WARNING: This is not a happy or funny post. It might bum you out, or maybe it will inspire you. I’m taking my chances sharing my grief and frustration.
Today is the day Ginger will leave. I feel unprepared. Every other time, when a dog was leaving that I knew would break my heart, I had a plan in place. A new foster on its way or already in our house, or I had somewhere to go or be that would distract me. Not today.
Because I’m still waiting to see a doctor who will have the answers, I can’t commit to a new dog/puppy. I’m not a good patient or a patient person, so my hurting knee is dragging me down. Lucy is still here, but we’re finding our routine and she’s ready to go to a forever home as soon as her people find her.
Today is different than other adoption days. Without my usual props in place, I already feel the tears gathering and I hate that. This is the hardest part of fostering. This heart-cratering pain that is so completely unavoidable- if I just didn’t foster dogs. It’s self-inflicted, preventable, and yet, I know it’s nothing compared to the pain of all the dogs that never make it out.
I’m currently reading Rescue Road, the story of a man named Greg Mahle, who drives a tractor-trailer full of rescue dogs from the deep south, to foster homes and adopters in the north twice a month. He’s helped rescue over 30,000 dogs and driven a million miles.
I’m trying to read it as fast as I possibly can because it is unbearable. Every time I have to close the book and move back into my world I feel sad, unmoored, frustrated. How can there be people in this world, in this time, who would dump a litter of newborn puppies in a trashcan or worse yet, set that trash can on fire?
How can there be state-run ‘shelters’ that are no more than concrete holding pens completely exposed to the elements where dogs are dumped all together (young, old, sick, neutered or not) to wait for no one (or maybe a rescue) to claim them before they die of preventable diseases or state mandated euthanasia? This book breaks my heart. Reading it this weekend, knowing it was our last with Ginger, made for a sad, sad few days.
Yes, I know, Ginger is going to a GREAT home. It’s the only happy thought available for me to hold on to. Only that great home isn’t mine. It can’t be. Technically, it could be, but reading Rescue Road this weekend underlined again for me exactly why it can’t be—there are too many dogs still down there. Too many dogs dying every day because of ignorance, cruelty, apathy, and lack of resources. This is a fixable problem. Maybe that’s what makes me most crazy. Parvo, mange, heartworms, overpopulation—these are ALL preventable or treatable.
All of my mixed feelings and sadness is complicated by the fact that my knee is not healing. It limits me. Just this morning, I fell, once again. Even though I had on my brace and my new super grippy shoes that my husband insisted I buy, my unstable let still slid out from under me on a stick that fell in last night’s storm as I made my way down the hill with Lucy. Ouch.
I’ve fallen down a lot over the past year and a half while we’ve been fostering dogs. I’m talking about physically falling down, though certainly I’ve mentally and emotionally taken my tumbles.
Carla was the first to knock me over when she darted in front of me while we were running. A 75-pound coonhound is not something you can hop over, so instead she took me out like a football player making a clean block. Luckily (for me) she broke my fall. I only suffered a few scratches and started running with a longer leash so the next time she’d have the leash length to clear me if she happened to notice a squirrel on my opposite side.
Then Frank pulled me over twice. Frank wasn’t huge, but he was 50+ pounds of solid muscle. When he slipped into the chicken pen as I was closing the gate, I chased after him and stupidly grabbed his collar while he was in full flight. You can imagine the rest. A skinned elbow and bruised knee were my penance for my bad decision. (Frank didn’t get a chicken, though, so perhaps it was worth it.)
The second time I was walking down our steep hill in smooth-soled shoes and my feet slid out from under me. I’m not sure he had anything to do with that fall other than happening to be on the other end of the leash when I clumsily lost my footing. The result of that fall was only a few grass stains.
Tennessee took me out while running. He had been the perfect running companion, incredibly obedient and sticking close to my side for weeks. Until something behind us startled him and he slammed into me in his panic and sent me sprawling. I ended up with two skinned knees and one skinned palm on that one.
After that I had a long run of not falling over, nearly a year and then Whoopie yanked me over when her bloodhound nose picked up the scent of a cat and I couldn’t keep up. I did a lovely belly flop on the grass, but was no worse for wear.
And then this past Monday night, I hit the ground again, only this time I didn’t get up. I was walking Bambi and Lucy at the same time in wet grass, in the dark, in sandals, down the hill. So, you can already see all the mistakes I made going into this. The two of them both lunged forward at the same time and I’m not even sure why. I think Bambi was only excited, as she is a puppy, and I believe Lucy, who is not a puppy but has a puppy-spirit simply joined in the fun. Continue reading “The Grave Consequences of Being a Slow Learner”→
My trusty co-pilot and helper (read: the only kid without a driver’s license or a job this summer) and I met the Lucy train in Hagerstown last Wednesday and picked up our latest charge. She’d been riding shot-gun for the last leg with a very nice person named Terri. When I opened the hatch of my SUV, she hopped right in, settled in the crate we’d brought and went to sleep. Obviously, she wouldn’t be a high-maintenance guest.
This poor pup has been through it—I can’t say exactly what, but she is riddled with scars, the worst one being a permanent necklace from where a collar was embedded and/or she was left chained up for a long period. Despite all that, she is a happy, friendly, easy-going girl. The resilience of dogs is something to behold.
Thankfully, she doesn’t appear to be pregnant. As exciting as that would have been, the last thing this sweet girl needs is puppies. Her skin is inflamed and hot and covered in some form of eczema that requires us to keep a cone on her 24/7 so she won’t chew herself bloody. It’s a testimony to her good nature that she handles her misery so well. She scratches at the cone trying to get to her neck and chest, where the rash is worst. She chews at her side, biting the plastic cone that prevents her from a reaching her itchy skin. It may not help, but maybe the effort brings a mental relief. I remember scratching at my riding helmet covering my itchy head when I was in the middle of a competition or lesson. It’s psychological; you feel like you’re doing something. I would shake my head, too, which I’ve seen Lucy doing.
If you’ve ever had poison ivy or hives covering your entire body, you might have some sense of what this pup is going through. The urge to itch is all-consuming and yet—she can’t reach it. She’s headed to the vet on Wednesday to confirm that she isn’t pregnant and hopefully get a prescription for some serious drugs to help her out. The vets that examined her before she came north diagnosed a flea allergy. While there are no fleas on this girl now (I’ve given her enough oatmeal baths to verify that), I would assume at some point she was infested with them. Continue reading “Our Present Pack of Pups”→
Wow, hang on tight, the musical chairs/foster dog switcheroo is on warp speed this week.
Friday night instead of a pregnant mama (didn’t work out this time), we picked up the two foster puppies we volunteered to host for the weekend. We planned to take them to boarding on Monday. I’m not sure why I call anything a plan since it rarely resembles one and most times ends up looking nothing like the original. So, let’s call it an idea.
I had a ‘white’ weekend (nothing on the calendar), so the idea was to give these two little girls some runaround-with-Ginger time, make sure they got their wormers and flea/tick treatments, and hope some dogs got adopted and another foster home opened up. If not, we’d take them to boarding on Monday. Great idea, right? Sure it was.
When we arrived home with our pups on Friday night, Brienne galloped around the yard, her nose on overdrive. At six months, she is all hound. Eight month old Little Lady, on the other hand, didn’t move. We pulled her from her crate and when we set her on the grass, she immediately flattened herself against it and then tried to burrow in.
When Brienne did a fly-by, Lady got up, took a few steps and then dove back into the grass, rolling and rubbing her nose and belly against the grass, as if she was trying to get as close as possible to it or maybe disappear. When I set her on the pavement, she dove for the grass and again pressed herself against it. Had she never touched grass before? Finally, I picked her up and carried her into the house.
The next morning, when I opened the crates, Brienne bounded out and smothered me with kisses, while doing the happy hound murmur. Brienne is vocal like a real hound. The only other hounds we’ve had who made such constant commentary were Carla and Whoopie. I love the sounds and the constant wagging tail. Brie is one happy girl.
Lady hung back in her crate until I took Brienne out of the room. When I shut the door and sat down outside her crate, she cautiously crept out and then leaned into me, pressing her long nose against my side, wagging her backside (she has no tail). I was gone—hook, line and sinker. What happened to this precious pup? No matter; from here on out, there will only good things.
When I picked up a leash, she scrambled back into her crate, so I sat back down and waited.
Are you as afraid as I am to turn on the news? I feel obligated, but at the same time a heart can only take so much. This past weekend I finally heard some GREAT news. I was privileged to attend OPH’s seminar for volunteers. I learned even more about this fabulous organization I’m a part of and left feeling motivated to do more.
The highlight for me was a presentation from two women from one of the shelters that OPH partners with in south western Virginia. I went to school in southside Virginia a million years ago, so I remember that part of the country as rural, blue-collar (when there are jobs) with field after field of tobacco. I worked at a pub in Danville where I served mill workers who called me “Yankee Girl” and never missed an opportunity to remind me that Danville was the last confederate capital of the south!
Rachel and Ashley traveled north this past weekend to share with OPH the impact our organization has had on their shelter in Scott County, VA. I couldn’t hold back tears as I listened to the statistics they shared. I think it was the best news I’ve heard all summer, actually all year, and it renewed my desire to help more dogs and my admiration for the people who work so hard to save them.
Just picked up Whoopi and Ginger from their vacation. They are tired, fat, and happy – the way everyone should be when returning from vacation.
While we were gone they stayed with OPH superstar foster Juanita who spoiled them rotten. They had free run with her pack in Juanita’s big, shady, fenced yard; were allowed ON THE BED for naps; and even had a swimming pool to cool off in.
Ginger’s chocolate coat is shiny and sleek, with the extra pound or two she picked up, she looks much like a seal. Whoopi’s sporting an extra roll around her shoulders now. As Ian says, “You could fit another dog in all that extra skin.”
Her nails look fabulous. Juanita took her for a mani/pedi at the local spa where they even offered ear cleaning service. (Her huge bloodhound ears are just fine. I forgot to ask what they thought about the fact that she has shotgun pellet in one ear – you can actually pick the ear up with a magnet!)
Here are a few vacation photos and videos of their adventures.
This is the picture Juanita texted me after their first night. Oh yeah, commence spoiling!
We’re headed to the beach THIS Saturday which is so totally awesome. An entire week with two of my favorite families and most, possibly all, of my kids. Yay. No stalls to muck or weeds to pull.
Here’s the problem: I still have two foster dogs.
Two foster dogs who are very dear to my heart. What to do. What to do. At first I panicked and considered having our house/horse sitter take care of them, but then I realized that was crazy and unrealistic because only a crazy person like me is happy to deal with a 75-pound bloodhound AND an over-the-top enthusiastic dog like Ginger AND a snarly, grumpy, poop-rolling personal dog AT THE SAME TIME. I couldn’t ask this of my very nice college-age house sitter who I’ve hired to care for the horses and water the plants.
So, I started begging and I managed to find two babysitters for Whoopi who will tag team the extended week, but Gingersnap is headed to boarding at this point. Which breaks my heart. But hopefully, not hers.
Many of my foster dogs have come and gone quickly. So quickly, that we barely got to scratch the surface of their personalities. This is not the case with my two current dogs whom I think may still be with us at Christmas.
Not because they are bad dogs – quite the contrary, but here’s the complications involved with either of them finding a forever family quickly….
First, take Whoopi.
Considering her kingdom
She’s a hit at events. Even a non-dog lover easily proclaims, “Look at the bloodhound!” They’ve all seen them on TV and in the movies, because what screams redneck, hillbilly, sidekick as loud as a bloodhound?
I took Whoopi to the Petapalooza on Sunday and she was wonderful.
Here she is posing with the Mary Kay lady in the next booth (“Mary Kay is so powerful it can even take on these kinds of wrinkles!”) Continue reading “Last Ones Picked…”→
Hound dogs drool, but you probably knew that. I did, too. But did you know that when the drool starts to reach the floor, that’s the cue to do the shake?
What’s the shake, you ask?
It’s when the hound dog flings her head back and forth, batting herself with her mile-long ears, her face literally smacking her face, and flinging dog drool over anyone in the vicinity.
To be fair, Whoopi really only seriously drools when she drinks water. So, we’ve taken to watering her on the porch. Better for all of us because who wants to step her bare foot in a slippery pile of dog drool? (trust me on this one)
Hound dogs also bay. Like seriously loud. Ian says that when Whoopi is really barking he can feel it in his chest.
Ian and Whoopi have been spending a lot of time together. This is because he is the only person in the house large enough and strong enough to walk Whoopi on our property without great personal risk. (Ian is only 13, but he is 6 foot, 180 pounds of shot-put tossing muscle.)
As I’ve explained before, we live on a hill. Six acres of lovely countryside, but not a level spot of ground anywhere. Walking up the hill with Whoopi is nice. She is a sturdy tow-rope and it’s fairly easy going. Walking back down is another story. Once she has momentum on her side, I’m a goner. I stumble/run/ski along behind her like some kind of looney-tunes character, yelling “whoa” and pulling with both arms.
Walking both ever-enthusiastic Ginger (who is still here!) and Whoopi together is a silly idea.
I know this and yet this morning in a momentary loss of sanity, I decided that I’d take them both for a three mile jaunt up the road and back. Continue reading “Hound Dog Workout for One”→
I’m wrung out. Physically, emotionally, mentally…. just done. The last week was a whirlwind of activity and stress in my life – both good and bad.
My second novel released; my daughter competed in the County Distinguished Young Women program; my oldest returned from his first year in college; my youngest sustained a concussion in a soccer game; I received some tough news; Mother’s Day happened; five puppies were adopted; the dog warden was rumored to be stopping by for an inspection; and, perhaps the hardest part of the week – it was gray, rainy, and cold EVERY DAY. Gray days get to me. They make it very hard to slap on a smile and put up with the daily messes and stresses.
But, I’m grateful for the sunshine on Sunday and grateful that I still have four puppies to snuggle. In fact, despite their messes, having the puppies around during this stressful week made all the difference. They got me through. Schuyler helped some days, but she was definitely picking up on my stress level and her chewing went in to overtime – she destroyed my sandals, assorted plastic containers (left on the counter), and Ian’s football.
Still, this week has underlined what I already know – the presence of animals is critical for my survival. How about you?
Maybe you’ve thought about fostering but aren’t sure you’re ready. Let me tell you something – you’re never ready. None of us are.
Luckily, the dogs are pretty understanding and more than patient with us. We offer them stability, food, safe shelter, medical treatment, and most of all – love. That’s five things they may have never experienced in their lives.
And here’s what they offer in return –
Unconditional and many times overly enthusiastic love. And this can’t be overstated. Time and again, I’ve been overwhelmed by the affection and devotion my foster dogs shower on me often within hours of their arrival. It does seem they are grateful even if the experts might dispute that dogs understand the concept of gratitude.
Ian being ‘loved on’ in the puppy pen
A chance to make a difference not only in a dog’s life, but in the lives of its adopters. Helping people is healing. I’ve discovered that when I am most down, the quickest way to get happy is to focus on others. Fostering dogs offers plenty of opportunity to touch the lives of others – both canine and human.
Exercise! There have been more than a few mornings, this winter in particular, when I didn’t want to go for a walk or run, but many of those days I had a foster dog in residence who needed a walk or run. Fostering could very well be an excellent fitness plan for anyone.
Entertainment! Welcoming new dogs into your home on a regular basis means you’ll have a steady stream of entertainment. The antics, quirks, silliness, and fun vary with every dog. It’s also been one of the few things our family can do together. While some members are more enthusiastic than others, I’m pretty sure they’re all glad we do it – even my daughter who doesn’t always appreciate their messy affections.
A whole new network of friends who quickly become like family. Other OPHers who also foster or volunteer are quick to reach out with help and support whether it’s showing up to help you give your first vaccine, drop off additional supplies, offer suggestions for how to handle housetraining issues, or simply cheer you on. Being welcomed into the OPH family is a huge benefit I never considered when I was making my decision to foster, but it’s probably one of the reasons I can’t ever imagine quitting.
I can hear you now, coming up with all your excuses, so let me address a few of the most common-
1)I don’t know what I’m doing. True, you don’t. But you’ll learn soon enough. I was pretty nervous about giving vaccines to my first puppies. And I wondered, how can this organization simply tell me to watch a youtube video, hand me the syringe and expect me to stick it into a squirming puppy? To be fair, I’m sure if I’d said, “Hey, needles make me squeamish- I can’t do this,” someone would have shown up on my doorstep and done it for me. But I was the one who chose to do puppies. I could have stuck with dogs and avoided the needles all together.
Watching the video and then putting on my big-girl panties and actually giving the vaccines turned out to be no big deal. I COULD do it. This past weekend, I gave ten shots (all the puppies plus Schuyler), ten bordatella intranasal vaccines, and ten heartworm pills. My husband helped hold the puppies and we did all of that in about 15 minutes. No biggie, piggie (as my dear friend Lisa says).
OPH has more resources – both on paper, online, and in person, plus conference calls and near-constant online support – than anyone could possibly need. No, you may not know what you’re doing, but OPH does and you will too, soon enough.
2)What if I get a difficult dog? OPH does a pretty good job of screening dogs and doesn’t knowingly bring in aggressive dogs. That said, if you foster enough dogs you’re going to run into an issue eventually. We’ve fostered 43 dogs (holy moly and that’s in barely 15 months!), and with no exceptions I could have easily kept every one of them.
The toughest to deal with was Hadley because she was the most traumatized and Foo Foo, who about drove me crazy with her inability to understand the concept of peeing outside.
Carla couldn’t stay off the beds and John Coffey escaped a time or two. But other than the damage to the living room carpet before we installed a baby gate to keep new fosters in the kitchen until they’ve earned their house privileges, our home is more or less unscathed. I can’t say the same for too many pairs of shoes and personal items that were not put away where they belong and there is not a stuffed animal left stuffed anywhere in the house.
I know that more challenging dogs are on our horizon, but I also know that this organization will not abandon me or any dog, so I am ready.
3)I might get stuck with a dog long term. We’ve been more than amazed that all of our dogs have been adopted pretty quickly. Carla stayed the longest (4 months), but she was a tough placement since she was a five-year-old, 75-pound coonhound with a quirky personality. (We all still miss Carla.) Our shortest foster was Tweety, who stayed with us just barely 24 hours. I picked her up from boarding one day and she was gone the next.
So, no, you won’t get stuck with a dog unless you choose to foster-fail and that will all be on you. I’ve learned it’s a very common thing amongst OPH fosters. So far, we are resisting, but it is a conscious decision every single time. We came oh-so-close to keeping Frank, but in the end he got a great forever family and I get regular updates of his happiness.
4)It will cost money. I will tell you that it won’t, but then it might. We’ve spent plenty of our own money, but we’ve done so willingly. Nearly everything we need is supplied through OPH and donations, but sometimes it’s just easier to go grab a few items ourselves. Mostly I remember to save receipts for the tax write-off, but in the end, sure, we spend some money. But who doesn’t spend money on something they love?
5)I work full-time and the dog will be alone all day. I’m lucky because I work from home and many of my fosters can hang out with me as I work. Their company is welcome. But I know plenty of people who foster through OPH and crate their foster dog during the hours they are away.
At first I thought – poor dogs, but then it was pointed out to me that dogs sleep 20 hours or more a day. (This must be where the term ‘lucky dog’ comes from!) My personal dog chooses to spend a good portion of time every day in her crate.
We never close her in unless someone is visiting (she is still learning how to NOT jump on the people she likes and NOT bite the people she’s afraid of), and still she chooses to sleep in her open crate probably pretty close to 20 hours a day. So, no, working full-time out of the house doesn’t mean you can’t foster dogs.
Ready to get involved? Fostering is a great gig. It’s such a privilege to be part of the journey of these amazing dogs. There are quite literally hundreds of dogs headed our way this summer. Consider opening your home and your heart to a foster dog. It’s awesome, messy, fun, and occasionally stressful, but the bottom line is you will get so much more than you will ever give.
Click here to get more information or apply to foster.
Today is the day Ginger will leave. I feel unprepared. Every other time, when a dog was leaving that I knew would break my heart, I had a plan in place. A new foster on its way or already in our house, or I had somewhere to go or be that would distract me. Not today.
and 
and 
But other than the damage to the living room carpet before we installed a baby gate to keep new fosters in the kitchen until they’ve earned their house privileges, our home is more or less unscathed. I can’t say the same for too many pairs of shoes and personal items that were not put away where they belong and there is not a stuffed animal left stuffed anywhere in the house.
Another Good Dog™ 