As I was growing up, we lived in an apartment complex and did not have any pet. I don’t think my mom is fond of animals.
Her mother – my grandmother, however, always had cats around. She started feeding a few feral cats and ended up naming them and their kittens. I remember one of them had some Neurological disorder and, when he woke up from his nap, he had seizures and ran around banging his head. We had to ward him with a big blanket until he calmed down.
When we first got our dogs, my husband did not allow them inside the house and left them outside. They were puppies, and I was worried about them being hurt by those feral cats that lived in the jungle. The first time we heard them fighting off those cats, my husband was proud of them, but my heart was pounding fast. The male soon turned into a killer hunter and a great guard dog.
When my husband became ill and could not spend a lot of time outside, we brought them inside the house. The male was so timid as he crossed the doorway. The female, though, stepped swiftly inside and acted as if it had always been her house.
They were the reason I chose to stay in the jungle after my husband passed away. I got through many tough days and nights because they were with me. When I see his eyes glowing, looking at me, or hear her steady breathing, sleeping without a care in the world, my heart just throbs. They have given me plenty of love.
I haven’t perfected to be a patient, in-control and assertive pack leader yet but am making progress. So, please live well and stay safe, doggies!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Menagerie.”
“Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you? If no, why have you opted not to?”