L
Louie'sDad
Guest
Last night, Louie was busy, well.............being Louie. I was in the one safe haven in my house where Louie is not allowed: my office, where there are too many papers, office items, computer stuff, books, notes and other bits of tasty stuff for Louie to bite, rip, chew, steal, and cause other mayhem with, like walking across the keyboard and losing my work.
So here I am, working at the computer at about 9 PM, all the while listening through the closed door, to the clatter, banging, thuds and other ambient sounds which means that Louie is having fun........well..........just being Louie. At 10 PM I stop work and come out of my office, ready to find Louie waiting for me with a big puffy tail and wailing "Loooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" as we answer each other in kind, as is our ritual. He doesn't show, so I figure I know what happened: he shut himself into the upstairs bathroom by inadvertently closing the door, as often happens, during his spirited romping. As I approach the bathroom door, sure enough, I can see that it's closed and latched, but something strange is sticking out the bottom of the door, between the threshold marble saddle and the bottom of the door. It's about 6" long, is fawn and white in color and has spots and stripes on it. It's the tiger's foreleg! So I figure that he's up to his usual stunt of trying to fish something out of an unreachable place by snagging it with his claws, but no, the limb is immobile! His foreleg is jammed under the door up to the elbow. and Lou is alternatingly thrashing around, and letting out a pathetic low moan on the other side of the door. The leg has become hung on the elbow joint. I talk to him in the hope of calming him down while forcefully trying to lift the door a fraction of an inch, and just enough to allow him to extract his foreleg from it's unfortunate position. No dice! Of course, the hinges are on the bathroom side, so I can't pull the pins. Faster than a speeding bullet I run downstairs to my workshop and grab a 3' crowbar, I climb the stairs in a single bound to the second floor, and, with more power than a locomotive, I force the door upward with my trusty crowbar whereupon, poor Louie retracts his foreleg. I open the door and he greets me with a puffy tail and with that face that has the expression of the cat that just ate the canary on it. He's gingerly stepping with the sore leg, putting his weight on it, but not complaining. He spends the next few minutes singing to me "Looooooouuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" while parading back and forth on his gimpy leg, puffy tail and all, cocking his head and aiming it in my direction with intended head butts.
Whew! That was close! But not only was it close, it was scary; in fact, I don't know who was more scared, me or him because after a couple minutes he seemed to forget all about it and moved on to "the next thing". He bounded down the stairs with nary a limp and made a BEE LINE for his food bowl. It had only a few morsels left as he had eaten his fill for the day and it wasn't scheduled to be refilled until the following morning. First, I gave him a big handful of "treats" which he gobbled down like a tiger that hadn't eaten in a week. This is very uncharacteristic behavior, since big Lou doesn't go out of his way for a treat! After he almost ate my arm, I put three big handfuls of a new kibble (for sensitive stomachs, and one which he's never sniffed before) into his bowl. He ate it with the vigor and gusto of a starving lion.
The curious thing about this whole episode, is that he protested very little throughout his ordeal. The poor guy must have been scared sh*tless for that hour or so that he was stuck in the trap. Reinforces what I've heard and read about wild servals and how they don't give away any signals of weakness to potential enemies, as it puts them at a disadvantage. He came through like a trouper, and earned his Dad's Bravery Medal of Honor.
The moral of the story: if you want to introduce your SV to a new food, and want to garowntee that he eats it all, and more, then wedge his foreleg under a closed door.
So here I am, working at the computer at about 9 PM, all the while listening through the closed door, to the clatter, banging, thuds and other ambient sounds which means that Louie is having fun........well..........just being Louie. At 10 PM I stop work and come out of my office, ready to find Louie waiting for me with a big puffy tail and wailing "Loooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" as we answer each other in kind, as is our ritual. He doesn't show, so I figure I know what happened: he shut himself into the upstairs bathroom by inadvertently closing the door, as often happens, during his spirited romping. As I approach the bathroom door, sure enough, I can see that it's closed and latched, but something strange is sticking out the bottom of the door, between the threshold marble saddle and the bottom of the door. It's about 6" long, is fawn and white in color and has spots and stripes on it. It's the tiger's foreleg! So I figure that he's up to his usual stunt of trying to fish something out of an unreachable place by snagging it with his claws, but no, the limb is immobile! His foreleg is jammed under the door up to the elbow. and Lou is alternatingly thrashing around, and letting out a pathetic low moan on the other side of the door. The leg has become hung on the elbow joint. I talk to him in the hope of calming him down while forcefully trying to lift the door a fraction of an inch, and just enough to allow him to extract his foreleg from it's unfortunate position. No dice! Of course, the hinges are on the bathroom side, so I can't pull the pins. Faster than a speeding bullet I run downstairs to my workshop and grab a 3' crowbar, I climb the stairs in a single bound to the second floor, and, with more power than a locomotive, I force the door upward with my trusty crowbar whereupon, poor Louie retracts his foreleg. I open the door and he greets me with a puffy tail and with that face that has the expression of the cat that just ate the canary on it. He's gingerly stepping with the sore leg, putting his weight on it, but not complaining. He spends the next few minutes singing to me "Looooooouuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" while parading back and forth on his gimpy leg, puffy tail and all, cocking his head and aiming it in my direction with intended head butts.
Whew! That was close! But not only was it close, it was scary; in fact, I don't know who was more scared, me or him because after a couple minutes he seemed to forget all about it and moved on to "the next thing". He bounded down the stairs with nary a limp and made a BEE LINE for his food bowl. It had only a few morsels left as he had eaten his fill for the day and it wasn't scheduled to be refilled until the following morning. First, I gave him a big handful of "treats" which he gobbled down like a tiger that hadn't eaten in a week. This is very uncharacteristic behavior, since big Lou doesn't go out of his way for a treat! After he almost ate my arm, I put three big handfuls of a new kibble (for sensitive stomachs, and one which he's never sniffed before) into his bowl. He ate it with the vigor and gusto of a starving lion.
The curious thing about this whole episode, is that he protested very little throughout his ordeal. The poor guy must have been scared sh*tless for that hour or so that he was stuck in the trap. Reinforces what I've heard and read about wild servals and how they don't give away any signals of weakness to potential enemies, as it puts them at a disadvantage. He came through like a trouper, and earned his Dad's Bravery Medal of Honor.
The moral of the story: if you want to introduce your SV to a new food, and want to garowntee that he eats it all, and more, then wedge his foreleg under a closed door.
