Great idea for a thread
I'm a dog guy, but if I had a cat, I'd want it to be a Siamese cat. Yours are beautiful!
I had the privilege or luck to be the companion of this dog for eleven years:
Her name was Riley Be On The Lookout. I rescued her from a guy who didn't want her but was going to name her Sweetie Patootie (FFS) One day she was bloated with cancer and I had to put her down. I wanted to have her stuffed but I didn't have the money. Also I wanted to get another dog to both remind me of her and to create new memories (because I believe that's the best way to memorialize a beloved pet) but again, no cash. Anyway, I'm petless now, but I want to blab about the WonderDog, because that's what she was.
This is how awesome she was. We'd go out to the woods and she'd be off the leash. In the jeep she'd wait for me to say OK (when I had the jeep and the top was down and the doors were off - it was her conveyance more than mine. Wherever we went in the summer she'd stand in the back seat with her front paws on the wheel well and her head jutting outside the vehicle) and then she'd leap out and run a few feet away and turn, squat, and pee, not taking her eyes off me. I figured out after a few weeks of this routine that she'd chosen what to go after even before she got out of the jeep, but waited for the OK. Every time.
After peeing she wouldn't stand - she'd stay in a semi-squat with the most extraordinarily intense look of expectation - but only for a second, because I'd point and say "Go see" and she'd explode into a sprint, either in the direction I pointed, or in the direction of whatever it was she'd already chosen. I could always tell by her body language which way she'd want to go. Unless there was a cop in that direction we'd go that way. (Cops were our enemy, because they could never see our invisible leash. There's a story behind how I came to understand that there was a thousand foot invisible leash connecting us, but I'll save it for another time. . . )
Anyway, we'd go. I'd be on the trail and she'd be a few feet ahead, sniffing the ground and marking, and turning every now and then to check on me. Always, always on the lookout - which was her full AKC name, Riley Bolo - a constant hunter. She'd often pause while we went (when she wasn't hidden in the tall summer weeds) to peer into the forest. Since she was always ahead of me there was never a problem. I'd keep walking toward her as she stood stock still, and her head would slowly, slowly turn toward me just enough to catch me in her view. As she turned to look at me I'd say "go see" and she'd dart into the forest after the scent or sound that caught her attention. I'd stop and track her as she tracked whatever it was, and if she was going to stay inside the forest she'd pause. I knew she had paused because her rabies tag would stop jingling (before the forest claimed it and I decided to hang it's replacement on my key chain). Whether she was always watching me during those pauses I'm still not sure. But I'd say "Where'd it go to?" and off she'd go - unless she needed to go farther into the forest. If she didn't go in answer to my question, I'd know it was because she wanted me to follow. Often I would, but if the brush was too thick or if we were pressed for time, I'd say "I'm not coming - let's go this way", and start walking. Most of the time she'd continue the hunt inside the forest, along the route I was taking, every now and then stopping ( no jingle) and I'd repeat "where'd it go to?" then the jingling resumed. Sometimes she'd come out and leave that scent for the next one coming up. Sometimes though she'd stand there as if to say "I really want to go that way". I'd say "this way" more excitedly and she wouldn't argue, or maybe I'd give in and follow her. This made it well worth the occasional and very very mild disobedience. It was more a friend changing our route than a soldier disobeying. It was always a fresh adventure. The final tally for her was over 50 rabbits, one fawn, countless mice, and one squirrel. We hated squirrels because they jump then mock us from above
Ten years of that, nearly an hour, nearly every day.
OK gotta stop now or I'll have an endless post. Now someone must post about their pet who's currently alive.