How the hell does she swing from the drapes? Why in doGs name did he roll in dead fish—and then share by rubbing clean against my socks? Does shedding itch? Is that cute innocent look for real, or just an act?
I’m passionate about pets. I never stop thinking about them. For more than twenty years, I’ve puzzled over their actions, behaviors, motivations and care, nearly 24/7. Pets rule.
Okay, so according to the pet-less, I have no life. Well, I actually read email and do radio, but only with a pet on my lap so I’m multi-pe’tasking. Some folks write to change the world. They do so with passion, dedication, and great skill, and I admire them greatly. I also write to make a difference, and sometimes manage to save lives. I rarely know what impact the work has, though, because those who most benefit from my writing never read it. In fact, some of ’em probably baptize it. Please don’t leave my newspaper columns on the floor. It’s disheartening.
I spend my days, and many sleepless nights, wishing my audience had pocketbooks. But if they did, they’d spend hard-earned kibble on Kitty Kaviar, Puppy Crunchies or fuzzy squeaker toys to disembowel (or hump) at the most inappropriate time. At least, that’s what Magic and Seren would do.
And today, with 70-mph straight winds removing roofs, lightening strikes sparking fires, and “take cover immediately” mass-telephone warnings from city staff, what did I do? Ducked into the safest room (the pantry) with necessities–the dog, cat, cell phone and wireless laptop. So am I obsessed? Yep, and proud of it!
After decades puzzling about P’ETiQuette and studying furry foibles, I’m closer than ever to answering must-know questions about what pets think. At least the pets let me think so. Haven’t a clue about what makes ME tick, though, other than a desperate desire to do right by these creatures that depend on us. I do wonder what pets see in humans that allows them to put up with clueless folks who seem scent-blind and hearing-stupid toward all the clear-as-crystal animal talk being sent our way.
My illiterate furry audience “reads” in very different ways, and demands that I meet specific needs. And as long as they need me, my passion serve them, and myself as well, I suppose. Guess we enable each other. And I do my dog-gone best to translate pet desires, language, and needs into language the other pocket-book-bearing creatures understand.
So I accept that I’m different. Pets are my obsession, my fixation, my passion in life. My true readership will never ask for a pawtograph, or care if I have initials after my name. But they will do back-flips for the right treat, and wag and purr with delight should a human finally understand that tail-talk.
But until my audience comes out from under the bed, or tires from dog-earing one of my books and actually SPEAKS in language most owners understand–and puts me gloriously, wonderfully out of business–I’ll keep typing, blogging, radio-ing away. Wait, I’m channelling a message now. It’s coming clear, yes, it’s…I see it all now! what I absolutely, without a doubt, know to be the meaning behind all the howls, hisses, yowls, and wags. The fur-kids of the world sit up and beg and howl their message loud and clear:
BUY AMY’S BOOKS!
Trust me. Pets never lie.
woofs and wags,