Past Fortnightly Stories

Every 2nd Friday morning (New Zealand time) we will email the story with the most votes as the Fortnightly Story. The lucky author will also receive a small gift from Smarter than Jack.

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If you have any questions please email caroline@smarterthanjack.com

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 4 March 2010

 

A heroic dog

 

When I was 12 years old, I used to do a paper run around my local area. Since I liked having afternoons to myself after school, I used to wake up at 6 am each morning to do my paper run before school. This was perfectly safe during the warmer months, but when it was winter, it was always very, very dark at that time. Aside from being afraid of possible strangers, I would be most afraid of the many stray and vicious dogs that would roam the streets.

One morning, as I entered one particular street which was renowned for having several stray dogs, I heard the sound of paw prints running up behind me. I froze to the spot, silently praying that I would not be eaten by what sounded like a huge dog pounding the pavement behind me. However, the dog just ran a few steps ahead of me, stopped, and waited for me to start walking again. As I started walking, this strange black dog with big brown eyes started to walk ahead of me. Whenever I stopped at a letterbox, the dog would stop, turn to look at me and then carry on walking once I started again. This continued for my entire paper run, until I reached home. The dog then walked me to the door, watched me go inside and then trotted off happily down the street.

From that day on, each morning when I woke to do my paper run (about 4-5 mornings a week), I would be greeted by this big, black dog, who would walk me around the streets whilst I did my job, and then deliver me safely back home.

One particular morning, while I and this dog (whom I called Brendon) were going about our business, walking and delivering mail to letterboxes, I caught sight of an American pit bull, wandering around someone’s front garden. I immediately froze, and became too afraid to go near the house. Brendon seemed to sense my fear, and came and walked close by my side, his body grazing the top of my thigh as we walked, him gently coaxing me forward to continue my paper round.

When we reached the house where the pit bull was sniffing around, the dog started to run towards me. Brendon immediately stood in front of me, using his body as a shield. He assumed an attack position, and bared his teeth at the dog. He started to growl. The pit bull then changed his mind and ran away.

I continued the paper run for another 4 years, until I was 16. I can honestly say that during those years, Brendon was always by my side as we walked together on my paper run. When I gave it up, I never saw Brendon again. I truly believe that Brendon was my guardian angel, sent to protect a young girl as she went about her duties, trying to earn some pocket money. I will always remember him, and always be grateful for the protection he gave me for all those years.

 

True story by Joanna Taylor of New Zealand

 

 

 

 

 

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 18 February 2010

 

Lessons from a bird brained friend

 

Do you remember the story of the ugly duckling? When he was little he knew he was different from his brothers and sisters, and because he was so different, he thought he was ugly. It wasn’t until he grew up that he met other creatures like himself and realised that he didn’t belong to the duck family after all. He was a swan.

I once knew a bird which reminded me of that ugly duckling. When my children were small, we had a motley collection of poultry, including a hen named Sally. Every so often she went clucky and wanted to sit on her eggs. She protested angrily if we tried to take them away but we knew her eggs would never hatch. We didn’t have a rooster.

A hen which sits on eggs she didn’t lay can only be an adoptive mother, although of course she won’t know the difference. Hens will hatch out baby ducklings, mother them devotedly and then worry their hearts out when their foster babies jump into ponds and swim away.

Hence, we went in search of fertile eggs for Sally. We managed to obtain them from a farm near Foxton in the Manawatu, New Zealand. Sally could finally fulfill her maternal instincts. The farmer’s wife didn’t give us any duck eggs but she did warn us that two eggs in the batch were going to be different. "These are guinea fowl eggs," she said. "You’ll have to put them under the hen a week before the other eggs as they’ll take four weeks to hatch." Hen eggs hatch in about three weeks.

We knew nothing about guinea fowls but accepted the eggs and took them home to Sally. She had laid another egg and was firmly crouched over it. Her red beady eyes glaring furiously. Gently, we took away her useless egg and replaced it with the two guinea fowl eggs. The farmer’s wife had assured us that the hen eggs she had given us would still be good after a week and we could safely add them to those already under Sally.

This we did, and Sally sat on her eggs, getting off her nest once or twice a day as hens do, for brief feeding or toileting needs, and then spreading her feathers over the eggs and protecting them for all that they were worth. We could see that motherhood was what she was born for. About four weeks after she had started sitting on the guinea fowl eggs, and three weeks after the hen eggs had been added, the first signs of new life were heard as babies started to peck holes in the shells and emerge into their new world. Both guinea fowl eggs and most of the hen eggs hatched. Five or six fluffy little yellow chicks … and two tawny brown creatures.

Sally was a great mother. She clucked and called when she scratched up a tasty morsel. She gathered them under her wing feathers when danger threatened. The chicks grew fast, and as time went on, the fluffy babies became tame. We could pick them up easily except the guinea fowl chicks. Brought up by the same foster mother, they were like cuckoos in the nest. They scuttled away if we went near.

Sadly, a neighbour’s pet ferret caught and killed one of our guinea fowl chicks. The remaining one acquired the unflattering name of Peanut because of its small head and apparently peanut sized brain. Somehow it just wouldn’t become the pet we would have liked it to be. 


As her babies learned to fend for themselves, Sally did what all devoted hen mothers eventually do. She turned on them, and chased them away if they dared shelter under her wings. "Babyhood is over!" she seemed to be telling them. "Go and make your own way in the world." And so they did, taking their places among the other creatures in our backyard, just fitting in.

Except for Peanut. Still shy and wild, the guinea fowl developed a voice of its own – a most irritating voice. All day and every day, its open mouth emitted a noise like a rusty circular saw, quite unlike the normal clucks and squawks of our domestic hens. It drove us crazy. It was a menace to the neighbourhood too. There was no way of shutting it up.

Eventually we had to accept the truth. Somehow we had to find another home for Peanut. The bird had not endeared itself to us and the loss wasn’t going to break our hearts, but we were pleased when a wildlife park and pottery studio in the country settlement of Reikorangi offered to take it. We noticed that they already had a flock of guinea fowl. They seemed to keep to themselves, roaming the back paddocks and along the river bank without annoying anyone at all. The owners put our lone guinea fowl in an outsized coop in the middle of a paddock and we watched as their own guinea fowl flock swooped in to inspect the new arrival. They were wildly curious and we hoped that they were welcoming our bird. Peanut just looked out blankly through the wires and continued its circular saw imitation. We left for home and hoped all would be well.

We learnt something at Reikorangi - Peanut was a female guinea fowl. The continual noise making was not typical, we were told. Guinea fowl generally made a noise only if threatened by danger. These birds could be as good as having guard dogs around.

We returned to Reikorangi a week or so later to find Peanut out of her coop. She was close to the main buildings, pottering around with the mixed assortment of domestic hens and roosters that had free range near the house. Peanut was with the type of birds she had grown up with and we could hear her rasping saw-toothed voice all over the farm.

We went back to see her several times, and each time she was, with the birds she knew best. Determined to stay with them but somewhat uneasy, still on the outer fringes, a stranger among them, new kid in the playground, and the horrible noise continued. We were afraid that the owners would be tired of listening to her, since the coop was so close to the house, but they assured us she had not outstayed her welcome. She could stay.

It was several months before we went to Reikorangi again. This time the hens and roosters were scratching around in the dust as usual but there was no sign of Peanut. They had got tired of her at last, or maybe another bird had killed her, I thought. I was sad but that’s life. "I see that Peanut is gone," I said. Wilf the owner, just laughed and took me over to where we could see the paddocks beside the river. "Look over there," he said. "Your guinea fowl is with the rest of the flock now. She made up her mind that, that is where she belongs." I went to have a look but couldn’t tell Peanut from the others. Her relentless saw voice would have told me which one was her, but she had given up that noise. Now she was just part of the flock, content to roam around with them. Peaceful and quiet.

I didn’t learn how it had happened. Did the other guinea fowls persuade her that she was one of them, or did she find her own way to them? However it happened, Peanut had found her own kind at last. I never saw her again after that.

It occurred to me that Peanut’s horrible call had been her way of announcing that she knew she was different but she didn’t know who or what she was. She stopped the saw sounding voice only when she finally found and accepted her true family. Like the ugly duckling, she grew up knowing she was different. She knew that she was not an ordinary chick but she had not met others like herself.

I believe her story has a lot to teach us. That nature may be stronger than nurture. That peace will come when you find your true identity. For surely there are people who grow up feeling out of kilter with those around them. Maybe they will be encouraged to keep searching, for one day they will find where they belong. 


 

True story by  Patricia Reesby of New Zealand

 

From the SMARTER than JACK  team

 We hope you have enjoyed reading the second fortnightly story for 2010 as much as we did. For more wonderful edited true stories, go to 'Our books' of www.smarterthanjack.com

 

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 5 February 2010

 

Tree Hugger

I got my first kitten when I was 18. He was a small ball of grey and white fluff, so I named him Ash. Right from the start he had an amazing wee personality. I would wake up with him tapping my eyes and when I opened them, he would swipe playfully at the movement.

Every night Ash would share my pillow and purr and nuzzle me. Every evening after work, he would be right there by the door waiting for me. If I do not pick him up straight away, he would let out a crying meow until I pick him up. He was my wee baby.

After a couple of years, I moved back home to save some money and Ash of course came with me. All was well until boxing day in 2003 when I woke up to Ash not being on my pillow. I did not worry at first but as the day got on, I started to feel something was not right. My parents told me not to worry but I knew that this was not like my Ash. I walked around our farm calling his name, just in case he was around. My parents would look at me out the window and just shake their head thinking I was mad. 


Then on the fourth day, late in the evening I was doing my round trip of helplessly calling Ash's name when I heard a faint meow. I started running and yelling Ash's name until I came to the fence line and looked up. Far, far up a huge gum tree, along a huge branch was my Ash, hanging on to this tiny branch at the end. I found my baby but now how do I get him down?

I went over to my lovely neighbours and together with my parents we managed to get a rope around Ash's branch and pulled him down to where my partner had climbed up as high as he could go. My neighbour joked with my dad that on the count of three, they should let the rope go!! As my partner reached his hand out, Ash patted his hand then with all his energy ran onto his shoulders, claws and all!!

I grabbed my Ash tight when he got down and as I rushed inside to give him food and water, I heard my funny neighbours thank us for the entertainment. I laughed as I ran inside. My smile was as big as a Cheshire cat's and I was really relieved.

Lucky for me, I don't think Ash has ever climbed that far up again. 
He's quite happy sharing my pillow.

True Story by Angela Shadforth of New Zealand
 

 

NOTE:

1. A very happy 2010 to all of our readers from the SMARTER than JACK team. We hope you all had a good break. For those of you with interesting Christmas stories with your pets, don't forget to send it to us at www.smarterthanjack.com, e-mail to caroline@smarterthanjack.com or send it to SMARTER than JACK, P O Box 57202, Mana, Porirua 5247, New Zealand

2. We hope you have enjoyed reading the first story for 2010 and we look forward to reading more of your stories.

Here's the last fortnightly story for 2009 as voted on our website - 4 December 2009

 

The blackbird family

This is a sad story about a family of blackbirds. We came home one day to find a pair of blackbirds flying around our house chirping and when we came into the house they seemed to want to follow us in. They came surprisingly close to us, still chirping.

That night my cat was under the bed and I heard a sharp screech. When I looked, I found a baby blackbird, nearly fully grown, which our cat had obviously brought inside. She didn't seem to be hurt but I didn't know how long she had been there and I knew that if she didn't eat before morning she would surely die overnight from stress and hunger. I tried to feed her but as she was nearly fully grown, and since it was already dark she wouldn't eat. In the end I decided to shut our cat inside and put her back outside.

When I came out the next morning she was dead, and that's when I realised that the birds who seemed to want to come into the house were her parents. They were flying round and round the house, chirping for her to come. They had obviously seen our cat bring her in through the cat door and thought she was still inside.

They did this for the next four mornings, and sometimes during the day, calling to their poor dead baby. It was heart wrenching. I thought that it was amazing that they knew where their baby had gone, and didn't give up on her for what, in bird terms, must be quite a long time.

True story by Gina Sturkenboom of New Zealand

 

1. Christmas Stories from Smarter than Jack

Three of the Christmas Stories from SMARTER than JACK were selected by the Pet Magazine of NZ/Australia and published in the Dec - Feb 2009/10 issue. Congratulations to those authors whose stories were selected.

From time to time SMARTER  than JACK  receives requests for stories to be published in magazines or newsletters, and Christmas stories are popular. So, look out for any comical or smart animal situations this coming Christmas and submit them to SMARTER than JACK. Don't forget that photos can be uploaded to illustrate your stories. If we get enough of these stories, we might be able to publish a special SMARTER than JACK Christmas stories book for 2010!

We have 5 copies of the Pet Magazine with SMARTER than JACK's Christmas stories to give away for any orders for 4 or more books.

 

2. The Smarter than Jack office will be closed from 5.00 pm 9 Dec. 2009 till 9.00 am 4 Jan. 2010. Accordingly, please ensure that all Christmas orders are submitted before 9 December. All orders received after this date will be held and processed after 4 January 2010.

We would like to take this opportunity to say a big 'Thank You' to all our supporters for the stories you have written and the books that you have bought from us this year. Thank you so much for helping to connect with animal lovers all over the world. We have really enjoyed working with you. Last but not least, a very Happy Christmas and New Year!

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 19 November 2009

A Treasure Hunt for Worsie
Well, it all starts with the question, ' What does Worsie mean?' It is Afrikaans for sausage. The 'w' is sounded like a 'v'. Anyway, Worsie is a cross Fox Terrier and Beagle and was a farm dog but now he is a house dog who LOVES bones.
One day I was sitting by our gate longing to ride my bicycle but my dad was at work and so I had to stay put. Some of you may wonder why I have to stay inside. It is because it is dangerous here to go out without an adult.
So, I went to my ladder by the wall and I stuck my nose over the wall. There was not anything different but as I sat there and looked around, I noticed a hole in the ground. So, I went to investigate and what do you think I found? Worsie's bone! I bravely picked it up, and dug another hole with a spade and buried it.
A couple of hours later, I saw Worsie running around the house with his nose right on the ground sniffing away. Then he came to a stop like a metal detector. He sniffed and then dug frantically. I was really astonished that it was the spot I buried the bone a couple of hours ago.He picked up the bone which looked like it came from outer space because of all the dirt round it but that did not put him off gnawing it. When he finished his so called "FEAST", I took the bone away and buried it some where else.
What do you think I saw that night whilst I was sitting in the lounge watching T.V.? That same bone being chewed on once again! Oh well I will just have to live with a dirty nightmare. 

True story by Meghan Barnard of Africa
 
1. SMARTER than JACK will be offering a FREE GIFT-WRAPPING service for all Christmas orders, and the parcels will be sent directly to the requested recipients. The recipients will also receive free SMARTER than JACK bookmarks. Simply enter a note in the comment box of your order that it is a Christmas gift. All orders which are meant to be Christmas gifts must be placed before 5.00 pm New Zealand time, 9th. December to ensure delivery before Christmas.
2. The next fortnightly story will be on 3rd. December. This will be the last fortnightly story for 2009. Fortnightly stories will resume on 4th February 2010.  
If you experience any display problems, please do not hesitate to let us know about them by replying to this e-mail. - You can also view this story at http://smarterthanjack.com/past-fortnightly-stories

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 5 November 2009

 

 

Chilli's secret

Chilli loves to impress Puppy School audiences with her "tricks" and enjoys coming along with me to "inspire new puppy owners". In addition to having lots of fun with their puppies, they learn basic commands for "polite and social behaviour".

Chilli is very clever but this is really made evident when time after time during a scent discrimination "trick", Chilli is able to select plastic alphabets thrown onto the floor in answer to a question I have asked her.

Unknown to our audience, I have handled and placed "my scent" on the alphabets to the "answer" word. However, what totally amazes me is that somehow, almost all of the time, she selects the letters in the correct order! I have not taught Chilli how to do this, and I don't know how she does it - I guess it's Chilli's secret!!!!!

 

True story by Julie Raverty from Australia 

 

 

 

Apologies: We apologise for any inconvenience caused by last fortnight's story. The system has been reset, and we hope that it will be trouble-free this fortnight. The breaking of lines appears to relate to the programme used by readers to view their e-mail. If that occurs, please read the story on our website http://www.smarterthanjack.com under 'Past fortnightly stories'.

 

 

 

SMARTER than JACK will be offering a FREE GIFT-WRAPPING  service for all Christmas orders, and the parcels will be sent directly to the requested recIpients. The recipients will also receive free SMARTER than JACK bookmarks. Simply enter a note in the comment box of your order that it is a Christmas gift. All orders which are meant to be Christmas gifts must be placed before 5.00 pm New Zealand time, 9th. December to ensure delivery before Christmas.

 

Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 22 October 2009

The things one does for love!

 
 

When I was six, my father brought home a 10-week-old black/brindle bitser. He’d won her at a card game after work at a ‘Comet’ transport yard. She was named Comet and spent the next 16 years being a total joy to her loving family. She was a beautiful, patient, loyal and fun-loving dog, and had absolutely no looks to match. I have so many funny memories of her till I don’t know where to start.

She could not resist the alluring aroma of ‘dead things’ and was always puzzled at our reaction when she’d arrive home covered from nose to tail in her favourite scent. Rather than praised and admired, she was always put through the worst punishment imaginable to her – a bath. At the first exclamation of ‘Pwarh, Comet!’ she would begin to shake uncontrollably. Her tail would go so far under her belly till she looked like a whippet in full flight. Out would come the hose and shampoo and she wouldn’t stop shaking until it was time for THE TOWEL.

That was a different story! Being rubbed and rubbed until her short hair fluffed out like a Samoyed’s was her idea of heaven. She’d race around the yard and pelt straight for whoever was holding the towel – if they weren’t barrelled over, they’d give her another rub and she’d be off again.

The towel was just one incarnation of heaven for her. There was also ‘Grandma’s house’ where she was guaranteed treats and hour-long walks (off leash in those days) and ‘The Beach’ which was an unending delight of sand and seagulls to chase. At the first mention of either of these words her ears would go straight up and her head would tilt. At the second mention, after many barks of agreement and a tail in danger of falling off, you’d have to open the door or else....!

As she’d grown up with two young children (I was six and my sister was two when she arrived on the scene), she was an extremely patient soul. Being little girls, we liked to dress up dolls, but why bother with dolls when your dog was so obliging? We had a large collection of mum's old 60’s gear. Comet could be seen in anything from sunglasses and mini skirts to frilly nighties with mop caps. It was this last combination that completed her look one cold, overcast day. She had a large white lacy nightie (tied underneath to keep her from tripping), a pioneer-style ‘mop cap’ on her head – tied neatly at her throat – and four white baby socks on her feet. All you could see of her was the tip of her black tail and her eyes and nose.

We noticed our neighbour’s granddad, who was visiting from Switzerland, sitting on their letterbox across the road and presumably taking in the Australian suburban landscape. So  we opened the door and said to Comet, "Go and say hello", pointing in the man’s direction. I don’t suspect Comet felt completely at ease with herself, but she couldn’t resist interacting with a human. Off she sauntered, wagging her tail and baring her teeth in her own unique smile. You can imagine our laughter when we saw the look on the granddad’s face as he turned and saw Comet coming to him.

According to our neighbour later, it took the poor old man several seconds to realise what this thing was, and then several more to realise that she wanted a pat! He obliged, making Comet happy, and went home to Switzerland with a slightly different view of life in our country.
 

True story by Lisa Musgrove from Australia

 

SMARTER THAN JACK will be offering a FREE GIFT-WRAPPING  service for all Christmas orders, and the parcels will be sent directly to the requested recIpients. The recipients will also receive free SMARTER THAN JACK bookmarks. Simply enter a note in the comment box of your order that it is a Christmas gift. Read more at www.smarterthanjack.com

 
Here's this fortnight's top story as voted on our website - 9 October 2009

 Meggie's Game of Fetch

 

Our dog Meggie, is a rather chubby and lazy dog. So this story comes as no surprise. One day, a while ago, Meggie ran up with her fetch toy, and jumped up and down happily around us. She wanted to play fetch. After much begging, we gave in and threw it across the room. Meggie gave chase, but halfway to the toy, she stopped abruptly and dropped to the floor for a random nap. It makes me laugh every time I think about this.

 

True story by Jemima Greening of Australia

 


You need your hat! It's sunny!

One day, I went with my mother and brother to Auckland to see the Dalai Lama and visit the many friends whom we have up there.

When we went to a cafe it was too full inside and so we had to sit outside. It was such a bright and sunny day, we didn't care if there was going to be any wind blowing . Across the road , there was a dairy . Whilst enjoying the beautiful weather, I noticed a dog came trotting along the footpath with a hat inside his mouth. I saw the dog trot all the way inside and gave the hat to it's master. Unfortunately, the dairy shop owner shooed the dog away. After a while , the master came out with the slobbery hat on his head! I guess the dog was at home and had found that his master's hat was left behind. So he followed his master to give him his hat so that he wouldn't get sunburnt!

**True story by Yama Dempster - Passang of New Zealand**

Bird School

Hardly a day goes by where at least one of my ‘furkids’ don’t do something to amuse me, and reinforce how adorable they are.

Mocha has a bizarre habit, which I first noticed when she was about three or four months old: She chirps. Yep that’s right; she’s a chirping cat! I can’t think of any other word for the strange sound she emits. She only does it occasionally, but it’s always when she’s bird watching so I can’t help but wonder if she’s trying to imitate them. It certainly seems like it.

Now, this was one of those comical moments where you just wish there was a camcorder handy. One morning recently, both Mocha and her sister, Kahlua, were sitting in the kitchen window (which is actually a garden window, with catnip and a few other feline friendly plants), soaking up the sun and watching a solitary blackbird sitting in a tree over the back fence. Mocha was performing her chirping sound, but it was somewhat loader than usual. Kahlua, who was sitting right next to her, was fixated on her strange sister, cocking her head from side to side – in exactly the same way that a dog does when listening to you intently. This went on for a few minutes and every now and then, she would raise a paw and gently touch Mocha on the cheek or throat, as if checking that the sound was real. If ever I’d seen a confused cat, that was it!

Later the same day, I noticed Kahlua had returned to the window. I was standing at the sink when I could hear a strange and somewhat sickly sound. It was very faint. Even without any background noise, I could barely hear it, and it was only when I began to watch Kahlua, that I realised what it was. With a swishing tail and a throat action identical to her sister, it seemed as if she was trying to perform the same chirping sound.

After seeing this, I believe what I’d witnessed earlier that day, was a ‘bird school’ of sorts (Or should that be ‘cat school?’). I think Kahlua was trying to learn from her sister, and perhaps by putting her paw up to Mocha’s throat, she was feeling the vibrations being made by the sound.

I’d be interested to know of any other ‘chirping cats’ out there. After asking family and friends, I have only heard of one other cat that did this, and she apparently grew out of it. Kahlua doesn’t seem to have the knack (yet), but I hope Mocha never grows out of it. A chirping cat is real novelty – and a great talking point!

**Author: Rae McInnes - 40 paws**