AtoZ of Animals I have met: “F” is for Freccia #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

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AtoZ of Animals I have met: “‘I’ is for Imp of the Devil” #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

When I was a fairly little girl, my maternal Grandfather (Gramps) bought my maternal Grandmother (Grammy) a silver toy poodle. I spent so many weekends with them that Beau Maurice became one of my best friends ever. And you’re probably wondering what a silver toy poodle named Beau Maurice (where did she get that name? She was English) has to do with an imp of the Devil.

It’s a good question. I would also like to know the answer to that one, to tell the truth. He was the sweetest little guy; I just loved him to death. He did tend to leave to his toys all over the house in the most unexpected places. And his howls were almost as shrill as the sirens of the firetrucks that he howled with as they screamed past my Grandparents’ house. Or maybe it was because he would jump onto the back of the sofa under the window so he could hear them better and be more in tune with
his howls.

I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is, that that is what she called him.

Something else I know is that when we would call Grammy, she would say, “Where’s Mickie?” and he would run and jump onto the back of the couch, with his whole back half wagging (I knew, because I’d seen him doing it before.) Then she would tell him, “She’s on the phone” and he would come and lick the phone. And when I said, “Hi Beau, I love you”, he would give soft little yips in reply.

And when I stayed at their house, he always knew I was coming, because he would be sitting in that usual spot watching for the car to arrive, and then he would come greet me at the door with a flurry of yips and jumps that any gymnast would envy. Yep, he was my best friend.

He lived to a very old age and was Grammy’s companion for several years after Gramps died. She obtained another that looked almost just like him, but it was never quite the same and when the second died, she never got another. There was only one Beau Maurice, the little Imp of the devil, and I’m so glad I got to be his friend.

The silver toy poodle here on the right has the same caring look Beau had, but he was immaculately groomed, at least once a month.

 

 

 

Copyright © 11 April 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.

AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: “’J’ Is for Jaws” #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

 Originally I had intended writing this under the letter ‘S’ is for Squalo (Shark), which is the name of the movie “Jaws” in Italy. I have two stories of unusual encounters with something that fits the name “Jaws”.

Nino was a fisherman and hunter, and one day he went fishing with another friend. Nino knew that I don’t particularly like fish, and especially not freshwater fish, and he usually gave them to his friend. One of the main types of fish they caught was carp, and one day he brought home a live fish that had a very distinctive  coloring: he was a bright orange, and how could anyone eat a goldfish?!

One day as I was feeding him, I noticed the interesting way he went for his food: he would

circle around the bottom of his bowl, stop in dead center and then swim straight up with his mouth wide open and grab as much food as he could. He did this several times until there was nothing left in the bowl. I watched in horrified fascination and decided then and there to name him Squalo, after the shark in “Jaws”.

He actually stayed with us for several years and was a never-ending source of hilarity. Then, we moved to Sicily, and we went by train. Our daughter was only two months old and so we could only take a couple of suitcases with clothing and our daughter. Some of our friends asked if they could have him, because they got that same source of hilarity. It was good to know it wasn’t just me.

The second story is about my up-close, in-my-face encounter with a shark – a real one this time. A group of teenagers and our adult supervisors went down to Loma Linda, near San Miguel in Baja California; we had a sister church there and we often went down to help them with various works.

I loved going down for several reasons, and they were usually happy to see me, too, because I spoke pretty good Spanish and I think I was actually the only one in our group who spoke Spanish. And the only one of our Mexican friends who spoke any English was their Pastor. And so, I acted as official interpreter. It was fun.

And so one time that we went down in the summer, we all took our bathing suits with us, along with sleeping bags because our leaders had decided, since it was summer and the temperatures were fairly mild, we could camp out on the beach at San Miguel on the way home, and since the water was also fairly warm, we went swimming.

I am a more than decent swimmer – I was swimming before I could walk and I was born on a Naval vessel; I considered myself a mermaid (one can dream, no?). The waves were amazing for bodysurfing, and that’s what I was doing. The others tired of it, but I just kept riding the waves. That is, until I heard the others calling me and pointing at something on my left. I turned in time to see a fin speeding toward me: not a dolphin fin, which is common enough, but another, more sinister type of fin.

There were no waves in sight; well, yes, there was, but it was nowhere near enough, So, I put on my superpowered feet and Aquagirl speed, and swam faster than I had ever swum before. I’m pretty sure I could have out swum Mark Spitz and broken all speed records, and Mr. Jaws never had a chance.

I don’t know if he was a local denizen or not, but I decided I was never going to swim in San Miguel Beach ever again.

Copyright © 10 April 10, 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved  

AtoZ of Animals I have met: “H” is for Hairy and Mercurio #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

 When I decided to name the baby buzzard that Nino brought home for me to mother (have I mentioned that there is a sort of affinity between birds and me?) Hairy, they all thought it was for Harry Potter, because of my obvious liking of the magical boy; I had to tell them that I was thinking of the word “Hairy” because he still had a lot of his down, which hung like strands of hair.

Okay, I have an affinity with birds, as many can tell you, but man! I had never played the part of a mother buzzard before. All I can say is that it’s a good thing I’ve seen a documentary or three on rapacious birds, so I knew that the mother bird ate the food and then shared it with her babies.

And no, there is no way in this world that you can get me to chew up raw meat. That’s why they invented knives: to mince chicken livers so you can feed baby buzzards; that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Also because it’s true. So, I whipped out my handy dandy knife and minced my chicken livers and started my life as a buzzard mom.

Nino wasn’t really certain where Hairy had come from, but since a couple of days later my daughter’s boyfriend brought me another, which he named Mercurio, and which he had found in the same place Nino had found Hairy (the restaurant where Nino was the Chef) we surmised that they had probably both fallen from the same nest.

The common belief that buzzards and vultures look alike is a terrible misconception, although I will admit that I could wholeheartedly believe it at the time, covered from head to ankles with a mixture of pinfeathers and down, as they were. No, buzzards are beautiful birds, and are also a protected species in Italy – as well as in the US, I have just discovered – so what we were doing was also illegal; there is, however, no way I can turn away a baby of any type that needs my help.

I did my very best to be a good mom for those two bird waifs. And for once, Nino also did his part. He brought a big cage home where they could stay unharmed (we had a dog and a cat at the same period). They knew us; whenever they saw Nino or I they started to trill. They also graduated from chopped chicken livers to whole rabbit livers and moved from inside all day long to being outside during the day.

Their feathers grew in and suddenly they looked just like the bird here to the right, and we knew it was time to teach them two more things: they had to learn how to catch their own food and last, but not last in order of importance, how to fly.

The first wasn’t terribly difficult: we would toss the liver in the air and they would jump up and catch it. The second was a little more difficult, and a bit stranger. They had learned how to imitate, so Nino would run, flapping his arms and I would nudge them off my arms and they’d flap their wings and fall beak first into the soil. Oops! We’d try this several times and then let them rest.

And then, the long-dreaded day came; they took to the air without doing a beak-break dance, circled, trilled and flew off. I was heart-broken, but then, what mother isn’t when her fledglings take off on their own.

Epilogue

A couple of years later, Nino was out with one of his friends, herding the friend’s sheep. The sheep were grazing, and Nino and Gino were stretched out on their backs in the lush green summer grass. Suddenly, they heard a trilling sound; looking up, they saw that a bird was circling above them. It took a lazy downward spiral until the buzzard landed next to them on the grass.

It stayed with them for a couple of minutes of minutes, trilling the whole time. And then, as slowly and lazily as it descended, it spiraled up again, circled twice, and left.

Coincidence? Nino didn’t think so, and neither do I. My only question is: Was it Hairy or was it Mercurio?

 

 

Copyright © 09 April 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.

AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: “E” Is for Endless Black Cats#AtoZBloggingChallenge#

It seems that from the time I moved to Italy and got married, that I had nothing less than an endless stream of black cats. I’ve always loved cats as much as dogs, and usually gave space to both of my loves, but this is a different sort of endless black cats. It’s one of the tales I could tell about my first Italian cat, Panterina (Little Panther).

Panterina (or Rina Bina, as I usually called  her) was a feisty little character and was curious about EVERYTHING. One day she was curious about what would happen if she were to sneak up on me and insert her claws in my rear end while I was studying on my bed. I believe that was her first (and only) flying lesson.

She did a fine job of it, too, flying 10 feet and landing on her feet, as cats are wont to do. She had her question answered… And she never tried it again, so I guess she learned the lesson well.

She was also interested in learning how to knit. Ah, she loved those knitting needles immensely; she always tried taking them out of my hands. I will admit that she made it rather difficult for me to knit with her hanging on the needles while trying to add new stitches. One thing could be said about living with Rina Bina: life was never boring.

When she reached a certain age, Nino decided she should have kittens. He thought totally black kittens would be nice and he knew just where to take her: there was a place with a seemingly endless number of black cats. He’d been living in that neighborhood far longer than I had; I just took his word for it. I wasn’t convinced it was the best idea he’d ever had, but I gathered her up and we walked to the black cat street, as we ended up calling it.

I had never seen anything like it before. The picture to the right might give a general idea if we multiply it by 50, but even that might not reach the mark. There were black cats everywhere: on stairs, on abandoned cars, on fences, in doorways, on the roofs of the houses, sitting in trees, under trees, in the shade, in the sun and clinging to torn screens shielding broken windows. There were black cats everywhere imaginable. 

With some misgivings, I let the miniature panther go join all the other cats; immediately, some of the pushier cats came forward. From their attitude of studied nonchalance, I knew they were males. There were others who studiously ignored her, which I assumed were females. They might have been males who thought she was below their level of expectations, though.

We decided to let her stay over night and then go get her the following afternoon, figuring that 24 hours in that group would be more than sufficient. Arriving there, however, we ran into a snag that I thought might present itself. Which of all those cats was my Rina Bina? They all looked exactly alike, and when we called her name, she nonchalantly ignored us, just like all the others in the neighborhood. So now what?

Well, I came up with a viable solution that only a musician might think of. One of my favorite songs from the ‘60s was Eddy Albert’s version of “Guantanamera”. I love to sing and I would sing this song all the time to Panterina, inserting the words Pantera Nera, tu sei la Pantera Nera (Black Panther, you are the black panther) and the song became hers. So, when she decided to ignore us, I started singing “Pantera Nera…”

One of the cats lounging on the porch started twitching her ears. Nino went and picked her up. Since she was also the only who didn’t scramble out of his way, we knew we’d found the right one.

She presented us with six beautiful kittens, five of them with pure black fur, and one, an adorable, sweet-natured male, was black. No doubt about the color of his fur, but the tips were white, giving the impression of being dusted with a light layer of snow. We gave the other five away easily, each one a mini version of their mother, including the feisty attitude. We decided to keep Dusty, though.

 I like orange cats, but I guess black ones aren’t all that bad, either. I’ve had that endless stream of black cats, and they’re okay.

  Copyright © 07 April 2021 Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.

 

AtoZ of Animals I have met: D is for Dnitra #AtoZ Blogging Challenge#

 

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Siberian Husky looking for a new home. Actually, there were seven beautiful Siberian Husky puppies looking for a new home. Their mommy’s humans were looking, more precisely, although their release to their new humans was still several weeks away. This is the abbreviated story of a little silver, short-haired female whose future name would be Dnitra and who stole my heart the moment she tumbled over to me , climbed into my lap and fell asleep.

The day after Dnitra became part of my family, I moved to Utah. It had never occurred to me that it would be the most ideal place for a Siberian Husky to live, but when winter came, my four-month-old puppy came to life. I woke up one morning to her yipping (Siberian Huskies don’t actually bark, they yip or howl, especially at the full moon.

I bought a toboggan and a harness. She was so proud of that harness and her ability to pull the toboggan. In fact she was furious a couple of years later when I hitched one of her pups to the toboggan with her (Dnitra’s) harness. I never made that mistake again.

One time Ms. Dnitra got picked up by the dog catchers and we had to go pick her up at the pound (did I mention that she was a master escape artist who could out-escape Houdini?). While there, a mother cat and her tiny kittens was brought in. We offered to adopt the kittens, but they said we couldn’t take them home that day.

They called us a few days later and Ellen and I went to pick them up. They were so small and we nursed them, until Dnitra offered to do the job for us. We went into the living room one afternoon and Dnitra had pulled the kittens out of their box and was laying on the couch with the four kittens busily drinking the milk that Dnitra had somehow managed to produce (Don’t ask me; I have absolutely no idea.)

 Our big white cat, Snowman, was lying on the back of the couch. The photo I took needed no caption, but I put one anyway: Snowman: “They’re not mine.” Dnitra: “They’re mine, they’re MINE!”

I could write an entire book on Dnitra and her antics, but I’ll have to be satisfied with this last example of her escapes, warm heart (like adopting four motherless kittens) and her hilarity. When she escaped, which was pretty often and done with a BIG GRIN, there were only two ways to catch her, because she could run like the wind and did so happily and often.

The first way to catch her was pretty forthright: my new roommate Jill had to drive down the street with the back door open. As soon as Dnitra saw that, she would take a flying leap and land on the back seat of the car. That was the one I preferred. You’ll see why.

The other way was embarrassing and anyone who knew could tell you that I was shy. But I had to use (at times) my wits. I would walk to the end of the street, lie down on the grass and pretend to cry very loudly. Dnitra would run up to me and then cautiously crawl close to me.

When she was close to me, she’d lick my face and the wrestling match would ensue. I’m pretty sure she enjoyed too much until I put on the leash and we’d walk home. She was such a character.

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did. I loved that girl and she was so funny. Thanks for letting me share her with you for this short time. The Siberian in the photo above looks a lot like her, except she had warm brown eyes instead of the cool blue.

 

Copyright © 5 April 6, 2021 Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.

AtoZ of Animals I have met: “C” is for Cididù #AtoZ Blogging Challenge#

Here in the States, when people listen to singing birds, they are usually canaries. That’s what they listen to in most of Italy, too, as far as I know. But, when you arrive in Mistretta, the norm followed by most people changes: the Mistrettesi listen to European Goldfinches. I can fully understand the reasoning behind why they would want to do so. When we were in Bologna, we had a lovely Canary named Contessina. She was a beautiful “canary” yellow. It seems that just about any animal that has come into my presence refuses to be normal, because Contessina could sing and did sing. And yes, she was a female, unless male canaries have started laying eggs.

Before moving to Sicily, we moved into a new apartment building for about a year that didn’t allow pets of any kind, including birds, although it seems that fish were allowed, but that is a story for another time. And we found a new home for her with someone she already knew. It seemed heartless to transfer her again, so we left her with Cristina when we moved to Sicily.

Once we arrived in Sicily with our two-month-old daughter, Nino immediately set to work trying to reorient himself in the town of his birth. And one of the first things he did was find someone who could provide him with a cardito (cardellino or European goldfinch). They were so cute, and they sang divinely. But I felt bad about keeping them in a cage, especially since they looked so sad and tried so hard to get out.

We had a number of them over the years and then suddenly, Nino came home with one that had been born in a cage. And it was love at first sight. It was, basically, impossible not to love him. I think Nino tried so hard because he wanted to find that same chemistry that he saw when the sparrow flew out of the tree at the hospital and land on my hand and then jump onto my head.

Well, we found it, Cididù and I. Nino knew it from the time he walked into the house and heard the two of us singing “The Eagle and the Hawk” along with John Denver. And while he did stay in a cage most of the time (especially when our cat was around), he did venture out of the cage when he felt at ease. He may have been in the cage, but the cage door was always open so he could come out and stretch his wings. And he never left, even when the front door was left open.

Cididù and I stayed friends until the day I came back to the States. But people still talk about how we would sing together with John Denver. Maybe he imagined himself an eagle. And I always thought of him as my tiny eagle in cardellino feathers.

Copyright © Mary Purpari 3 April 2021 All Rights Reserved