The first pet in my house was
Becky, a big black girl whose father was a lab and mother was a dane. She was by far the best dog I ever met. She died when she was 9 and I was 11. She let us kids climb all over her, was wary of strangers but rarely uttered a sound. I think she knew her size and presence was enough to make anyone aware that she was on-guard of her family. She had a deep "woof" that sounded like her great dane mother.
The next dog was
Honey, a knee-high honey-colored "shepherd mix" whose body looked like a large basenji. She died when she was about 11, having to be put to sleep when a leg injury refused to heal and became seriously infected. She was very expressive, wary of strangers but loved all other animals. We got her from North Shore Animal League.
Katie we got about a year or two after we got Honey. She was also knee-high and had more of a shepherd's coloration, but almost hound-like ears. Sweet dog, she tolerated Honey because Honey was there first, but hated all other dogs. She loved all people, though. We got her from our cop neighbor who found her as a stray puppy in the Bronx. She developed cancer and had to be put to sleep when she was about 12, a few years after Honey passed away.
Those were the family pets. The ones that were my own were:
Tiffany and
Scorpio, black and white Abysinian guinea pigs. No, I wasn't a fan of General Hospital. Tiffany had the cutest, fluffiest white face, and that's what I pictured when I thought of her name. Scorpio was named because that was his zodiac sign. I got them when I was in the sixth grade. Tiffany died a day after giving birth to
Fluffy Surprise (Fluffy for short....Surprise because I didn't even know Tiffany was pregnant). Scorpio passed away about five years later, shortly after Fluffy died after giving birth herself.
Rusty and
Smokey were long-haired hamsters named after their colors. As they were caged together at first, Rusty soon gave birth to a huge litter of 13 babies. I kept
Sylvia (she was smokey-gray like her father, but had a golden face like her mother...only she and one brother were colored like that), gave
Cameo (dark-eyed cream female) and
Anthony (golden male) to my cousins, and brought the rest of this and the following two litters to the pet store for credit on supplies. Later, Cameo and Anthony came back to live with me, and this time all were caged separately and lived out their days (about 2-3 years). The hamsters and guinea pigs were all buried in my backyard with "headstones" of wood that I burned letters into spelling their names.
Popeye was my blue-fronted amazon parrot. He was one of the last hand-fed wild-caught birds before the import ban. I got him when I was 14. Popeye was the first pet I had that I felt I had a relationship with. He was awesome -- uber-friendly with me and my mother, tolerant enough to let anyone else hold him, talked and sang, called me by name...but unfortunately, when he was 5 years old, he developed strange tremors that led to finding out he had some kind of heart infection, which gradually ate away at his body. I lost him just about a week before Christmas 1994. His ashes are next to my desk in my room, and I still (14 years after he died) get misty when I talk about him.
After Popeye, the thought of another bird was too much to bear, so I got an adorable chocolate ferret I named
Sebastian (I always loved this name -- reminded me of a rascally little boy). Feeling that he needed a buddy, I got
Cabot, a big black ferret. The two of them together recalled the name of a famous clown. They lived in a huge 4'L X 3'H X 2'D cage I made, with three carpeted floors, two litterboxes (they wouldn't share) and a giant hammock that both slept in. They would get the run of my bedroom whenever I was there with them, and sometimes downstairs. They got to play with Honey and Katie, but Honey was the one who was really in love with them. I had them for about three years until my allergies were just too unbearable to keep them in my room, and there was no place else in the house to fit their cage. I gave them, and the cage, to a friend from school who had one ferret of her own already.
I really missed having an amazon, so a year after being without the ferrets, I fell in love with a double-yellow-head I saw in a pet store. He already had a name, because he was between 18 and 24 months old (so said the pet store owner), and that name was
Sammy. I later found out, by having his leg band ID traced, that he was 7 years old at the time, but I didn't care. He's been my buddy and companion ever since, and that was 10 1/2 years ago. In March, Sammy will be 18, old enough to vote! He is beautiful, totally bonded to me, calls me by name, lives in a big cage meant for a macaw, and will hopefully stick around long enough to see me get my first Social Security check (I'm 32 now). He's already been with me through six different addresses, six roommates, four boyfriends, five jobs, and countless moods. I can't imagine life without him. See some of his pics below.