Tales from the Bark Side

By Keith Ross | The Daily Journal

Published Saturday, July 21, 2007

Welcome back to the bark side of life here in Ottertail where the plaintiff cry of an early morning loon fills the sky with a melancholy melody. One has a nest around here somewhere and I can't help being reminded of the movie “On Golden Pond” whenever I hear their singular voice, reality is much nicer than the movie.

Reality is also very hard to believe sometimes and in fact it is downright amazing. This week, I have a tale that will truly amaze you. Well, folks, if you aren't amazed, write to me and tell me a truly amazing tale. But let's hear from Mary Evenson Hubbard of Green Valley, Ariz., first.

TOMMY

A few years ago we adopted Tommy, a beautiful, big gray and white (neutered) tom cat from the local animal shelter. He turned out to be a wonderful pet in almost every way.

Shortly after he settled in to his new surroundings, we discovered his love of eating thread. I am an avid quilt-maker and every evening I would sit down and hand quilt until it was time to turn in. My habit was to thread the needle for next time and wrap it around the spool and leave it sitting on the table by my chair.

The next evening when I sat down to sew, the spool of thread was on the carpet and the needle and thread were gone. I searched frantically everywhere and there was no denying it, Tommy must have eaten it.

I called the vet and made an appointment for an X-ray. There it was, as clear as could be on the X-ray about two-thirds of the way through his colon.

I was told by the vet that he would probably pass it within 24 hours. If not, I was to bring to bring him back and he may have to do surgery to remove it. Thankfully, that evening, “everything” came out all right. End of story? Not quite.

I bought a box with a spring-loaded lid on it to keep my thread and needle in. I thought that would be very safe, although I knew Tommy was pretty smart. Still, he would not be able to open a box like that.

That evening when I returned home from work, the box was on the floor, the lid open and, you guessed it, the needle and thread were gone.

This time we decided to save the $150 X-ray and just wait it out and keep checking the litter box. On about the third day he returned the needle and thread to me.

Well, I have finally learned my lesson. Wrong. About a year later, a friend came over with her embroidery as we were going to do some sewing together. She laid her sewing down on the coffee table and when we sat down to sew, she thought she had threaded three needles but she could only find two.

In the back of my mind I knew I would have to start carefully checking the litter box again for the next few days. Tommy returned this needle also but my friend didn't care to have it back. It happened one more time but this time he threw it up in a nice big fat hairball.

I figure Tommy has only five of his nine lives left so I am really being careful these days. He still unthreads my sewing machine every time I turn my back and comes running from the other side of the house if he hears me tearing fabric. He knows there will be some very exciting threads to grab.

Submitted by Mary (Evenson) Hubbard

Mary is the daughter of Perham's Erma Evenson and I'd like to thank both you ladies for such a good tale. I might have titled it, “Tommy keeps missing the Point” but I didn't write it. Erma wrote a short note depicting the antics of Tommy even more and wanted to see this story in print. I was more than happy to do so, Erma.

Well, I have a point to make — pardon the pun. I want to know how a needle can make its way through the whole intestinal tract without puncturing anything. I don't know about you folks, but I'm kinda amazed.

That does it for this week. Send in those wonderful tales to me at info@rosswoodkennels.com or write to me at Keith Ross, Richville, MN 56576 or phone it in to me at 218-495-2195.

The “best critter tales” contest is still going and there is still time to get your tale in also.

Our summer visitors are as eligible as our year rounders.

Keith Alan Ross writes from his New York Mills home.