Posts Tagged With: love

Origami: An Until Now Unmentioned Passion of Mine

011I completely forgot to mention my love of origami. My sincerest apologies, readers. Let me tell you the story of how I came to make 1,168 origami cranes.

In eighth grade, I noticed paper cranes being made in the high school art teacher’s class. I approached her one afternoon, her already being the grandmother I should have grown up with and she and I being good friends, I asked her if she could teach me how to make them. She popped in the VHS tape in her classroom television and let me learn for myself. She’s one of the most wonderful and wisest people I’ll ever come to know.

The tape began with beginner’s forms of origami, like making a paper cup or a paper sailboat. It showed how to make this various shapes step-by-step. It progressed into more difficult forms, like a whale and a box. Finally, the crane came. It took a few tries, like every one before it did. I finally got the hang of it, and I’ve been making them ever since.

However, I only began counting them (putting numbers on the wings) when I became determined to make a thousand by senior year. It was then in the summer before my eleventh grade year that I set this goal. If you are not familiar with the legend of a thousand cranes, here is the story.

So, really, I don’t know how many I’ve actually made. But, since the summer before the eleventh grade, I have made 1,168 paper cranes.

When I say I shall do something, I mean it. I may not do it right then because of my not-so-long attention span, but I will eventually get around to doing it. It took me about two years to make a thousand. You may be wondering what I wished for if you read the above story. Well, I inadvertently made a wish for my art teacher/should-be-grandmother by giving her my thousandth bird. I wished for her to have a happy retirement for she was also leaving high school the same time I was.

I shall probably be making paper cranes for the rest of my life, and I am perfectly okay with this fact.

 

*photo does not belong to me

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Garrett: The Example of Malnutrition

As you may have guessed, I am very passionate about animals and their welfare, especially my own animals. I have not mentioned my leopard gecko, Garrett, until now. I feel I should bring him to your attention for educational purposes.

I obtained him and another gecko about 5 years ago from my biological father. This was after the divorce, so I only saw the geckos every other weekend. He and the other gecko seemed content with themselves, everything was going well. Then my father moved to a different house. In the process of moving, he left the geckos at his then-girlfriend’s trashy, worn-down, disease-ridden house. I worried about them but could not go and get them myself, nor could I reason with Dave (aforementioned father) to go and get them so I could be caring for them.

Once he had finally settled into his house, he brought the male gecko. The female had been given away. Garrett, the gecko, was severely malnourished, as you can see. I could see his ribs and spine a lot more clearly than I should.

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He was very thin, very weak. I apologized to him for his not being taken care of properly. Apparently, Dave didn’t feel it necessary to feed Garrett every week, just whenever he felt like it.

From then on, I made it my life’s mission to take care of him to the best of my ability. I cleaned his water bowl and habitat, made sure he actually had water and food (crickets), and I got him out any chance I could. I took him outside, let him roam, but not too far away from his mom. I cradled him in my arms when he got too cold or too weak. He had become a child of mine, and I would do anything for his safety and well-being.

On December 10, 2012, Dave asked why I didn’t like being at his house because apparently it took a year or two for him to notice my blatant hatred for the place and people there. Nothing I told him was taken to heart due to his not being mentally stable. So, he asked if I wanted to leave, I said yes. I packed my things, and I took Garrett and his new giant aquarium back to my home. My parents were confused about my sudden coming home and my bringing a lizard. We made accommodations for him soon after, buying him food, vitamins, a heating pad, a log-shaped hut, and sand.

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He is now very happy and fat, as seen to the right. At least, he hasn’t told me he isn’t happy yet. Since I can’t have him in my dorm, I am trusting my sister to take care of him back home. So far, he hasn’t been killed, so there is some hope for my sister to be somewhat responsible.

Leopard geckos can actually live up to 15 to 20 years if they are properly taken care. I hope to have him for a very long time, considering he is about 5 years old now.

I bid you all farewell for now. I hope you take Garrett’s story to heart and take care of all your animals and respect them. Garrett says bye, too :). He’s so precious 😀

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*all photos taken my me

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Dogs- The Sequel to Cats

Previously, I made a post about my current beloved cats. Everything in that post is true, but it makes me come off as an all-cat kind of person. This is very much not the case.

I’ve loved cats longer than I have loved dogs, but I love them equally, just for different reasons.

Cats can be playful and cuddly, but oftentimes that is a dog’s job. In general they are very loyal, sweet, affectionate, and very playful.

However, I have had a somewhat disturbing past with dogs. When I was younger, about ten years old, my biological raised and bred pit bulls. He has some hoarder tendencies since he was adding all the dogs to all the cats and all the snakes. I’ll never understand that man. Regardless, the dogs were very sweet and loving, but as you know, the males can be very territorial. The first killing occurred one day when I was at school. The bus dropped me off, and I walked up my gravel driveway to my porch, as usual. I noticed blood spots here and there on the steps and the wood of the porch. I went inside, and my father informed me one male had broken out of his kennel and killed another. A few weeks later, a male and female killed the female’s sister fighting over food. My mother tried to break up the fight, but it was too late.

Of the many pit bulls we owned, only two are surviving today.

Now that the sad story is out of the way, let me make it up to you by telling you about my two lazy yet loving dogs.

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The first dog is one of the two surviving pit bulls. His name is Boscoe, and he believes he is a lap dog who has to be touched constantly. We received him as a 6-month old puppy, and he is now an old man, gray-face and all. He was always the favorite of my mum’s during my childhood. When we moved to our current house in Tuscumbia, most of my animals were either deceased or thrown out by my biological father. We only saved two cats, my favorite of the two later ran away, and Boscoe. Now that she didn’t have a million other animals to feed, she could actually take good care of Boscoe and even train him to behave. He can sit, stay, and roll over. As he’s gotten older and my stepdad has spoiled him, Boscoe’s patience for treats has diminished. Overall, he is a terrific dog. He sets the perfect example to what pit bulls and other dog breeds could be if they are taken care of and properly trained.

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Lastly, we have Duncan, our Yorkie/Schnauzer mix. He is only a few years old. His story is an odd one, actually. He came from the mom of one of my best friends. We did not intend to keep him when she and my friend Hillary brought him over to our house. His original name was Zeus, but that did not suit him at all. He is very timid unless you’re knocking on the other side of a door; then, he barks and barks until you come in and greet him. He is only comfortable when he is smothered in pillows, as you can see to the right. No one did that to him as a joke, he digs under the pillows on the couch until he is completely or partially hidden. We kept Duncan with the intention of having a playmate dog for Boscoe. Since he loves pillow smothering, he and Boscoe are couch potatoes more so than ever. Every now and then, though, Duncan will get in these moods of running back and forth from the kitchen through the dining room to the living room where we all just sit and watch him go.

I shall leave you with the moral of this story: do NOT, under any circumstances, own more animals than you can care for.

They suffer needlessly because we find them “cute” and feel we need all of them.

You don’t.

Also, don’t fight dogs. Don’t train dogs to be mean. Don’t treat them like toys that you can just throw around.

Keep your animals happy and behaved. Spay and neuter them, too, if you can.

*all photos taken by my mum

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Cats

I love animals. I always have, and I always will. There has not been a day in my life that I haven’t had some form of an animal. I’ve had various types throughout my days, including snakes, hamsters, goats, dogs, rabbits, and even gerbils.

However, I will always have a special place in my heart for all of my cats.

My past family went through cats like used toys. The Maxwell members would run over my cats during my childhood into early adolescence. It honestly almost became a routine; my mother would sit me down, because she was the only one who cared about the cats like I do, and I would ask which cat. We would proceed with our mourning, the Maxwell members giving no thought to the creature they killed and focusing more on my “unhappiness.”

Anyway, my current cats are one of the small joys that keep me going. I have four, all boys, oddly enough.

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The first two cats are Prozac and Sue. Prozac came with that name, and he actually needs some. He acts like an old lady, always yelling at no one in particular about his being alone or just in another room from you.

Sue was named after the great Johnny Cash’s A Boy Named Sue and A Man in Black. Ergo, Sue is the black one, and Prozac is the gray one.

Sue is very alien-like. What I mean by that is he watches our movements and actions as if he wants to perform them for himself to somehow help conquer the world. He also gets on the counter and table and knocks things over to receive some form of attention from my mother. He’s somehow her favorite, despite being the one who messes up everything and makes himself look innocent when picking fights with the other cats.

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Next is Vincent. He is actually quite large, it’s not just the picture. My dad had him before he moved in with us. His new landlord didn’t approve of the cats he was oddly enough keeping for someone else, so he was soon after evicted. You know a man is a keeper when he brings his own cat when he moves in with you.

Sorry for the random side notes, they just happen.

Vincent is about 10 years old, and he is always grumpy. My dad had him since he was a newborn kitten, and he grew up with a Labrador as a friend. He is quite dog-like, often charging at people who ignore him. He can be cuddly every blue moon or so, especially with my dad in his man-chair.

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Finally, there’s Butters. He is basically younger Simba from Lion King. We actually got Butters from the local animal shelter in hopes of getting a different cat named Sherlock. Not that I don’t love Butters with all of my being, but how perfect it would have been to have that  beautifully-named cat. -heavy sigh.

Butters is an orange-creamy tabby who can go from super cuddly to “I wanna bite your fingers off for play time” within minutes. He is your typical kitten, playing and cuddling and biting everything. He is so very cute, and I may just take him with me whenever I move out for good. He makes this adorable chirping noise when he is sleepy and/or being messed with while trying to sleep.

This is said noise with my friend Hillary in the background.

To all the cats who couldn’t be in this post, you are fondly remembered and I’ll love you all until I join you someday.

Then you all can go back to ignoring me until I feed and/or pet you.

*all photos and video taken by me, except the last one being taken by my mum

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