Molly was a German Shepherd like Jerry Lee: a medium brown body and a black snout. She was a pound, a young man who lived with him in a truck of a homeless and unemployed Westerner. Molly hunted animals for her lunch and probably shared it. She was a proud cold-blooded bitch, a good guard dog, but with ducks she couldn’t be trusted until I took it from her. She was the boss.
Little Dude was a hungry and beaten tramp from a convenience store on an Indian reservation. When the baby arrived, Molly was there for a while: it was in the premises of the German. Little Dude was partly the same as Sheppard Molly, and partly a little less, perhaps Pitbull. People thought it was her puppy, so they looked alike. How he loved his domineering wife. Rookie of the year did not want to wear a collar and nibble the collars of other dogs around their necks. I suspected that someone was holding his collar and hitting him. He winced. When you stroked him, he made sounds as if you were torturing him: these sounds simultaneously sounded vile, growling. He was a student. He whimpered a lot. He barked at random.
Similarly, Owley was the oldest cat. He and Iggy were the product of a gentle Himalayan cat who frequented wild farm pussies: genetically excellent cats from the mainland: thin, long tails, razor-sharp claws, elongated faces, very short fur and long legs – truly wild and impossible to tame by conventional effort. Over the years, Himalayan blood softened the genetic makeup, so Owley – named so because his fur was so thick that when he turned his head, he looked like an owl turning his head: feathers straight – Owley entered the house and did not do so. I haven’t peded the floor yet. He succeeded, but I decided to tame him because he was handsome. Taming was a mutual test.
Iggy was smaller and didn’t look too obvious, but there was another farmer who didn’t pock on the ground at all. Iggy was the youngest, he turned to his boss, the cat. It looked like a pale imitation of an elderly resident: less distinct marks, shorter fur, softer gray and white than its cohort.
Molly and Owley suffered the same fate: they were killed by rural rubies in the west who prey on the pets of their superiors.
Little Dude became the dog that every man wanted and admired: he skillfully keeps silent and turns it off, and also makes a smart voice where he used to bark at random. Now he’s a prize that was a sidekick to his companion.
Iggy became the main cat of a pack of (now tamed) kittens: 8 of them in a close-knit family. It was only when Iggy became ill with diabetes and began to live with the veterinarian, because the burden of leadership was too heavy for his weak body, did I realize how strong Iggy was in his feline family: they lost their political unity, and each went their own way: no hugs “eight by one plus”. Iggy took Aully’s leadership position so transparently that no one noticed his speech.
It’s nice to know that if it weren’t for the deaths of Molly and Owley, Lil Dowd and Iggy would have remained vice presidents and developed a full-fledged personality that is related to responsibility.
