I added tree frogs to my special education classroom menagerie simply because I couldn't resist them in the pet store.  They fit in our palms, required little maintenance, and occasionally emitted a wonderful, deep-throated croak.  Later, we added a baby chameleon, although we were told that when the chameleon grew larger we would have to separate the animals because he most likely would try to swallow the frogs whole.
Anyone wishing to try tree frogs as a pet will need a medium-sized terrarium, a regulated heater in winter months, and lots of places for the frogs to hop and hide.  We used artificial branches and plants purchased in the pet store, but I have heard of people putting live plants and branches broken from trees in as well.  The frogs and chameleons both eat crickets, so that was handy, and must be kept moist at all times since they originated in a tropical environment.  The children loved taking turns spraying water from a spray bottle.  Both species are slow-moving and like to stay camouflaged, but they gave my students an enormous amount of pleasure, and even the children who had difficulty focusing on their school work would sit patiently watching and waiting.  Learning about the animals and their habitat became a joy rather than a chore, and example of hands-on learning at its best, I think.
Next time:  How a couple of birds became a passion that has filled rooms!

When I started teaching, I looked around for animals I could keep in my classroom.  I had never owned any pets by myself before, and knew that mammals were not feasible in a classroom setting unless they came home every week end--a job I was not up to in my small apartment.
The first pet I purchased was a ribbon snake named Nathan.  I'm not sure why I named him that, but he was small and wiggly and every time we tried to hold him he peed on our arms.  Nathan ate gold fish, and every two weeks I would put several small fish in a tank and watch in fascination as he unhinged his jaw and swallowed them whole.  Later in the year, somebody donated a large goldfish named Mickey to our class, and Mickey sat far away from Nathan.  We were all attached to Mickey, and the paradox of a pet belonging to the same species as the snake's food was not lost on me.  One day, Nathan got out of his cage and ribboned his way down the hall and into several classrooms before he was caught.  It was interesting to note the varied reactions of students and teachers as they saw him moving forward--intense interest to absolute fear--and most of the fearful faces belonged to adults.  I wonder what experiences teach some of us to be deathly afraid of snakes or rats or mice, and others to love and nurture them?  I myself grow frozen and dysfunctional at the sight of even one cockroach, but can't think of where this phobia came from.  Nathan went to my then-boyfriend's (and later my husband's) house for the summer each year, but the third summer he once again escaped, and this time we could not find him anywhere.  We assumed the worst, and after grieving for a while stopped thinking about him as much.  Then, about three months later, we were sitting on the couch in my boyfriend's house, and I noticed what I thought was a stick on the floor.  After closer inspection, I saw that it was Nathan, stiff but alive.  We never discovered how he survived, especially since the house had three cats and two dogs running around, but he lived another two years after that.  I have to hope he enjoyed his adventures.
Next time:  Tree frogs and a chameleon.

Our dog Buddy is 15 years old.  He was found by the river in a basket full of we assume his sibling puppies, and my husband adopted him long before we married.  The vet thinks Buddy has a lot of wolf in him, and he is very big and hugely furry.  In his youth, Buddy liked to escape once in a while (over a ten foot wall, we never discovered just how he did it) and he would always come back two or three days later, wagging his tail and looking like a kid just home from a carnival.  He was so agreeable and excited that we forgave him the frantic worry and endless searching.  He just wasn't meant to be yarded in.
So when we moved to the mountains, you can imagine how excited Buddy was.  It took many incarnations of fences to keep him in his half-acre fence, and each time he got free by squeezing out the door or digging under the fence he would just run and run.  Thank goodness he always came back again.  Much to our horror, he loved to chase the wild rabbits who bounced around our property.  No matter what he did, and even if he caught a rabbit or ran away, that good-natured tail-wagging would always temper our emotions.  It was impossible to stay upset at Buddy.
As he grew older, he became a sort of uncle to our new healer puppies, and he seemed content to run around the fenced area with them.  Then, a year a go Christmas, we were asked to take in Precious, a Rhodesian Ridgeback who desperately needed a home.  We agreed as long as all the dogs got along, and at first they did.  But one day we came home from work to find Buddy extremely injured, and we realized Precious had attacked him.  We rushed him to the vet, and for three months he went through surgeries and cleanings, and the whole time he must have been suffering horribly.   But through it all, his tail kept wagging, he remained placid and loving, and my heart just broke that we had put him through this trauma so late in his life. The people in the veterinary office always commented on his sweet and loving nature.
Now, Buddy has a bald spot but seems completely recovered.  As a result of all the time we spent together going to the vet and working on his wounds, Buddy now follows me wherever I go.  His joints are bothering him, and the stairs are difficult for him, but if I go up, so does he, and when I stay in one room for a while, he settles in.  Every time I go to the bathroom, he is there outside the door, just waiting.  If I go upstairs with laundry and want to come right down again, I try to explain that he should stay where he is, I'll be right back, but he still follows.
My hope is to give him an easy time in the twilight of his life--we just heard that he is the last to survive of the five siblings found in that basket.  He has had several incidents which we think have been strokes, and as a result is a little mixed up compared to how sharp and alert he was in his prime.  We have separated him from the other dogs for this reason, and try to give him lots of love and attention.  Everyone who knows Buddy recognizes how special he is, and I am thankful that he has been able to live such a long and happy life.

I am writing this blog as part of an assignment in one of my university classes.  I have never written one before, and when deciding on a topic I looked around my house to see what in my limited life I had to share with anybody.  I soon realized that with four dogs, six chickens, and two bunnies I could easily begin by talking about my pets.  I also live in a rural mountain area, and so have come into contact with a lot of people who have large and unusual animals.  Hopefully, all of this will give me something to talk about.

When we were growing up, we tended to have one pet at a time, always a cat, and my sister had a fish tank.  I don't recall actively seeking any cat we ever had.  When one cat disappeared, another one would meander into our yard within a matter of weeks, looking confident and insistent.  We had already been chosen, it seemed.  I used to believe there was a kind of kitty network, a feline posting system which advertised houses open to taking in strays--and even after all these years I still wonder if this might be true.  Each cat had her own personality (one never let us touch her, but would suddenly, startlingly, jump on our laps when we least expected her to--another refused the cat box but sat on the toilet instead) but they all shared that confidence in their place in the world that I suspect is a universal feline trait.  Do cats in China or New Zealand all act this way?  I imagine so.
My sister's fish tank created a completely different pet experience.  Mammals are all about warmth and connection (or at least that's how I believe it should be), but fish are more about the visual.  I know people, especially children, who differentiate their fish, giving them names and defining character trait, but by the sheer fact of their delicacy and underwater environment, the relationship is less about a reciprocal interaction and more about observation.  I remember her being sad when a fish died, but it was soon replaced by another of the same variety.  When one of the cats died or did not come back, the loss was deeper felt by all of us.  I am still pondering the reasons why--perhaps at some later time I will address this fact.
Well, I think that will be enough for today.  writing a blog is not as scary as I imagined, but I still find the idea of pressing a button and having these words read by other people a little intimidating.  I imagine it gets easier the more I do it, so I'll try again soon.

Hi. I'm starting my first blog, and I'm excited to share my thoughts and experiences about pets in New Mexico.