Kitty Pledge

I will not stare at the dog while he's eating to make him eat so fast he chokes.

I will not run wildly through the house, chasing imaginary prey. Especially not at 2 AM.

I will not hide behind the sofa when I am about to throw up.

I will not throw up in the car.

I will not scootch my bottom along the carpet to get rid of hangers on--or even to scratch an itch.

I will not unroll and shred the toilet paper.

I will allow my humans to cuddle me when they feel the need, without resorting to my "dead cat" routine.

I will use restraint when covering my poop, leaving the box before all the sand is on the floor.

I will not drag dirty socks and underwear into the living room, especially not when company is present.

I will not wake Mommy up by sticking my paw into her eye, biting her feet, walking on her stomach, wiping my face on hers or purring loudly in her ear.

I will not secretly annoy the dog until he barks and chases me, just to see the humans yell at him.

When in my carrier, I will sit quietly and not wail like a banshee for the entire trip.

I will not drop golf tees, paper wads, or toy mice into shoes.

I will not use my human's lap as a launching pad for my panic attacks when the doorbell rings or the dog barks--especially not if the human is wearing shorts.

I will remember that the dog is not a trampoline and his ears are not there for me to chew on.

I will not chase Mom down the hall and bite her ankles when she's going to bed instead of to the kitchen.

I will not jam my favorite mouse under the stove, then meow till someone gets it--or if I do, I won't do it again five minutes after it has been retrieved.

I will not scratch the sofa, the chair or the carpets.

I will not eat plants.

I will remember it is a big, scary world outside and will not try to leave the house at every opportunity.

If I do accidentally get outside, I will return promptly to my back steps, not hide in the neighbor's bushes and watch while my mom wanders the neighborhood rattling my treat can and calling for me.

I will wear a collar and ID tag with grace and style, instead of hooking my lower jaw on it and gagging until it is removed.

I will show my humans some affection-even when they don't have food I want.

Ann Daley - 2000

Smokey and the Car Wash

One day last winter, my dog, Smokey and I were in town, running errands. (He likes to go to the bank drive through--they give him biscuits). On the way home, I decided my car could use washing, so stopped at the car wash.

It never occurred to me to worry about what Smokey would think of it. In fact, I thought he might like it. Uh . . . wrong!

You have to realize here that, although Smokey is a good sized dog, Collie sized, brave he is not! And he's not a "water dog". Also keep in mind we were in my Buick Century. Not a terribly large car. With bucket seats in front. And Smokey was in front, in the passenger seat . . . sort of (he's a little big for it).

There was one car inside the car wash and one car ahead of us as I pulled into line. Smokey seemed interested, as he is whenever we do something new. He perked up as I lowered the window and pushed my money into the machine, thinking it might be another bank or McDonalds, I guess, then settled down and watched the car ahead of us . . ..

The door of the car wash opened . . . Steam billowed out into the cold air . . . the car ahead of me moved ahead, entering the car wash and, as I moved up and the door closed, Smokey saw the wash arms move into position and the "underbody wash" start up, sending a fine mist onto my car. He flinched, then slowly turned to me with a look that clearly said, "No . . . Tell me we are NOT going in there!" and started to shake. I have never seen a dog shake with fear like Smokey does. His teeth even chatter! And the ultra-sonic whining began . . ..

I optomistically told him it would be fine, fun even! But he was having none of it. As the doors opened again and we drove forward he started to drool. The water jets hit the underside of the car . . . he tried to get in my lap. Because of the mass of dog in my face, I didn't quite hit the spot where my tire should go and had to jostle the car a bit getting into the right spot (while trying to put Smokey back in his seat).

The arms came out and began moving around the car . . . Smokey began barking his high pitched "Collie bark" (anyone who's had a Collie probably knows it) and leaped/crawled (over me) into the back seat. Then back into the front (over me again) as they sprayed the front of the car -- still barking. But that wasn't the worst of it . . .

Then the part I like most, the soaping, began. I think it's peaceful -- the slight hiss of the soap as it coats the car, making the inside of the car sort of like a warm, dim cocoon (okay, I'm weird). Smokey didn't see the warm cocoon part of it. All he saw was that "SOMETHING" was making it so he couldn't SEE!!! The barking gave way to howling. Full throated, throw-back-your-head-and-let-er-rip howling. I think my ears started to bleed then, but I was laughing too hard to worry about it!

He decided it was his job to clear away whatever was on the windows and began clawing at the windows. As the soap was being rinsed off by then, he must have thought it worked, because he came over (into my lap) to my side to do my window. And hit the horn button on the steering wheel. Which scared him. And made him start barking again.

Finally (after the longest car wash I've ever been in) the exit door opened and, after a brief spell in the dryer's "wind jets", in which he crawled onto the floor of the car and whimpered -- thinking, I suppose, it was a tornado, we went home, my ears still ringing and the poor dog, traumatized for life!

Ann Daley - 2000