Bella's Byline

     My fourth nap of the day was interrupted by a horrible dream.  I had wings and two webbed feet and I was stuck on an exercise wheel in the middle of the surgery room floor.  I opened my mouth to meow for help but nothing came out.  I had no interest in grooming myself and my food bowl was full of grass, weeds and grains.  I got out of my bed and stretched, doing my best to shake off the dream.  It was no wonder after the goings on at the clinic this week.

     It started on Tuesday with a sick ferret.  Poor thing came in all long and lethargic, not interested in socializing at all.  He stayed with us for several hours as the doctor worked with him.  Once his meds kicked in he started getting pretty lively.

     "Hey there," I stared at him, standing just outside his carrier.  Whack, whack, whack!  He smacked the door repeatedly.  "Whoa," I stared at him, taken aback.  "How are you feel...."  Smackity, whack, whack, whack!  He pummeled the carrier door and proceeded to throw a fit, his back feet running in place while he threw little ferret fists in my direction.  "Well, excuse me," I breathed.  "I was simply trying to...."  But I left the though unfinished.  Muhammed Ferret-Li was throwing his whole body into it now, against the carrier door, scratching, punching and wriggling.

     "Don't bother him Bella," the doctor with glasses said to me.  I crouched, ready to sprint away from him if he tried to examine me.  He continued walking up to the front of the clinic.  I scowled after him.  Why does everyone assume I'm bothering others?  Cats are curious by nature and I'm a prime example of my kind.

     On Wednesday the duckling came in. A small, fuzzy, baby creature this little guy really needed us.  It turned out he had a broken leg.  The doctor handled him very carefully after his X-Ray and put a splint on his tiny leg.  As he lay on a cushy bed in his box, I made my way over.  Amanda lifted his box up and put him on top of the X-Ray table just as I was getting ready to get a good look.

     "Don't bother him Bella," she warned me.  What in the heck?  I whipped my head around and started licking my back, pretending I didn't hear her.

     "I know you hear me Missy," she said.  "Leave the little duck alone."  I stayed where I was as the girls came over one by one.  They oohed and aahed and told duckling how cute he was and how sweet he was and how precious he was.  When the doctor cam back to look at his leg again, he lifted him out of his box onto the surgical table and I finally got a good look.  He had weird feet and a rounded belly, a tiny fuzzy head and little brown eyes.  Again a chorus of affectionate phrases came from all of the girls.  When the tiny duckling began to chirp and flutter it sounded very tender and sweet.  I decided to sing along with him and let out my own chorus of meows.

     "What Bella?" Deanna asked me.  "You let him alone."  That did it.  I stalked off whipping my tail back and forth as hard as I could.  I needed to be around one of my kind.  Where were all the cats this week anyway?  I sat in the lobby when the duckling was discharged.  Everyone came up to say goodbye and learned that the duckling had been rescued from an organization that took in abandoned backyard fowl.  He now belonged to a little boy who loved him and he slept with that boy in his bed every night.  I stared at the man as he carried the duckling out the door.  He would take him home to his little boy and for that I was happy. 

     Friday started out well enough.  Courtney gave me some extra Greenies after breakfast and Jo Anne let me sit on her charts while she talked on the phone.  The doctor didn't try to examine me and I watched three lizards through the window before my first nap.  Then a woman ran in with a box.  I pushed down my jealous feelings in case it was another cute little duckling, but it wasn't.  The woman revealed that a possum had been hit and killed on the side of the road and in the box were her three babies.

     While the calls were being made to a wildlife organization that would take over their care, I approached the possum box with my routine welcome stare in mind.  I was met with hissing and the baring of tiny teeth.

     "Leave those cuties alone Bella," I was told.  What was so cute about them?  Nothing, that's what.  Hissing and behaving the way they were.  I wouldn't be told to go away again.  I stood my ground but I began to feel sleepy.  I went to my "house" and climbed into bed where I was met with my nightmare.

     I decided to wait for clients who wanted to pet me in the lobby.  That would cheer me up.  Or maybe I would see some cats who were coming in for their annual check-ups.  I ran up front and sat by the scale.  Things were going to perk up and I would make fast friends with the next cat I saw. I cleaned my paws and offered my most alert stare as I sat.  And then the door opened and a man walkedin with a bearded dragon on his shoulder.

Bella's Byline

     I wake as the lights are coming on and leave my bed quickly.  I know where I must go.  In the front lobby I hop onto the chair in front of the window to wait.  The girls are unlocking the cabinets and moving around the front desk.  They review the day's appointments.  Now they know too.

     As the morning unfolds I remain in the chair.  I do not lie down to nap.  I watch through the window and when the time comes the car rolls in slowly.  It parks but no one gets out.  Several minutes pass before a back door opens.  A woman gets out and holds a tissue to her face.  She turns and stares down at a figure on the back seat.  She reaches in and strokes the figure as she dabs at her cheeks with the tissue.  A man gets out of the car and walks around to the woman.  He rests his hands on her shoulders and they stand there staring.  No one is in a hurry.

     The girls go out to the car with the stretcher.  They will not move in until they are asked to.  After a while the man nods to them.

     As they come through the door the girls handle the stretcher with great care.  Upon it lies a boxer with rust-colored fur and legs that have weakened over the years.  She struggles to breathe.  She does not lift her head.  The woman places her hand on the boxer's chest as they move away from the scale and down the hall.  The door to the exam room closes quietly.

     The doctor prepares and heads in.  His feet move slowly.  There is no smile around his eyes.  After a few minutes the man comes out of the room.  He walks to the water cooler right next to me.  His hands shake as he fills a cup.  I look up at him with all my might as he stares out the window.  He shifts from side to side and holds his breath.  He tries not to let it out.

     When he notices me he sits down by my side.  I turn to him and lean in.  Hestrokes my back, gently at first, then firmly, over and over.  I move a little closer as he pets me.  I am here for him.  After a while he stops and puts his head in his hands.  He takes deep, uneven breaths.  I lean against him gently.  He begins petting me again and I rub my head against his hand.  His breathing calms as we sit together. 

     The man gets up and goes outside.  He stands by his car.  I jump down from the chair and move down the hallway to tend to the woman.  I sit outside the exam room and listen. 

There it is.  I can hear it.

     Above the doctor's hushed instructions and the boxer's labored breaths and the sobbing and the whispers I can hear it.  It is strong and powerful and clear.  It is the loudest sound in the room.

The sound is love.

     Love sounds like uncontrollable laughter and calming waves.  It rings like church bells on Christmas Eve and the doorbell when your best friend surprises you.  It sings like unexpected good news or the rain falling when the sun is out.  It's as large as a symphony or a sky full of fireworks, yet it is soft and warm and gentle too.  It is there in that room, wrapped around every memory and hug that's been shared.  It surrounds every look, every touch and every minute they have spent together.

     I close my eyes as the exam room door opens.  Love washes over me with a warm caress.  I thrill in the moment.  The doctor comes out.  Soon the woman comes out too.  I stare up at her from my spot.  Her face is red and her eyes are puffy.  She continues to sob as she walks quickly down the hall.  She still holds the tissue to her face.

     I run after her, as the sound of love spills into the hallway and fills every space.  I hope she can hear it too.  I stop in the lobby just inside the door and watch as the woman goes out to the man.  He turns to her and they embrace as she continues to cry.

     The man and woman must go home without the boxer.  Their pets' spirit will find its place in heaven.  I will stay by the door for the rest of the day.  And the love will remain in the minds and hearts of all three of them--as it has always been.

Origins

     Ms. Hall has been with us from the beginning.  Having a soft spot for kitties has led her to feed many a stray.  Some she found homes for, a few she kept.  Among them was Apple, a long-haired calico with a mind of her own.  Apple's long hair requires extra attention.  She comes to see Amanda and only Amanda pretty regularly.  Amanda is patient with Apple who has a very strong personality.  She doesn't always like to be touched and would prefer to stay at home on her cushy round bed.

     I asked Ms. Hall how she came up with the name Apple. 

     "She came from the shelter with that name," Ms. Hall replied, reflecting for a moment.  "They told me she was returned......twice."  "I kept her and I kept the name."  Ms. Hall doesn't mind Apple's attitude.  She understands it and her commitment to Apple is firm.

     Ms. Ragsdale has a retriever mix named Finn that she adopted six years ago.  Recently she stood at the front counter after his annual exam.  I asked her how she settled on the name Finn.

     "I love that dog," she began.  "He's such a great dog."  "He's the type that's happy to see you when you walk in the door and he loves to play."  She went on to describe how Finn liked to cuddle and play with her cat Scooter and his successful attempts to snuggle up to family members on a regular basis.

     "Of course, he doesn't listen," she went on.  "If he were to get away from me outside, he would take off and it would be a huge effort for the next hour to round him up."  I nodded in agreement, having a dog myself who behaved in a similar fashion.  "If I call him he'll ignore me and just keep going," Ms. Ragsdale said shaking her head.  "He's the best dog, he really is so loving, but if he gets a chance to run loose he won't listen to me."

     "He came from the shelter with the name Finn," Ms. Ragsdale said.  Since he was a few years old it didn't fell right to change it."

     So many of our clients have adopted what they often describe as "the best dog ever" or "the sweetest cat" from various shelters or rescues.  Many keep the name their pet comes with in the hopes of making them more comfortable.  Apple has a "strong personality" and Finn doesn't always listen.  But they will always be Apple and Finn.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.

Bella's Byline

     My time observing this past week has left me puzzled.  It was mid-morning on a Thursday, and even though my next nap was overdue, I was quiet taken with a perky dachshund that came in with Cassidy.  She sat down with him on the floor to start trimming his nails.  Curious that he possessed such a spring in his step, I moved close to Cassidy and sat down on the floor to watch.  The dachshund started wiggling and squirming in her lap.

     "Calm down Ernie," she said.  "You're O.K. I promise."  Then she looked at me.  I moved closer to help calm my new friend Ernie.  He wiggled even more.  Cassidy got up and moved to another spot with him.  I followed them.  More wiggling ensued.

     "Bella, you're making Ernie nervous," Cassidy told me.  I stared at both of them.  Insulted by the suggestion that I was causing Ernie to be nervous, I got up and walked away, whipping my tail back and forth as I went.  I noticed Amanda lifting a French bulldog into the bathtub.  Shocked that I wasn't falling asleep on my feet, I decided to go over and investigate.

     I stood to Amanda's left as she started the water.

     "There you go," she soothed, "its O.K., you're O.K. good girl."  I jumped up on the towel cart that was positioned next to the tub for a better view.  The bulldog's skin was red and inflamed.  Large red bumps covered her chin.

     "I know Irma," Amanda said as she applied some medicated shampoo.  "This will help."  "What a good girl!"  I watched as Amanda gently lathered up the shampoo and massaged Irma all over.  She covered every inch of her and handled her carefully; sensitive to the discomfort she was in.  She talked to her and pet her as the shampoo set in to do its work and told her repeatedly what a good girl she was as she rinsed her off.  When Amanda left to get a towel, I stared at Irma trying to decide where to begin. 

     First, I licked my paw and worked on my right ear in an attempt to show poor Irma my cleaning methods.  Despite my fatigue, I showed her how I can stretch my neck in order to make long, cleansing licks to clean the front of my chest and upper legs.  Although I was not in need of a bath, I licked my paws and worked in between each toe thoroughly to school Irma on how to prevent this condition she was in.  I stared at her for some sign that she understood.  She stood very still with her mouth open and looked at me.  Then she threw up in the tub.

     "You poor girl!"  "What happened sweetheart?"  "Are you nervous?" Amanda soothed, hurrying over to Irma.  I stared in disbelief at Irma, attempting to be sympathetic to her predicament while at the same time resisting a very strong urge to swat her with my paw.  I jumped down from the towel cart and made my way over to Jo Anne who was taking inventory of the prescription food to see what we needed to order.

     "You keep out of this Missy," Jo Anne said to me as I watched her.  I arched my back and brushed up against her leg.  Then I sat down and stared at the food bags.  There was a time that I could roam freely at night when the clinic was dark and everyone had gone home.  I could race up and down the halls and sit in Dr. Bonda's chair.  I could visit with those that were boarding with us and share stories.  I could explore to my heart's content.

     Then, one night, I decided to help inspect the cat food.  I jumped up on one of the neat stacks of Feline Hairball Control, chewed open one corner of a bag and tried a little.  It was delicious.  The next night I helped myself to the Optimal Care Formula which I also found tasty.  The third night I tried Science Diet Kitten Formula and it was out of this world.  But the very next day, when it was time to close up, Sheri came and scooped me up.  She carried me to my "house," (I won't allow anyone to call it a cage) placed me inmy bed and closed the door.

     I watched as the girls taped up the bags I had opened and shook their heads at me.  I gave them my best look of shock that I should be punished for helping with the progress of the clinic.  Hadn't they ever heard of taste tests?  Shouldn't I be applauded for my efforts?  I shivered at the thought of how misunderstood I was, at the injustice of it all. 

     Puzzled by Ernie's squirming, Irma's reaction to my bathing lesson and the consequences that led me to be stripped of my free roaming at night, I decided the best thing to do to ease my mind was to sleep.

Origins

     How do we name our pets?  The origin of each pet name varies from person to person and from family to family.  Some stay strictly with foods like Ginger and Biscuit.  Some use names like Daisy Mae and Elly May that came from favorite TV shows they grew up with.  One client shared with me her love of old movies which resulted in one cat named Audrey and another named William.

     Lots of clients stick with the name their pet came with when they rescued or adopted them from a local pet shelter.  They are sensitive to the pets' needs and the thought of changing a name the animal is familiar with won't work.  That's where names like Mr. Jingles and Lilac and A.J. come from.  Some I've talked to picked names of candy, resulting in cats called Kit Kat and Skittles.  Some study the physical characteristics of their pet.  A bunny with long hair in both light and dark shades of gray could be named nothing other than Smokey.

     Since pets are family, it makes sense that some like to pass on the name of a loved one who has left us.  Others come up with a name they like, such as Shilo or Xavier and the pet naturally responds.  We know a cat named Junior who was named after the Nascar driver and a dog named Beezus, named after the character in the beloved series of children's books by Beverly Cleary.

     When Jo Anne's daughter was younger, she would spend time with her father in his shop.  He would work on a variety of cars, repairing them, re-building them and painting them.  The time they spent together was special.  When a new cat came to the family, Jo Anne's daughter named him Makita.  Makita slept on her bed and got comfortable in her closet.  Makita was a best friend.  The name Makita came from a tool that was in her father's shop.  It was a name that was passed from their special time together to a precious kitty. 

     The word origin is defined as "the point or place where something begins."  Pet names can represent foods and characters and movie stars, candies and loved ones that have gone before us.  We name them after athletes and heroes and memories.  They are where love begins.