Thursday, April 28, 2011
I have a penchant for collecting animals. I always had the normal sort growing up - both cats and dogs, fish, a bird or two (including a dove, at one point.), hermit crabs, sea monkeys, whatever.
I lived out in the boonies in NJ, right in the pinelands, so we also had a ton of wildlife always trotting in and out of the yard at any given time, which meant I did my fair share of rescuing baby birds and turtles.
At one point, I played around with becoming a vet and did an internship at a wildlife hospital. (Where I was bitten by just about every animal in the north east, and taloned by a red-tailed hawk in a rather unfortunate set of circumstances. Translation: I am an idiot.)
Anyway, fast forward a few years to where I'm supposed to be a grown up or something. I'm currently the proud owner of two cats (plus at least one stray), two birds, two kids and a hedgehog. And sea monkeys. (And apparently we are now feeding a mother possum and her several clingy babies, as of this morning.)
I did have a 75 gallon salt water reef take for several years as well, but ended up selling it the last time we moved, alas.
However, as far as weird pets go, I have to give props to the hedgehog up there. Also known as Tumbleweed, she's definitely a bit grumpy, but cute as a button for all that. Not one for social graces, there's still nothing quite like putting her in the giant hamster ball and letting her pad all about the house. (I'd let her free roam, but with the kids and their toys, it's just asking for trouble...)
Hedgehogs, by the way, are mostly nocturnal. And they run. A lot. Like between 3 to 8 miles a night. She has a giant wheel and from about 7 PM to 4 AM or so, that's what she's doing. Of course the part they don't tell you? Hedgehogs also crap and piss themselves while they run. Which means by morning she's got what I've fondly come to refer to as "poop boots."
The rest of my pets aren't nearly so interesting, though my old man cat (15 years old next week) Killian, was the direct inspiration for some of Phineas' actions. He's definitely a bit of a bastard overall, and had a delightful tendency to drag my bathrobe around the house, where he'd invariably find some sordid corner and hump the shit out of it.
No, I *don't* want to go there.
I say used to, because he's mostly outdoors these days. (He's fixed, but he sprays. Vomits on stuff. Pees on stuff. Figured out how to open doors by turning doorknobs. In short? Bastard.)
My kids aren't quite as interesting as all that, although Lucy does have her own Twitter page (@LucyisTweeting in case you choose to follow). I haven't updated it in a bit, but she really does say the weirdest stuff.
But then, so do I. :)