Cabin Mama

Humor and woodsy wisdom by Laura Lollar

Critters

Lollypop Farm

In Rochester NY where I grew up, the local branch of the Humane Society was affectionately known as Lollypop Farm. We kids loved to visit there because it had a barnyard with goats and sheep we could feed and pet. It was where you went to adopt an animal. It was also where you took the pets you could not keep. We always wondered about Lollypop Farm. Did all the pets there get adopted? Mom and Dad said they did.

There were six of us kids. At one point, Mom and Dad had five under five. We didn’t have a lot of pets ‘cause my folks had their hands full as it was. But with enough pleading, a few critters found their way into our home. I never got the pony I wanted, but we scored with a few smaller animals.

Mugsy was my brother Eric’s apricot poodle. He was cute, cuddly and very portable. We took Mugsy with us on our trip to Cape Cod in a big Winnebago motor home. He liked to lay on the long, wide dashboard and survey the countryside. When my Dad made a turn, Mugsy slid gracefully across the vinyl dash to the driver’s side. But Mugsy didn’t like to be left behind. Mom would come home from grocery shopping and find that sweet little dog on their bed getting far too frisky with her decorative pillows. The last straw was when he wet all over Mom’s brand new living room drapes. Mugsy went to Lollypop Farm.

Trixie was the cat from hell. She was super hyper from the moment we brought her home. She’d run loops around the tops of our living room furniture. She had wild eyes and would show her sharp teeth when she panted. We were all afraid of her. My brother Paul still sports a scar down his face from that demon cat. Trixie went to Lollypop Farm.

I had a big, beautiful white male rabbit. We kept him in a fenced spot in the back yard in the summer. In the winter he stayed in the garage in a cage. He would get so excited to see us! If we walked close to his cage, he’d run around in circles and display his manliness. That didn’t bode well for the bottoms of my Dad’s dress pants. It wasn’t long before the rabbit went to Lollypop Farm too.

My brother Paul’s long haired guinea pig was so funny! Jerry looked like a little mop on batteries. He was black with streaks of caramel colored hair that reached to the ground. We’d put him on the floor in the kitchen just to watch him scuttle to the corner and hide under the cabinets. His cage was in a basement room where Mom worked on her crafts. After church one day we all came home to find Jerry stretched out in his cage. Paul said, “Mom, something is wrong with Jerry. He doesn’t look too good.” We soon held a burial ceremony for Jerry and laid him to rest somewhere in the back yard. Months later, Mom was in her craft room spray painting one of her creations and she noticed a warning on the side of the can. “May harm small animals.” She felt terrible. Jerry never made it to Lollypop Farm.

My parents are very compassionate people. Truly. They love animals. My Mom keeps the birds fat and happy. She stuffs peanut butter into the holes of a birch log and hangs it from the kitchen window. But Mom and Dad both battle with squirrels. They’ve tried every which way to keep them out of the feeders. Dad finally bought a cage and once it was full of a mad-as-a-wet-hen victim, he’d relocate it to the park at the end of their street. For every one he moved down there, four or five new ones appeared back up at the house. One squirrel nested in a spruce outside their back patio door, so now they have a whole “fam damily” of squirrels.

Next stop – Lollypop Farm!

Horse Crazy Girl Finally Gets a Pony

How many of us will admit to being a little horse crazy as a kid? When I was a young ‘un, I lined the shelves in my bedroom with lots of little plastic horse statues, hoping one day I’d get to own a real one.

When my parents took us six kids to a winter festival, we sat on a sled with hay bales pulled by a team of huge draft horses. I remember telling my mom, “I so love the smell of horses!”

My sisters and I would pretend to be Palominos, Appaloosas, Arabians and Mustangs. We’d run through the woods, whinnying and pawing the air with our “hooves” to prove just how wild and untamed we really were.

I dreamed of having an office one day like Wilbur on TV. His horse, Mr. Ed, would hang his head over the stall door that separated the barn from the architect’s place of business. Ah, the best of both worlds!

Then I grew up. I rode whenever a chance occurred, took a few riding lessons and vowed one day I’d have my own horse. But the time never came. I got married and the kids came along, which took most of our resources to keep up with. And later on when I bought the cabin, there wasn’t enough room to board a horse on that little spot in the woods.

But Doug had owned a horse. And he had built himself a small barn to keep it in.

So early on in our dating adventures he invited me over for dinner and gave me a tour of the place. He had a saddle in the basement, horse blankets on a stand and ropes on the wall, just like a real cowboy! He even called me “Darlin’” with that country kind of drawl. (Every time he calls me Darlin’ it gives me goosebumps!)

But there was more! “C’mon out to the barn,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.” He slid open the door and sunshine streamed across the dirt floor to the hay bales stacked against the rough wooden panels.

“I know you’ve been hankerin’ for a horse, so I got you one.”

And there it was, with sunlight bathing it’s long brown mane and a white blaze across its forehead. It stood there placid, silent and serene and stared deep into my eyes.

My very own stick pony!

He urged me to take it for a ride, but I knew I was too much of a novice to do it justice. So I just took it home and it shares my office. Just like Wilbur and Mr. Ed!

A Bunny in the Bedroom

When we first moved to Colorado Springs, the kids and I squeezed ourselves into a 600 square foot apartment. It was our first “starter home” being out on our own. I couldn’t afford much but I could manage a two-bedroom one bath with boys in one room and girls in another. At bedtime, I’d sit in my corner with my daughter sound asleep at the other end of the room, and I’d read or I’d write. I was as quiet as a mouse and kept the lights dim.

So it was understandable I second guessed myself the night I saw a quick movement out of the corner of my eye. At first I thought I was imagining things and went back to my book. But there it was again! Something darted across the room and went under the dresser as quick as a bunny.

By golly, It WAS a bunny!

I whispered out loud, “There’s a bunny in our bedroom!” Then louder, “There’s a BUNNY in our bedroom!!!” Finally I shouted, “WHO BROUGHT A DAMNED RABBIT INTO THE HOUSE?!?”

Like a flash, I had all three kids in my room jumping up and down and screaming, “It’s a bunny, it’s a bunny!” And of course the more they screamed and ran around, the more that poor rabbit flew frantically from under one piece of furniture to another. And you know they can flatten themselves down and squeeze behind just about anything.

We finally found the little varmint but it made a dash for the door with all three kids chasing it down the hall into our tiny living room. I ran for the broom, thinking I could catch it that way.

Silly girl! You can’t catch a rabbit with a broom. Just like you can’t catch a fish with your hands, so I’ve been told. But I was giving it my best.

Round and round the living room we went, chasing that cute little critter. Then my oldest had a brilliant idea and opened the apartment door. That’s right. Let the neighbors in on the fun. They’ll love us for it.

Out the rabbit hopped into the hallway looking like a Walt Disney character panting in sheer desperation with each one of my pajama clad kids in hot pursuit.

We violated quiet hours big time that night. But finally Mom came to the rescue with her handy dandy broom and herded that baby bunny down the apartment hallway. Three kids shrieking with joy drew a few unhappy faces from various apartments. But that little creature did the smart thing and made a dash through the open door and out into the night.

“Fun’s over gang,” I said. “Back to bed.”

I herded them back to the apartment where we had a major “come to Jesus” meeting. “I want to know who brought a bunny into our apartment?” I asked, looking down at three flushed faces still wound up after their evening excitement. They got a big kick out of seeing mom chasing a rabbit around in her nightgown with a broom.

One pair of big blue eyes met mine, then looked down at the floor. He couldn’t help it. He was grinning like crazy and proud as a peacock. He said, “I did, Mom.”

“Brett, where did you find the rabbit?”

“I chased him around in circles when I was out working with Clyde, then I finally caught him and put him in my lunch bag,” he said. “Clyde said I’d never be able to catch him, but I did when he wasn’t watching.”

Poor kid. I didn’t have enough money to buy him a real toy. He had to go and chase down a live one out on the plains.

I couldn’t be mad at him. It made for a fun evening and something none of us will ever forget. It’s all great story material and I’m just glad it wasn’t a baby skunk.

Critter Capers

Friends couldn’t believe I would leave my clean, spacious condo in town and move to an old, tiny cabin way back in the woods. “One winter out there and you’ll beg to come back,” they said. “Think of the work just to keep it clean. You’ll cut off a toe; you’ve never chopped wood in your life. And what about the bugs and the bears?!?”

They were right about the bugs.

They crawled up out of the drainpipe, cornering me as I scooted to the back of the tub. I grabbed the shampoo and tried to inflict a swift and sudsy death. Desperately, I shoved the soap with one toe and prayed the darned thing wouldn’t hop. Down it went, into the depths of dank and rusted drainpipes. But my sense of security was shattered — no longer could I shower with my eyes closed.

It didn’t stop in the bathroom. The cats dropped three-legged colorless crickets on the top of my bed, and I’d watch in horror as they hopped in circles. (The crickets, not the cats.) From then on, any twitch or tickle I felt as I slept became imagined insects crawling over the covers and up to my face.

The drama didn’t stop inside the four walls. Outside, crows would swooping and invade the pines, watching and waiting for a chance to dive-bomb my cats. Flickers drilled their jackhammer beaks into bug infested logs on the sides of my home. The most dastardly among them made straight for the metal gutters leaving me frustrated and furious as I raced for the door and watched them fly off, taunting me with their cackling caw, caw, caw!

You’d think that leaving the door open to let in the breeze would be a welcoming sight, but it ruined relationships. After a triangle-headed alligator lizard walked in and under the feet of a friend, she joined the ranks of those who declined my invites to visit. They’d say, “Um, it’s too far of a drive. Find me on Facebook.”

But there were furry little fellows who filled the void. Black squirrels and red squirrels kept me company all day and into the night. They chewed a hole through the logs and got into the attic. I’d lay in my bed and hear them over my head, munching away on the wood and the wires.

Snakes hid in the walls between drywall and logs, crawling out from behind a south facing window and sunning themselves on the ledge by our front door. They slithered from under the heat runs, discouraging my efforts to clean up the mouse droppings. After months at the cabin with no snakes in sight, I’d hoped they’d moved on. And they had. My neighbors discovered a nest in their attic and threw all 18 of them back over the fence and into my yard.

It’s almost a decade since that fateful day when we moved to the cabin. Each morning I’d open the door, breathe in the piney fresh air and count the bugs, the birds and my blessings. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything!

Cats Gone Crazy

There I was, wrapping gifts on my bed with plastic bags, wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons laying around. Both cats were in the room and they were having a heyday playing with the paper clippings and plastic wrappers. It was a beautiful summer day and I had both the big windows open looking out over the distant hills and the street below. The breeze fluttered through and made for a very calm and peaceful afternoon.

But then it happened. Missy got herself tangled up in a plastic bag and it freaked her out! She tore around on the bed trying to get the bag off, then leapt to the floor and did laps around the bedroom. The bag sailed behind her like a piece of unfurled boat canvas. I tried to no avail to catch her. She was too fast for me and as much as I tried, she eluded my grasp darting around the bed, under the dresser and over the headboard.

That wasn’t all! Our other cat Fuzzy, saw Missy’s turmoil and tore off after her. I don’t know why he freaked out too, but emotions must be as catchy in animals as they are with humans.

So now I had TWO cats streaking around the bedroom in circles becoming more frantic by the minute. And it seemed like this went on for ages! I ran to the bedroom door and slammed it shut to keep them from getting out, which seemed to make them even more panicky. Before I could catch either one of them, Missy leapt towards the window. She flew straight through the screen and sailed out into the open air. Two. Stories. Down! Then, Fuzzy jumped right out after her!

Two cats sailed out into the wild blue yonder with nothing below to catch them but grass. I ran to the window to see if they were okay and when I looked down the cats were nowhere to be seen.

However, below stood a stunned couple standing stock still looking up at me as I looked down at them. Their mouths were wide open, then they burst into laughter. Doubled over and barely able to breathe, the woman said, “That’s about the funniest thing we’ve ever seen! Cats flying out of a window — it isn’t something you see everyday!”

It was pretty funny when I think back on it. Fortunately the cats were okay and I was able to corral them back into the house. They were shaken, panting hard and scared as the dickens! It’ll teach me to leave plastic bags lying around where they can get into them. I should resort to something less tempting like plastic netting — either that or shut my windows!