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The pet from hell

By Kayla Schwab

May 7, 2009 | 12:00 a.m. CST

Growing up on a farm, I was surrounded with animals. Horses, chickens, cats, dogs — we had them all. But what I really wished for was a pet to call my own. I dreamed of having a cute, cuddly animal that was all mine to care for and play with. Unfortunately for me, this fantasy of a loving animal companion was shattered by the reality of Max.

KNJL is mid-Missouri’s local Christian television network and one of only five channels I had access to growing up. I never cared too much for the station, but it was the only channel we had that aired after-school cartoons. One fateful afternoon of Johnny Quest watching, an untraditional KNLJ commercial came on. Instead of the usual “Jesus loves you” message, the television screen was alive with prancing, adorable lambs. Being a 9-year-old, animal-loving farm girl, I was hooked. The contest was simple enough: Write a letter to the station explaining why you wanted one of these lambs and how you could care for it. Well, I wanted an animal of my own, and living on a 90-acre farm, I was an ideal match for a lamb. Plus, they just looked so absolutely adorable. I stayed up all night perfecting my letter, forcing my mom to read it aloud over and over until I was convinced it was flawless. A week later we received a phone call from KNLJ. I was a lucky winner!

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Saturday morning came, and I was out the door before breakfast made it to the table. The farm where my future playmate awaited was about an hour’s drive away. As my dad drove along, grumbling about his empty stomach, I bounced up and down unable to sit still from all my excitement.

Finally, we reached our destination. The animals before me, however, were not what I had seen on the TV screen a week prior. They weren’t white. They weren’t cute. And they definitely weren’t lambs. My dad seemed just as surprised, and left me in the truck as he went to talk to the owner. I would have gone with him, but my attention was on one of the creatures staring back at me. His skinny body was covered in thick, matted fur, and his head was encircled on each side with huge horns. He slowly and disgustingly munched on what appeared to be some sort of grain, all the while stamping the ground with his filthy hoof. He was ugly. I turned to the sound of my dad’s boots crunching their way back across the lawn. “Where’s my lamb?” I asked, even though I guessed the answer. My dad pointed at the thing in front of me. “And he’s not a lamb,” my dad said. “He’s an adolescent ram that, according to the farmer, belongs to you.” That would explain the horns.

To be honest, I gave Max (short for Mad Max) a fair try. I attempted to pet him, he head-butted me. I tried to hand feed him, he head-butted me. And I once ventured to clean him — he head butted me. When we brought him home that first Saturday afternoon, my mom was just as horrified as I was. She never went near the thing, nor offered to take care of it. My dad was a bit more helpful as he was a big man and could take all the head butting easier than I could. Max was eventually banished to our back field, where his terrorizing couldn’t reach our other animals. He had it better off than he deserved in my opinion. The field had as much grass and hay as he could ever need, a pond for him to drink from and lie in during hot summer afternoons, and multiple trees to protect him from bad weather. But Max wasn’t grateful. Constantly escaping, Max would run the yard charging whatever dared move, including my mom on the lawn mower. That was a particularly bad day; I could have sworn we were going to be having Max chops for dinner.

I truly tried to love the little guy. But soon he wasn’t so little, and neither were my bruises. My initial excitement turned into toleration, which evolved into bitterness, which ended in hatred. After two years of being knocked over by the crude creature, and after many ram breakouts, we decided to give Max away. My dad took him to a friend’s farm, and said Max would be happier there anyway. No one expected that he was actually trading Max that day.

When he returned, my family and I followed Dad outside where my new pet was waiting. My dad had a big heart but an odd sense of taste. In the back of his truck stood a hideous, reptilian bird: Tom the turkey. Again, my dream of having a loving pet shattered. Welcome to reality.

Comments on this article

     

    hilarious!

    Posted by Hannah Castleman on Nov 25, 2009 at 3:46 p.m. (Report Comment)

     
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