One of our cocker spaniel Leaf's favorite games is to catch a kernel of popcorn midair when Linda throws it to him from the couch.
Picture this scene. Linda is sitting on the couch, relaxing, with her favorite snack, a bowl of popcorn on her lap. During the popping process in the kitchen, Leaf has kept vigil to scoop up any kernels that the electric popcorn popper might have flung into the air and onto the floor. But now, he waits for this fun combination of a treat and a game.
In the past it would always be a struggle for him to wait patiently for the popcorn toss. He'd put his nose on the coffee table, trying to inch toward the bowl. He'd jump up on the couch and attempt to bury his face in the bowl. If Linda left the room to answer the phone with the popcorn bowl tempting him on the coffee table, Leaf couldn't resist. He'd plunge his face into the bowl.
Last night, though, Linda forgot something upstairs and ran up to get it. Halfway to her destination she remembered the bowl of yummy popcorn on the table with Leaf waiting for his share. She thought, "I'm going to find him in the living room with his snout in the bowl."
When Leaf had done this misdeed in the past, Linda had told him in no uncertain terms that this was not acceptable behavior. She would put him in his crate for a few minutes to let him think about it. This would mean no more popcorn other than the kernels he had filched.
But this time was different. When Linda returned to the living room, Leaf lay sprawled out on the carpet with his legs straight out in the front and back of him. He looked at her expectantly. The bowl remained untouched.
Linda praised and congratulated him. She made a point of telling Allen what a good dog he had been. Then she sat down on the couch, bowl on her lap, and began their regular game.
Later, we talked about this incredible act of discipline on Leaf's part. He had actually weighed the consequences and decided that patience was wiser than instant gratification. By waiting and not touching the bowl, he would be able to stay in the living room and have both the treat and the game of catch.
He excels at snatching the kernels mid-air without letting them hit the floor. If he had plunged his face into the bowl while Linda was out of the room, he would have gotten some kernels but been deprived of the game and any more popcorn.
This seemed to be a high level of reasoning and strategy. We enjoyed observing him making choices based on past experience and choosing to do the right thing.
When have you seen an animal weigh the consequences of his or her actions?
Showing posts with label allen linda anderson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label allen linda anderson. Show all posts
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Stupendous Cool Cats
From time to time there is a special story we want to share with our blog readers. This is one of those special stories!
STUPENDOUS COOL CATS
By Kathe Campbell
While I fold laundry he leans in hard, flicking his ringed tail, encircling and caressing my ankles. He curls up close, watching me nap until I wake with tears blanketing my eyes.
"Poor kitty, my poor sweet old guy," I sigh.
One of my kitty's nine lives had begun months before after which some heartless person tossed him out into our forest. I've seen dozens of the frightened things, mostly kitten litters, standing bewildered at the edge of the dusty road; defenseless dump-offs. They rush into the woods, innocent victims of someone who most likely has no use for cats.
My neighbors and I spotted this big, yellow feline who now offers his companionship to me. We watched him throughout his harrowing journey, his fear and doubt ruling. No amount of enticing could corral him.
The kitty may well have been a sweet guy, good with kids, probably used his kitty box faithfully, and purred sweet love songs on every lap. But now the wilderness echoed unfamiliar sounds, thrusting him at tree trunks, sending him clambering high until there was only the sound of the babbling creek.
Sprawling over a large limb or hunkered in the crotch of a fir, he waited for dawn's pink glow and safe flight. But safe flights were rare. Coyotes, badgers, foxes, weasels, even owls and raptors had him on their short list.
Winter came blustery and white, and the cat looked to be eternally, deep-down frozen and shivery, but he held his ground, refusing tossed kibbles until the coast was clear. Gimping along on cracked and sore paws, he made his way through thick underbrush where the ground laid barer. Sometimes gigantic fir boughs loosed their great snow loads in the wind, plunging heavily atop his hiding places, nearly burying him alive.
His coat was losing its luster and thick mantle; his only belongings were tangled masses of rangy clothing protruding down his back. Tree saps fused his carcass together into stiff, hairy spurs, seemingly pulling and stretching him with every move. Listening to his own purr must have been his only comfort, but the freeze cruelly shattered anything more than a small, raspy yawp as he fled our mercy.
After months of wandering and rustling up his own pitiful grub, dwellings suddenly appeared in our mountain valley. The cat had made it through winter on his own -- scrawny, but intact, with new zest in his gait. His wilderness plight said much about never losing heart.
Dump-offs usually pose an edgy, woeful presence at places they encounter, and this kitty was no exception. Still guarded, the sorry old guy moved from one barn to another. Despite unwanted intrusions into the local feline establishment, his grit became the subject of rural gossip.
A kitty should be fit for productive hunting, so folks began tossing scraps from behind small cracks in their doorways. Competing with dogs and raccoons, he gobbled up anything, for his mousing days had become few.
Like clockwork, I retreated from my log dwelling to feed my donkey herd every morning. The cat watched, clearly in need of a kind word but leery of the dog who romped at my side. I bent low for him to eat from my hand, but he was terrified to venture close.
Quieting his fears, I left an old, woolen army blanket and daily bowl of chow and milk atop the tallest bale in my hay-room. He seemed almost content in the place if his matted coat hadn't finally overwhelmed his tongue, even in the warmth of spring.
If Mother Nature were an actress, autumn would be her finest performance. Orangey leaves and cooler nights warned cat he wouldn't survive another winter as he dared peek over the hay bales with his hackles up -- just in case.
Murmuring soft kitty sounds while at my daily chores, I reached up to touch his head just once before he panicked and fled. Then one afternoon, with all the courage he could muster, he thrust out his claws and climbed down into my lap to let me stroke his chin. Pent-up emotions finally gave way, releasing his burden and my tears.
"It's okay fella, it's okay. I've got you now. I won't rush you. Take your time dear old thing," I said, as my crippled fingers nuzzled the cat's neck.
He was home.
I called him General Sterling Price after the big yellow cat in the movie, "True Grit." The Keeshond he had feared quickly welcomed him. My dog followed the General around for days watching him roll in delicious green grass, obviously fascinated by his gamy and bizarre self. I wondered how old the General was. He was surely in his teens, looking grizzled after losing an eye, various teeth, and another of his nine lives.
He curls up in front of the fireplace lest an occasional stroll into the barn where the mice have his number. After rugged exploits on our Montana mountain, he's old, thin, and tired. Often I carry him to his bowl of milk and special supper that puts a dent in my monthly check. I dare not complain, for I, too, have been in the fight.
His dauntless spirit teaches me courage daily -- not to whine over my own big stuff, but to have the patience to endure it. So we joyfully pursue our antiquity together, while the General longingly eyes the cedar chest at the foot of our bed. After awhile he works his way up where, at long last, a wee purr thrums its sweet love song in my ear.
There, I remind him: "We're not so bedraggled, my sweet General. You have one eye and only a few teeth. I have one arm and only a few teeth as well. We're survivors, and that makes us a pair of stupendous cool cats."
BIO:
Kathe Campbell lives on a Montana mountain with her mammoth donkeys, Keeshond, and a few kitties. She is a prolific writer on Alzheimer's, and her stories are found on many ezines. Kathe is a contributing author to the Chicken Soup For The Soul series, numerous anthologies, RX for Writers, Daily Devotionals, and medical journals. Email her at kathe@wildblue.net
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT:
Who are the animals who parallel your life's journey?
STUPENDOUS COOL CATS
By Kathe Campbell
While I fold laundry he leans in hard, flicking his ringed tail, encircling and caressing my ankles. He curls up close, watching me nap until I wake with tears blanketing my eyes.
"Poor kitty, my poor sweet old guy," I sigh.
One of my kitty's nine lives had begun months before after which some heartless person tossed him out into our forest. I've seen dozens of the frightened things, mostly kitten litters, standing bewildered at the edge of the dusty road; defenseless dump-offs. They rush into the woods, innocent victims of someone who most likely has no use for cats.
My neighbors and I spotted this big, yellow feline who now offers his companionship to me. We watched him throughout his harrowing journey, his fear and doubt ruling. No amount of enticing could corral him.
The kitty may well have been a sweet guy, good with kids, probably used his kitty box faithfully, and purred sweet love songs on every lap. But now the wilderness echoed unfamiliar sounds, thrusting him at tree trunks, sending him clambering high until there was only the sound of the babbling creek.
Sprawling over a large limb or hunkered in the crotch of a fir, he waited for dawn's pink glow and safe flight. But safe flights were rare. Coyotes, badgers, foxes, weasels, even owls and raptors had him on their short list.
Winter came blustery and white, and the cat looked to be eternally, deep-down frozen and shivery, but he held his ground, refusing tossed kibbles until the coast was clear. Gimping along on cracked and sore paws, he made his way through thick underbrush where the ground laid barer. Sometimes gigantic fir boughs loosed their great snow loads in the wind, plunging heavily atop his hiding places, nearly burying him alive.
His coat was losing its luster and thick mantle; his only belongings were tangled masses of rangy clothing protruding down his back. Tree saps fused his carcass together into stiff, hairy spurs, seemingly pulling and stretching him with every move. Listening to his own purr must have been his only comfort, but the freeze cruelly shattered anything more than a small, raspy yawp as he fled our mercy.
After months of wandering and rustling up his own pitiful grub, dwellings suddenly appeared in our mountain valley. The cat had made it through winter on his own -- scrawny, but intact, with new zest in his gait. His wilderness plight said much about never losing heart.
Dump-offs usually pose an edgy, woeful presence at places they encounter, and this kitty was no exception. Still guarded, the sorry old guy moved from one barn to another. Despite unwanted intrusions into the local feline establishment, his grit became the subject of rural gossip.
A kitty should be fit for productive hunting, so folks began tossing scraps from behind small cracks in their doorways. Competing with dogs and raccoons, he gobbled up anything, for his mousing days had become few.
Like clockwork, I retreated from my log dwelling to feed my donkey herd every morning. The cat watched, clearly in need of a kind word but leery of the dog who romped at my side. I bent low for him to eat from my hand, but he was terrified to venture close.
Quieting his fears, I left an old, woolen army blanket and daily bowl of chow and milk atop the tallest bale in my hay-room. He seemed almost content in the place if his matted coat hadn't finally overwhelmed his tongue, even in the warmth of spring.
If Mother Nature were an actress, autumn would be her finest performance. Orangey leaves and cooler nights warned cat he wouldn't survive another winter as he dared peek over the hay bales with his hackles up -- just in case.
Murmuring soft kitty sounds while at my daily chores, I reached up to touch his head just once before he panicked and fled. Then one afternoon, with all the courage he could muster, he thrust out his claws and climbed down into my lap to let me stroke his chin. Pent-up emotions finally gave way, releasing his burden and my tears.
"It's okay fella, it's okay. I've got you now. I won't rush you. Take your time dear old thing," I said, as my crippled fingers nuzzled the cat's neck.
He was home.
I called him General Sterling Price after the big yellow cat in the movie, "True Grit." The Keeshond he had feared quickly welcomed him. My dog followed the General around for days watching him roll in delicious green grass, obviously fascinated by his gamy and bizarre self. I wondered how old the General was. He was surely in his teens, looking grizzled after losing an eye, various teeth, and another of his nine lives.
He curls up in front of the fireplace lest an occasional stroll into the barn where the mice have his number. After rugged exploits on our Montana mountain, he's old, thin, and tired. Often I carry him to his bowl of milk and special supper that puts a dent in my monthly check. I dare not complain, for I, too, have been in the fight.
His dauntless spirit teaches me courage daily -- not to whine over my own big stuff, but to have the patience to endure it. So we joyfully pursue our antiquity together, while the General longingly eyes the cedar chest at the foot of our bed. After awhile he works his way up where, at long last, a wee purr thrums its sweet love song in my ear.
There, I remind him: "We're not so bedraggled, my sweet General. You have one eye and only a few teeth. I have one arm and only a few teeth as well. We're survivors, and that makes us a pair of stupendous cool cats."
BIO:
Kathe Campbell lives on a Montana mountain with her mammoth donkeys, Keeshond, and a few kitties. She is a prolific writer on Alzheimer's, and her stories are found on many ezines. Kathe is a contributing author to the Chicken Soup For The Soul series, numerous anthologies, RX for Writers, Daily Devotionals, and medical journals. Email her at kathe@wildblue.net
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT:
Who are the animals who parallel your life's journey?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The Giving and Receiving of Animal Names
What names have you given your animal companions?
When we do our workshops or book events, we always ask the participants to introduce themselves and tell us the names of their animal companions. This exercise gets a lot of laughs as people share the creative names they have given their furry friends.
Diana, from Australia, says that the impulsive adoption of two pullet hens caused her to name these new members of their family, Spon and Taneous. They joined Diana's other two hens, Little Red and Riding Hood.
Literature often provides the inspiration for animals' names. Janice says that she and her husband named their five puppies after characters in THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, a book Janice had loved to read as a child. They called the pups Christian, Purity, Chastity, Tenacity, and Charity. Another woman re-created her childhood by naming her new kittens Papa Bear, Mamma Bear, and Baby Bear. They joined Bear, the adult cat, who already ruled their household.
Beverly says that Shana Punem, in Yiddish, means "beautiful face." The name had special significance to her because this is what her father used to call his niece when the girl was little. Beverly says, "He would cup her face in his hand and say, 'Shana Punem.' It was such a sweet gesture." When Beverly adopted a dog nine years ago, she named her Shana Punem.
Lisa wrote to tell us about her dog, Trouble. He got that moniker because when Lisa adopted another dog in addition to the two she already had, her sister-in-law predicted that Lisa's husband wouldn't be very happy about it. "You're going to get in trouble," was her admonition. As it turned out, according to Lisa, "Trouble was never any trouble at all. My husband and I both adored him." She says that Trouble was a dog who never did live up to his name.
An orphaned kitten named Gabriel was so sweet that his new human companions named him after the Archangel Gabriel. They write, "It backfired! We've found out that feline angels can be very mischievous!"
Although people get very creative about giving names to their animal companions, some say that the animals have let their humans know what they want to be called.
Melodie writes about the adoption of her tiny, juvenile green iguana. She says, "For a week, I tried many names that seemed perfect for her, but none of them were right for this little creature. During the second week of having her, a strange name was just in my mind. I truly believe that Eeghana-guana told me her name."
Our beautiful golden retriever, Prana, chose us from a litter of adorable puppies by coming forward and untying Allen's shoelace. On the way home, she seemed to whisper her name in Linda's ear. Later, we found out that "prana" means "breath of life." Prana surely was a breath of life for our family during the years we were blessed with her presence.
What names have you given your animal companions? Did you choose this name or did the animal choose it for you?
When we do our workshops or book events, we always ask the participants to introduce themselves and tell us the names of their animal companions. This exercise gets a lot of laughs as people share the creative names they have given their furry friends.
Diana, from Australia, says that the impulsive adoption of two pullet hens caused her to name these new members of their family, Spon and Taneous. They joined Diana's other two hens, Little Red and Riding Hood.
Literature often provides the inspiration for animals' names. Janice says that she and her husband named their five puppies after characters in THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, a book Janice had loved to read as a child. They called the pups Christian, Purity, Chastity, Tenacity, and Charity. Another woman re-created her childhood by naming her new kittens Papa Bear, Mamma Bear, and Baby Bear. They joined Bear, the adult cat, who already ruled their household.
Beverly says that Shana Punem, in Yiddish, means "beautiful face." The name had special significance to her because this is what her father used to call his niece when the girl was little. Beverly says, "He would cup her face in his hand and say, 'Shana Punem.' It was such a sweet gesture." When Beverly adopted a dog nine years ago, she named her Shana Punem.
Lisa wrote to tell us about her dog, Trouble. He got that moniker because when Lisa adopted another dog in addition to the two she already had, her sister-in-law predicted that Lisa's husband wouldn't be very happy about it. "You're going to get in trouble," was her admonition. As it turned out, according to Lisa, "Trouble was never any trouble at all. My husband and I both adored him." She says that Trouble was a dog who never did live up to his name.
An orphaned kitten named Gabriel was so sweet that his new human companions named him after the Archangel Gabriel. They write, "It backfired! We've found out that feline angels can be very mischievous!"
Although people get very creative about giving names to their animal companions, some say that the animals have let their humans know what they want to be called.
Melodie writes about the adoption of her tiny, juvenile green iguana. She says, "For a week, I tried many names that seemed perfect for her, but none of them were right for this little creature. During the second week of having her, a strange name was just in my mind. I truly believe that Eeghana-guana told me her name."
Our beautiful golden retriever, Prana, chose us from a litter of adorable puppies by coming forward and untying Allen's shoelace. On the way home, she seemed to whisper her name in Linda's ear. Later, we found out that "prana" means "breath of life." Prana surely was a breath of life for our family during the years we were blessed with her presence.
What names have you given your animal companions? Did you choose this name or did the animal choose it for you?
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