Publisher’s Corner

By Jenni Fasselin

Do animals communicate? Yes, and it’s not all warm and fuzzy
In previous columns I have written about my dog Leroy and one of the newest additions to our farm, Desmond the cat.
Desmond has proclaimed himself monarch of my back porch. Leroy had long before claimed himself king and ruler of his Momma. His Momma is me.
The cat has been here several weeks and Leroy never once paid attention to him or would even offer him a sideways glance until the day Momma sat on the porch. Both animals were outraged. Desmond because the porch is his and who in their right mind would have the audacity to violate his space?
Leroy on the other hand could not care less about the porch. He’s my 50 pound lap dog that just wants to sit on Momma’s lap.
The growls and yowls that emanated from these two sounded like a violinist that had taken way too much valium, each taking turns and raising a higher note than the other to convince me how distraught and offensive the opposite was to them. The look of shock and disbelief showed on both their faces when I told them to knock it off.
Almost in unison, they quit staring at each other and stared at me. The guilty looks on their faces told me exactly what they were up to. You could plainly see the disdain they held for each other and now were going to plead their case to a higher, hopefully smarter court. They were good at pleading their case, each taking turns trying to convince me he was right.
Desmond started and I’m not sure exactly what his yowls and mews were, but what I got out of it was, “How could you let this thing on my porch and you know he is going to touch me. Ooh, look at his slobber. He drools and you’re allowing this in my domain? I can’t possibly put up with dog drool, you know how disgusting and unsanitary that slimy stuff is? You of all people should understand this and that smell? Just like a dog, I tell you. This simply cannot be allowed on my porch. What if he touches me? Who is going to clean up his puddles? What is this nonsense of his that he gets to touch you? He says you are his, better be wary of that one, just a little too possessive and overbearing, he bears watching. Now make him leave my porch.”
Leroy’s turn; Aw shucks, mom, I won’t bite him. Lick him maybe, but I wouldn’t bite him. I just don’t like him that close to you. I can’t put my paw on it, but he looks a little catty to me. And aw, ma, you oughta be careful of moochers. They just show up one day, and there you have it, they expect you to take care of ’em the rest of thar life. And ma, he slinks around here acting like he owns the place. I didn’t want to tell you, but he eats garbage. Yeah, really, I seen it with my own eyes. He just, uh, kinda seems like a trashy little fellow and those eyes. They’re shifty, ma, I’m telling you he is up to no good.
With both their cases made and a good 20 minutes of my relax time ruined, listening to their tales of woe. I let down the verdict. Either get along, or get along. It is my porch you two. Once again, shock and disbelief crossed both of their faces. Tails between their legs, they slinked off the porch and met up at the food bowl.
There they decided to discuss the atrocities of the mother that wouldn’t listen.
“Man, what is her problem?” asked the cat. The dog whispered something inaudible that was probably along the lines, “I think she had a bad day. Do you want to go play?”
Off together down the sidewalk they went. Leaving me and my porch in peace for the evening. Typical teenagers, the mom always ends up the villain.