I can’t wait to tell you about the amazin’ new frens I made this week, downa dirt road atta Cool Kibbles 10-acre place called Critter Haven.
For over 20 years, it’s been an oh-FISH-ull animal rescue (like the Humane Society an H.A.L.O. ’cept the animals are called egg-ZAH-ticks). Most of ’em aren’t meant to be pets like us.
A frenly human named Joey greeted me an my assistant an innerduced us around. First stop was a gorgeous group of tropical birds, including the Undisputed Diva, Mrs. Jones, a beautiful red macaw whom I found to be a liddle intimidating.
“It is a great honor to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” I managed.
“Of course it is, young man,” she said. As she preened her brilliant feathers, she explained that birds like her can reach quite an old age, frequently outliving their owners, so they come here.
“As a matter of fact, young man, I’m currently assisting our humans, providing valuable advice as they plan an aviary expansion to accommodate additional Birds-in-Need, among other projects.”
We next met a trio of Kinkajous. “Happy morning, I’m being Daisy Brady, your Spokescritter. These two are Lola an Zoey.”
Daisy was a charming creature, raccoon-sized, round head, saucer eyes, teeny ears, funny liddle snout, looong tail an disconcertingly big claws. All the resident critters share the same last name, she said, because Critter Haven was started by a human, Gary Brady, when his wife wanted a pet. “Mr. Brady gifted her a hermit crab, an it all grew from there. I’m not much understanding humans, but I being happy he got her that crab.”
“A pleasure, ladies,” I said. “How did you come to be here?”
“My story being mos’ drama,” said Daisy. “Humans foun’ me inna kitchen cabby-net when the puh-LEECE were doin’ a Drug Bust of my owners’ house. So other humans of FishenWildlife bringing me to here to be with Lola an Zoey, who were Too Much for their humans is why they got to be here. We not really Pet Muh-terial. Humans think we is, but we not.”
“Oh, Meester Bonzo! Over here! I am Spokescritter, also! You verry hansome canine. You will write about me, yes?”
Runnin’ back an forth, rollin’ about, squeakily verbalizin’ non-stop was an off-the-charts cute, teeny fox-lookin’ animal. My assistant immediately began oohin’ an ahhin’ as Mr. Joey explained the liddle creature was Miss Chihuahua, a Fennec Fox.
“Of course, Miss Chihuahua,” I assured her, turning as another voice called from nearby. I’d never ackshully seen a porcupine. I was like “Whoa, Dude!” He had a zillion quills stem-to-stern, from his Cool Kibbles quill mohawk it was quill-city all the way to his tail.
“I am Quilliam,” he said. “I assume you’re Bonzo, the writer we’ve been hearing about. I arrived here with Chihuahua several years ago. We were part of a private collection of egg-ZAH-ticks that the owner grew tired of, or perhaps decided we were too much work. Hard to say. Humans!”
“An honor, Quilliam,” I nodded.
“Hey, my name’s Miami. Guess why?” A tubby little black-an-white pig smiled up at me.
“Why?”
“Cuz I was a stray runnin’ around the streets in Miami. I got took to a kennel but it was for dogs, not pigs, so I got brought to here. I’m a Vietnamese potbelly, by the way.”
“Well, you’re lookin’ good, Miami. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
At first, all I could see in a large, fenced compound were mounds of dirt. Then the dirt started flying and I saw several liddle critters burrowin’ like crazy. “Helloooo,” I called.
“Name’s Al! An I’m BUSY!” a voice replied. “VERY BUSY. Diggin’ tunnels. No time to chat.
Gotta dig, dig, dig! Burrows! Tunnels! It’s what we DO!!”
Another liddle rodent paused briefly an peered over at me, “I’m Theo. Who ARE you? Oh, never mind! I don’t have TIME. Gotta DIG!!”
An the soil began flyin’ again. Miami informed me that the madly workin’ liddle rodents were Prairie Dogs, an that they’d created an entire prairie dog city underground.
In a large, fenced-in field were big long-leggedy birds Mr. Joey said were EEE-moos. One trotted over and told his story. “I was hatched from an egg by a local chicken breeder but the temp-pra-chur wasn’t right so my legs wouldn’t go together. I couldn’t stand. I wudda gone to EEE-moo Heaven, ’cept when I was 5 days old I got brought here. The humans taped my legs together and exercised me so my legs could grow like they’re s’pose to. They named me Forrest for that guy in the moovie. It took a year. Finally I could walk regular.”
“Woof, Forrest, what an inspirational story!”
“See over there, Mr. Bonzo,” Forrest said. “That’s Dolly, she’s a lllama. You hafta use a lllotta ellls with llllamas. I dunno why. Dolly was the first animalll born here, 15 years ago. That other llllama’s her Mom, Janet. Their owners couldn’t afford to keep ’em. Didja know llllamas are good watchdogs? Well, watchlllamas. Cool, right?”
“Totalllly, Forrest!” I exclllaimed, flllipping another page. I was on my third pencillll.
“Over there’s Daisy,” Forrest continued. “She’s a mule, was skin-an-bones, rescued from an abandoned farm. Now she’s lookin’ great! As a mule, she can’t have babies, but she mothers the goats. Ack-shully, she mothers all of us.
“Over there, in their own spaces, that’s Jax, a hybrid wolf. Not into humans. A lot of us aren’t, ya know. Jax only trusts Miss Jessica an Bryan. And that speedy grrrl runnin’ back an forth, that’s Kaliska, she’s a coyote. Her Mom got hit by a car, an her sibs didn’t make it. Lucky for her, she was brought here as a pup. She’s doing fine now. A wild child she is.”
My assistant got to pat Simon, one of two large tortoises, on the nose, but the other, George, grumbled, “Don’t even think about it.”
Headin’ home, I was thinkin’ about my new frens, an the others I hadn’t had time to meet. An feelin’ happy all those not-pet animals-in-need have such a cool kibbles place to go.
