Childhood Years
The first experience I had with an animal was recalled to me by my Mom. I was two at the time of this incident. Seems our landlord's cat had 5 kittens - how I got my hands on them is unknown. Being the precocious two year old that I was, I decided to give these kittens a bath -- in the toilet. By the time my Mom found me bathing the kittens, two of them had drowned. My landlord was so angry... every time he saw me for months after, he would "meow" loudly at me, making me cry. Not a great beginning to my animal experience. My next experience was not much better when, at seven we visited my Grandparents in Quebec. They had a bowl of goldfish that enthralled me. I picked two of them up and was fascinated by the way their little golden bodies wiggled in my hand. Well, we know how that went... Seems nobody was ever around to stop me when I wanted to play with the animals!
We didn't have pets in my early years -- with 2 toddlers, one just starting to crawl and a babe in arms, and later adding 6 more kids, then another 2...who had room or time for pets? The exception was a little green budgie -- Skipper -- whom we taught to say "Pretty bird, Skipper". He wasn't around long enough to teach a large vocabulary, as an unfortunate accident (not caused by me) claimed his life within three months. Ten sad children gathered in our side yard to bid our little budgie farewell. The mound and small stick cross we erected are long gone, but the memory lingers. Sensitivity and a clear memory prevents me from relating the details of this accident.
I was about ten when I had another encounter with a cat. I was arguing over the fence with a neighbour kid and he picked up his cat and threw it at me. Poor cat landed on my face, nails out, ready to defend itself. The long scratches on either side of my face healed in a few days but my fear of cats took much longer to fade.
My Mom was very protective of her children; like a lioness with her cubs, she protected us from imminent danger at all times. This protection extended to dogs. On our trip to Quebec, we stopped for a much needed break at a lonely gas station. A huge German Shepherd, guarding his domain greeted us with barks and much jumping around the car. My Mom absolutely refused to allow the car doors to be opened. I don't remember if the attendant came and got the dog, or if my Dad simply drove on to the next stop but I know we were not getting out of the car with that dog there! It wasn't until I got my own dog - whom my Mom loved - that I realized she wasn't scared of dogs herself - she was simply scared for us.
Most of my siblings never did have that fear but I was absolutely terrified of dogs for much of my adult life. If I so much as spotted a dog on a leash coming down the street, I would cross to the other side. If there was a dog in a yard, I would backtrack as far as necessary to avoid passing that yard. I was in my early 30s before I determined to let go of the fear. It took a few years of resolutely walking past dogs, pushing down the fear, before I was able to pet a dog or let a friend's dog approach me.
My early experience -- and lack thereof -- with domestic animals was not an auspicious forerunner for what was to come....