Warning: This may start off a bit emotional. If you want to skip that part, go down to the fourth paragraph.

I love animals large and small, large like bears and lions; small like pet (domestic) rats. When I was young I wanted to be a veterinarian and even had the opportunity to begin an apprenticeship of sorts when I was 14 years old. I found that I couldn’t handle watching animals who had to be put down and I never returned.

We had a few pet rats when I was a kid. They were very friendly and sweet. They would cuddle and lick and never nip or bite. We had dogs and cats I loved them all. My weakness is the baby animals.

From the time I was a young adult, I always had rescues. My first as a young adult was a black lab pup that was found. A work colleague called and asked if I wanted it, knowing the answer of course. Unfortunately he died when he was only six months old. When my boys were very young my husband and I got a black lab. When he was about 4 years old he had a neurological issue and became vicious and eventually had to be put down.

When my boys were still pretty young we got a lab pup from a nice small kennel. She grew to be a large lab. This was my third lab. She was a beautiful yellow lab and almost white. Her AKC name was Accents of Ivory Jasmine.

I had never had a small dog and thought it would be nice. My husband went to the pound and found a half-chihuahua/half-terrier. We named her Sugar.

One day (while Sugar was still a pup) the boys and I went out garage sale-ing. My oldest boy needed a bathroom so we went to a former baby-sitter’s house. She was happy to see us and told my son to use the bathroom in her bedroom.

Only moments later my son was making all kinds of strange noises. He yelled for me to come and I bolted into the bathroom only to find a litter of kittens. The garage sale-ing stopped because we needed to go to the store and buy whatever our new kitten could possibly need. Her name was Spice. (Her name was Spice because I was starting a theme, not because I baked a lot).

Next we bred Jasmine (a one time thing and we gave away most of the pups to our friends). One of the pups had to be resuscitated shortly after birth. We kept her because her feet were huge and we knew she’d be a big girl. Thank goodness we kept her because she was developmentally challenged. She was such a sweet dog but much like Odie (of Garfield) and was like a 4 month old puppy her entire life. My husband named her Comet. Comet? After a ball of fire in the sky or a cleanser? Who knows. Obviously there was no respect for my pet-name theme.

Our next pet came to us, much like all the kids selling whatever. There was a sign above our door that read “Sucker” or “Softy”. Regardless it seems that we were the only ones that couldn’t see it. There was knock on the door one evening. There was a person with a kitten. I melted and my husband (standing behind me) said, “No” before this person even spoke. The person pleaded and said they were moving and that the mother cat was hit by a car and … oh my what a story. Who knows if it was true or not but my husband still said no. And me, well I don’t need a story.

The next morning, my husband left for work and within 15 minutes there was a knock on the door. It was the same person with the kitten again. I can’t even remember what was said, probably, “Please”. I, of course took the kitten. The boys went off to school and I went off to get kitty stuff. I’m not sure why I wasn’t at work that day but thank goodness.

When the boys got home from school I told them not to say anything to their dad when he got home. Ha! He walked in, the boys were standing there with grins as wide as their faces and he knew. He said, “You got the kitten didn’t you?” His name was Cinnamon.