Pets. They protect, bring us love and in some instances make a great alternative to children. I remember my first pet. We shared a special bond together like no other. To me, he was my confidant and pal of pals, but to others he was just an overgrown oak tree.
It was at the age of six when I first found him in my very own back yard. I was timid and shy at first, but eventually I warmed up to him. I slowly put my hand out, fearing the worst, but to my surprise he was tame. I immediately fell in love and named him Winky.
I knew if I was to keep Winky, I had better butter up Mom. I knew she would want to do the right thing and put an ad in the lost and found. I imagined it would read something like this:
Found: One lost oak tree, approx. 55 ft. tall, weighs 3,349 lbs. No collar. Please contact little six-year-old Chris Curry at 123-4567. Please tell me if there is a reward.
Surprisingly, Mother had no quarrel with keeping him. She didn't even mention placing an ad in the newspaper. I think mother saw the attachment we had for one another. And maybe the attachment Winky had for our back yard with his complicated underground root system and all. But I kind of think separation between a boy and his oak is a tough thing to do.
One thing that truly amazed me about Winky was that he was incredibly good with other animals. And I mean very good, especially with birds.
He would just sit there waiting until finally he would have a flock of birds surrounding him, spilling sweet song from their beaks. It was an honor to watch this enormously large, possibly predatory creature become docile enough to sit still enough to attract sparrows and swallows. I tried it, but I would get pecked at or possibly splattered on by the unruly creatures.
This story ends on a sad note. It started the day my family was to move across town. The bags were packed and the car was loaded. It was time now to make the trek to our new casa. I looked back at Winky. I knew he was nervous like I was.
"C'mon, Winky!" I yelled. "Let's pack'em up!"
I had expected him to come running, but he just stood there in his favorite place. In fact, he had not once budged from that corner of the yard. I ran up to him, trying some way, any way, to entice him.
"C'mon, Winky, I'll race you to the car!" I turned and ran straight for the car as hard as I could, only to turn around and find Winky lagging. In fact, he was lagging so much, it was as if he hadn't moved at all. He never moved. I thought about throwing a rock at him to motivate him, but I was swooped up by my father.
"You treat that damn oak like it was a dog or something," he yelled.
I was insulted. I had never in my whole life done Winky this disservice. I was thrown into the car and found myself looking out at the big dumb tree. It was too stupid to come with us. I pouted the whole way to our new domain.
But my pouting came to an abrupt end as we approached our new house. I realized how silly my pouting was. I had befriended an inanimate object. I had feelings for something that could not feel, not to mention see, hear, touch, move or talk.
Besides, who needed Winky when, right there by the curb, there was a brand new sparkling red fire hydrant waiting for a playmate? I called her Polly.
Curry is a sophomore
communication major