Bonnie Blue

Day One

I'm pretty sure that after all of my failed attempts at pet ownership I should have just given up. But once I make my mind up about something it takes more than a little heart break and disappointment to stop me. I decide the way to go is through a pet store. There are horrible stories about puppy mills and animal cruelty associated with pet stores, but those puppies need homes too. I found a store that had a good reputation. They also give health guarantees and, with my track record, I thought was a plus. They had a mini schnauzer that I wanted. He would grow to be a medium size and that would fit well in my apartment. I did not want a small dog. I walked past a window of Yorkies and there was one that caught my eye because she was super cute and different than the others, but I kept walking... a Yorkie would be on that list of dogs I don't want along with a Chihuahua. My friend Kelly was with me and she finally convinced me to just hold the Yorkie (she had noticed the same one). She was sweet and alert and already full of personality. She was 4 months old and 1.8 pounds, and I was in love. It didn't matter to me that she was the most expensive dog in the store.



Bonnie's favorite place



I named her Bonnie Blue, one of my favorite names from Gone with the Wind. She is spunky and smart and if my love for her is anything like the love a mother has for a child I am scared to actually have a kid of my own. She is so cute that when we are out I get offers from people who want to buy her from me.

Bonnie just celebrated her first birthday. She is full grown, weighing a total of 3.8 pounds. If any other small dog were offered to me I wouldn't take it, but I am so glad that I took that tiny puppy out of the store window. All of the experiences from Smokey to Layla were worth it because they brought me a precious angel of a puppy.

Halloween 2011

More Pet Failures

After my failed attempt of rabbit ownership I was determined to have a pet. I decided I would get a dog after all. I didn't want a small dog. I had a roommate who had yapping little Chihuahua's and that was the last thing I wanted. I preferred big dogs, like Great Danes. A Great Dane would probably be too big for a one bedroom apartment, but it could be done.

I liked the idea of rescuing a dog. I filled out online applications and searched through multiple websites trying to find a suitable dog. I found that one rescue group would have their adoptable dogs outside of a store on a Saturday morning, so I decided to go and visit. There was a medium sized wired hair terrier that was sweet and adorable and available for adoption. For a $150 fee I could take him home. If only it were that easy. There was a 3 page application to fill out and an interview process. I was deemed unfit to adopt from them. It turns out if you want to adopt from a rescue agency you need to lie on the application. I was asked what I would do if I lost my job, and given some choices "a. keep the dog no matter what, b. send him back to the rescue center, c. take him to the pound or d. give him to a friend who could take care of him." I chose d. I would find him a suitable home. They were looking for a. keep him no matter what.  I told them that made sense. After all, I see many homeless people on the streets with their dogs and I if I were to lose my job and couldn't pay my bills or my rent or buy food for myself much less an animal it would definitely make sense to KEEP the dog with me on the street than find him a suitable home. They thought I would be a great pet owner, but not for one of their dogs. They told me to try the pound.

The pound was just down the road, and I had my mind made up that I was bringing a dog home, so I decided I would go to the pound. I found the most beautiful Siberian husky.  She was black and white with the gorgeous blue eyes and she was so sweet and calm. She was perfect. Even better, it was only $40 to adopt her and I didn't have to fill out 3 pages worth of ridiculous questions. I named her Layla.

My happy bubble would soon pop, though. I kept Layla in the kitchen until I knew she was house broken. I would take her for a walk and she would always go the bathroom and never had any accidents in the kitchen, but the next morning as I tried to put her leash on she darted past me into my living room and dropped a load... a liquidy mix with live worms squirming around. The most horrible smell in the world. I was trying not to vomit on top of it. It was disgusting. It made sense for her to have some stomach issues since she was in the pound and I had to take her to the vet anyway to get her shots. I was responsible for getting her rabies vaccine. The pound was kind enough to send me home with a dog that may or may not have rabies. When I got to the vet for her shots and for some de-worming medications I asked for them to check for heartworms too. The vet came in and told me that she did have heartworms. In fact, a pretty advanced case. She could be treated, but with no guarantee it would work. Heartworm treatment is also pretty expensive and time consuming.  He told me I needed to make a decision in the next day or two if they wanted to have a chance of helping her, otherwise she had maybe 2 weeks left to live. I had only had her for 2 days, but I was already attached and now crushed. It was like killing Smokey all over again, but this time I knew what I was doing, having to make a decision between life and death for this poor dog.

I couldn't keep her. I didn't have the money or the time to treat heartworms. I was so mad at the pound. She was sick and they didn't even test her or treat her for anything. I couldn't believe they would send me home with such a sick dog, but I had to take her back. I decided to go to a different county, one that was considered "no-kill". They would try to treat her and if they couldn't they would put her down peacefully instead of letting her die a slow painful death in a cage.

Defeated again, I started to wonder if having a pet was really something for me. It seemed like the cards were stacked against me. I really did want one, but at the same time I couldn't handle a loss or another disappointment.

A tale of three rabbits

When I was a little girl I had a pet rabbit. His name was Smokey. My dad built a rabbit hutch in the backyard and every day after school I would go to the hutch to see Smokey and he would hop around with excitement when he saw me coming. I would bring him inside and he would sit with me and watch tv.


One day, after my dad trimmed some hedges, I thought about how much Smokey would enjoy the treat of a few leaves. I got a wheel barrow, filled with every last leaf and limb, and took it to Smokey stuffing his cage to the point that he would have to eat his way out. What a treat! The next day when I came home from school and took my usual trip to the backyard I noticed that Smokey wasn't hopping around with excitement. He wasn't moving at all. Perhaps he's napping? The closer I get I call his name and nothing happens. My rabbit was dead. I had poisoned him with hedge trimmings and love.

I was so upset when Smokey died that I never wanted another pet again. It would obviously not end well. It took 20 years for me to get over the trauma of killing Smokey, but I finally decided I should get a pet. I didn't really want a dog or cat, and after some research I decided that I should get another rabbit. What better way to build my confidence than to get one of the most difficult animals to take care of? I found a rabbit rescue society and was surprised at how many people have indoor rabbits. They are actually quite passionate about it I would find out. I had to fill out paperwork and go through an interview process and was told that most of the time they don't send someone home with a rabbit on their first meeting, but they had a good feeling about me. I didn't tell them about Smokey so they had no reason to doubt my abilities. They packed my car full of hay, a pen and TWO rabbits. One, a flemish giant, called Gigantor (he was enormous and would grow to be the size of a medium size dog but looked just like Thumper, from Bambi) and another smaller one that I named Belina. They were both cute and sweet and what I thought would be my perfect pets. I had lost my mind. I set them up in the sun room of my one bedroom apartment with plenty of hay and water and wondered what in the world I was thinking.

Rabbits poop, a lot. All they do is eat and poop. I'm a bit of neat freak, so I was constantly sweeping up poop and hay and also cleaning up urine. Gigantor would jump in the air and spin around and pee, spraying it every where. The walls, the carpet, the curtains and poor little Belina. Nothing was safe. It also turns out that there is a protein in rabbit urine that becomes airborne and can cause allergies. Who knew? Turns out I was one of the lucky ones with such an allergy. The same weekend I adopted them Atlanta went through a crazy snow storm and the city was shut down for a week. I couldn't get out of my apartment if I wanted to. So, I was stuck with 2 rabbits, a bale of hay and a constant asthma attack.

I didn't want to fail at my attempt of being a pet owner but I wanted to be able to breathe. I reasoned that if I took the giant rabbit back that there wouldn't be urine sprayed around and maybe that would help bring the allergy under control. I told the rescue group that 2 rabbits were too much and I needed to bring him back and after some of the roads thawed a little bit I was able to return him. Belina had grown attached to him, however. She turned into a mean psycho rabbit after he left. Rabbits thump their back legs when they feel threatened or when they are mad. Belina was constantly thumping that back leg (not a quiet thing) and avoiding me when I came close to her. I still couldn't breathe in my own home and she hated me, so I had to return her too.

I had them a total of 7 days. It took me 2 days to clean up the damage. I had failed again, but I didn't kill them. That was progress in my book.