Category Archives: Pets

Narwhal the Little Magical Furry Unicorn

Do you believe in unicorns? Some people actually don’t. But the folks in the “Show Me” state of Missouri do. That’s because they’ve actually seen a unicorn. Yes, they’ve been shown. And so as good Missourians, they must believe.

Unicorns come in all shapes and sizes, as you may be well aware if you’ve followed my blog for very long. Because at Chasing Unicorns, if it’s new, wacky, novel, crazy, funny, silly, strange, weird, different, unheard-of, or otherwise unique, it’s a unicorn.

The particular unicorn I’m referring to in this post, comes in the shape of a puppy dog.

Narwhal the Little Magical Furry Unicorn is a beagle-mix puppy who was rescued by Missouri animal shelter, Mac’s Mission. Narwhal is very special, because he has a unique little furry horn growing right out of his forehead. And his horn is soft and cuddly, just like a puppy dog’s tail.

They love Narwhal so much at Mac’s Mission, that they’ve decided to keep him. He will not be put up for adoption. Instead, they’re using him as a spokesdog in a “Different is Awesome” campaign. And I agree. Different really is awesome. I believe variety is not just the spice of life, but it’s our very lifeblood. We cannot survive without unicorns like Narwhal.

You can learn more about Narwhal the Little Magical Furry Unicorn, by clicking on the link to the news story, below:

Pet Heaven

Harry Hertzer donned his construction helmet and strolled nonchalantly toward the building. He stopped and routinely waved a signal to the crane operater. The heavy extensile arm slowly swung toward the building Harry stood beside, while dangling a large air-conditioning unit fastened by ropes.

Harry was lazy and failed to follow the safety rule that required him to stand outside the arc path of the crane’s payload. As the a/c unit passed directly above, the ropes snapped and a ton of metal crashed down upon Harry’s head, smashing him like a corn chip.

He was looking up when he saw it speeding down toward his face. Then the scene quickly changed to a dark vortex, like a tunnel, and he felt himself being pulled up through this tunnel. Suddenly a bright light appeared in the distance. It was whiter than white, and it grew bigger and bigger as he drew closer and closer to this refulgent orb.

Finally he found himself next to it, bathed in celestial light. It seemed he was able to communicate with this being of light, mind-to-mind, without words. I will attempt to translate this superlunary dialogue, so that you, the sublunary reader, can comprehend as best as possible.

“Who or what are you?” Harry asked the being of light.

“I am Lassie!” proclaimed the being. “I’m the dog you owned when you were a kid.”

“Lassie? Really? Is that you, Lassie?!”

The being gave Harry a familiar bark that helped him recognize this incorporeal canine.

“Lassie, it really is you! Huh, I never thought animals could go to heaven.”

“Oh yes,” Lassie yipped. “All living creatures go to heaven after they die. There is no difference between you and me, Harry. No one soul is superior to another. This is where we all live most of the time, as equals, while only occasionally going to places like Earth where some beings are able to dominate other beings.”

That concept of dominating stimulated something distant in Harry’s memory. “What happened to you, Lassie?” he asked. “The last time I saw you was right before you disappeared.”

Lassie gave a deep, almost imperceptible growl. “Don’t you remember? You kicked me. It was the last time I allowed you to kick me. After about a thousand kicks, even a dog grows tired. So I ran away from home. The next day I was crossing a highway when a big truck ran me over.”

“Oh.” gulped Harry, and he hung his head.

Suddenly a panoramic vision of his life unfolded before his eyes, and Harry viewed every instance where he kicked his dog.

“G-Gee, L-Lassie, I am s-so s-so sorry I did that to you.” Harry stammered.

“Not good enough!” Lassie barked and howled.

Suddenly he felt a violent kick to his midsection, and experienced the sensation of flying way up through the air a great distance, then smacking the ground with a flesh-bruising thud. Then he felt as if he was being run over by a large truck tire, and heard the crepitation of his own bones as they crumbled beneath the weight of the wheel.

The pain was so intense it overwhelmed him, and it took a good long time for Harry to pick himself off the hard surface he lay upon, and stand upright again. But then, as soon as he stood up, it was WHAM! He was kicked yet again, and experienced the same sensation of flying through the air and then being run over by a truck tire, just like before.

Over and over a thousand times this pattern of kicking, crushing, and terrible pain repeated itself, until it finally sank in to Harry, and he understood what he had put poor Lassie through during his puppy’s brief sojourn on earth. Harry felt horrified about his past actions.

As soon as this epiphany infiltrated his mind, Harry found himself hurtling through a dark tunnel again. Up ahead a being of light awaited. Then he stood next to it, bathed in its radiant-white rays.

“Wh-Who or what are you,” a wary Harry asked.

“Don’t you remember me, Harry?” the being of light responded. “I’m Dolly, one of your cats. You know, the one you set on fire when you were 20 years old?”

The moral to this story is that nothing separates us humans from other living creatures, other than the fact that we have different physical forms, and supposedly more advanced brains.

So treat your pets well. Give them a good life. Because you never know. After you leave your human form, you may just end up in pet heaven.

Kill or be Killed

It started with a meal. We were over at my in-laws, and wanted to cook some dead bird, or pig, or cow, or some other poor critter that had been killed in a slaughterhouse. But hey we all have to eat. It’s kill or be killed in this world.

We used their oven in the back patio, because it was big enough to toast this feast. My wife set it to preheat. About ten minutes later a rank smell invaded our osmic senses. Smoke curled out of the oven. My wife killed the flame just in time, to prevent a fire that might have killed everyone in the house.

Field mice were scattering everywhere. They had ripped and torn all the insulation from the oven, and made a huge nest inside, where they could live cozy and warm. Now they were trying to save themselves from being killed by this very same, very warm home. Meanwhile, my senile mother-in-law cursed these mice that killed her “brand-new” oven. After all, she’d only bought it 20 years ago.

My father-in-law disconnected the oven and had it hauled off. But he too is getting forgetful in his old age. He neglected to completely shut off the gas. If my wife hadn’t noticed, we all would have been killed.

But my father-in-law still has most of his marbles. And he knows how to set traps for mice. My mother-in-law wanted him to use poison. They argued about it into the night, and almost reached the point of killing each other. But traps won and they both lived. However dozens of mice would soon be killed.

Then they decided we could get them a cat. The cat would kill a few mice, but that would scare away the rest, sparing their lives.

"Killer Sam"

“Killer Sam”

We went down to the animal shelter and selected a ball-bearing mousetrap. A six-month old male kitten, to be exact. But it won’t bear balls much longer, as it’s the policy of the town to fix the felines they adopt out. It’s their way of killing future kittens before they’re conceived, to save them from having to kill them after they’re born.

So now, to save the next brand-new oven from being killed, we’ve saved a kitten from euthanasia at the animal shelter (well, we saved everything but its balls). The kitten will kill some mice, but will save the rest from being killed by traps. But cats also predate upon birds, snakes, gophers, and anything else that moves. So there will be a general slaughter of wildlife, in my in-laws’ backyard.

No matter how hard we try, there’s no escape from bloodshed and death in this kill-or-be-killed world.

Dogtoothed Dogfight

In this corner, Mona "Don't Mess With My Teeth" Lisa

In this corner, Mona “Don’t Mess With My Smile” Lisa

And in this corner, Peone "The Alpha Hygienist"

And in this corner, Peone “The Alpha Hygienist”

Yesterday two of our wiener dogs, Mona Lisa and Peone, got into a fight. Mona Lisa is a 13-year-old cranky Tasmanian Devil. Peone is a 5-year-old hyperactive ball of energy, and the alpha female of the house. Although she’s small and the youngest, her unsuppressible energy makes her the leader of our pack of four dogs.

Peone loves to clean Mona Lisa’s dirty, stinking, rotting teeth. Usually Mona Lisa tolerates this intrusive activity, much as we humans tolerate the dental hygienist who picks, scrapes and grinds away at our ivories, every six months, as we dig our fingernails into the naugahyde arms of the chair.

But yesterday Mona Lisa had enough, and she bit Peone’s tongue. The fight was on. My wife broke it up and gave Peone a severe scolding.

Was my wife in the wrong? After all, Mona Lisa’s old teeth truly are rotting out of her head, and perhaps it’s for her own good to have her teeth cleaned regularly by her sister, whether she likes it or not.