As your intrepid Critter Lady, I always have my ear to the ground, hoping to suss out interesting animal stories. I usually hear three or four things a month, at which point I have to procrastinate until the day before my deadline before I manage to pick the one thing to write about. It’s not always easy! Just because I think a thing is interesting doesn’t mean that you or my editor will. In the time since my last column, though, I lost a duck and two cats – one of them my beloved Junebug, who I promised you last month that I would continue writing about this month. But I just can’t do it.
Losing the duck and the other cat wasn’t nearly as traumatic as losing Junebug. In the first place, I wasn’t so attached to Penny Pekin that the loss threw me for a loop. If I’m honest, the only thing about her death that surprised me was the fact that the critter sitter didn’t mention it until the hubs and I returned from our recent trip to London.
This was actually in accordance with my wishes, but who ever bothers with that? Happily, my new pet sitter does. In fact, she took me literally when I instructed her that if any of the animals die, I didn’t want to know about it while I was away – why ruin a perfectly good holiday, after all – and that instead of disposing of the body, to please put it in the freezer. This she did, and she warned me about it, too, so that I wouldn’t get a wretched surprise the next time I opened the freezer door. And that was the end of the duck.
The other cat, three-legged Gracie Ellen, had been pooing all over the house. Everywhere, actually, except the one place she was supposed to go. I kept taking samples of the stuff to the veterinarian, who kept claiming that there was nothing actually wrong with any of it. That made no sense, given that each and every one was a tiny little puddle of things in addition to the poo, such as mucous, and blood. Who could call any of that normal? We certainly didn’t. After putting up with it for a year – a year in which, more than once, she pooed under our bed in the middle of the night, and the thing smelt so bad that we (meaning I; the hubs doesn’t do cat poo) had to get up and clean it right then and there. The hubs did a lot of angry grumbling about it all, and, in fact, after we had her euthanized, we had to rip up the carpet in both bedrooms because they were disgusting. Not to mention ruined. So that was the end of Gracie Ellen. Junebug, you know about, so I won’t get into it again just yet. Enter Martin Clunes.
By now, you’re wondering where Martin Clunes comes into this. Indeed, if Mr. Clunes himself is reading this, I’ve no doubt he’s thinking But I had nothing to do with Gracie pooing all over the house! Which is entirely true. Bear with me.
The hubs thinks the sun rises and sets on Netflix. If he could spend all his waking hours in his recliner watching the offerings on Netflix, he’d be a happy man. I myself tend to think that there’s a little more to life than that…things like books, and music, and plays, and art, and antiques. And of course, animals. Mind you, I don’t mind watching a little telly in the evening, it’s just not the be all-end all of life. A while back, though, we discovered Doc Martin, and then we were both glued to the telly for the duration. Indeed, we just watched Series 8 (yes, we’re a little behind the times here) and are keenly looking forward to Series 9.
Imagine my happiness, then, to discover that I wouldn’t need to wait to get another Martin Clunes fix because, in what I’m certain was a scheme cooked up by the hubs and the Netflix executives, designed to entice me to watch even more telly, they began offering such feasts as Heavy Horsepower, a program featuring the aforementioned Martin Clunes and his draft horses. Well, I’m all about horses, so of course I watched. And then Netflix threw A Man and His Dog at me, and since I’m all about my shaggy mutt Munster, too, I watched that, as well. And then there was A Lion Called Mugie, as well as several others. Altogether, there appear to be six programs featuring Clunes and various species.
The thing that keeps me scouring Netflix for more of them is the sheer joy and childlike wonder Clunes experiences with animals. It’s so far removed from the caustic character he plays in Doc Martin. Clunes clearly hasn’t met a specie he doesn’t like, and when his eyes go wide and his grin spans his entire face, his love for animals is almost palpable. I’ve watched any number of programs about animals, down the years, but never have I seen a presenter so in love with each and every creature he encounters. His enthusiasm for them rivals my own, and it warms my heart. I would recommend watching all of the programs I mentioned above.
A caution: the one called Man and Beast is not for the faint of heart. This has nothing to do with Mr. Clunes, but there was an instance in which an animal being tortured was discussed, and I simply don’t have the intestinal fortitude to hear such things. Indeed, I had to turn that program off, and I’ve never finished it. It was the only time that something dreadful interfered with my viewing pleasure; all the other shows I would happily watch again.
So if you’re casting about for things to do on a cold rainy evening this winter, do check out Clunes’s animal programs. They’re jolly interesting, and Clunes brings so much joy to the things that you can’t help but feel equally enthused. It’s a great way to spend an evening.
Until next time, please be kind to critters.