Pet Care Sheet

A Cat Wonders

2012-04-24T17:01:00.001+08:00

During my vacation in Alcala, Cagayan, I caught a striped cutesie beside a shark squeaky toy:

Cats love fish despite hating the water so much. It's a double treat for this lucky feline to have a shark jumping out of the water and even landing beside her.

No Hammies For Now

2011-09-09T04:05:00.003+08:00

It's been more than a month now since I've been fighting the strong urge to get new syrian hamsters. I wrung my own wrist every time I felt the urge to pick up new hammies from pet shops or whenever I wanted to text message hamster hobbyists to inquire about new pups for grabs.

This is sooooo difficult. I want a pair badly.

It's also been more than a month since I lost my Fuller, my male Syrian Hamster. Four months ago, I lost Fuller's mate, Hash. In both deaths, I MOURNED like crazy. I wouldn't have cried myself to death if I wasn't the one responsible for their deaths. I didn't take care of them properly. How the hell could I have done that to two precious souls who always wanted to make me happy???

I'm sulking once again. One, for my badly wrung wrist, and two, for missing my best friends GRAVELY.

Tearjerker

2011-04-06T13:40:00.002+08:00

I've read this story five years back and it still makes me cry after the Nth read.

*****************

"How Could You?" copyright Jim Willis 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. ...

Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a belly rub.

My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect.

We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."

You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed, "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago.

At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room.

She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days.

As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago.

She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself --a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place.

And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.

Pacman Frogs

2010-04-16T14:15:00.003+08:00

Pacman Frogs (Ceratophrys cranwelli) are named so due to their voracious eating habits. Below are two morphs: an albino and a green pac man frog:

These pac man frogs are pretty difficult to take care of. Nobody has ever been successful in breeding these amphibians in the Philippines. Are you up for that challenge? If you have problems squeezing in nailcutting into your unbelievably hectic schedule, getting these babies isn't for you.

Here is what their terrarium looks like. Half of it land, the other, freshwater.

Baby Pacman frogs are so small like tokens you can hardly believe they're breathing. However, they can grow up to four inches when properly taken cared of.

Here are more pac man frog care sheets you can check out:

Popular Pets
Aqualand Pets Plus

Bilanggo --- As interpreted by my Syrian Hamster

2010-03-23T23:01:00.004+08:00

"Bilanggo sa rehas na gawa ng puso mo..." -Rizal Underground

Meet Hash, my 21/2-month old female teddy bear/Syrian hamster. These shots were taken a week after I got her from a local pet store (which I regret doing. should've bought one from a breeder. Hash is sooooo feisty!).

But I'm taking that back. I don't regret getting Hash, actually. She's loveable. Bossy, but loveable. She's the female version of Maxx (i'll expound on this soon).

Anyway, here's Hash interpreting a local song called, "Bilanggo".

Rusty bars add to Hash's drama

A few nibbles to freedom

Nibble. Nibble. Nibble.

But my teeth can wear out, too. Slowly, I slide down with a weary heart.

*hingal* *hingal*

Back to work. Background music plays once again:
"Bilanggo-oh... sa rehas na gawa ng puso mo..."

Maxx, the Mouse Nanny

2010-03-17T00:51:00.003+08:00

Maxx is my three year old pit who just loves to be on top of everything I'm fascinated about. He's even jealous of my keychain-size stuffed puppy whom I call "Paisley".

When Katinka, my female ball python, came in as a slithering hatchling in our home, I needed to get some pinky mice for her to feed on. I decided to breed mice soon after since they can be unbelievably pricey in pet stores. And that was how mice suddenly became a common sight in our house.

Of course, Mr. Jealous/Bossy Maxx had to have his fair share of the fascination I have taking care of the rodents.

Maxx, my Jealous and Bossy Pitbull

A plastic container houses the mice

And Maxx makes sure he's the star

When he first jumped on the garden table to ogle at the mice, one of the hoppers (toddler mouse) suddenly jumped in the air and Maxx was quick enough to grab a bite. I had to hit him on the head to get the hopper off his mouth.

Surprisingly, the poor hopper was in one piece and moving.

Five hours after the incident, I was shocked to see one of the hoppers breathing her last breath and was already bleeding. I presume she internally bled when Maxx snapped her like a croc.

Anyway, Maxx will never forget how hard I hit him that day and so he promised to be a good mutt this time. The most he can do is stick his tongue out while looking at the hoppers.

One container for hoppers, the other for female adults and their kids

As soon as he gets out of his room in the morning, the first thing he does is sniff around the mice containers! He checks the rodents out first thing, every single day.

Yup, Maxx is a good nannypit. He might've been a fail the first time he laid eyes on the hoppers, but he's all good now. Mr. Jealous will always be my mice's guardian.

More Exotics to Ogle At

2010-03-01T12:53:00.001+08:00

Early January of this year, boyfie and I visited a good friend to check on his ever growing collection of exotics. I took pictures of a fraction of his pets since I got too overwhelmed with his collection and totally forgot about taking snapshots of each.

He's got three adult spectacled caimans and three little ones. I took pictures of his exotic "crocs", erm, only the babies:

This Spectacled Caiman is feisty

Baby Spectacled Caiman wanting more food

He's got a huge pond, too! Too bad i don't have a good camera that can zoom into these beauties effectively. Here's my digicam trying real hard to capture these freshwater goodies:

Giant gouramis on the lose!

And here are some arapaimas. Trust me, they're huuuuuge! (sorry for the watermark, was supposed to post it over my other blog...)

Arapaima gigas

Here's a milk snake, one of the dreaded exotics. I believe this is an albino honduran. Wasn't able to take a good shot at this beauty though. Looks like it sprung to us huh?

Milksnake, an albino honduran, I think

Alas, my personal faves. Why? Because they're so camerophillic! These bearded dragons can't resist posing, stepping on each other, and wanting my attention! I want one... or two!

Sunburst and Red Flame bearded dragon morphs

"We are exotic!"

A splash of bearded dragon morphs

Exotic Camwhores!

"Thank you very much for stepping over me!"

Bearded Dragon Buddies

Whew! I sure loved taking snapshots of those iguana-looking reptiles!

3/4ths of his entire pet collection are exotics. I chanced upon 1 albino and 4 burmese pythons, 4 morphs of ball pythons, a lot of milk and cornsnake morphs, a variety of colorful geckos (he also has one giant gecko), and a menagerie of scorpion and tarantula types. We oggled at chihuahuas, labradors, pigeons, owls, and a lot more I could possibly remember!

It was surely an exotic ogling day that time! I'm lucky enough not to be charged an entrance fee!

Pounce! An old post way back 2007...

2010-03-01T02:21:00.000+08:00

It’s just so fascinating how tarantulas can unknowingly teach us patience. I’ve been observing them whenever they eat… and boy, each genus has its own dining ritual. Take for example, Hewey, my Chilobrachy huahini.

I take a cricket from the holed cannister, shake it in the air and throw it inside Hewey’s tank. The cricket’s a bit stunned from my brisk shaking, as well as from the huahini’s gossamer-filled home. Cricket roams around, irked at the sight of this heavily webbed place he’s now in. Unsure of this new terrain, he wanders around and looks for food, not knowing that he himself spells out dinner. Hewey now begins his stalk. The manner in which he eats is quite remarkable: he knows I’ve placed food, but he doesn’t run to it despite the hunger. His appetite is as big as mine, or a lil over it, but he remains discrete about his hunger pangs. Instead, he patiently waits till his sumptuous meal gets trapped at a specific point within the cobweb area he painstakingly weaved.

Mr. Cricket now seemed to stay at one place, unaware of the trap, perhaps thinking of where else to find food. Then, in quick cadence, he moves and gets near the trap, but suddenly shifts direction as if sensing Hewey’s stealth. Hewey, on the other hand, seemed hopeful of his trap’s success, and so, he gets near the cricket.

Mr. Crix gets past him. The two of them suddenly brushed each other’s leg. The cricket is now confronted with the jolting truth… he is food. Hop and run!

Hewey now stands still, disregarding the thought of pouncing on the prey. I sighed. He could’ve feasted by now, I thought impatiently. Growing tired of Hewey’s ritual, I took a pair of forceps and guided the cricket near Hewey. Again, he allowed it past him. Uggghhh…fine! If I were that hungry, I could’ve stuck a toothpick in between my teeth by now.

A couple of minutes later, the cricket seemed to have fallen into the trap! Mr. Cricket tried to break free from the sticky substance he smudged into, but is unable to budge out. I keenly watched as Hewey nears him, lifts two of his front legs to hold the crix in place, and finally eases his fangs into the crix’s soft flesh as it releases its venom.

He was built for this kind of kill, I thought to myself.. He knew that there was a right place and time for his meal.

It’s a known fact that these spiders are voracious eaters. It is just remarkable how they seem to be more human whenever they display such discipline at mealtime.
These spiders constantly remind me of patience in the midst of failure. They tell me how hardwork, through their meticulously woven home, can help me achieve my goals. I get to be reminded that somehow, despite disheartening circumstances, my dreams can still be achieved at the right place and at the right time.

As for now, I must weave… and stalk!

Welcome to Pet Care Sheet!

2010-03-01T02:16:00.000+08:00

Welcome everyone!

I had my my first pet when I was eight and he was a mongrel named Tutti. I never imagined venturing into exotics soon after. The hobby grew and lie-lowed. At one point, my mom thought that I had a menagerie already, and that some babies had to be given new homes already.

And so now I'm left with a bossy dog, a snobbish cat, an observant ball python who loves to push her head on my hand, and a pair of nimble hammies.

Do you still remember what your first pet was? I hope you do! Coz that pet surely remembers you.