo, Salem, and the kitten with a cross: Pantalaimon, but I also call him “Pan”.

I named him Pantalaimon, because I was reading the book “The Golden Compass”, and I just loved the name of the daemon, Pantalaimon. My dad took Boo, who died later on a tragic event. My mother took Ratha, and renamed her “Nala.” She still lives happily with my mom. Tigress and Mittens went and lived with a friend of my mom’s from work on a farm, and are doing very well. One female named: Socks (after her mom) went to live with a lady who answered my fliers.

She is doing very well. Salem went and lived with a friend of my aunts, and he is doing fine at the time being. Momma Socks found a home, and is spayed, and living happily ever after. Pantalaimon stayed with me. He is very lucky that he is still alive, and he almost died several times. He is a very good kitten, and follows me everywhere, and enjoys picking on the other cat who lives with us, whom he considers
a kind of “daddy” to him.

That cats name is “Chance.” Pantalaimon rides around on my shoulders, and loves to lay at my feet and follow me EVERYWHERE like a dog. I think he thinks I am his mommy. I consider him a miracle cat, because of what people told me, and what he went threw to live.
I did CPR on him 2 times, bottle fed him, his mother chewed on him, and he almost froze to death a few times. I think Jesus gave him the cross on his back to watch over him, and that Pantalaimon is a special miracle kitty. And I hope that people will not judge other cats and dogs by their breed, because even though he is mostly Ocilot, he is the sweetest cat.

Pantalaimon will never go to anybody else: I fought to keep him alive. I was told there was no hope for him, and that I should give up on him, but I prayed for him to make it, and Jesus answered that prayer: so well, that he made him:
Pantalaimon: The Cross Cat.

 

Missy came to live with us when I was 3 years old. She was 1 year old then, and she was adopted by my dad, James from the Animal Rescue League. I lived with my aunt (still do) and my parents lived somewhere else. They neglected Missy for almost eight years, by keeping her on a heavy tow chain, and her collar was a rusted choke chain that was tangled up in her fur.

When I was 12,I took Missy away from them after seeing her suffer for eight years. Missy was severely underweight, her ears had no fur growing on them because flies were eating at them, and her choke chain that had been her collar for 7 years was rusted into her fur, and it had to be cut off. But, we soon got Missy healthy, after having her updated on all of her shots.

She was a Saint Bernard/Labrador Retriever (yellow) mix. That breed, we found out, is also known as the “Dry Mouth” St. Bernard. Missy was my best friend for all the three years that we had her at my house. Missy was easy to train, and quickly became housebroken, and obedient trained. Her only problem was that, because she had never been socialized by my parents, she was VERY aggressive to other dogs. It was very hard for me to work with her, seeing as she was a little over 100 pounds. I soon got her friendly with other dogs, and she was reformed into a new dog. She was the coloring of a Saint Bernard. Most of her fur was reddish brown, and she had white on her chest, legs, belly, and her tail tip. Her eyes were soft brown,and her eyes had black patches on her eyes, and her tail was very bushy. She looked like a slightly smaller St. Bernard, but she was much larger than a Lab.

I took her to school with me once on a bring your pet to school day, and she made some of the bullying children leave me alone. Missy also once saved me from getting hit by a car. I didn’t know the car was coming, and she pushed me out of the street before it hit me-just in time. She was my guardian angel sent to me from God.

We didn’t live in the best neighborhood, and I knew three girls that I thought were my friends wanted me to come and play with them. I went with them, and took Missy along. They didn’t want me to take Missy, but Missy had to go with me, because she would never stay away from me, and would easily jump out six foot fence if I left her home. Missy didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay home, but I forced her to go with me.

Missy and I were sitting on a metal bar, waiting for the three girls in their yard. One of the girls lived next door, and she owned a huge Rottweiler. They thought it would be funny to let the dog out on me. The Rottweiler attacked me, and Missy started to fight back to keep him off me. Missy won the fight. She came out without any scratches or injuries. The Rottweiler had a ripped open throat, chest, and his leg was torn open badly. I was bleeding because of the Rottweiler, but I had no lasting injury, and I didn’t have to go to the hospital.

Missy had been sick two weeks before the fight, and had had to have a shot to get her better. Being nine years old at the time, it was nothing. She had just had diarrhea. Because of that shot, she could not have her rabies shot. But she didn’t have rabies anyways.

Well, because she hadn’t had that shot, she had to go to the shelter for quarantine. Missy was let out a week later,and she came home. The Rott was healed up after a few months, and was back on his feet. Well, we were not aware that the Rott had a cancerous tumor in his leg – the one that Missy had bitten. Missy had gotten some of his blood in her mouth, and in her blood stream.

Soon, Missy started slowing down. She would not eat, drank too much water, and she wouldn’t come to me anymore. It grew hard for her to breathe, and hard for her to walk. We took her to the vets, and they said she was fine, just growing old, and gave us some pills. They said that twice, but Missy just kept getting worse. Finally they did an x-ray, and it turned out that Missy had cancerous tumors.

One was so large that it was actually pushing her stomach up into her rib cage.It was about the size of a ball.Her chest was full of tumors.There was no cure, and Missy would have either starved to death, or her stomach would have burst, and she would have died.

I made the hard choice to have the friend that I had grown up with, and,later we found, saved my life again. I chose to have Missy put to sleep (euthanized) that day, and,even though I had promised her, I didn’t have the strength to stay with her. That fact still haunts me today. I am crying as I type this.

We picked up Missy’s ashes two days later, and she now sits in our living room’s china cupboard at the very top, with her collar and leash, and the locket that is in with her ashes, and I have the other. We were told it is possible that Missy got the cancer from the Rottweiler. It might have been transferred by blood when Missy bit him.

If Missy hadn’t been there to fight off the Rottweiler, the dog could have killed me by the attack, or he could have transferred the cancer to me, if that is how Missy got it, which I believe.

Even now, I do not blame the Rottweiler, but I blame the irresponsible owners that could not keep their dog locked up. It is there fault, to me, anyways, that my Missy is gone from me forever.

I am putting this story on this site to beg people to love their pets, take care of them, and please keep your pets in your house, or your yard, where they can never cause somebody else to go threw the heartbreak I did, or have something happen to them to cause you the heartbreak.