It’s a lovely arrangement for the flag.
And now that I’ve seen “An Afternoon in June,” it looks like a great Feline Independence Day photo. 
Beautiful!
Combing Mystery. It never ends.
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In West Michigan, also. My previous veterinary practice was wonderful when I had 7 dogs. They would charge me only ONE office fee, even when I had to split the group (small car) and make two trips. (Not easy, as I lived 1 1/4 hours away.)
When I got down to ONE dog, it wasn’t practical due to the travel time and the cost of gas. (I was spending on gas what I was saving on the appointment.) So, I decided to check on closer vets. However, as I was a bit lazy, I got my dog’s vaccinations and rabies shot at the Tractor Supply vet clinic at the cost of about what my “good” vet clinic had charged (and they were a lot less than the local vets).
And then, during the pandemic, the Tractor Supply vet clinics were put on hold. During that time, I decided to buy the needed shots (for 3 dogs now, 2 acquired shortly before my retirement) sans rabies from Tractor Supply/Family Farm stores. The cost of the shots for three dogs was 1/3 the cost for ONE dog at the Tractor Supply vet clinic, and I did that for a few years.
However, last November I was concerned by the fatty lumps my male dog, Dickens, was showing, and then he had problems standing and walking. I NEEDED to find a local vet. I did a lot of googling and reading reviews of vets in the area and called a few. The three vet clinics that I called were all willing to take us on, but the one I chose could see us in just a few days—the rest were a few weeks. One thing I liked about this clinic was where someone on vacation far away from home, had a dog that needed emergency euthanasia, and this was the only vet/clinic in the area that said “bring him in immediately.” Compassion.
This vet clinic is only 20 minutes from me. With my previous vet, if I had a must-be-seen-as-soon-as-possibly-can, it would have been quicker to go to the Plainfield Avenue emergency hospital in GR. It’s only 45 minutes from me, and like I said, my previous vet is/was a 1 1/4 hours’ drive. And after hours—EVERY local vet seems to say to go to GR as I don’t know of one who will see a small pet after regular hours.
I went to Blue Pearl recently to discuss Dickens’ Wobbler’s problem. Blue Pearl has a separate neurosurgery section from its emergency service. They were incredibly nice, but the cost of $12,000 for surgery and intensive aftercare wasn’t practical. And the neurosurgeon did point out Dickens’ age (9 years), and she was honest to say there was “no guarantee” surgery would help or even stabilize him.
My equine vets (Coopersville) are part of a larger clinic which serves, also, small pets. Thirty years ago, I went to them with my Dobermans but didn’t like the ‘fear’ that the small animal vets seem to show when I brought them in. (Plus, a stupid too-tight wrapping of a greenstick fracture which cost me another vi$it to get it re-wrapped.) So, I went elsewhere.
However, the ‘horse vets’ have been wonderful. Our barn owner had an elderly dog who needed a rabies shot but the dog couldn’t get in a car anymore to go to their ‘small animal’ vet nearby. The BO called the equine vet, and he brought a rabies vaccine to give ‘Lucille’ at the upcoming appointment for the horses.
Sorry to digress from cats…
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I know exactly the vets you are talking about. BP is the one that is very pricey and part of a corporation. Dr. V retired from Coopersville - loved him. He was so compassionate when I put my old gelding down.
Back to cats!
Pictures that came up on memories today from 2015. This is baby Pharaoh. It is noted that he was 5 1/2 inches long (tail not included).
Not-so-baby Pharaoh is doing well and feeling better, though we are still on antibiotics for a few more days.
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Rascal in the Wild, Wild Woods this morning. She is approximately 11. Still full of spunk, went up a tree during our joint portion of the walk. She obviously is not a fan of heat, and in the summers, she often chooses to stay behind on the porch or joins me later than usual for a shorter final portion of the walk in the woods. But she’s still unquestionably the Queen of the outdoors.
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The very definition of If I fits I sits. he’s too funny.
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Mystery and Solo watching for more stray cows (see venting thread). No cows grazing in the front yard at the moment. I love Mystery’s tiny tufts on the end of his ears. Solo, of course, is clipped on the left, a reminder that she is originally from a feral colony.
Rascal
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Cotton getting a drink while lying down today. It is officially a lazy summer day.
And my queen of the Wild, Wild Woods Saturday morning.
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This came up on memories again today. It’s from years ago but remains one of my favorite shots. Bagheera in the mimosa tree, but it could easily have been taken in a jungle somewhere.
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I had a scare with Cotton yesterday evening. We had two separate rounds of severe storms yesterday, afternoon and evening. When the evening round hit and it suddenly started raining, I lost internet and all services again (not unusual for the country). So I was standing at the office window looking out when it started hailing like ball bearings, and thus I saw Cotton bolt across the yard. The cats have several options for shelter; he apparently just got caught in the middle of none of them when the skies opened up again. He was a ginger streak, probably broke the record for the cross-yard dash. Right then, it was hailing so hard that it was bouncing up off the ground, so I wished him well but didn’t go out. No point in extending the potential casualty list.
Once it stopped, though, I went out and called up cats. No cats were visible when I first went all; they all had gone to ground, but they came willingly enough. Cotton came from an outbuilding and ran across the yard. I put some food for them on the porch for a stress snack, and in feeling him over, I encountered no wounds and no sore spots enough to make him pause eating. I got him to jump up on the railing, and he did that easily enough, even leaned over and put his front paws on me instead of the rail when I paused petting him to look around. He seemed okay, and he seemed just as usual this morning.
He sure gave me a start, though, bolting across the yard through the hail like that.
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Psalm inspecting the floor. You never know; there might just be nothing under rugs.
Rascal in the Wild, Wild Woods
Brio in the library
Psalm on my Granddaddy’s desk from his study. This is quite old. I always smile seeing the cats on it. All those decades, Granddaddy never realized what that inset was actually for.
Pharaoh in the toy box.
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Happy gotcha day, Solo! This was the unusual First-Degree Premeditated Cat. I usually don’t go looking for cats, as cats are quite capable of finding me, as most of mine have. But there are a few exceptions through the years.
With Solo, I was at an aide shift, and the client asked me to log into a rescue site. The client wanted me to check on the cats of a neighbor in the apartment who had recently died, and her cats had been picked up. My client was worried about them and wondered if any had been adopted yet. So I logged onto a rescue.
Here was a picture of Solo on their front page along with other recent additions. Solo came from a feral colony that was being TNR’d. Note the clipped left ear, the trademark of a feral who has been vetted. But the person TNRing thought this one was young enough to give her a shot at taming. She had had her a few weeks and described her as spirited but coming around.
I am quite capable of looking at pictures of kittens and such, saying cute, and clicking on. It’s very rare for me to have an “I have to have this one” reaction to internet pictures, but this cat hit it, and it took me a little while to figure out why. She reminded me of Mom. The expression in her mug shot, something about it was definitely Momish.
So I contacted the rescue, and they had quite reasonable qualifications. Some rescues go overboard, I think, with a 15-page contract and umpteen rules, but this one was just looking for a good home, and as I had a kitten of corresponding size at that moment (Atticus), I thought they could play together. Kittens are always easier in multi-packs.
Thus Solo came home. She has been a very fun cat, plenty of spice. She is the most diva-ish on the farm at this point, definitely has pointed moods and lets you know all of them, and she bites. Every day of life is approached with spirit. But at night, when I get in bed, there alone, she will get on top of me, right on my chest, and purr for about five minutes while she lets me know what she really thinks of me. Then she will bite me and leave to go to the other side of the bed.
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A storm blew through outside, and I went out to check critters afterwards. The light was neat. These are, of course, posed shots, with thanks to Cotton.
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Was your Grandaddy left-handed?
I don’t believe Granddaddy was left handed. Mom’s sister was; we used to have to arrange the family around the table to allow for her at Thanksgiving so she and her neighbor wouldn’t be in an elbow battle. But he wasn’t.
I have never anywhere else seen a desk like this. It was in his study, and yes, he sat to the left side with stuff arranged out to his right. Mom remembered him getting this desk when she was about 10, which makes it roughly 75 years old now. Solid wood, of course, well made. It does have a drawer on the right, which is blocked in by the nightstand in its current location. I don’t know who made it, be it company or individual. It’s quite possible that one of his church members made it for him; he was a pastor.
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