Animal Vocabulary

Following a post from a friend discussing her cat's comprehension of English, as catalogued (groan) by her husband, here's a list of words the Daw Bank animals understand:

Cat vocabulary (Sooty)

Sootycat, cat, biscuits, get on yer podium (obeyed only if you stand by the kitchen chair to groom him), d’you want OUT, come on, don't even THINK about it, no, beHAVE yourself, oi!

Dog vocabulary (Mickey)

Mickey, dog, good lad, gently to the pussycat, RATS, sit, down, come here (not always obeyed), go round (eg when tether rope is round a tree, to free himself), through here, come on, tea-time, away ye go, clever lad, that’ll do, don't you DARE, be quiet, no, beHAVE yourself, Oi!

Pony vocabulary (Eric)

Eric, come here Chuckles, stand, wait, walk on, trot on, steady, come in / come around (turn while going forward), step over (move sideways but not forward), back, foot / pick it up / This One Please, come on, good lad, clever lad, "It's just a...<insert name of scary object>", CALM yourself (put face between human hands and stop being an over excitable nob), no, Stop It, beHAVE yourself, Oi!

Pony vocabulary (Ruby)

Ruby, come here Honey, stand, wait, walk on, trot on, steady, come in / come around (turn while going forward), step over (move sideways but not forward), back, foot / pick it up / This One Please, PUSH (shove door or gate with nose, comes in handy at times), "It's just a...<insert name of scary object>", come on, good girl, clever lady, would you like a Polo, no, Stop It, beHAVE yourself, Oi! 

I taught several of our first ponies to "shake hands" but stopped 30 years ago when we had an excitable Arab x, in case he stomped on someone by mistake, and I haven't taught it since.

Lots of the communication though is body language or touch or both, not needing words. For instance, Mickey will run to me and sit down if I stand to attention with feet together and look at him, and he does Sit and Down to hand signals as well as to voice. Dog, cat and ponies tell me a lot by posture and the positions of ears, eyes and tails, and, in the ponies, the tightness of their lips, nostrils and chins.

That was more cheerful, wasn't it...

mad as a box of frogs

"Good morning," said my husband as I came into the kitchen. "And say good morning to your friend here."

Sleepily, I looked round for the cat. "Where?"

"There, in the corner." He pointed to the nook between the washing machine and the plinth under the kitchen cupboard. A brownish, motionless lump.

My first thought was, "How did the cat manage to crap in such a small space?" and my second was, "It's got legs. And claws. And eyes! IT'S A FROG."

"Oh my goodness. How did that get in?"

He shrugged and went on making his mug of tea. Outside, the cat paddled at the windowpane. "Let me in! It's raining! I'm hungry!"

"I'd better put the frog out, or she'll eat it." Knowing that it was likely to jump if I put a hand on it, I chose an old glass off the shelf.

"Damp the glass," suggested my husband.

So I did. I held it behind the frog, and put a finger in front of its nose. It didn't move, so I pushed it gently. It was cold, heavy, and damp. Suddenly it turned and leapt into the glass, then became immobile again.

With one hand over the top of the glass, I unlocked the back door. The cat rushed in and I went out and tipped the frog onto the grass. It sat so still and unblinking, I wondered if it had died of shock, but no, its throat pulsed with its breathing, so I left it there in the rain-swept garden. And came back indoors and fed the cat.

Of course, the question was, how can a frog get into a locked kitchen? The clue was in the washed-out glass: traces of coal dust. Froggie must have been in the coal bunker; been scooped up by my husband's shovel, and poured with the wet coke into the hod. I'd stoked the fire from that hod before I let out the cat and went to bed. I don't know how many lives a frog has, but she used up two of them last night.

Tuesday - Mud Angels

Mr T the Fell pony is a chauvinist. If there is food, he claims it. If there is danger, he graciously lets his stablemate Ruby go first. Today, on being let out, what he most wants is to roll. He chooses the wettest part of the yard and his waterproof sheet changes from navy blue to black, leaving a mud angel when he gets up. Ruby is grabbing hay from the half-barrel by the stable door. T strolls over and scowls, and she shrinks away and goes to roll on the spot he selected. Now I have two ponies wearing matching black sheets – but they have clean bodies underneath.

I’m at the computer congratulating myself on my forethought when the cat hurls herself at the handle of the back door, which opens. She stalks in and leaps onto my knee, covering me in muddy footprints. You can’t win.