I keep wondering at what point the scales will tip for Hadley.
Will this treat, this snuggle, this walk, or this ear rub be the one that makes the difference? Maybe this will be the one that pushes her over the edge into a place where people are good and every sudden movement or noise doesn’t mean the sky is falling.
I figure we have to keep piling up the positive interactions, and at some point she’ll trust us. And then maybe she can begin to trust the world.
As far as I can tell, she’s had only two negative encounters since she’s been in our care. One was Gracie’s initial snarly greeting on her first night. Since then, Gracie has reigned it in. I guess even she senses that Hadley is a fragile soul. The second truly scary moment for her was when my ipad mini fell on the dog bed next to her. It confirmed for her the sky was falling rather than her foster mommy is a bit of a clutz.
At the same time, I know the bubble wrapping is nearly impossible, so there will be a few unintended and inevitable scale tips the wrong way.
It’s been nearly a week and Hadley still spends her days anxiously curled up in one of her three “safe zones”. These are the Frank bed in the kitchen, the dog bed next to my desk, and on the sofa behind the couch cushions (which are flipped down to keep Gracie off the furniture). Continue reading “Tipping the Scales”→
If you stopped by our house, you might not notice our newest foster puppy. That’s because Hadley never moves, unless forced. She’s like a little frozen statue, curled in a ball and hoping you won’t notice her.
Watching her this weekend has been heartbreaking.
We picked her up Friday night from transport and she cowered silently in her crate the whole ride. When we got home, I coaxed her out of the cage, clipped on a leash, and set her on the ground, where she froze. I tugged on the leash and she followed me, moving close to the ground, eyes darting every direction. She’s freaked out from the long ride, I thought and picked her up.
She was filthy and smelly, so the first order of business was to bathe her. She sat still, trembling in the tub as I scrubbed her all over and the water ran brown. Finally clean, I carried her to her crate in our puppy room, turned on the nightlight, and spent a few minutes with her. She retreated to the back of the crate, burrowing under the blankets and towels, avoiding eye contact with me.
The next morning when I opened her crate she pressed herself against the back wall. I knew she had to be hungry and thirsty (she’d refused food and water the night before), so I left the crate door open and the bowls nearby and went for my run.
When I came back she hadn’t touched either. I reached in to pet her and she allowed it, but she was tense and wouldn’t look at me. We left her alone for the morning, figuring she was just shellshocked after her long journey from South Carolina. When she still hadn’t emerged from the crate by afternoon, I pulled her out and took her outside. She followed me, crouched close to the ground as if we were under sniper fire. Continue reading “A Painful Goodbye and a Difficult Hello”→
Just the other day, I was shocked to retrieve Addie’s red polka-dotted slipper shoe out of Momma Bear’s mouth. For some reason, known only to the canine world, those shoes are the best tasting ones in the house. Pretty much every foster dog has favored them. Somehow they’ve survived the onslaught, although several dogs ago, Addie had to use blue flowered duct tape to re-secure the liner to the bottom of the shoe.
Momma Bear’s paperwork says she’s between 2 and 5 years old. I’m betting she’s on the low end of that scale. As she’s finally begun to relax at our house, we’re seeing more puppy-like behavior.
Next was Brady’s forgotten croc and then Ian’s stinky sneaker. And the children thought they could stop putting their shoes away since there wasn’t a puppy in the house. Think again!
It’s not just the shoes she’s begun chewing. She’s gnawed on the directions for my new iphone, multiple ball-point pens, and yesterday she found a box of packing peanuts. That was pretty funny. They were the kind made of cornstarch which disappear when wet. She’d poke her long snout into the box in the corner of my office and fish out one peanut and then take it to her favorite spot only to discover it was gone! So she’d return to the box and grab more, repeating the process until I put the box up because I didn’t know if cornstarch was poisonous to dogs (it isn’t). Continue reading “When the Guest Becomes Family”→
This is what I tell my children when they plead with me to adopt Momma Bear. I’m very clear that she is still a foster. Yes, I love her. Yes, she is the nicest mannered dog we’ve encountered. (Including our own dog.) And Yes, she is happy here. But NO, we are not adopting her. We’ve been over this. (And over this.)
Momma Bear wins the Best Foster Dog Ev-aaaa Award for many reasons.
First, she’s got perfect manners. I mean perfect. Better than most of my kids. Okay, she does chew up nerf darts, but I think that’s a plus, not a minus. (Less darts for me to pick up.)
She may be a big dog, but she is careful to stay out of your way. She’s attentive to the whereabouts of everyone and is never underfoot. She’s the first foster dog who never climbs on furniture. Never. She won’t even lie on the dog bed.
She’s quiet and saves her barking for important things like the UPS guy on the porch waiting for a signature or my 19-year-old son when he’s locked out at 2am (his father forgot he was home for Thanksgiving break). Continue reading “Best Foster Dog Evvv-AAAAA!”→
John Coffey has been with us now for eight days. I thought we knew him pretty well, but yesterday I took him to an OPH event and discovered a whole new side of him.
The activity and the other dogs sent him into sensory overload. He’s a pretty intense little guy. I’ve mentioned that he’s paying attention to everything. Well, it’s tough to pay attention to everything when everything includes five or six other dogs, dozens of people, a busy parking lot, yummy food smells, and even an entire bag of tennis balls.
He was frantic, pulling at his leash and barking. The only way to calm him was to pick him up. At thirty-five pounds plus, that didn’t last long. Luckily there were several teens there who have that teenage ability to see right through bad manners and noise. They happily cruised him around the parking lot, hunkered down with him on the far edge of the event, and sat with him in the kissing booth (which he rocked, by the way. John Coffey is a first rate kisser.)
I was frustrated that all anyone was seeing was the bad side of John Coffey. I’d hardly ever heard him bark before yesterday. He’s actually a quiet dog. No one who was in Hanover yesterday would have guessed that.
He rarely pulls on the leash, but yesterday he couldn’t stop pulling and was gagging and coughing from the effort. Not pretty.
He growled and barked at most of the boy dogs. I don’t think he meant anything by it, but again, not an attractive feature. Who wants to take home the bully dog? At our house, he and Gracie have bonded and really enjoy each other. He’s a lover, not a fighter.
I couldn’t even distract him with tennis balls yesterday. When I picked one up, his gaze would lock on to it and he’d chase after it, only to drop it the moment another dog/person/food/noise/car came into his view. He was too distracted to show off his superior catching skills.
So all anybody got to see was a nervous, frantic, barking bundle of snarly nerves. That’s not John Coffey.
Here’s the lesson in this- not all dogs enjoy adoption events. And some dogs would do better to avoid them altogether. John Coffey is one of those dogs. It’s not fair to put him in a situation where his best self can’t be seen. Especially when he has such a great best self.
John Coffey is quite the dog. It took me awhile to figure out what to call him. Originally we thought we’d go with ‘JC’ since he looks like such a slick character, but upon meeting him and spending some time with him we decided he’s WAY too puppy for such a laid back name.
We picked up this newest foster dog from another OPH foster on our way home from Virginia. (Sigh. So wish we were still on vacation – the wine, the weather, the oysters were all wonderful. If I hadn’t done a face plant during our first hike it would have all been perfect.)
Livia and Nick told us they’d been calling this little guy, ‘Coffey.’ He was one squirming bundle of happiness. It comes out his pores, I believe. He can’t wag fast enough to express his joy and emits tiny little whimpers of ecstasy when you pet him. This dog just wants to be LOVED.
We had no room in our car for a crate (we brought home five cases of wine – who’s up for a little happy hour?), so John Coffey was given a section of the back seat. That just would not do, not when there were TWO people less than an arm’s length away who could be petting him. He rode the entire hour and a half posed like a hood ornament on the console between our seats, alternately licking a face or nuzzling a shoulder.
When we got him home, we discovered that the energy does not dissipate. In fact, it seemed to increase. Luckily, he has smarts in equal measure to his energy and is SO eager to please that he’s a quick study. Currently, we’re working on the not-jumping-on-everyone-at-all-times trick. I’ve decided that his full name fits him, as in “John Coffey get down. John Coffey that’s enough. John Coffey DOWN.” He’s like a small child whose mother uses his full name when she means it. And so I believe he won’t be JC or Coffey, but John Coffey.
I felt compelled to look up the name to see who John Coffey really was. All the early hits on google describe the role played by Michael Clarke Duncan in The Green Mile based on the book by Stephen King. That John Coffey is a much more complicated character than our John Coffey.
The next bunch of hits are about a punk rock star from the Netherlands named John Coffey. We’re definitely getting warmer. He’s most famous for his amazing beer catch last June. Here’s a video of the catch and then an explanation of the physics behind it.
The next John Coffey I found is a professor with a PhD n Positive Developmental Psychology. I’ve decided that this is the John Coffey our John Coffey is named after. All his papers on Linked In are about happiness. You could never encounter a more positive pup. Such an appropriate namesake!
We’re looking forward to hanging out with John Coffey. He’s quite the entertaining character. Left alone for twenty minutes in the kitchen this morning, he rearranged the furniture. He moved the Frank bed to the middle of the room, ostensibly so he could lie on it and still see around the corner to where I was in the living room. He pulled a dictionary (a big dictionary, think unabridged, hardback) down off the kitchen table and I found it, unmutilated, but open to the J’s! Maybe he was looking up who he was named after. He dragged the toy basket to the center of the room, right next to the Frank bed which made it easier for him to sort through the plethora and take out all the yellow dewalt plastic tool casings and make a separate pile of them by the door. (Nick brought these home for Frank and Tennessee – great free chew toys.)
rearranging the furniture
John Coffey isn’t a big dog; he could use a few more sandwiches. When Livia told me that he’d gained nine pounds in his three weeks with them, I was astounded. He’s so skinny. I can’t imagine what he looked like previously. She said he was a ‘skeletore’ and I believe it. We’re trying to pile on the pounds, but he prefers to eat his food scattered across the floor so I’m not sure how much he’s taking in. When I put a bowl of food down, he promptly dumps it. Not sure if this makes dinner more interactive for him, or he is complaining about the service.
Today I ran him three miles. He’s excellent on the leash, a pro at pulling his leg out from under the leash when it gets tangled. I appreciate this, as I had to stop every time this happened with the last few fosters and that makes for a choppy run. John Coffey has no time for that, he can’t take in life fast enough.
So far the cats are giving him a wide berth. After Chism and Kylie, they are mentally scarred but hopefully not for life. John Coffey is curious about them but only in the way he is curious about pretty much everything. He watches them, but when they run away, he moves on to more interesting things – like bounding after a leaf or tackling a tennis ball. He’s got much bigger fish to fry.
(Except Gracie. I need to remember her. In fact, this week is make-up-for-ignoring-Gracie-week and everything is all about Gracie. She’s gonna get fat on treats. I’m even letting her lie her next to me as I write EVEN THOUGH I know she will fart. I can take it.)
I miss my puppies. Yesterday, Nick observed my sadness and said, “You’re jonesing for a puppy, aren’t you?”
It was after dark when we finally found our way to the house north of town. We’d missed the transport because we were attending Family Weekend at our son’s college. Now we were following sketchy GPS directions in search of our newest foster dog at the house of another OPH foster who was graciously holding “Rollie,” a ten month old shepherd/lab mix. “Why are we getting another dog again?” asked my husband. “Because I’m weak,” I told him. Which I am.
When I knocked on the door, a chorus of dogs started up. It sounded just like our house! I’d set off the “dog bell” as my husband likes to call it.
When Christine let me in she immediately began explaining the dogs swirling at my feet – a personal dog and a foster fail. I could hear others barking in another room. Again, it was a familiar scenario. I’m always explaining my own swirling dogs to friends, neighbors, the milkman, even the UPS guy. Partly, it’s because for me the dogs are part of the family and thus, require an introduction, and partly because I want to explain that I’m not completely nuts, there’s a reason I have fifty-three dogs (it only feels like it.).
Sidebar: I’m one of over 85 authors exhibiting at the York Book Expo coming up in two weeks and the featured NYTimes Bestselling author is David Rosenfelt. He has personally rescued over 4000 golden retrievers, which is impressive, but what is CRAZY is that he currently lives with 27 golden retrievers IN HIS HOME. Don’t believe me – check out the video. Anyway, he’ll be there, so if you want to meet the freak show in person, you should plan to attend the York Book Expo on Saturday October 17. (Yes, that was shameless self-promotion and no, I don’t really think Mr. Rosenfelt is a freak show. I’m just jealous because he’s a NYT bestseller.)
Okay, back to my story. Christine led me into her kitchen through the gates to retrieve Rollie who was front and center in a large crate alongside another large crate holding another adorable foster dog. Christine released Brownie so we could visit. (Someone should adopt this crazy sweet pup! You’re missing the boat!) These crates took up serious real estate in their kitchen.
This is the first time I’ve been in the home of another OPH foster and I have to say, it was a relief to know we are not the only people who live like this. In fact, I think a tour of Homes is in order for OPH. I’ve love to see what other foster families are doing to preserve their homes and their sanity. Something you learn very quickly when fostering dogs is your home will never be the same. So if you’re seriously into home décor and such, fostering is probably not the gig for you. On the flip side, one bonus about this situation is that you never have to explain why your house is a mess. You have a dozen foster dogs – of course, your home is a mess. No one has any expectation otherwise. Continue reading “Our Home – Castle or Assylum?”→
Puppies! We have puppies! I once again have a house fused with puppy energy, puppy happiness, and of course, the smell of puppies. Charm and Chism are both over-the-top happy girls who beg for my attention every time I walk by the mudroom, clamoring against the puppy pen and whining. Most times I can’t resist their velvet soft ears and sheer joy, so once again, not much is getting done around here.
These puppies are about the same age as my last puppies, except they are twice the size of the last puppies. And let me tell you that cleaning up after two BIG puppies is much more work than cleaning up after six small puppies. This time around OPH had puppy pads for me, which would be awesome if C&C realized that they were meant to be peed on, not torn into a million tiny plastic shreds. Fun times.
But let’s not talk about that, let’s talk about the cuteness level of these two girls. Obviously, Chism steals the show with her splashy, crazy coat. What kind of dog looks like this? Your guess is as good as mine. Her file says ‘hound mix’, but she hasn’t got the hound bark and I don’t really see any hound characteristics at all. She seems more lab-mutt type. Where she got those markings is anybody’s guess.
Chism is in charge of Charm, bossing her around and stealing her food. Charm takes it really well, seemingly happy to share. There are none of the battles of the last batch of puppies. In fact, it’s pretty quiet in that pen unless someone happens by. Both of these girls LOVE people. They don’t snuggle together, but they don’t wrestle either. Every now and again a tug of war breaks out over a toy, but Chism’s got about five pounds and a couple incles on Charm, so she wins that battle every time.
Charm is a love. She’s still light enough that I can pick her up and she will snuggle right into my shoulder and be still. If she moves at all, it’s only to give me a few kisses on the cheek. She won’t stay snuggle-size for long, though, with her mile long legs and good-sized paws. I’m partial to hounds, so when she broke out in a long hound bay the first morning, I loved it. The two of them back up Gracie every time she sounds the alarm that maybe, possibly, there could be something as scary as a leaf blowing around on the driveway. It is not a quiet house. Continue reading “Our Busy B&B plus PUPPIES!”→
When I get an email from the adopters of one of my dogs it always makes my day. I don’t know if after I’ve fostered hundreds, I’ll still feel the same way. So far we’ve fostered fourteen dogs & puppies. I still wonder and worry about all of them. And hearing they are doing well and are loved never ceases to plant a smile on my face that lasts for hours. I share the news with my husband and children and patient friends who indulge me as I regale the latest tale of my foster furbaby.
Galina was our first and will always hold a special place in my heart. I can still picture her sweet little self snoring on the futon beside my desk. She had such energy and taught us quickly how destructive a foster dog can be – especially a beagle!
And adorable Wheat Penny, how could we not love that sweet face. She was our first taste of puppy and what a treat she was. And then came Stich (Symphony) who was easy and fun and adorable. I remember thinking, “How could anyone not want this dog?” Her big smile and her pile of hoarded stash in her crate were a constant source of amusement.Continue reading “Can I Have Just a Word with Adopters?”→
I keep wondering at what point the scales will tip for Hadley.
Another Good Dog™ 