What happend to the turtle at home when there is no one but moi to feed it?
Yes. That turtle. The one that lives in the toilet.
I've never fed it before and it can't go without food for the 3 days my sis and mom are in Malacca. This turtle is a creature which I live with extreme ambivalence and I could draw up a list of all the whys of both feeding and not feeding it.
No, Not feed:
1. It is smelly.
2. It is gross.
3. It has claws.
4. The dried prawns which I've to feed it with stinks
5. The tank is gross.
6. The tank is also smelly.
7. I've to touch it if I am to feed it because I've to put it back in its tank
8. It doesn't look light
Yes, Feed:
1. Only because my conscience asked me to
So, after umm. possibly more than a decade sharing the bathroom with that creature whose sex we've yet to determine but which we all decided couldn't matter anyway, I doned two plastic bags over my hands and picked it up. It was surprisingly light, but I wouldn't be able to describe how it smelt like because I was holding my breath. I then placed it back in its tank.
We both stared at each other.
I stripped off the plastic bag and refilled the tank and fed it, holding my breath again when I opened the lid of the prawn can. My mom and sis claims it has the same aroma of prawn crackers. I would like to point out that if prawn crackers really smelled like that, no one would buy them, least of all, me.
The turtle didn't look happy to see the food. Or maybe it was just not happy to see me. It flailed about and tried to escape. I ignored the flailing and scrabbling and sprinkled the water with the food (all the while holding my breath) and quickly fled when I was done.
When I checked back several hours later, all the prawns were gone and I was feeling a little satisfied, that is, until I remembered that I would have to repeat the whole fracas one more time the next day.
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Monday, November 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Dog Tales
Everytime I visit Pet Safari I end up having to reaffirm why I am a cat person. Seeing all those doggies, those puppies and those little woofies and I can see why people are enamoured with them. Come on - those eyelashes on the golden retriever puppy are so pretty~ I am still a cat person and I will one day own a sulky black tabby (you know, the striped kind) called Milton. But, before this turns into a loving paean to all things feline, I should get back to why I think dogs and animals in general (with the exception of caterpillars, illamas, sea cucumbers and most manner of insects and some reptiles, amphibians and fishes) are so well-loved and cherished by humankind. This is a story as to why dogs anyway, are so well-loved.
Cindy was my uncle's dog. But because he worked and lived in IMH (he's a nurse in case you're wondering) where animals weren't allowed, he gave it to my aunt to take care of. Now, Cindy is not one of your fancy pedigree types and is by far more intelligent than most of her purebreed cousins - or - at least that is what I like to believe, having next to zero experience with real dogs. Now, once Cindy made a - as they say in a certain parlance used commonly with tai-tais on their chihuahuas or inane parents on their babies - boo-boo of a monumental kind. My grandma was livid. And to point out how just how angry she was, she took up a cane and whacked Cindy. Before you get the impression that my grandma is some deranged old woman, I should point out that it is my grandma who cooks Cindy her food, it is my grandma who shops for her sustenance and who, in all the decade they had owned Cindy, never once laid a hand on her.
Cindy was of course pissed but being a dog and an affectionate one at that, she simply ran away. So, later during the day when they realised that she wasn't in fact skulking in some corner of the house, my grandma panicked because Cindy is the beloved of my aunt. She then went out to search for her. After hollering the street up and down to no avail, my grandma went back home to cook dinner. She was clearly still worried because she went out a second time after that, and was successful in spotting Cindy trotting homeward, but - truculently covered in muck and about as apologetic as the indignantly righteous.
This is a dog I would have liked to have known better. Heh. Naughty dog.
Cindy was my uncle's dog. But because he worked and lived in IMH (he's a nurse in case you're wondering) where animals weren't allowed, he gave it to my aunt to take care of. Now, Cindy is not one of your fancy pedigree types and is by far more intelligent than most of her purebreed cousins - or - at least that is what I like to believe, having next to zero experience with real dogs. Now, once Cindy made a - as they say in a certain parlance used commonly with tai-tais on their chihuahuas or inane parents on their babies - boo-boo of a monumental kind. My grandma was livid. And to point out how just how angry she was, she took up a cane and whacked Cindy. Before you get the impression that my grandma is some deranged old woman, I should point out that it is my grandma who cooks Cindy her food, it is my grandma who shops for her sustenance and who, in all the decade they had owned Cindy, never once laid a hand on her.
Cindy was of course pissed but being a dog and an affectionate one at that, she simply ran away. So, later during the day when they realised that she wasn't in fact skulking in some corner of the house, my grandma panicked because Cindy is the beloved of my aunt. She then went out to search for her. After hollering the street up and down to no avail, my grandma went back home to cook dinner. She was clearly still worried because she went out a second time after that, and was successful in spotting Cindy trotting homeward, but - truculently covered in muck and about as apologetic as the indignantly righteous.
This is a dog I would have liked to have known better. Heh. Naughty dog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
