Posts from the ‘Personal’ Category
Little Miracles
“Wanna see a picture of my new puppy?” Katie asks me. I hesitate knowing that Katie is only eighteen. I think, “God only knows where she got that dog.” Part of me doesn’t even want to know the story because it’s probably just going to make me mad but she shows me the picture of a tiny, black and white dog on the screen of her cell phone anyway. I gush about how tiny he is and she tells me the dog is only five weeks old.
FIVE WEEKS OLD???
My eyebrows knit together and I ask her if she knows that five weeks old is way too young for a dog to be separated from its mother. She tells me she knows. She tells me she’s hand feeding the dog every couple of hours. And I am stunned. So I can’t help but ask the question: “Where did you get this dog?” And she proceeds to tell me that there was a pregnant woman who was trying to give the dog away. The woman told Katie that if she couldn’t find a home for the little dog that she was going to take it to the shelter. No money exchanged hands. Katie simply said, “Gimme the dog,” and the woman did.
And suddenly my view about the entire situation shifts. I know a five week old puppy in the shelter that has to be hand fed is likely to be euthanized. It’s hard to find fosters for such labor intensive work. Very few people will take it on and here’s eighteen-year-old Katie braving her way through a situation that most people wouldn’t even consider.
Now, generally speaking, I cringe every time I hear of anyone under twenty-five who is considering getting a pet. I try to explain to them that their life is going to change in ways they can’t anticipate or imagine. Usually, my opposition is met with a blank stare but a girl has to try, right? Anything could happen. I try to explain that a person should wait to get a pet until they are settled.
At twenty-two, I thought I was settled. I’d graduated from college, gotten a job and an apartment. I got a beagle puppy and over the last fourteen years, Daisy Mae has lived with me through marriage and divorce apartment living and homeowner’s status. She’s been with me through poverty and abundance but mostly Daisy Mae has witnessed my life in a way no one else has. There are always going to be those young adults, (or kids as I look at it) who will give up their pet as quickly as they get tired of the responsibility or when their life changes, but there are also others who despite all odds take that responsibility seriously. I’m hoping Katie is one of these. She’s certainly gotten off to a good start. There aren’t many eighteen-year-olds who can say they’ve saved a life and no matter what happens in the future, I think that’s a level of compassion I’d like to see in more people, period.
AND DON’T FORGET ABOUT OUR FUNNIEST PET PHOTO CONTEST WHICH RUNS THROUGH OCTOBER 31, 2011.
Get ‘em Moving
Last week, I met up with one of my rescue friends and somehow the topic drifted to lack of foster homes and kennel space. For those of us in rescue, this isn’t an uncommon theme. Lots of shelters (and some rescues for that matter) practice the policy of keeping the most adoptable animals and moving them as quickly as they can. In this way, they can re-home as many animals as possible. But what about those animals that for one reason or another, just don’t seem to be moving?
Case in point is a little dog named Jasmine (or “Jazzy” for short). Jazzy is a one-year-old, eight pound, red Min Pin / Chihuahua mix. She gets along with other dogs. She does think that cats are funny because of the way they run from her, but she’s tolerant of them. She rarely barks and seems to mostly hit the pee pad whenever her foster mom isn’t around. She has a sweet, playful nature…and she’s sat in foster since last December when a good Samaritan took her from a man who was trying to give her away in a Walmart parking lot.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3V4ViNPzCDg
What’s wrong with Jasmine? Absolutely nothing. Except she was clearly unsocialized and does not warm up to people easily. At adoption events, she hides in the back. She doesn’t give off that feeling like she’s “the one”. So she sits in rescue, waiting for a special person to come along who will understand that she’s just really, really shy.
So what do you do with a dog like Jasmine? My friend, Pam Heine would tell you no dog is unadoptable. Pam operates Finding Fido Animal Rescue which caters to senior and special needs animals. Pam doesn’t believe in unadoptable animals and because she believes it, animals that would normally be euthanized are now living comfortably in their forever homes. Just this last weekend, Pam adopted out one dog that was well over ten years of age and another dog who at one time had a tumor the size of her head on her abdomen.
Of course, there are always going to be those people who are looking for a rescue dog who will love them but won’t require a lot of work. I think sometimes we often forget that the dog that will be the right “fit” doesn’t always come in the most perfect of packages.
So if you know of anyone who might be interested in Jasmine, she is up for adoption and looking for a home. You can find her on the Mini Mighty Mutts website at www.minimightymutts.com. Or if you feel inspired by Pam’s mission and would like to donate or volunteer with Finding Fido Animal Rescue, please take the time to check out her website at http://findingfido.org/Home.html.
By Inches
Four months ago, the Easter Bunny brought me a gift, a little black and white foster dog that had been pulled from a hoarder’s house. I’ve written about Emma, now Emma Lemma, before. She was delivered to me in a plastic crate with a warning of how frightened she can become. Early on, I decided the way to bring her out of her shell was to simply allow her to come to us in her own time and at the very least, it’s been a grueling process that has been hard to watch.
I’ve tried forcing her to do certain things. It never works. She now simply regards me as that lady who tries to make her do things she doesn’t want to do. She keeps an ever watchful eye on me whether I’m at my computer or drying my hair or sitting on the toilet. She doesn’t trust me…but she’s curious. Every day I feel like she’s more comfortable in the vicinity of my presence and inch by inch, we are winning the battle for Emma Lema’s affection.
She trusts my husband slightly more than she does me. Occasionally, he’ll surprise her with a light touch on her back. She’ll look at him, jump up and immediately leave, but she doesn’t leap out of her skin to get away like she used to do.
That’s right, it’s been four months and Emma Lemma still doesn’t want us to touch her which means that this one-year-old dog has never known that the human touch can be kind. That makes me sad. It makes me sad for her since she has to live with it and it makes me sad for other dogs just like her. And there are other dogs like her because as much as Emma Lemma is one-of-a-kind to me, there are other dogs who still live in tormented environments. Dogs like Emma Lemma die every day in shelters because no one has the patience to work with them. And who would? It isn’t easy but people CAN help without having to live with a little feral dog underfoot.
How you might ask? Well…don’t buy from a “breeder” because Emma Lemma was pulled out of a “breeder’s” house, a “breeder” who had too many but still continues to breed. Adopt from rescues. Adopt from shelters. End the cycle. Because one dog like this, is just one too many.
Good People
By pure coincidence, I’ve run into a lot of good people lately, ordinary people who will go the extra mile for their animals. I’ve featured a few of them right here on this blog. This week I met a couple named, Julie and Ron who are passionate about their kitties. They have two very well-loved fifteen-year-old cats that are very set in their ways and one Siamese that they simply couldn’t leave behind.
For several years, Ron would feed the near feral Siamese that crept up to their porch steps each evening. He worked with the cat gaining just enough trust to be within the same vicinity. Then, when Julie and Ron had to move, they just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the feral cat behind. Who would feed it? The cat had become dependent on them. So they simply packed up the Siamese right along with their furniture, the kitchen utensils and the other cats, and moved it right along with them. That’s right. A feral cat. Now, the cat lives with them indoors and although I didn’t ask, I still don’t believe they have a lot of interaction with it, but in a world of ridiculous excuses of why people can’t keep their pets, it is refreshing to hear stories of people who have overcome the odds to keep a pet they didn’t have to.
I’m sure the next time I hear of someone relinquishing a Chihuahua for a ridiculous reason like because they are moving into an apartment I’m going to think of Julie and Ron. Animal welfare can be a torturous world where the evil of man bears down on your soul. There are days when it seems no one cares about animals as much as we do. There are days when you suspect the worst in just about everyone. What we fail to see when we are so in the mire of it is that there are millions of people (yep, I’m going to say millions) that put up with crazy things all in the name of loving their animals. I, myself, have lived with two dogs who hated each other so much they could never be in the same room. We tip-toed around and shuffled them from room to separate room for years until one of them passed away. It never did it cross our minds to give them up. We simply adjusted. And there are lots of other people who would have done the same. We need to remember that.
Abby, my Step Dog-ter
Eight and a half years ago when I met my husband, he had some baggage. A year prior to getting divorced, his ex-wife had begged him for a yellow Lab puppy. Their mutual friends had a litter of sixteen purebred, field trial champion-quality, yellow Labrador Retrievers back in my husband’s home state of Georgia. The friends only needed one puppy to train for field trials, (that one pup, by the way, did grow up to be the grand poobah of field trial champions or some such really important thing.) The other fifteen pups were up for grabs. The friends were simply giving them away because their intention hadn’t been to make money off the dogs. It was simply a genetic experiment for a hobby of theirs.
My husband was hesitant. He really didn’t want a dog living in his house. I think about this now and laugh since there always seems to be a constant influx of canines wandering through our home but back then, he didn’t understand how wonderful having a dog in your home can be. His then wife pleaded and finally, in the end, the friends back in Georgia loaded up the runt of the eight-week-old litter onto an airplane. He met Abby for the first time when they picked her up at the Phoenix International Airport hub. Then she was all chubby skin and puppy smiles with a face that was hard not to fall in love with.
From the beginning, Abby was a mama’s girl. My husband’s ex-wife took her on walks every day. She taught her all types of fun tricks. She even took Abby to the chiropractor on a regular basis because she thought it was important. Then, a little after Abby’s first birthday, she decided she no longer wished to be married. My husband told her that she might be leaving but he wasn’t going to allow her to take the dog. He couldn’t bear the thought of living in a completely empty house. So Abby stayed with my husband and a little over a year later, I walked into her life.
The first time I saw her she was sitting in her kennel waiting for us to go out. She’s probably one of the most beautiful Labs I’ve ever seen, picture perfect perfection. Back then, when she was three years old, she was my husband’s pride and joy. He would spend hours playing Frisbee with her at the local dog park where she was so focused and agile it would put all the other dogs to shame. She was also very polite. We never had to worry about her having an accident in the house or bullying any of the foster dogs. But she was big. She was hyper and she didn’t necessarily like cuddling with me on the couch. She just wasn’t my type of dog. If I’d had the choice, I would have chosen differently. I didn’t hate her or resent her. I just felt disconnected to the dog that was the apple of my husband’s eye.
Still, we’ve lived peacefully together all of these years and Abby’s simply blended into the wallpaper right along with regular routine. Then, last fall, she had a behavior change. She began insisting to sleep in the bed with us. I wasn’t entirely thrilled about this because making room in your bed for a sixty-five pound Lab is even more difficult than it sounds, particularly since we already had other four-legged inhabitants in our bed. So every night, I come to bed, shoo her off my pillow and try to fit myself into the puzzle of bodies that has become our bed. To be honest, I often get too hot to sleep. I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, take my pillow and go sleep on the couch. But I can’t imagine denying an eleven-year-old Lab the luxury of sleeping where she wants to sleep. She at least deserves that dignity.
Then, last Wednesday night, I was sleeping on the couch when I began to feel something heavy on my legs. It was Abby! So I packed up my pillow and headed back to bed, only she came right along with me. I heaved her into bed, (since she doesn’t really like to jump anymore) and then I flopped down on the mattress myself to try to resume sleep. The next morning, I was doing yoga on a mat in my living room and as I lay on my back, arms outstretched, Abby came to lie next to me, her head wilting over my arm. And that’s when it hit me. I’m probably the only mom she even remembers. Her other mother is never coming back for her. My husband loves her dearly but he doesn’t have the nurturing touch I guess an aging Lab needs. So instead of continuing my workout, I hugged her close to me like the lap dog she’s never been. She groaned in contentment and I realized that what Abby really needs most is…me.
A Teeny Home
Last year, something bad happened to a little Brussels Griffon mix named Teeny. Her owner decided she didn’t want her anymore.
Of course, this happens all the time and I suppose the only thing that made Teeny different from all the other abandoned pets out there is the fact that she ended up with me. For the full story on how Teeny became homeless, you can click here: http://howlandstudios.wordpress.com/2011/03/24/i’ve-been-dumped-on/.
Teeny came to live with us for the first time last August. Of course, I remained in denial about the entire situation until March of this year. Mainly because I want to believe in the good in everyone but Teeny had also slowly slipped into such an ingrained part of our daily routine that it was almost easier to keep her than to change.
Almost. I’ve always said that to permanently live at our house a dog has to have no other options and Teeny was the type of dog who had options. Sure, she has a little issue where her pee pee maker doesn’t quite reach her brain but a lot of small dogs have similar issues. That one minor challenge might make finding a permanent home for her more difficult but I didn’t think it was impossible. So I contacted Mini Mighty Mutts Rescue, an organization I’ve worked with in the past, made sure Teeny had all the necessary vaccinations and put her up for adoption.
This was not a popular decision. Looking at my husband’s gruff, athletic exterior, you wouldn’t think he was fan of small dogs but he loves a dog he can tuck underneath his arm. He loves a dog he can carry around and hold like a football. Teeny was just such a dog. I’d often find them sitting in front of the television together with her peeking out of the crook of his arm. When I told him she was going up for adoption, he firmly put his foot down saying, “This my dog!” And I might have listened if it wasn’t for a little thing called logic…and reason.
For the past six years we’ve been fostering sick, injured and behaviorally challenged dogs, we’ve had a few that, for one reason or another, just couldn’t leave and it wasn’t because our heart strings were so strongly attached. It was because they’d fallen under the category of unadoptable and I just didn’t have the heart to let the needle take them to God. My husband and I have both made sacrifices in order for our house to run with the structured routine an unadoptable dog needs, but lately, I’ve wondered if something happened to one of us, would the other be able to maintain the balance needed for the dogs? I find myself teetering on the edge of ‘no’. So it’s time to be responsible and scale back as nature takes its course among the older members of our pack. And so even as my husband stomped and fervently battled my decision, I knew Teeny needed to find another home.
But my schedule is ridiculously full. Adoption events never seemed to fall into a malleable timeslot and asking my husband to take Teeny was, frankly, counterproductive. So I crossed my fingers, let the rescue work their magic and last week a couple came along who could give Teeny a better home than we could. They have plenty of attention to give her and she’ll already have a built-in, crazy-headed playmate. These people live their lives around their animals and that’s exactly what Teeny deserves.
Except on the morning we’d scheduled for her delivery, she was sitting on my bed, looking up at me, begging me to love her. I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to get attached. I’d put up invisible walls around my heart in order to prevent it. In a way, I felt like I cheated her because more than anything else all she ever wanted was for me to love her in the way she deserved. I took a deep breath and shoved my hands into the front pockets of my baggy jeans. Logically, I know it was the right thing to do. I seamlessly delivered her to her new home just like I’ve done dozens of other times, but now there’s now an empty kennel I can’t bear to take down. There’s a tiny missing link in our regular routine and a piece of sadness in our hearts.
I suppose that’s the price we pay for fostering. It isn’t easy but it’s almost always the right thing to do.
A Good Week
I’ve been hesitant to write about my foster dog, Emma, the miniature Australian Shepherd because to be honest, I’ve just been ignoring her. She’s gotten comfortable with her regular routine and I’ve given her enough space so she doesn’t constantly have to live in fear. I’ve had a lot of people who have given me books and well-meaning advice. I’d like to think that if I actually believed any of it would work that I’d actually take it. But I’ve been lazy. I’ve just allowed her to do her own thing…with limits and I’m starting to see its working.
Last week, we had a good week. I’m cautious to admit it because someone once told me the “minis” have a tendency to progress and then regress. I’ve been on that pendulum so many times I know it’s true. But this time feels different. Emma’s tolerance for a human’s presence is decreasing. She and my other foster romp and wrestle on my bed every day while I’m drying my hair. I now find Emma peeking around the corner at me when I’m using the restroom. She will boldly take a treat out of my hand if I’m sitting in a certain place and she’ll now often join the pack in the living room where she will lie down, cross her front legs and lay her head on her paws.
This doesn’t mean I can touch her and it certainly doesn’t mean she’s adoptable. But it’s a start. One day she will love us but I’ve discovered you can’t make a dog love you any more than you can make a man love you. They have to come to you in their own time.
Too Far and Over the Line
Sometimes I need to take a break for my own sanity and lately, I’ve been finding myself taking a small step backwards from the animal rescue community. Not because I’ve stopped believing in what they do but because I found myself not being able to enjoy the innocent wonder of a puppy. A puppy means there’s been ANOTHER litter that will grow up to potentially crowd shelters causing more animals to die. There’s a manic, never-ending torture about that last statement that can drive a person to the brink of insanity. Yet in the end, it’s just a puppy, a wide-eyed, innocent being that needs to be loved. I believe the official term is called “compassion fatigue” but I just call it “needing a break”.
Because without a break, anyone could go a little crazy. When you see the constant stream of excuses and poor decisions that cost the lives of innocent animals and the never-ending line that runs through a shelter’s doors, it’s maddening. It will drive you into insane tantrums which people will overlook by saying, “Oh, s/he’s one of those animal people.” And then you want to shake them by the shoulders to get your point across because they aren’t listening. The couldn’t be listening. They couldn’t act the way they do after knowing what you know. Right?
The reality is a crazy person’s message is lost in its own insanity. The only messages that really stick are the ones shown through love and people know the difference. They can feel it.
The other day a friend of mine was walking through her neighborhood and came across a sign that said, “Lost cat, black with white paws, please call if seen”. But that isn’t why my friend stopped. Written in a turquoise sharpie over the top of the sign someone had written the words, “If you didn’t let it out, it wouldn’t get eaten by a coyote.” That is harsh. Too harsh.
And sadly I empathize with the writer of those terrible words. Every week, I preach the benefits of keeping cats indoors like were the ordained teaching a new type of religion. Yet even I am taken aback at the vicious content. What the writer forgot was that the cat owner was hurting. Maybe they’d never heard the message to keep their cats indoors. Maybe they’d spent a lifetime of keeping their cats outside. Clearly, they had loved nad missed their cat. That was the important thing. The tragedy was that the cat was missing, which I might add, could also be the result of a door that was accidentally left cracked and forgotten.
My friend, bless her soul who is an animal lover in her own right, went back later to whiteout those horrible words before the cat owner could be affected by them. And sadly, the writer, thinking they might have done some good, is still at large. It’s too bad. Clearly, they, too, needed a break. Because if we want to change the way people treat their pets, we have to send out a loving message. As much as we may want to, we can’t force the world to change overnight. It is a gradual process that needs to be molded with kindness for both others and for ourselves.
And sometimes, it is simply okay to take a break.
The Moving Excuse
Summer is here and the shelters are beginning to burst with unwanted animals yet again. So today I want to take aim at the number one excuse people give for turning over a pet which is: “I have to move and I can’t take my pet along with me.”
And to that I say: WHY NOT?
One thing people must consider whenever they are going to get a pet is that over the next fifteen years their life is going to change in ways unimaginable to them. For some, a child will come into the picture. For others, their situation will change for the better. Or for others, it will change for the worse.
For me, it changed for the worse. When I brought a Beagle and an American Eskimo dog into my household over ten years ago, I had no idea that within the next two years I would be going through a divorce. I would have scoffed at the notion if anyone had suggested it. But that’s what happened. The economy went into the toilet. My now ex-husband couldn’t find employment. Our bills ran up and our arguments got more heated. By the time the fire had burned out of our marriage, I was broke and alone with two dogs solely dependent on me. It was hard.
I had to downsize into a tiny apartment in a not-so-great area, and pick up a second job just to make ends meet. There were days when I would finish working eight hours only to race home to let the dogs out for five minutes. Then I’d bolt back out the door to work an additional four hours before I’d come home too exhausted for play. Once I even walked through the door only to have both dogs greet me in a terrified state. The electrical breaker for the apartment had flipped and needed to be re-set but the dogs only knew that something was terribly wrong.
It was a very difficult two years before I was able to move us all out of that situation. But we did it. I didn’t do it for accolades. I did it because I’d made a commitment that those two dogs were going to be taken care of for the rest of their lives. I was with Lulu, the American Eskimo when she took her last breath. I have Daisy Mae, the Beagle who has now turned into the crotchetiest old lady you can possibly imagine.
So when I hear so many people turning over their pets because they have to “move”, I probably don’t have the most sympathetic ear. Yes, having pets…particularly dogs….particularly some breeds of dogs (like pit bulls, God bless their souls), makes it more difficult to find a rental. You may have to live in an area you don’t want to. You may have to driver farther every day than you prefer. Your rental may not be as nice because you have to budget in “pet rent”. You might even justify it as “not fair to the animal” because they have to live in a smaller space or you aren’t home as often. Is it more fair then to take them to a shelter in Maricopa County where they at best have only about a fifty percent chance of making it out alive? I think not.
And be forewarned, there are also well-meaning people who will dump their unwanted pets on friends or family members who did not sign up for the responsibility. If you think that will keep your pet out of the shelter, you might also be wrong about that, as well. Shelters see lots of unwanted pets brought in by people who have had those animals dumped on them. If it is your pet, it is your responsibility.
This being said, I also realize there are always some instances where giving up a pet cannot be helped like for example, if you are moving overseas. That is why shelters have open admissions departments. I just wish others took the responsibility of owning a pet more seriously because when people look back and say, “Remember Rover? Wasn’t he a great dog?” I would prefer they think of the dog with some reverence instead of like a decadent piece of cake which was consumed at the time and then quickly disposed of.
My Foster Dog Hates Me
This time of year, foster homes are so difficult to come by that it isn’t surprising I got a request to foster on the same evening my last foster was adopted. And I, being the sucker I am, accepted without asking too many questions because I’ve handled the worst, right? Sometimes I think I’m a little full of myself.
I knew this new foster dog, Emma was going to come into my home under socialized since the entire clan of dogs that Aussie & Friends rescued from this same Tucson home were all under socialized. I just didn’t know how few social skills she would actually possess until I met up to make the exchange. Emma was delivered to me in a plastic crate with the information that she was a fear biter. She liked to chew, (as most young dogs do). She didn’t understand what to do on the leash and most disturbing, she would lose her bowels whenever she became overly frightened. Yippee-skippy.
Once I got her home, her eyes were like saucers and she pawed at the door and windows like she was trying to escape the toxic fumes of a burning building. Outside, the twenty-pound dog eyed the five foot fence as if she were toying making a run for it. Inside, when I was trying to catch her so I could take her to a safe place for her to eat, she literally climbed the walls peeing and defecating as she went. I’ve never seen a dog more frightened and frankly, I hope to never see another in such a bad state of mind. I had asked for the worst and they had given me their worst. It was heartbreaking.
Worst of all is the knowledge that Emma is a pure bred Toy Australian Shepherd who was rescued from a “breeder”. Yep, someone was charging oodles of money for purebred puppies while the adult dogs in their home lived in squalor. Living in that environment for even eight weeks will cause puppies from this type of “breeder” to grow into dogs that are unconfident, fearful, unsure and prone to separation anxiety. Most people don’t like to acknowledge the possibility that their dog could come from a household like this but it happens more often than you think. If you bought your dog from a breeder, one of those puppies could have been yours.
But I am patient and over these past few months, I’ve tried to work with Emma to teach her that people aren’t to be feared. Mostly I use desensitization because it’s easy and we have a small home. Eventually an under socialized dog will learn to co-exist. Emma has now developed a regular routine. We praise her when she does something good but no one is going to be able to “make” Emma snap out of it. It’s a long grueling process.
And she hates me. This is the first foster I’ve had that I can say with certainty who does not like me. I realize it is because she doesn’t trust me…but it still hurts my feelings just a teeny-tiny bit. And what’s to become of Emma? If over the next few months, I can get her to begin to trust us then how do I transfer that to a new adopter? Usually, these types of dogs bond so tightly they may become unwilling to accept anyone else. And then what? I didn’t sign up to adopt another dog.
Perhaps, the reason I’m feeling this cranky about the situation is because I’ve been sick all week. Everything looks bleaker when you look at it through the haze of a bad cold. I’ve been frustrated that Emma doesn’t seem to be improving. I’ve been frustrated that she refuses to walk on a leash. I’ve been frustrated that her dislike for me hasn’t seemed to change and then yesterday, I woke up from nap to find Emma curled up and sleeping next to me on the bed in the middle of all of my other dogs. And I smiled. Because no matter how bad the situation is, I know there’s always hope that one day she might be a normal dog.
