BARNEY ATE AN OMELETTE

BARNEY ATE AN OMELETTE

By Laura Walcher

Presidio Sentinal
June 2011

   Barney may be the one male of late that I can deal with:    Arnold’s  disappointed us (to say the least), and The Donald’s wasted our time.  Barney does neither.  Part of it is expectations, of course; with dogs, you get what you get.

More by far, thought I, than what Isabelle Walcher gets from Millie, her Guinea Pig, and Shelly, the Tortoise. Ms. Isabelle, now 14, has been trying hard to prove me wrong.  Isabelle can “do” 15-minutes on Millie – without inhaling.  Even Shelly – a Tortoise! -  can get a minute!   Go figure.

Poor Ruby!  Isabelle’s smart who-knows-what canine may be perplexed at having been demoted from being Number One Pet since Millie’s arrival, but Ruby’s a lady; she doesn’t complain.

I’m a lady, too, but with a bigger brain (right?) than Ruby.  I yearn to understand the Guinea Pig phenomenon taking over my lovely grand-daughter’s life. “She (Millie) is adorable, sweet, loves to be held, and has the best personality!,” exudes Isabelle. 

I’m working hard to experience this.  Remember Isabelle’s non-stop 15 minutes?   Here she goes:  ”Millie definitely has her own personality! She’s a kind’ve ‘diva.’ She loves people but not other guinea pigs. She is very vocal and squeaks every time she hears the vegetable bags crackle. She loves to curl up on my chest while I watch TV or am on the computer. One of her favorite things is having her chin scratched!” 

Yeah, I say, but it’s nothing personal – not like Barney, who knows his masters, knows his friends.  And how does she know, anyway, about what and who Millie “loves”? At least Barney wags his tail.  Isabelle protests, “I think she ‘knows’ me. She’d better! I feed her. She knows my footsteps when I come down the stairs to give her breakfast  - lettuce, bell pepper, tomatoes, cilantro, and more! She never squeaks when my mom comes down the stairs, only when I do!” 

Could I be persuaded?  Millie, maybe.  But Shelly-the-Tortoise, when abandoned Ruby is slinking in a corner, silently yearning for attention?  You can’t even play with a Tortoise, I declare.  “Not really ‘play,’ “ Isabelle confesses.  Well, duh.  She declares, ”actually, I have!” (Uh-oh). “ I set up a maze for Shelly with bricks; well, OK, she just knocked them down. But I did try to take her for a walk “

“ The most enjoyable thing about Shelly is watching her move! She’s fast! I love watching her eat, too!” Isabelle’s undeterred.  “She has a little tongue  - tiny and pink! I feel a special bond with her.   My brother (Ben) and I had fish, but Shelly was my very first all-to-myself pet. She was my responsibility. She has lived with us for about seven years.  I love her so much! “

Growing up, I had tortoises, too.  Maybe I have a bonding deficiency.

I say, stick with dogs.  (Hear that, Ruby?)  There’s a certain rationality to Barney’s character that I respect. He has his pride.  If he has to vomit, say, he heads for the carpet, where it can then sink into the rug and he can pretend it’s not there.  If he needs to poop, he looks for a low hedge for hiding it, or better, someone’s lovely flower bed.  If I say, “stay” at a curb, he monitors the traffic from the correct direction.  And if he needs a little snack on a walk, he cleverly avoids the fresh tidbits that neighbors leave for him (odor, light), and heads straight for the rotting unmentionables – oh, like that omelette.

At least, I think it was an omelette.  ###