Animals have always been a big part of my life.
I can't imagine a life without them!

On Lem Turner Road we had a "mini-farm" of sorts. Everyone fancied himself a farmer back then; and, my father was no exception! On my birth certificate it says "Father's occupation: farmer." Farmer? I am pretty sure that is what he told them; but, he was the foreman at a creosote plant and we lived on 23rd Street. There are no farms there now and there were no farms there then - I assure you! His father was a Methodist minister; but, because his mother died when he was very young, he was raised by her parents who did have a farm! Almost everyone back then was raised on a farm; and, I am sure that Daddy thought that "that" made him a farmer. It was a class thing!

It wasn't until Lem Turner Road that he ever had enough land to farm. Not that it was a lot of land; but, it was enough for a very big garden and a lot of animals. He kept his job at the creosote plant; and worked the garden and took care of the animals when he got off - with the help of the rest of the family, of course.

We had a cow for milk once. Her name was "Star." One day she went missing and we looked all over for her. My parents had their ideas about who took her; but, they knew they could not prove it!

We had some hogs. They were kept in a pen which was a couple of inches off the ground. Everyday my mother would take the water hose and give both the hogs and the pen a good "watering down." The hogs would raise up themselves up on the side of the pen with their forelegs and drink from the water hose. They really seemed to enjoy it. One day while my mother was watering the hogs, a big rat came running out from under the pen. Our cat got him!

It is a good thing that I never really got attached to those pigs because hogs are kept for only one purpose! Still it was a long time, like about four decades, before I felt comfortable eating pork. Watching a chicken get his neck wrung is not a pretty sight either; but, chickens are not particularly animals that attach themselves to my heart. I mean, I never encountered a chicken that I really "related" to or wanted to pet. Somehow I could always eat chicken. Our chickens were kept mostly for eggs anyway!

We tried raising some goats once; but, they all took sick and died. I especially remember a little curly haired white kid.

There may be some of you out there who do not know, so I will tell you, a "kid" is a young goat. When I was young, the expression "kid" was only just beginning to be used to mean a child; and, then it was mostly just something children called themselves and other children. I would call myself a "kid" and my parents would tell me that I was not a goat!

I had some goldfish once when I was about eight years old; but, my parents took me with them to Miami that summer; and, while we were away, my sister, Beverly, decided to clean their bowl with bleach! Killed them all!

For my sixth birthday I got a parakeet. Parakeets were new back then - at least they were to my neck of the woods and they were all the rage!

My father took me to a little flower shop on Lem Turner Road where the woman who owned it also raised parakeets on the side and I chose a little baby blue one that we named "Pretty Boy." Not very original I am afraid; but, that was his name. Pretty Boy was with us for twelve years. He learned to talk. He could say "Pretty Boy" and "Pretty Baby" and a lot of other things. His most interesting phrase was "Dig these crazy people!" I used to say that a lot and he picked it up from me!

Pretty Boy had the run of the house throughout much of the day. He liked to "help" my mother wash dishes and greens in the kitchen; and, the moment I got in from school I could count on him flying over to greet me. Then he would get in my hair and start pulling it!

Once he went missing! Then after a couple of days, my mother heard something scratching behind the bedroom dresser! He had fell and got caught between the wall and dresser mirror! By that time, he was one tired, hungry, and frightened little bird; but, otherwise all right!

Then Pretty Boy got out for real! I don't remember for sure exactly how long he was gone, but it was at least for a couple of days. Finally he came up to feed where a neighbor was feeding his chickens some corn mash. The neighbor caught him for us.

My mother started raising parakeets both as a hobby and for some extra money. At one time we must have had a hundred birds on hand! We took in one little sickly yellow female which we named "Pretty Baby." She lived for a number of years.

The dogs in my life have been many.

My mother liked chow dogs. We had a black chow named Pal. I don't remember it; but, my parents always said that Pal taught me how to walk. I would pull up on her and walk along going wherever the dog went! A few years later there was another black chow named Lucky. One Halloween my nieces, Deborah and Vicki, were playing with him and had him dressed up like a "Halloween Dog." They were all running and playing together when Lucky ran out into the road and was struck by a car. It broke his back. We had to shoot him.

Then there was Frisky, a little funny looking black and white female dog with long hair which my uncle had gotten from off of one of the ships at the Talleyrand Docks. I first met Frisky at my grandparents house.

At the time, my mother's parents lived on the Northside in Oceanway in a little brown house with a yard swept clean with a broom. Before lawn mowers people would sweep their yards with brooms and pull up anything the broom didn't get. It was dusty and not particularly good for the land; but, this is a hot and humid climate where the alternative would have been grass and weeds well over a foot high! By the time I came into the world lawnmowers had arrived on the scene and we used one on Lem Turner Road; but, many people still followed the old custom which, by my reckoning, did not die out until
about thirty years ago.

In the back of my grandparents house there was a garden with a giant creosote pole with birdhouses made out of gourds. These gourds were inhabited by martins, carnivorous birds which were a big help controlling little critters which might not be quite so carnivorous.

I remember walking outside my grandparents backdoor and seeing Frisky running through the garden towards me. My grandparents let me have her. When we got her home, she lay in the corner with tears in her eyes! Some people will tell you that a dog can't cry; but, that dog had tears in her eyes!

Frisky liked to chase me. She would catch me in the rear end and pull down my panties.

She died of complications during a pregnancy. Back then people just did not take their animals to a doctor. The thought just did not occur. They very seldom went to a doctor themselves!

This also meant that there were no vaccinations. One of our dogs, a little terrier went "mad." My parents told me about it later. I never saw it.

Rabies does seem to have been on the decline by the time I came along. Listening to the rabies stories my mother used to tell this is the conclusion I have reached.