Pets In My Heart is a warm, sentimental look at the pets that have helped shape the author's life. Sometimes funny, sometimes sad, the story will appeal to pet lovers of all ages. Pets In My Heart is a true story as seen from the author's point of view.

Pets In My Heart

By Charles H. Rudolph

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Charles H. Rudolph
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-5108-6

Contents

Prologue............................................ixChapter 1: Beginnings...............................1Chapter 2: Early Years..............................5Chapter 3: Hobo.....................................15Chapter 4: Mountain Run.............................25Chapter 5: The End of an Era........................35Chapter 6: Tess.....................................41Chapter 7: March 29, 1993...........................45Chapter 8: Old Tripod...............................51Chapter 9: Mary's Run...............................55Chapter 10: Zelda...................................63Chapter 11: Devo....................................67Chapter 12: Out of Time.............................81Chapter 13: The Assassin Cat........................87Chapter 14: Maverick the Maniac.....................89Chapter 15: I Love My Pets!.........................97

Chapter One

Beginnings

"Youth is, after all, just a moment, but it is the moment, the spark, that you always carry in your heart." -Raisa M. Gorbachev

According to Rudolph family legend, my mother met my dad on her second day of college, at West Virginia University. The year was 1959. My dad, a senior, had recently told his buddies he would never date a freshman because they were too young and immature. He called her later on the same day they met. The rest, as they say, is history. My parents were fraternity-pinned to each other within two months or so, engaged shortly thereafter, and married in Morgantown, West Virginia on September 3, 1960. Mom was eighteen and my dad was twenty-two. They had known each other less than a full year.

I was born February 2, 1963, during my mom's senior year of college. Yes, I was born on Groundhog's Day. I have always found it mildly amusing to know I was born on the day the nation celebrates a large rodent, and that I am named after a red-nosed reindeer. My parents were at a fraternity party when Mom's water broke. I arrived later that morning. When I was born, Mom was eight days shy of her twenty-first birthday. I was the oldest child in the family. In the years to come, my sister Elaine was born, followed by my brother David a year after that. My youngest brother Paul was not born until many years later.

After my dad received his law degree, my parents settled in Parkersburg, West Virginia. Parkersburg is a quiet, sleepy town that sits on the banks of the Ohio River in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Parkersburg is a small town like many others, full of civic pride and with some good places and some places not so good. When I visit my old hometown every few years, I'm always surprised by how small it seems. But when I was a boy growing up there, Parkersburg was my whole world and might as well have been as big as the world itself, for all I was concerned.

When I was a boy, I was a dreamer. I used to dream about all the things I was going to do in my life, the places I would go, and the people I would meet. I used to wonder where I was going to live, what I would do for a living, what was going to happen to me. I wondered about what kind of house I would buy and who I would marry. I remember those childhood dreams and smile now. Some of those dreams happened, some of them didn't, but I'm glad I had those dreams when I was young.

I was lucky to have the parents I did. My childhood was mostly a happy one, full of love and warmth. I mean, we weren't like the some television show where each family member loved all the others all the time. I suppose if I try hard enough, I have some regrets, but doesn't everyone? Most of my memories from my childhood years have a faint, wonderful glow. It's always interested me, how time works. When you're a kid, all you want to do is grow up and be on your own. When you're an adult, you want to be young again and often reminisce about earlier days that you know are gone forever. Memories of my youth still sweep over me to this day, and for that I'm glad. Some moments in my life that happened more than twenty, thirty, or even forty years ago seem like they took place only yesterday.

Growing up in West Virginia was both a blessing and a curse. I have always loved the mountains, and West Virginia has a plentiful supply of those. It is, after all, known as the "Mountain State." I never tired of the natural beauty that used to surround me when I lived there. I especially enjoyed the West Virginia autumns, when the leaves started to change. The trees would turn spectacular colors: combinations of bright red, orange, and brilliant yellows that took my breath away. One of the slogans of the state tourism people is "Wild, wonderful West Virginia." It surely is that, at least in many places. When I eventually moved to South Carolina I greatly missed the fall seasons of my childhood, because in South Carolina the trees don't change colors nearly as often.

The bad part of living in West Virginia, then and now, is the reputation the state has with the rest of the nation. The citizens of West Virginia are all evidently poor, rural, unsophisticated country bumpkins. I have had people laugh out loud when I told them I was from there. When a character from West Virginia is portrayed on television or in the movies, they are usually the fool. I guess some people think we eat road kill and marry our cousins. The primary occupation for the mountain state folk is supposed to be coal mining. It's amazing how poorly informed some people are. My maternal grandfather was a teacher and principal, and my maternal grandmother was a teacher. My dad was an attorney and my mother a teacher who has her Master's degree. All of these ancestors just mentioned were from West Virginia, or lived in West Virginia for many years. Some backwards ancestry I have!

When I was growing up in those beautiful mountains, I thought I lived in the greatest place in the world. I was proud to live there then, and I'm proud of my heritage now, even though I currently reside in Virginia. I still visit my birth state every now and then, and I'm always glad when I do. My dad's family has its roots in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. But the majority of my mother's family, the Creasys, were from West Virginia. My mother's family are proud people. They are hard-working and honest, frugal, and with a quiet sense of dignity. That would be a great description of my mother, now that I think about it. I'm proud to come from such a family.

Chapter Two

Early Years

"I thought my mom's whole purpose was to be my mom. That's how she made me feel." -Natasha Gregson Wagner

My dad was a big man, about six feet, three inches tall, and he weighed over two hundred pounds for a large part of his adult life. Living in Parkersburg, he was a big fish, literally and figuratively, in a small pond. He was a respected lawyer and municipal judge, and was very popular in our little town. My dad was one of those people that filled up a room, and that people liked to be around. Mom used to call him "Mr. Chamber of Commerce." When I was growing up, he was a larger-than-life character, and not because of his size. I was in awe of him, when I was very young. He was so intelligent, so sure of himself, so successful. I used to wonder: How was I going to measure up to my father? He cast a large shadow, without question. It...