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When you have been making yourself at home in random condos and almost get your owners evicted from the marina. No, you can't go outside and play with your lizard friends

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Foredeck dog.  I'm not sure this one will work as a full-time liveaboard. The boat is a lot smaller with him around... and hairier.  And he has been known to start chewing on the jib sheets when he gets frustrated.  But then again, there's some rule that goes something like, "the smaller the house, the bigger the dog..."

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When things get too tilty and/or flappy, he just goes to the quarterberth and stays there until the boat is firmly tied to the dock AND snacks are served.

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See what you did...you have  opened the gates of hell

 

D

 

Ps...Jill will not let me have a jack russel.... as a surrendered husband I have lived with a string of big, smelly, boisterous, wet,water loving, enthusiastic hair shedding black labs.  Fine dogs in their own way.. but hard to live with on a small boat.

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3 hours ago, Panope said:

Our beloved Jack Russell died last week.  She was 14. 

Grief stricken.

Condolences Steve. They really are family members. We continue to miss our male Cavalier King Charles, gone 3 years now. Still have a female.

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I have always previously had pairs - think it is better for them to have company/family.

But Dorothy was an unplanned rescue - her original human went to the middle east and did not come home.  She is not at all interested in sharing us with another cat.

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Damn, glancing quickly, I read this thread title as “Beat poets”.

And then immediately thought of William S. Burroughs [link] (“Naked Lunch”, etc), and then thought to myself, what a sec, Burroughs wasn’t a poet in the strict sense of the word...but how can read the Beat poets and not read Burroughs too?  And then realized you wrote Boat pets, not Beat poets.

Carry on.

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Just now, Jud - s/v Sputnik said:

Speaking of the cat people taking over, here’s one for ya, @dylan winter!

 :-) 

(And an example, unlike Carl Sandburg’s vision, of the fog not coming on little cat feet...)

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Not sure siamese are real cats... there is something else entirely different going on in their heads. I shared a house with one for six months....it owned, ran and dominated the place. Nothing happened without it's permission.

D

 

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9 minutes ago, dylan winter said:

Not sure siamese are real cats... there is something else entirely different going on in their heads. I shared a house with one for six months....it owned, ran and dominated the place. Nothing happened without it's permission.

D

 

Ha!  We’re fortunate in that White Socks (or whatever her name is: alternately, Kitkat, Cat, Furface, etc) is only half Siamese, so is only a total bitch half the time, and let’s us be human the other half the time... :-)

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We had a strain of Siamese crosses on the farm (eventually died out due to “responsible pet ownership”) that were basically just little dogs.  They ran with the dogs, roughhoused with the dogs, loaded up into the truck for a ride to town, chased deer, ran out to greet visitors, etc.

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On 5/29/2021 at 1:15 AM, toddster said:

Foredeck dog.  I'm not sure this one will work as a full-time liveaboard. The boat is a lot smaller with him around... and hairier.  And he has been known to start chewing on the jib sheets when he gets frustrated.  But then again, there's some rule that goes something like, "the smaller the house, the bigger the dog..."

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When things get too tilty and/or flappy, he just goes to the quarterberth and stays there until the boat is firmly tied to the dock AND snacks are served.

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Does he want a girlfriend?

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Steve, sorry for your loss. We had a 10 year old runtweiler almost die last month. Yes I cried.

Back to boat pets, get a Furminator hair brush. Not just for the convenience but so you don't have to clear the strum box every other day. One of the very best boat accessories ever.

 

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Tether cat, similar to tether ball but alot more scratches.  Two escapes so far but the wife re stiched so hopefully secure.  He gets a walk a day too so sort of happy, and gets his fish watching in.  Tried to make a dash for the condos on his first escape.

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So the beast figured out how to escape, wife had him tied up below pre walk, he shot out a bow porthole.  Tight lined on his leash and was hanging over the water, slid out into the water swam to the dock and made a run for it.  She was able to lure back with a can of tuna.  He's currently trying to open the pilot house door.  He knows how the latch works but can't get it to go.  If he figures out the port hole dogs then we are done.  If cats had opposable thumbs we would all be screwed.

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We are still working on making him a boat pet, but here is our new-to-us dog on our first try on the boat. He was scared of the dock, but did great down below. He thought it was couch-land and had a great time jumping from cushion to cushion. We just sat at the mooring for a few hours - next step is sailing somewhere.

Meet Fin. We spent a couple months sailing in the USVIs, and our last week there we adopted him from the St Thomas Humane Society. It has been less than two months, but he is adjusting great. He is one of the sweetest and happiest dogs I have known, so we got lucky. And we figure being from the islands hopefully cruising is in his blood (or at least a love of beaches)

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Topper dinghies have a horse on the mainsheet and a horse is a sandbank in the middle of an estuary.

And

 

One of our keelboat racer competitors  always put a crew member on the entrance form as George Orilla. The local newspapers used to report on local races. G.Orilla sometimes got his name in print.

Gave us all a childish laugh

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On 5/29/2021 at 6:00 PM, Panope said:

Our beloved Jack Russell died last week.  She was 14. 

Grief stricken. 

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Very sad. Our mate was a springer spaniel. She was part of our family for 14 years too. 5 years ago now, but we still miss her. Haven't felt like replacing her. All the best.

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On 5/29/2021 at 2:00 AM, Panope said:

Our beloved Jack Russell died last week.  She was 14. 

Grief stricken. 

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Sorry to hear.  I had a jack russell from the animal shelter about 25 yrs ago, smartest friggin dog ever.

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Came back to Dante's inferno.  All because of one orange shit head. Have to keep the boat totally closed till we get off the dock.  Off to the hook in the AM.  What people do for cats...

 

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C'mon, let's have some more posts here! Mrs. K keeps asking for a dog and I keep holding to our vow not to have any more pets. So the photos in this topic help alleviate our pet deficiency symptoms.

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49 minutes ago, kinardly said:

C'mon, let's have some more posts here! Mrs. K keeps asking for a dog and I keep holding to our vow not to have any more pets. So the photos in this topic help alleviate our pet deficiency symptoms.

I decided not to have any more pets.  Then the furball in post #6 just showed up and moved in. Not quite sure how that happened.  Oh yes, I thought it would be easy to find out where he belonged. But nobody would claim him.

Good grief - a downvote! Must be a cat person...

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39 minutes ago, toddster said:

I decided not to have any more pets.  Then the furball in post #6 just showed up and moved in. Not quite sure how that happened.  Oh yes, I thought it would be easy to find out where he belonged. But nobody would claim him.

Good grief - a downvote! Must be a cat person...

Probably a mis-hit. I gave you that one back. 

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I love this thread.  Thanks for all the wonderful photos and anecdotes, and deep sympathy for Zonker and Panope on their losses.  Losing a 4-legged companion is very very hard.

I have a wee anecdote of dog-on-boat, from my late teens.  My father and I and huge labradog passage-making our J/24 along the south coast of Ireland, two or three days out of Dublin.  It was one of those days which starts well, then turned bad and badder and badderer even more baddererer.

We had overnighted in Kinsale, with a great treat of meal at one of that port's fine seafood places.  A good sleep, then up early to head west, the wind was south-south-easterly f3, which meant a tedious beat down the side of the Old Head of Kinsale, and out beyond its tide-race.  We were fine with that, because we'd have a beam reach all the way to Roaringwater Bay, and the forecast f4 southerly should make it fast and easy.

As was common in those days, it was soon obvious that the forecast was way off.  Dark clouds massed to the south, and before we were even past the Old Head's tide race, the mainhatch was locked.  Main and genoa had been replaced with main and #2 genoa, then main with 1 reef and 2, and on down to jib and  two refs.  The wind was now 5 veering toward the SW, and within a few hours we were close-hauled.

With no rail meat, we weren't making great speed, but we were making progress, and Roaringwater Bay by late afternoon looked very feasible.  I have a leather stomach, but my father got seasick, so I found myself basically single-handing while insisting that he went nowhere near the leeward rail to vomit.  There was enough spray to clean the cockpit quickly.

But the wind kept building, and I had to put my by-now near-useless father on the helm while I went forward to change down to the storm jib.  That settled the boat a lot, and we progress  became less painful without much loss of speed, but we were still taking a lot of green water, regularly half-filling the cockpit.  We shared the wee bottle of water we'd put in a winch handle pocket, and reviewed the situation.

Back then GPS was for squillonaires, and our RDF was no use because there was no triangulation from the available beacons (one dead astern, one dead ahead). So all we had was recognising the coast from 5 miles off in (poor visibility, due to rain), and guesstimating how close the log reading was to reality, since the sensor was spending a lot of time out of the water.

Reading the headlands, we concluded that Baltimore sound was ahead.  So we cracked the sheets a bit, and zoomed north-west towards the coast.   I guess we were a mile offshore when the mist cleared enough to show that this was not Baltimore.  No white beacon, and instead of the sound, a dead end: waves breaking on the beach of what I think was Tragumna.   Feck.  Feckedy feckedy feckedy feckedy feck feck feck.

So I hardened up, tacked, and began trying to punch south into the steep near-shore waves, in force 6.  A J/24 isn't designed for that, so it took a lot of hyperactive helming to avoid simply crashing off the top of each wave.  After an hour of this, it was clear that we were making v little progress.  If the wind built any more we were done for, and my energy wouldn't last forever.  So as a contingency I planned a path for the beach, reckoning that if we couldn't clear the coast, we were better to wreck the boat on the beach than on the high rocky cliffs.

As I began to figure how exactly to beach the boat without getting bashed by it as we made our escape, the wind eased markedly, back to a 4.  Progress was much easier.  And then, within a few minutes, every last gasp of wind went.  We were now rolling in swell, with no motion ... but least we weren't going to be blown ashore, and had survived our daft navigational folly.

So we hauled out the damn outboard from the cockpit locker, and made decent progress west.  Within the hour we were in Baltimore Sound, with a choice of anchorages.

But once we had the outboard on, I felt relieved and safe.  It was now several hours or since anyone had been below, and since it was finally safe to open the hatch, I went below to check on the poor dog.

He usually slept in the v-berth, sharing space with the bagged inflatable dinghy, a big sail wardrobe, and assorted other bags.  After a bouncy ride, it was common to find him pinned down by a pile of bags, immobilised but comfortable.  So I pulled bags aside, with mounting panic: he wasn't there.  Feckedy feckedy feckedy feckedy feck feck feck.

So I looked aft.  No sign of him.  Not on the settees, and not down either of the quarter berths.  And there was nowhere else he could be. Feckedy feckedy feckedy feckedy feck feck feck.

In full panic at this stage, I dived headfirst down the starboard quarterberth, poking at the kitbag.  Nothing else there. Feckedy feckedy feckedy feckedy feck feck feck.

And then headfirst down the port quarterberth.  Nothing there except a bag.  Close to tears, i grabbed the bag and flung it forwards.  And there, right at the back of the wee berth, was a huge big labrador curled up so tightly into such a tiny ball that he looked like he had been vacuum-packed.  While I had been helming, he had been roughly under my bum.

It took a few minutes of cuddles before he believed it was safe to come out again.  I needed longer for my heart to start beating again.

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On 5/29/2021 at 10:07 AM, dylan winter said:

Ps...Jill will not let me have a jack russel.... as a surrendered husband I have lived with a string of big, smelly, boisterous, wet,water loving, enthusiastic hair shedding black labs.  Fine dogs in their own way.. but hard to live with on a small boat.

Dylan, I agree with Jill on that one.

Every Jack Russell I have ever known has been highly intelligent, fun and adorable.  Unfortunately, all but one of them has also had a seriously vicious streak, with savage, unprovoked attacks on close friends of their human.  I have had several nasty bites from them.

So I prefer to share space with just about any other breed of dogs, because they don't bite me when I am asleep..

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1 hour ago, TwoLegged said:

........................

So I looked aft.  No sign of him.  Not on the settees, and not down either of the quarter berths.  And there was nowhere else he could be. ...........

In full panic at this stage,.................. And there, right at the back of the wee berth, was a huge big labrador curled up so tightly into such a tiny ball that he looked like he had been vacuum-packed.  While I had been helming, he had been roughly under my bum.

............... I needed longer for my heart to start beating again.

A few decades ago we had the same with a 6 yr old child !  I know exactly how you felt.

 

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6 hours ago, TwoLegged said:

Dylan, I agree with Jill on that one.

Every Jack Russell I have ever known has been highly intelligent, fun and adorable.  Unfortunately, all but one of them has also had a seriously vicious streak, with savage, unprovoked attacks on close friends of their human.  I have had several nasty bites from them.

So I prefer to share space with just about any other breed of dogs, because they don't bite me when I am asleep..

That was a wonderful sailing story you posted. Having seen your coast from the harbors, I can especially appreciate your tale. 

After a lifetime of dog ownership (my family always had at least 2-3 at any time), Jack Russells are not entry level dogs. My long time vet summed them up as 50/50. I chalk it up to evolution and survival of a small breed living amongst thrashing horse hooves. Death is always inches away from a JR. I explain our JR's to friends, simply, the 'they don't bite,....hard'. 

Excellent boat dogs. PANOPE, can't wait for photos, what a beauty. This one is nearly 13, stone death, and still will show me his teeth, if he doesn't like what I'm doing. He's been a most wonderful companion and loves to be on the water. 

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5 hours ago, MikeJohns said:

A few decades ago we had the same with a 6 yr old child !  I know exactly how you felt.

Oh wow, Mike.  That's the sort of thing that gets seared into the brain.  What are your child's memories of it?

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TL, by chance did you know this JR in Kinsale, 2015? Running an antique shop on one of the main streets. 

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He was an old fella then and blind. When you got about 6' away, he'd gently show you a bit of his teeth. Can't blame him, a life of watching a shop, who wouldn't?

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24 minutes ago, Kris Cringle said:

That was a wonderful sailing story you posted. Having seen your coast from the harbors, I can especially appreciate your tale. 

After a lifetime of dog ownership (my family always had at least 2-3 at any time), Jack Russells are not entry level dogs. My long time vet summed them up as 50/50. I chalk it up to evolution and survival of a small breed living amongst thrashing horse hooves. Death is always inches away from a JR. I explain our JR's to friends, simply, the 'they don't bite,....hard'. 

Thanks, Kris.  I learnt a hard lesson that day about navigation by eye, and became hyper-cautious about multiple checks before burning up sea room off a lee shore. GPS makes such skills less crucial nowadays, although electronics are fallible ...

But I still shudder at the thought of putting a keelboat onto a beach in breaking waves.  In hindsight, I reckon the best course of action would have been to drop anchor with max warp while still in deep water, and hope that it at least snatched a few times to delay impact, giving us time to jump clear and hopefully be on the beach before the boat landed on top of us.

I like your description of Jack Russells.  They were bed to live a dangerous life, so they have sharp and lethal reflexes.  Kinda like someone who has been a guerilla fighter or a commando: they near-automatically respond with rapid force.

FRs don't bite hard, but in my experience they try to bite damagingly.  I have a (much faded) scar on an eyebrow from where a JR leapt from asleep a few feet away from me, aiming for eye, and thankfully narrowly missed.  Boat I an my current dog have had a JR's teeth make contact with our throats.  Difft dogs on each occasion, so I an now v v wary.

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2 minutes ago, Kris Cringle said:

TL, by chance did you know this JR in Kinsale, 2015? Running an antique shop on one of the main streets. 

He was an old fella then and blind. When you got about 6' away, he'd gently show you a bit of his teeth. Can't blame him, a life of watching a shop, who wouldn't?

'fraid not, Kris.  I haven't been in Kinsale for many years now, and antique shops aren't my thing (not just because nowadays I nearly qualify as stock).

But I love the pic and your description.  I can't think of anywhere other than an antique shop where that would be so appropriate.

 

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If Dogscout from the “How I bought my boat” thread is reading this, now would be a good time to share a photo of Peat the Panty Pirate of Montenegro, preferably in the company of one of his conquests. 

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12 hours ago, TwoLegged said:

Oh wow, Mike.  That's the sort of thing that gets seared into the brain.  What are your child's memories of it?

We had a loose MPS  stuffed under a bunk , the child told to stay below with an older sibling had crawled in and curled up in a very nice nest. Didn't hear our shouts over the noise. Force 6- 7  and well out to sea.

There had been been a small window of opportunity where they might have made it out unseen when we were working fwd. The child was responsible, but there was that doubt, growing stronger with each frantic more thorough search of seven bunks (and everything that ends up on disused bunks)  with growing worried disbelief. Just like your doggy.

It was a few minutes (45 foot cruising boat) before they were found.

Their memory  (24 years on) is still of what they considered the over reaction of being dragged out of a cozy nest in rough weather and being crushed half to death for several minutes by a mother in wet weather gear completely devoid of the power of speech, quietly sobbing .... 

 

 

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10 minutes ago, MikeJohns said:

Their memory  (24 years on) is still of what they considered the over reaction of being dragged out of a cozy nest in rough weather and being crushed half to death for several minutes by a mother in wet weather gear completely devoid of the power of speech, quietly sobbing .... 

That's kinda what I guessed.  I suspect that my labradog's view contained a lot of that puzzlement.  And yes, he too got the bear hug from wet oilskinned-woman.

With a 45-foot boat to search, I can only begin to imagine how the extra time had raised the poor mother's panic to traumatic levels.  That's what makes parents get old.

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I woke up off watch one night by the noise of some building breeze.  Called my wife to see if see needed help. No answer.  Got up, looked in cockpit and she is not there.  Turned on spreader lights and can't see her.  Yelled out a few times with no answer, but it was a bit breezy by then.  Three things were going thru my head at this point - what is the best search pattern, how long do I search (the odds of finding her in those conditions were near zero), and how will I tell her father I lost her.  I'm literally just about to turn the boat around when she stands up on the foredeck, she had been lying down on the deck behind the folds of the staysail to be stable while getting the staysail secured.   

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We had panic/trauma event with a chihuahua (ok, the fucker is a little shit head, so the trauma would not have lasted long.....)

Situation: 8 people onboard Panope, Shrimp fishing (with traps), Crowded bay, Fifty+ other boats jockeying for just the right positions, Honest 20 kt. wind,  Sloppy sea state, All boats rolling their guts out, Sorta chaotic.

At some point during the commotion, I call to  the foredeck crew for a "Dog count".  Their response is 1 dog short of what we started with.

I send two able bodied children below to conduct a search.  They return with no dog.

I send them back with strict instructions to FIND THE DOG.  They return with no dog.

Wife starts to panic and conducts another below deck search.  No dog.

Dog had not been seen for 20 minutes or so.

All hands on deck, each with a quadrant of water to search.

Dog does not swim for shit - even with a life jacket.  Dog was wearing a life jacket.

I steam back and forth in a downwind grid. Lee shore about a half mile away.  

The sight of the (lone) sailboat maneuvering urgently amongst the fishing fleet with an intense woman scanning from the bow pulpit was the clue needed by the boat that plucked our dog from the drink - alive.

I have lost count of how many times that dog should have died (Carried off by a coyote, Chewed up/swallowed a razor blade, fell off dock/found clinging to a submerged float too scared to move or bark, etc)

 

 

 

 

 

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3 hours ago, alphafb552 said:

You’ll never catch a cat doing something as dumb as that

Dunno… Singha here engaged us in a 0400 COB drill because he didn’t perceive that calm water was still… water. And chased something straight off the forward crossbeam. I heard the splash; Madame was awakened by the clawing along the inboard stbd hull as The Boy tried to get back aboard. I ran to the transom step and he swam to me, where he received the ignominious “kitten-style scruff retrieval,” and was promptly delivered to the shower for a fresh water rinse. Admirably, The Boy took the showering with no protest, but did like the toweling off afterward far better.

Funny, though; he’d been a feral, and up to that time, he distrusted us and was not affectionate. After the above incident, that all changed and he’s quite the love bug.

 

 

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We had a Jack Russell run down the dock and swallow a snelled fish hook with bait on it. "Gulp" The nylon loop of the snelled hook was just hanging out of his mouth.

 

What a pickle. Do you pull it and 'set the hook' or head off to the vet (we did the latter).

 

Xrays weren't clear. Surgery to remove? It was a weekend so the Dr. took a chance and gave it a yank. 

 

Out it came. The bottom of the hook and barb had broken off before the dog ate it.

 

Some numbskull just left the broken, baited hook on the dock for an animal to ingest.

 

Couple hundred dollars lighter, we were on the water. They're no different than having kids. 

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1 hour ago, Max Rockatansky said:

... After the above incident, that all changed and he’s quite the love bug.

Takes special circumstances and effort (or simply a long, long time) to earn the love of cat and be elevated above the level of simple staff in their eyes.

Dogs are so much easier. 

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4 hours ago, The Lucky One said:

Takes special circumstances and effort (or simply a long, long time) to earn the love of cat and be elevated above the level of simple staff in their eyes.

Dogs are so much easier. 

over the years have lived with many, many cats and I have not found that to be the case, in fact, The Boy was an exception from the norm

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59 minutes ago, Max Rockatansky said:
5 hours ago, The Lucky One said:

Takes special circumstances and effort (or simply a long, long time) to earn the love of cat and be elevated above the level of simple staff in their eyes.

Dogs are so much easier. 

over the years have lived with many, many cats and I have not found that to be the case, in fact, The Boy was an exception from the norm

My experiences with cats echoes Max's.  All the cats I have lived with have been bundles of devoted love, just as much as the dogs.  The difference I found between cats and dogs is that the cats were much more inclined to tough love, and to assert their needs ... e.g. beating me up if they thought that was needed. (For example, one cat was v keen on fish for breakfast, at a precise time.  If I was trying to get a lie-in and was still in bed at fish time, her solution was to shout in my face for a minute, and if that didn't work she would go to the end of the bed, lift up the duvet, and lash her claws into the sole of one of my feet.  Yes, it worked: I was up immediately.  With a motion similar to that of toothpaste when the tube is jumped on by a heffalump.).

By contrast, the dogs are much more gentle about asserting their needs.  The sheer loyalty of dogs makes them much more inclined to just suck up any neglect or mistreatment, so my experience is that when when living with a dog, the lack of negative feedback means that human has to taken much more care to be fair to them.

There is some excellent exploration of the issues in Jeffery Masson's book Dogs Never Lie About Love: Reflections on the Emotional World of Dogs 

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Ex-wife left me with all four cats, and they run the gamut. One's a daddy's boy, instant love for me since he was a kitten. Out of the other three:

  • One's an arse. Only wants attention when I'm vulnerable: in the bathroom or in bed. Otherwise, I'm a nuisance at best. He's the type of cat that will sit at your feet patiently for an hour or two, then spontaneously bite one of your toes hard.
  • One's vocal, wanders around the house yowling when he wants food, or God knows what else. We don't see eye to eye most days.
  • The last just wants to be left alone and watch the world go by. I feed him, keep the water dish filled, and clean the litter out regularly... and I only see him when it's feeding time. Otherwise he's in a corner or under some furniture and just chills.
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Our cat ended up in the water twice, neither her fault.  First, she was chased backwards off the dock by a very nasty neighbor cat.  We knew nothing until a rather wet ball of fur came streaking down the companionway.  Second was our fault.  She gets quite seasick, so on advice of the local vet, we gave her Valium at half the recommended dose while at the dock to see how she did.  Not so well.  She couldn't use her hind legs and just kind of hung out overlooking the companionway stairs.  Then she was not.  Looked out to see kitty on the dock looking up at us, rather forlorn and quite wet, with wet pawprints leading towards the bow.  Yup, in both instances she had clawed her own way out of the water and onto the dock.

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14 hours ago, Panope said:

Chihuahuas are not dogs.

Friends got a Chihau. pup, another mutual friend, a tall and overly large, loving caring person sat on it and killed it, to the distress of everyone involved.

They got an insurance payout, these things aren't cheap from a breeder. A year later they had another Chihau. pup. They went out for the evening and one or more of their 3 cats cat ate it. Breeder refused to have anything more to do with them.

In a fit of overcompensation they got a Weimariner pup for her and an Irish Terrier pup for him, both survived their alloted span.

Not sure if there's a moral to this story.

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3 minutes ago, Grrr... said:

My Chihuahua mix is hurt by your accusation, and his big sister would like to discuss it with you.

I get the impression that this might be the sort of discussion referred to by diplomats as a "free and frank exchange of views" ... which is basically code for the parties throwing both insults and furniture at each other.

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38 minutes ago, TwoLegged said:

I get the impression that this might be the sort of discussion referred to by diplomats as a "free and frank exchange of views" ... which is basically code for the parties throwing both insults and furniture at each other.

Yeah, we jokingly refer to her as 'the bitch' and she lives up to it every day.

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On 6/13/2021 at 8:14 PM, MikeJohns said:

Friends got a Chihau. pup, another mutual friend, a tall and overly large, loving caring person sat on it and killed it, to the distress of everyone involved.

They got an insurance payout, these things aren't cheap from a breeder. A year later they had another Chihau. pup. They went out for the evening and one or more of their 3 cats cat ate it. Breeder refused to have anything more to do with them.

In a fit of overcompensation they got a Weimariner pup for her and an Irish Terrier pup for him, both survived their alloted span.

Not sure if there's a moral to this story.

Similar story here. My folks had a Siamese mix in Colorado that was effectively a mini cougar, capable of fending for itself for days at a time in the winter. One winter night their neighbors stepped outside on their second story deck to check on their chihuahua only to see the cat beat feet, leaving a half eaten dog behind. Kind of gross but it illustrates that barking mice aren’t well equipped to survive without constant owner attention/protection.

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On 6/13/2021 at 12:29 AM, kinardly said:

If Dogscout from the “How I bought my boat” thread is reading this, now would be a good time to share a photo of Peat the Panty Pirate of Montenegro, preferably in the company of one of his conquests. 

Have i posted this one before.  Peat says CDM!

 

20210531_203238.jpg

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one of my highlights of my life was taking my cat sailing...for her, not sure she thought it was a highlight.  Didn't take her too far, as it's a pretty wet boat, and she is ok on the sea, but didn't like the water too much.  Lived to 18, passed away last year sadly.

Thai cats are pretty hardy.  Loving Singha, i presume he is a Korat? Supposed to be the smartest of the Thai cat breeds.

May be an image of 1 person

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Singha says ‘thank you.’ He is a Lower Alabaman Brown Patheticat. Feral boatyard cat, the yard was trapping the cats and we saved him from whatever fate the yard had in mind. His mama was a small tortie, and so apparently he takes after his sire whom we never did see.