When the Lion Lays Down With the Lamb

My dog, Buddy, hates one of my cats. At least that’s the way I’ve always interpreted their relationship. Tiger is at the head of the pet hierarchy, and Buddy, at the bottom.

I’ve seen evidence of this as the dog remained trapped on the patio, despite a wide-open door, simply because the cat was glaring at him. I’ve heard Buddy whine, confined to the bathroom because Tiger was blocking the exit. I’ve watched Buddy jump off his comfy spot on the couch, just because Tiger walked into the room.

Imagine my surprise then, when I found them laying side by side on my bed. What was this? Could it be the end of the world – when the lion lays down with the lamb? Possible, but unlikely. Could they have somehow not noticed each other? I watched for a few minutes, and they watched me back. It was clear they were aware of each other. Had they called a truce? That would be awesome. I get tired of their incessant meowing and barking arguments as they steal each other’s food, and chase each other around the house.

Peace seemed possible for the next half hour. They lay side by side without a meow or growl. I thought they looked cute and snapped a few photos. They didn’t move. I marveled at their adorable behavior and considered giving them each a treat. Then doubt crept in. What if they were sick? Or what if they were plotting something behind my back, communicating through animal pheromones?

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Baby Bears and Turkeys (or, Really? That’s Good For Me?)

A few nights ago, my dog, Buddy, and I were out for our evening walk on a winding country road that goes up and down several hills. As we came to the crest of one of those hills, I was startled to see a baby bear about 40 feet away, eating a snack of trash on the side of the road.

He was as adorable and fluffy as any stuffed one I’d ever seen, and I really wanted to get closer for a better look. Or at least I did until I heard the footsteps of something quite large just over the side of the hill. Assuming it was Mama Bear, Buddy and I sprinted off.

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Is There a Mouse Under That Bed?

Earlier today, my daughter thought she heard a mouse under her bed. It was ironic, because the exterminator had been there only an hour earlier and saw no problems. That should have reassured us, as should the fact we have two chronically hungry cats. Nevertheless, there we were, fretting about a possible mouse under the bed.

Picture two grown women, rubbing their chins and nervously eyeing a perfectly innocent bed. My daughter kicked it a few times from her desk chair, with her feet safely off the floor in case anything scampered out. Nothing happened. I listened intently for any sign of squeaking or scratching. No sounds except the gentle hum of the air-conditioning unit. One of us was just going to have to take a peek.

“You look,” I said.

“No, you look.”

“But it’s not my bed.”

“But you’re the mom.”

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