Today’s guest post comes from Joanne in Big Lake
I am not an animal person. We had some dogs growing up and I enjoyed them, but once on my own, I learned that apartments don’t like pets and I was allergic anyway. That was my excuse when we did have a house and the kids really wanted a dog.
Even so, I always enjoy interacting with other people’s pets.
I was astounded to learn that animals have very distinctive personalities, quirky behaviors and dysfunctions just like their human owners. My first realization came while I was working in the home of someone who had 2-3 dogs. One was a giant, dumb and friendly labrador named Bruno who would force his 50 lb blockhead onto my lap or under my hand, begging for love and attention. Another dog was a jumpy and smart little miniature doberman named Taz who would run around underfoot.
One day when owners were out, the UPS man dropped a package outside the door. Our menagerie of dogs and human went to retrieve package, the dogs barking a chorus of “let’s get the mailman.” Unfortunately, the package was just out of reach. When I inched the door open just a little more to reach the mail, the dogs exploded out of the house like corks, racing madly after the UPS truck. I was horrified as I watched them streak down the long driveway tailing the UPS truck, wondering if they might get hurt or run away. Luckily, I was finally able to corral them back into the house. I tried to pick up Taz, but he evaded me and went up steps alone with a distinct limp. Then Taz sneaked away to his little doggie retreat out of sight.
When the owner returned, I felt very chagrined to inform her of Taz’s injury. Her very nonchalant response was, “Oh he does that all the time – he’s just faking it.” I was stunned. I had never heard of a pet faking an injury to avoid punishment or garner attention. She continued to say that they had brought Taz to the vet on a couple occasions for his “injury” before they caught on, and noticed he was inconsistent with his act as well. I found this absolutely hysterical as it never occurred to me a pet would employ such a clever trick.
Another woman I know has 4 indoor cats and supports a welfare state for an outside herd of feral cats on her large, pastoral property. Helios, an old tom in the house, is a grumpy old man in every sense of the word. I get a snarly meow just walking past him. Additionally, he will only, and I mean ONLY drink running water from the well water tap. Calpurnia sticks to herself and actually snores while she sleeps. Siete always finds a place to snuggle on my friend’s lap and sleeps there for hours. Pita (short for Pain in the Ass) always gets into things – one reason why the toilet paper is not on a holder but hidden after she had TP’d the entire house. One or two of them will only eat from a certain bowl with a Christmas holly design on it. If there isn’t food in it, they won’t eat.
I guess it’s true – animals are people, too!
Describe an unusual pet personality trait.
Trail Baboon 
Good morning. We have had a number dogs and cats as pets and, as one one might expect, they have all had their unique personalities. The cats that bite are probably the most memorable. You would think that a cat that is your house pet and is fed by you would not attach you. Not true. Tiger would come up to you and bite you without warning. He might let you pick him up or he might not. There were times when he would let you pet him and even be friendly. You never knew if he was going to be friendly. He was our pet and we liked him even if we did have to put up with his sometimes hostile behavior. My daughter had a cat that might have been related to Tiger that was at least as bad about biting people.
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i think thats a riot joanne about the dog faking the injury. and jim your cats are funny too. me and all my animals are normal and have not quirks at all, just like my family of humans.
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tim, do you think being delusional is normal?
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Sneak attack…ZAP.
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How boring your life must be tim, with no quirkiness to enliven the dull, gray landscape stretching endlessly out before you. Hope you can find a little something to spark your interest. ;-D
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Interesting, tim. If I had to pick two words or phrases to describe you, they wouldn’t be “normal” and “no quirks at all.”
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Henry, our latest dog, has a very unusual habit of carrying his tug toys to the door whenever we call him to take him out. He loves playing tug of war and will not let loose of a tug toy when you play tug with him. When he come to the door to go out he will let you have the tug toy. You need to remember to take the toy that he is offering to you before you take him out. If you don’t take the toy, he will carry it outside and might drop it some place before he is brought back inside.
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I have had a cat who came to the door when I came home or guests arrived – much like a dog (he also snored), a cat who drools when you rub her belly (she’s a stand-offish kitty, so it’s wild that a belly rub gets her relaxed enough to drool like a hound), a basset who sang with a roommate when she practiced for her voice lessons (but only when she sang American composers – Europeans kept Norma mum), a black lab who thought the kitchen doorway to the dining room was a magic portal that only humans could go through (until the singing basset came to visit after I had moved out – the lab was over 10…and astounded that a four-legged critter could go through the door), and now Barney – who will be quite happy now that school is starting again so he can go to the bus stop on week days again (he likes to hang out with the kids).
There was also the collie mix we had growing up – her favorite game was “get out of the fence and go for a solo walk to the lake where I can find an especially stinky dead fish to roll around in.” Duchess was always so proud of herself when she came home not smelling like a dog – and quite chagrined when she had to get that wonderful smell washed off before she could enter the house. She was a wanderer, and would not have done well with our leash-law heavy city now. When I was about 8 or so, we went on a family vacation and left Duchess with my grandparents, who lived across the street from Powderhorn Park. The day we were supposed to return home, my grandmother let the dog out – when she went to let Duchess back in, no dog. She called and she called, walked around the neighborhood – no Duchess. She was beside herself: how could she tell her grandkids that their dog was gone. When we arrived to get Duchess, we got the news. My mom rather nonchalantly said, well, let’s see if she’s at home. And she was. Across 35W and to our house near Lake Harriet, Duchess had found her way home (we still have no idea how she managed it, since she had only ever made that trip by car, but her sense of direction and “home” were clearly quite strong). There she sat, by the door, wondering why on earth we hadn’t been there to let her in earlier.
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I would not be against allowing dogs to wander freely if there wasn’t so much potential for problems when that is allowed. I don’t appreciate it when someone’s big aggressive dog is free to roam around in my yard. Also, our dog would be at risk of getting lost or run over if we let it run free and I wouldn’t want to see other dogs suffer those same risks.
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I think it’s safer for critters and humans in the city if they do not roam – out by my brother’s house (Prior Lake, out where it used to be farmland), letting a dog roam makes a little more sense. South Minneapolis – not so much.
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We had a cat years ago, Corfu, who was the sweetest animal anyone could want. She was our “only child” and therefore decided she might as well try to communicate with the two “large creatures” with whom she graciously shared her house.
She actually seemed to learn to understand us and it got to the point where we would have “conversations” with her. We’d say something, she’d meow in a certain way, we’d speak again, she’d “say” something else, etc. This might go on for a minute or two, as if we were actually discussing a topic (probably something like, “Why don’t you feed me GOOD food instead of that stinky Puss ‘N Boots canned, fish-flavored goop?”
Her other peculiar trait was that she loved to play fetch like a dog, with one of those little cloth-covered elastic hair ties that resemble rubber bands. We’d toss it to the other end of the room, she’d dash after it, retrieve it, and return to drop it at our feet, then meow insistently until we tossed it again. Sometimes she’d get us to do this with her for 15-20 minutes at a time, at which point we became bored beyond words and gave up.
Chris in Owatonna
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My rather mad elderly cat, the one whom I had to put to sleep a couple years ago, would play fetch in her younger days. I would toss one of the glittery pompom toys up in the air, she’d bat it down, shake it (breaking the prey’s neck, no doubt), then come over and drop it to be tossed again. As she got tireder, the toy wound up further and further away from me…Polychrome didn’t care much for petting, so this kind of play was the only contact we had for years. She softened up some in her old age, but only a little.
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Nice to know Corfu wasn’t the only fetching cat.
Chris
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Our first Welsh Terrier became upset whenever I took the ironing board out of the closet. Whenever she saw me get the iron out, she followed me around to see if I approached the closet where the ironing board was kept. As soon as i removed the board from the closet she attacked it, biting and tearing at the cloth cover. She circled me while I ironed, whimpering, until it was time to put it away, when she would jump and tear at it until it was safely back in the closet. I lost more good ironing board covers in the 15 years we had her. I have no idea why this was such an issue for her.
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Absolutely, animals have their own quirks, likes, and dislikes to their personalities. I think cats unfairly get tagged with more of the ‘dysfunctional’ label just because their socializing patterns generally tend to be more of a sliding scale than dogs but, just like with people, there are very few hard and fast rules. We treated the dog I grew up with as a little person. And, as such, he became a little person as much as he could. He knew us all by name. He knew when we were all ~supposed~ to be home and he’d wait at the top of the stairs for us until we were all home. He would know how to avoid Mom scolding him when he slept on our beds or on the couch. In fact, not only did we eventually have to capitulate by putting an old bedspread on the couch for him every night when we all went to bed, eventually, if you were sitting on the couch and it was getting late, he’d put his head on your lap to indicate that he wanted to go to bed and that you should put his bedspread on the couch (and his pillow) and scoot over so he could go to sleep. He would sneak one of your socks out of your room while you were getting dressed and just wait for you to notice. Then you’d have to chase him around the house while he howled with laughter as you played the game with him. When Dad paid bills, he was always rustling papers. The dog, wanting to help, would beg for a piece of paper or an envelope, which he would promptly take into the next room and shred by holding it in his paws and pulling it apart with his front teeth. He was making the same sound as Dad was, so he was helping. He was execeptionally smart and personable. I still miss him.
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It seems to me that your family had the same tendency as ours when it comes to dog training. Instead of training the dog, the dog trained you. We were having trouble taking our dog for a walk because he wouldn’t heel. After a few failed attempts at getting the dog to follow along with us properly, we gave up and let him go ahead with only a little reduction in his effort to drag us from place to place. In fact, we are happy to let him pull us from side to side so that he check out things when we take him for a walk.
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My first cat when I was a teenager would be rather standoffish, until a friend and I were playing double solitaire on the living room floor. Katten would wait till we had the cards all set up, and then take a run and slide into them like they were home plate.
I had a couple of cats who loved to become your “scarf” – when you sat down to read, wrap herself around the nape of your neck… this was especially true of Olga when I tried to take her and the two others ‘cross country (in the van when leaving my disastrous marriage in New York). They were curious to climb into this “box” on wheels, loaded to the ceiling with all my worldly goods. But, uh-oh, it’s a MOVING box on wheels. The other two spent the entire trip under the seats or under my feet, but Olga was pretty much around my neck for that ride.
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Nice post, Joanne – love reading these stories.
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Our rescued Westie, Mr Higgins, has a sock fetish. Any sock not securely corralled in the washer, dryer or drawer, is in his mouth within seconds of hitting the floor or open laundry basket, no matter how far away he is when it lands. He’s very good about giving it back as long as you praise him for the recovery, but he never misses a fallen sock. He has no interest in other articles of clothing other than the occasional soft slipper, and never chews his finds. His foster mom from the rescue organization reported the same behavior while she had him. Just one of his many quirks.
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The list of personality quirks I’ve noticed in family pets could fill an amusing book. There was Heidi, the Boston Terrier I grew up with, who liked men and loved tug of war (she’d slyly move around the rubber ring toy until she could nab your fingers and get the toy away from you); Krishna the Collie-Shepherd mix who loved to chase snowballs; Zappa the black cat who cuddled with my Mom during her chemo and pined after her death; Polychrome, who I mentioned above, and the current crew…One amusing thing Twyla (who was 8 mo. old when I adopted her) learned from Polly was to drink with her paws–Poly always dipped her paws in the water and licked it off, rather than putting her face in the bowl. I’d see Twyla with a bemused expression on her face, imitating Polly’s technique–“She always does this, so there must be a reason, but I don’t get it…” Now Twyla also insists on drinking from a coffee mug, just like Polly in her later years, and when the water level is too low, she will indeed dip her paw.
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Morning all. Love these stories. Like CG, I could fill page and page with these stories. I’ll do one of my favorites. I was living near Uptown with two dogs, one Irish Setter and one Samoyed (yes, same as now….). In that house I had a doggie door installed in the kitchen door that led out onto the back porch and down into the yard. One Saturday afternoon I had made a batch of big muffins and they were cooling on a rack on the kitchen counter. I was cleaning up around the house and I heard flap/flap. The dog door. Then another flap/flap. Then another. It was unusual so I headed into the kitchen, just in time to see my setter going out the door, followed immediately by my little sammie. Then I looked over to the counter and noticed that only about half the muffins were still there. I whipped open the door to the back porch and looked down into the yard, just in time to see Scarlet dropping a muffin onto a pile of muffins. She was getting all the muffins out of the house as quickly as possible, presumably to eat them all at her leisure. Of course, my poor, not-too-bright Sorcha was just following her in and out!
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There are great stories here, too many to comment on individually.
All my pets have had quirks, but the most unusual one was my first dog. Jody had been raised by a cat (because her mother died shortly after giving birth). Jody thought all cats were “Mom” after that.
My dogs have generally been classic dogs, but my two English setters were principled to a degree that amazed me. They never did a wrong thing. The first, Spook, would never touch a sock on the floor unless you tied it in a knot and offered it to him. He understood from that that the sock was now a toy, and he would toss it in the air and chase it happily for several minutes. The only time we disciplined him was after he growled at the boisterous puppy my erstwife brought into the house. To punish him, she draped a towel over his head, knowing how dignified he was. Poor Spook was so ashamed he was depressed for two days.
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The toughest summer I’ve ever had was about six years ago. Having been owned by likely 17 cats over the last 20 years (but never more than 5 at a time!), the summer of 2006 brought the heartache of having to euthanize four fur persons in just one month. Three had come to their 16-year expiration date; one from congestive heart disease due to in-breeding. I was lucky to have a HS classmate who runs a animal clinic offer to come to the cottage to give each cat “the shot”. I’d already dug the holes in my backyard pet cemetery and made headstones.
One old guy named Sky had always been unpredictably dangerous to humans. He love the outdoors, so my vet friend and I decided to do it in the front yard. He instructed me to hold Sky’s head & shoulders firmly. Apparently, it wasn’t firmly enough because at the moment of injection, Sky’s head whirled around almost 360 degrees and his canines pierced my thumb. Blood squirted everywhere. Bob, the vet, quietly said, “I’m so sorry Nancy, but you can’t bury him now”. He said he could lose his vet license if he didn’t immediately drive the dead cat directly to the U of M to be tested for rabies!
And so, the hole for Sky remains available for the next death. That will be Peanut, my 13-year old tabby. Given my age and history of cancer, I’ve concluded that there isn’t enough of a guarantee that I’ll still be alive in 15 years to warrant another cat. It wouldn’t be fair to bond for over a decade (hopefully), then traumatize a cat by losing his/her human. It’s a bit odd and sad to be at an age which means that any animal acquired may outlive ME rather than the other way around……yet one more reminder of how fast time if flying.
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My ex-hippie friend and her husband are arriving at that point–their current pair of cats are around 10 years old, and she’s saying they won’t get any more for fear the cats will outlive them. They’re both around 65, but she has diabetes and he has a family history of heart disease, so who can say? I’d find it very hard to be without companion animals, but like you, I would worry that I would inadvertently abandon them through my death. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to have younger people around whose pets I can share in my latter years.
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I suppose it’d be the “right thing to do” to adopt a used cat needing a loving home? That does seem like an alternative to going pet less or taking on a kitten who might outlive you. I’ve heard somewhere that there are pet havens with cats and dogs abandoned through having their owners die. Just a thought.
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There are lot and lots of used (or broken in, if you will) pets up for adoption. It’s an excellent alternative to getting a puppy or kitten. My friend, Eleanor, who is 92, adopted a “used” cat last year from the Humane Society after she had to euthanize her old cat. Every day is a gift to both Eleanor and her new “used” cat.
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Having adopted several dogs and a cat over the years, all having at least a year or two under their belts, imagine my dismay to have the kitten in the house last year. My oh my, what an eye-opener!
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My 19-year-old pint-sized cat (the one who we think had a stroke almost 2 years ago, but like the Energizer Bunny just keeps going and going and going) was a Humane Society cat. Her human had passed away – an older lady with a couple of cats and a dog. Story I got was that the dog was able to go live with one of the woman’s kids, but all the grandkids were allergic to the cats. That was 16 years ago. There is a second life for critters who survive their owners. 🙂
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Rise and Shine BAboons?
Up at the crack of noon, all. Actually, I had an atypical morning in which my routine was interrupted, so no TB until now.
We have had a parade of cats and dogs, all with Quirks.
Coco, though, the dog who died in May, 2011, takes the prize for weird and funny situations. She was terrified of lightening and thunder, which reduced her to quivers and whimpers. While camping in our pop-up during a thunder storm, we felt the camper shake. First we thought it was the thunder causing it, then realized it was the dog’s shaking. During a morning storm years ago in which crashes and bangs overhead were coming rapidly, she stopped pacing and starting running frantically through the house, finally joining my husband who was taking a shower. She was wet and shaking there, too, but apparently she felt safest with Lou no matter where he was. We laughed until we had to sit down over it.
Then there was the rabbit for supper. A rat terrier, she hunted all rodents. During an escape from the house she caught a rabbit and devoured it. My son went looking for her, finding her in the wetland park below the ridge near our house. She was wet and bloody and stuffed with rabbit. Her stomach was somewhat distended because SHE ATE THE WHOLE THING. 6 weeks later I got a lesson in the life cycle of the tapeworm. Yuck.
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When we purchased our previous home in Inver Grove Heights, it came with a cat. Screamer was a longhaired, spayed calico, about eight years old, who, the previous owners assured us, was an outdoor cat. Within half an hour of positioning my favorite recliner in front of the fireplace in the den, Screamer was comfortably ensconced in it. Screamer was missing half an ear, it had frozen, and broken off, when one winter the former owners had refused to let her in. She was a sweet cat, but had been an outdoor cat mainly because they didn’t want her in the house. Mice were a favorite part of her diet, but unlike our much younger, orange, male tabby, Freuchen, she couldn’t be bothered to hunt them herself. Freuchen would disappear in the tall grass on the slope behind our house, and with a very distinctive low meow would announce when he was returning to the house with a catch. This was Screamer’s signal to come and relieve him of it. He didn’t seem to mind. Don’t know if it was because he sensed she was older, chivalry, or if he really didn’t care to eat them, but it never caused conflict between them.
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Why was she called Screamer?
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I really couldn’t tell you for sure, vs, she never screamed when she was in our care. I can imagine her, though, doing plenty of complaining when the former owners wouldn’t let her in, and I don’t blame her. With us that was never a problem.
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Then there was my Uncle’Harvey’s black lab farm dog who used to go across the road to the neighbor’s yard and retrieve heavy metal pipes and drag them home.
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Just read this, posted on Facebook by my niece-in-law (who lives an hour or so south of Atlanta, GA) about her 20-month-old toddler: “i looked over to see Micah playing on the floor with our cat, since they don’t usually lay together and play so nicely, i walked over to see what was go on. they were taking turns batting at a scorpion on the floor. Micah found it to be the funniest thing. i had to inform him that it was a bug (he usually leaves bugs alone and tells us to get it).
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My first cat, Franny, loved tobacco. It was like catnip to her. When I first got her, my sister hadn’t quit smoking yet, and when she came for a visit, Franny would burrow into her purse to find the pack of cigarettes.
When my sister quit smoking, she gave me the remainder of her last pack of cigarettes for Franny. I made a couple of little stuffed mice with tobacco in their innards. I also kept the filter ends of the cigarettes, and those became fetch toys. I’d toss a cigarette filter and Franny would scramble after it, pick it up in her mouth, and bring it back to me so I could throw it for her again. I wish I had a picture of her with a cigarette in her mouth. She looked like a pretty tough customer.
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🙂
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