The only thing I can remember that I wanted to be, when I grew up, was a veterinarian. An occupation working with animals. Of course, at the time, the word occupation meant nothing to me, but the idea of being surrounded by critters of all kinds sounded like the best thing ever. Someone told me I could not be a veterinarian and like most small children do, I believed that. It was probably because, during that time period, that profession was held mostly by men. This same person also told me that I could not have a pick up truck.....but that is another story for another day.
Tossing out the veterinarian scenario, I decided I could be an animal trainer, and set about training what ever living creature I could find that would tolerate my presence for any length of time.
My first trainee was a monarch butterfly. I kid you not. I do not recall where I found this winged beauty, who obviously had a bum wing, but I kept it on the enclosed back porch for several days. I would feed it sugar water from a spoon and erected a trapeze. With a string stretched tight between two boards, the butterfly would traverse the length of the string. I would then turn it around and back it would go in the opposite direction. I amazed my childhood friend with this trick and had dreams of becoming the Amazing Ruthinni and having a road show.
Somewhere along the line, the butterfly bit the dust and I moved on to cats. From as far back as I can remember, I've always had a cat. Cats are not easy to train. It makes me think of the statement a gentleman, who coaches a youth league football team, made about the first year players, "It's like trying to herd cats." I did not succeed in training the cats but, I did have one that would sit on top of my head while I circumnavigated the house outdoors.
Then there was a parakeet. I was sure I could train this bird to talk and spent endless hours talking to my little yellow feathered friend. One day I came home and the cat had figured out how to open the door of the bird cage. Needless to say, it was time again to move on to the next animal.
I brought home a white rat from the biology class at school and named him Chuck. I had visions of Chuck being the Amazing Maze Running Rat. Chuck lived in a coffee can in my bedroom. Rats grow really fast. One day when I came home from school, Chuck had grown enough to chew a hole in the lid of the can and was nowhere to be found. I thought it best not to mention this to anyone.
This must have happened on a Friday because the following day sister Lela came home for a weekend visit. I confided in her that Chuck was MIA and we located him in the bedroom next to mine. Lela was not near as fond of Chuck as I was and there was much jumping and screaming as Chuck darted around the room. We finally caught him and I put him back in my room.
Chuck was quite the escape artist, an occupation that was not to his benefit, and disappeared a couple of days later. Once again, I thought it best not to mention this small snafu. The next night Mother came flying down the stairs to announce that something was in the potted plant in her bedroom and it was kicking potting soil out all over the floor. I had to come clean and admitted Chuck was on the loose. As I desperately tried to corral this speedy white rat with a box, he shot out from under the folk's bed and Dad whacked him with a shoe. That pretty much took care of the Amazing Maze Running Rat.
From that point forward I focused my training abilities to the family dogs and had some success. They could sit, lay down, roll over and one would even hide his face on command. I'm now working with the newest canine member of the family. The one trick he performs well is the pre-wash cycle when it is time to load the dishwasher. We are working on shutting the door and pressing the start button.
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