In Memory of…

Here in the United States, we Americans celebrate the memory of those heroes who have fallen in the line of duty on the last Monday in May. In recent years, this has also been extended to include the first responders who have fallen in the battle against Covid-19.

About three weeks ago, on May 30, 2022, we, the people living in the USA, celebrated Memorial Day, the day in which we remember and honor those men and women who gave their lives to protect the freedoms that should be a given for all men, women and children wherever they live. In more recent years, this honor has also been extended to include the first responders who have fallen in the battle against Covid-19. It is right, because they are involved in the battle for our lives.

But today I want to talk about another war, one that shouldn’t exist, because it regards a subject that should be governed by common sense. Then again, in my opinion, if people would use common sense more commonly, there would be no wars, battles or skirmishes, nor would there be a need for them. The war that I’m referring to is the war against gun violence, gun violence caused by people who SHOULD NOT HAVE GUNS IN THE FIRST PLACE. Let me be clear here: I’m not referring to organized crime; that is another war all on its own.

This year, the US has been beleaguered by an increase in mass shootings. It’s ironic, because this year marks the 10-year anniversary of the school massacre at the Sandy Hook elementary school. On December 14, 2012, a young man, who should never have had a gun in his hands, shot and killed 20 children and six adults in the mass shooting.

This year, in New York State itself, there have been several mass shootings, most notably the one in Brooklyn, where 23 people were shot and injured — some seriously, none fatally — in a subway station; the man, who has since been apprehended and indicted on domestic terrorism charges, launched a smoke bomb and then started  shooting blindly and the people trying to escape.

Another mass shooting took place inside a neighborhood grocery store in Buffalo, NY. In this shooting, another young man shot and killed six people; his intention, racially motivated, was to kill as many blacks as he possibly could.

Besides these two, there were nine other mass shootings in the United States so far this year, and the year isn’t even half over. All were horrible, some could have possibly been avoided, but the one that wins, at least in my opinion, the dubious “honor” of being the very worst, is the one that most resembles the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary: the one at the Robb Elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. In this senseless, horrific shooting, 19 fourth-graders and two teachers were gunned down by a teen. And one has to ask, “Why did this happen?” and “How could it happen?”

Before I continue, I wish to state that I have nothing whatsoever against guns per se. As has been said by others, guns are not free agents unto themselves; they need someone to operate them before they can kill. However, I do believe that guns should be used with caution and only by responsible adults, which means that there must needs be measures that serve to help determine who can fulfill the requirements necessary for responsibly using these instruments.

As a responsible adult I, personally, do not own a gun of any type. The reason for this is that I enjoy having two feet; walking is much easier with two feet, and if I were to ever own a gun, I might possibly be tempted to use it and would most certainly shoot off one of my own feet instead of the intended target. Therefore, I do not own a gun, something for which the rest of the world should be very grateful; I know my Dad’s younger cousin Jimmy is… Sigh.

So, one might ask, why am I writing this article? I have already stated that I am not anti-guns. What I AM against, however, is allowing guns to reach the hands of people who would use those guns for the wrong reasons, and I’m not referring to the idea of, like in my case, shooting off their own foot, although that is also a pretty good reason. I intend to state a case in favor of stricter gun laws, in order to avoid as many massacre situations as possible.

Many citizens quote the second Amendment of the United States Constitution where it states that “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed ” to support what they believe to be their right to own and use guns.

I’m not disputing their Second Amendment right. But I think we need to take into consideration the context and the life-style of the people when the Bill of Rights was ratified in 1791. The Country’s independence from England had been gained just a few years earlier, and relations between the two nations were still a bit iffy at best. There were still British loyalists who supported neither the new government nor its Constitution. And  there were  other enemies, too.

A great many of the new Country’s citizens were farmers who lived outside of the protection of the towns. They needed guns to be able to provide food for their families. Fresh meat wasn’t readily available to anyone, because there were no grocery stores and no one had refrigerators. Hunting was a necessity of life. Livestock, such as cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, and poultry all had to be protected from vermin and thieves, as did grains, fruit and vegetables. I can totally relate to the problem… squirrels!

Hunting is still necessary in certain places, also. My ex-husband was a hunter, but he was also a responsible gun owner. He kept his gun locked up in a wall-safe, out of reach of my young daughter and her cousins, and even I was unable to open the safe. He used it only for hunting for food to eat, and only during legal hunting seasons. We had dogs to keep the foxes out of the chicken coop. He also had a license to use that gun, and it was also duly registered with the Carabinieri.

Another thing to keep in mind is that the Second Amendment didn’t provide an unlimited permission to own a gun. Nor did they have automatic, machineguns or submachineguns. I can see why they might be necessary — or considered such — for military use. I can’t understand why non-military personnel, or even military personnel not involved in a war, might need these weapons of war, registered and licensed or not. It goes way beyond my comprehension.

Guns are much too easily obtained in this Country, and because of what I feel is a gross misinterpretation of the Second Amendment, anyone can obtain a gun: even me. Fortunately for all of you, I’ll never buy one! But I’m the exception to the rule, as we have seen from the sad experience of so many massacres of innocents because the guns were so easily obtained.

The right to not only own guns, but also to carry them is provided for in the U.S. Constitution. However, the provision is also subject to interpretation. I understand the desire of many to own a gun. What I DON’T understand is why serious, responsible gun owners refuse to even consider the idea of more realistic, UpToDate laws regulating their purchase and use. Don’t they realize that those using guns improperly are ruining the reputation of ALL GUN OWNERS?

So what can we do, especially since we are facing a truly serious problem? I’d like to offer a few suggestions that will probably never be seen by our legislators, but it’s what I personally feel could be of some help:

·         Background checks. Some people might think this is too invasive of their privacy. But I’d like to ask: Would you actually prefer preserving your privacy or saving lives? I know which I’d prefer, and I’ve already admitted that I’m not a good candidate for gun ownership. That’s pretty up close and personal. If you have something to hide, then maybe you shouldn’t own a gun?

·         Training on gun use and care. It seems logical to me that if you are going to use something, you should also learn HOW to use it and, even more logical, how to take care of it. Guns are not toys, despite what some people might think, and to get the most out of one, you need to know how to use them correctly.

·         The above point should be followed by a test ascertaining that the individual does indeed know what he’s doing. There is nothing wrong with learning correct usage and proving you know what you’re doing. It’s what happens in the military, and it’s just as important for civilians. You wouldn’t want to shoot your foot off, would you?

·         Getting a license. After training, it’s also Important to have a license. It should be a logical result. If you have a license or permit, you prove that you know what you’re doing and that you have passed a background check.

The license should be comparable to a driver’s license, with your photo, address, birthdate, and expiration date. It’s true, cars are not provided for in the Bill of Rights, probably because cars didn’t exist in 1791; sincerely, they’re even more necessary in today’s world than guns. And no, I don’t drive a car, either.

·         Last, ALL guns should be registered. Now, I’m not a techie, but I’m pretty sure that there is a way to make sure that all guns made with 3-D printers are registered. If the owners of all guns are known and registered with the proper authorities, I’m pretty sure owners would keep a closer eye on their property.

Folks, I don’t want to curtail your enjoyment of your lawful rights and property, but don’t you think maybe we all have a duty to protect, as stated in the Declaration of Independence, the right of everyone to “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness”? And the first of all is Life.

I wanted to do something in the aftermath of the massacre at the Robb Elementary School of Uvalde, Texas, and after listening to Mr. Matthew McConahey’s impassioned plea, I decided to do what I do best: write. And I wanted to write something useful.

So please, let us remember Irma Garcia and Eva Mireles, from Uvalde, Texas and Victoria Soto, Lauren Rousseau, Dawn Hochsprung, Mary Sherlach, Rachel Davino, Anne Marie Murphy from Sandy Hook Elementary in Connecticut. Although dying on the job was not part of the job description for these eight women, they each lay their life on the line in hopes of saving the children in their care.

Please, let us not forget their sacrifice, and let us work constructively together to find a way to make sure that guns do not make their way into the wrong hands ever again.

 

Copyright © June 21, 2022. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved. 

Spring Break: Destination California

California State has an area of 163,696 sq. miles, with 3,427 total miles of coast, making it the third largest State in the country. And, most impressive of all is that California has something for everyone: rushing rivers, crashing waves, sandy beaches, majestic mountains, towering trees, “desolate” deserts, haunted ghost towns, unique wildlife, big cities, small towns, fertile fields, idyllic mountain glens, and placid lakes.

You can find restaurants, hotels, amusement parks, quiet parks, museums, fishing, skiing, water skiing, hiking, sunbathing, biking, swimming, boating and cruising. You can find all this, and much, much more in California

 1) Yosemite National Park

Located in Mariposa County, in the Sierra Madre Mountain range, Yosemite presents a look into true natural beauty. Pristine views of lakes, snow-capped mountains and peaceful valleys are enough to take your breath away and have you wishing you never had to leave. Towering Sequoias, considered the oldest trees in the world, stand out against clear blue skies. Thundering waterfalls, babbling streams, whispering leaves, chattering squirrels and beautiful birdsong all blend to create a symphony that not even Respighi could duplicate. All this add up to a true paradise. Bring along your camera, you’ll need it.

2) Coloma

Coloma is an extremely small town located in the Eldorado Hills, about 46.5 mi from Sacramento. It is most famous for being the town where Sutter’s Mill is located. Sutter’s mill is where James W. Marshall first discovered gold, giving rise to the California gold rush in 1848. A restructured Mill, in the original design, now stands in the same spot. And there is still “gold in them thar hills” and panning for gold is still a favorite pastime. You can also search for meteorite fragments from the 2012 Sutter’s Mill meteorite.

3)  Calico Ghost Town

Located in the Calico Mountains, in the Mojave Desert region, lies an interesting ghost town named Calico. At one time, Calico was famous for its silver mine, and was considered to hold some of the best silver veins in the country. When the veins petered out, the mine was closed, and the town built up around it was abandoned. As with many abandoned towns of the Old West, Calico became a ghost town; several paranormal manifestations have been reported in both the town and mine. There is a mine tour and museum, and mining artifacts can still be found near the abandoned graveyard.

4) Buena Park/Anaheim

In northern Orange County there are two fine cites sitting in each other’s lap: Buena Park and Anaheim. Here, you can find sports events, theme parks, fine dining, theatre events, great hotels, and plenty of museums. “Believe it or not”, even Ripley’s is there. Just 30-minutes further north, you can find yourself surrounded by prehistoric natural history at the La Brea Tar Pits, where incredibly preserved artifacts can still be found.

5) Irvine

 Unlike the relationship of most universities and cities of the same name, the city of Irvine did not come before the University. It was built up around the university on land belonging to the Irvine company. Since then, it has grown in magnitude, taking over a large part of what was once Santa Ana Heights, an unincorporated area.

Among the many things that can be enjoyed in Irvine are the San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, the Lyon’s Air Museum at the John Wayne Airport, the Five Point Amphitheater, various other parks and ecological sites, and much more. 

6) Newport beach

Whether you’re interested in simply relaxing in the sun, swimming, body surfing or board surfing, walking along the shoreline, observing small marine life in tide pools, deep sea fishing, or playing Beach Volleyball, Newport Beach is the area for you. From the beaches and tide pools of Corona del Mar to the wide-open beaches of the Balboa Peninsula, you’ll find yourself in a Newport frame-of-mind.

7)  Big Bear

 Big Bear City is located near Big Bear Lake in the San Bernardino Mountains. At only 87 miles from Newport Beach, it is located at 6,759 feet above sea level. The lake has just recently relaxed Covid regulations and is waiting happily to share its nature hikes, picnic grounds, camping areas and cabins with the lucky folks who choose to spend time in this mountain paradise.

8)  Catalina Island

 Catalina Island lies twenty miles off the California coast, in the Pacific Ocean. In the waters surrounding this island are found some unique forms of marine-life, including the Garibaldi fish, which didn’t get its name because Giuseppe Garibaldi discovered it (he didn’t). There are several ways to discover why the fish has this name, and if you’re not into scuba diving or snorkeling, there are always the glass-bottom boat tours for which Catalina Island is famous. Add in the palm trees swaying in the gentle breezes and the white sand beaches, and you’ll think you are in paradise.

9)  Mojave Desert

As with most of California’s ecosystems, the Mojave Desert is unique. It includes one of the hottest places in the world (Death Valley), but it also has a number of plants and animals unique to the Mojave. It has a more temperate atmosphere than most deserts, although it is still, nonetheless, very hot during the day and chilly at night. Although taking a warm jacket with you to the desert might sound strange, yet it is smart to have one at hand. The Mojave Desert is also known as the Mojave National Preserve.

 

10) San Diego

San Diego has some of the most interesting theme parks in the State, and even in the entire country. Where else can you go on an African Safari one day, coming into close contact with elephants, rhinos and other animals close to extinction, and then go shake fins with orcas, dolphins and sea lions, walk through an aquarium and meet face to with a shark (and not swim for your life) the next? These surprises, and more, will captivate your heart in San Diego.

This article was written with another scope in mind, but because of a series of mishaps, the article was unable to be placed in the intended venue. It seemed a pity to waste all those hours of work, so I hope whoever reads it will enjoy it and maybe take their Spring Break somewhere in California, hopefully in one of these 10 destinations.

AtoZ of Animals I have met: ‘P’ is for Pantero #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

 

And here is the last of the endless black cats in this series of blogs. Don’t tell Missy Prissy, but Pantero was my favorite black cat. I know, I know; moms aren’t supposed to have favorites, but Pantero really was. He was a very good cat and despite the way some people whose names shall not be mentioned treated him, he behaved himself and was everything anyone could desire in a cat.

He was born in a barn, but I can’t remember if he was brought to us by the barn’s owner or if Nino brought him home, but he was still a very young kitten. His eyes were already open and he had been weaned, and he also easily took to the litter box; however, he preferred letting us know when he needed to go out.

From the tiny little thing he was when he arrived at our house, he grew to be a more than decent sized cat. In his prime, I would say he weighed close to 20 pounds, which is why his name went from Panterino (little male panther) to Pantero (male panther).

Despite this, he tended to be reserved and a pacifist with humans, although he had his moments when people (names again withheld) tended to be aggressive toward him. Then, he would put his teeth and claws to work. The thing he particularly hated was when someone would pull his whiskers and jowls. Those were the only times I would hear him hiss, if that is what you can classify the sound that comes when someone is pulling your cheeks.

Pantero is another of those four-footed babies of mine that I could write an entire book about,
but space here is limited (sort-of) and so I’ll limit myself to one of his adventures (not completely happy, but it did have a happy ending) and two interesting habits. I’ll start with the habits:

We had some very nice chestnut two-by-fours on the stairs leading up to the bedroom. There was no need for a bannister, because the slats went from slightly below the step to the ceiling. I’m thinking some cats need a sort of observation deck, so they can keep an eye on their humans. We talked about Missy Prissy’s reasoning, but Pantero used his vantage point as a pillow.

Yes, a pillow. He would sit up there to make sure everything was all right, and then… then he would fall sleep, his head leaning against the boards. He would still be sitting straight up, but the board kept him from falling off the stairs. I never actually thought about it because it became commonplace. And then my Mom came to visit us.

She caught the quirk the second day after she and my step-father came, and burst out laughing. Pantero opened his eyes quizzically and then fell back to sleep. I still have to chuckle whenever I think about it.

One other good thing about him was that he ate whatever you gave him. He liked bread every bit as much as he liked meat. And he liked barbecue potato chips. For him, they were the best, and his ears perked up the moment he heard the rustling of the bag. I know, they were bad for him and I didn’t give him more than two or three, but we all have our weaknesses, and his were barbecue potato chips.

Pantero was an excellent hunter, and this trait almost led to his demise. I had gone to Switzerland for a week, and the day after I left he caught a mouse that had been, unfortunately, poisoned. He made it home, but barely. Nino and my daughter saw how weak and sick he was and immediately took him to the vet.

The vet was able to get his stomach cleaned out and gave him some medicines to buck him up, but it was touch and go there for several days, until the day I started back home. His listlessness disappeared and he even started eating again. He went outside the day I got home and came running down our little street to welcome me home.

Is there any doubt as to why he’s my favorite of the endless black cats?

 

 

Copyright © 19 April 18, 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.   

AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: ‘O’ is for Opossums #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

Although I live in Brooklyn, New York, the area I live in is a lovely mixture of big city and rural area. I have often called my backyard a forest because of all the trees growing in the neighborhood. In fact, during the summer my backyard truly seems to be nothing less than a small woods area. You never really have to worry about people spying on you, because they’d need x-ray vision to see through the trees.

There is also an abundance of wildlife—besides the loud, chaotic, extremely annoying parties, which are, thankfully, a thing of the past and future—which includes a few feral cats; at least 16 types of birds (thanks to a nearby bird sanctuary) including cardinals, a red hawk family (watching them court was amazing), chickadees, blue jays (very annoying), a woodpecker (Woodie wasn’t joking: they really do laugh!), and others and an unknown quantity of squirrels.

And then, there are two more animals, both of which tend to be a little shy. That’s fine, I don’t need to be on a first name basis with the raccoons (there is one that is enormous and a little bit scary; it’s pretty old, I think, and it’s been through the mill a few times, which is probably how it lost its tail) and there are the opossums.

I like the opossums, probably because the ones that come are usually pretty young. I think their moms bring them and then leave. The poor babies are so ugly they’re cute and they win over my heart every single time. Actually, I haven’t seen an opossum for a couple of years. In fact, the last time I did, I even took a picture of him. For some reason, Opossums look like their name should be Gertrude or Joseph, or at least in my opinion.

I’d like to share the story that I wrote on Facebook that accompanied the photo of Joseph:

 “Last night I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard this shriek and I thought one of the cats had caught a bird (it was definitely not a mouse--too loud and low-pitched). I didn't think anything else about it until I heard this giant bag of leaves I have on my porch, rustling.

Since I’d heard it the night before, I knew who it was: Joseph, the opossum. Since I'm smart (sometimes) I connected the dots and figured Joseph might be in trouble, so I went out to look.

The poor little guy, whose name should probably be changed to Snoopy, had gotten his tail all tangled up in the bag. He knows me & usually isn't afraid, but this time, when I grabbed the bag to help him, he pulled until he got free and then took off. Of course, opossums don't take off very quickly, but still...
See, this is one of the reasons we should NEVER leave plastic bags out in nature: nature is curious and tries to check things out, and very often gets into trouble. Snoopy Joseph was lucky that I was there and could help him. Most aren't that lucky. The photo is a slightly younger Joseph.”

A funny thing happened about six months later. First, though, I have to mention that Missy Prissy tends to climb up my window screens to let me know she’d like to come in. That being said, one night a terrible racket on the porch caused me to jerk awake and bang my head on the ceiling about 10 feet or so above my bed. I looked over whence came the noise and saw this big form splatted on the screen on my bedroom window.

My first thought was “What the heck is that?” and then, I started to laugh: it was Joseph. The only reason that I could think of that might explain his being on the screen was that he had seen Missy Prissy climbing the screens and she got to come in. I guess he figured that if it worked for her, why shouldn’t it work for him. He tried all three screens and, as I think about it now, that may have been the last time I saw him.

Anyway, now that you know what the wildlife of Brooklyn, New York is really about, maybe you’ll have a different perspective about this crazy, wildlife city. I sure do.

 

 

Copyright © 17 April 17, 2021.  Mary E. Purpari. All Rights reserved  
 

AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: 'L' is for Little Lambs Eat Ivy

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AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: 'K' is for Kids—the Four-legged kind #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

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AtoZ of Animals I have met: “G” is for Good Morning Missy Prissy Pretty Kitty #AtoZBloggingChallenge#

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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

AtoZ of Animals I have met: “B” is for Bruiser, Blackie and Sofia #AtoZBlogChallenge#

   
 My husband, daughter and I had been living in Mistretta, in the province of Messina for about four or five years, when Nino’s friend Achille made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: Achille’s dog, a black Italian griffon, had just given birth to three beautiful pups. The father was an Italian hound, a beautiful breed. They would only be 20,000 Liras for the three of them (roughly $10 US at the time).

He brought the offer up with me. I had no problem with that, even though I knew perfectly well who would be taking care of them. He forgot, however, to tell me that they were only two days old. If we’d had one yet, he would have spent the night in a doghouse.

Fortunately for him, we didn’t have one yet and fortunately for those three sweet little puppies, I knew a thing or two about raising new-born puppies and kittens. The first most baby mammals do when they are around me is to go directly for my left thumb; it’s only slightly smaller than their mother’s teat and if I dipped it in milk, they got quite used to my scent and would equivalate it to “MOMMY!”

For several weeks I carried out all the functions of a real doggy mommy (yes, those too, although I used a wet cloth rather than my tongue) and a real bond was created between us. However, as the weather started getting warmer, their eyes opened, they graduated to a baby bottle and their big sister Sonia started taking on the chore of taking them out for walks after they finished drinking their meals and my nose took a sigh of relief.

By the time they turned six weeks old, Nino decided that they had become a handful (where he got that idea from I don’t know, since he never got his hands around them) and decided it was time for them to go into the campagna (our little vineyard). I didn’t disagree – basically because it wouldn’t have done me any good anyway – and it gave me an excuse to go to the vineyard and see to a few other interests there when I went to feed them.

They were all so beautiful. Blackie was pure black, with short, smooth hair. He was a typical, grouchy hound and I loved him dearly. Sofia was mostly black, with a few tan highlights on her ears and feet. She was femininely dainty, although not at all against a nice, rough tumble (with two brothers, one of them twice her size, how could she be?), but sweet as sugar. And I loved her dearly, too. And then, there was Bruiser.

Bruiser was the pup that was twice the size of Sofia. For that matter, he was also twice the size of Blackie… He was just as black as Blackie, but his hair was much longer and wirier. And he had Sofia’s sweet disposition. I tried not to show favoritism, but let’s face it, Bruiser was my favorite.

And then came the day of the distemper vaccinations; I remember that no two shots had the same exact strength and that they were required by law. I held them still as Nino gave them the shot, because I was still their mommy, and they trusted me.

The next morning, when I went to feed them, I knew before I opened the gate that disaster had struck. When I opened the door to the tack room, I saw Blackie lying stiffly on the floor. He was already gone; Sofia bravely lifted her sweet face, tears sliding down onto her long, silky ears. I picked her up to comfort her as she took in her last labored breaths. We said our goodbyes, and she died in my arms.

And Bruiser? Was it because the dose wasn’t as strong? Or was it his greater bulk? I’m not sure which of the two it was, it might even have been a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, Bruiser survived and became Nino’s beloved hunting companion. He still remembered his Mommy, though. Always.

Copyright © Mary Purpari 2 April 2021 All Rights Reserved