I’ve had about enough of the pee wars. Unbeknownst to you, this quiet war has been waging in my kitchen for three days. I don’t know who started it. I don’t know how it will be ‘won,’ but I’ve had entirely enough of it.
So today I armed myself. I bought a doggie diaper. I’m not sure yet which dog will be wearing it, but I’ve decided to place blame on the dog who should know better, so here she is modeling it for you:
Now that I’m back to walking (YES! MRI revealed lots of damage, but nothing to stop me from moving forward and continuing to heal on my own!) I’ve had a chance to catch up on my thinking. So much was backlogged in my brain – ideas, worries, dreams, questions, stories. Lucy and I have increased our walk time each day this week and this morning we wandered the back roads for nearly an hour.
I’m still mulling over the book Rescue Road and pondering the enormous challenges to dog rescue in the US (and in the world). I had begun to feel the same way I did when my elementary school science teacher explained how far away Pluto was – it seemed like an insurmountable distance.
My teeny, tiny part in rescuing dogs couldn’t possibly put even the idea of a dent in the problem. Probably my thoughts were colored by my inability to move without pain. But now, the world looks different. I’m ready to get back in the game. I’m ready to save some more dogs.
I’ve had my moments of frustration with Lucy these past few weeks. She has come so far – she’s no longer scratching and her beautiful tri-colored coat is coming back in, her energy levels are rising (and rising!), and her happiness quotient somehow went even higher.
Here she is playing with the filling for the Frank bed.
My frustration springs from the fact that she is not accustomed to living indoors. It hasn’t been an easy transition. Part of me wants to put her on a line outside. She’d probably be more comfortable. That’s what she’s known. Instead, we keep her in the kitchen and walk her frequently. We reward her when she pees outside and admonish her when she pees inside.
I think she finally understands she shouldn’t pee on our floor, but this morning when she evidently couldn’t hold it a moment longer, she peed on the Frank bed. I was so angry! Why would she do this? Why? Why? Why? I took her outside and then I closed her in her crate. Continue reading “Second Chances”→
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.
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.
Every day reveals another layer of Schuyler. She’s no longer Mama dog – as we’d taken to calling her when she arrived with her brood of nine pups. Now she’s Schuyler or Sky. Her mothering duties are over and she’s even beginning to regain her girlish figure.
She’s ready to be a dog instead of a mama. This means she tearing up toys/stuffed animals/pens/pencils/egg cartons (plus the eggs inside them – who left that on that counter???). She is not just a chewer; she is a destroyer. So far, the saving grace has been KONG toys – she can’t make a dent in them and is happy to gnaw away for hours in her efforts.
When we are asked her breed, I always say “dog” because other than her kind-of-lab-like appearance there hasn’t been anything to suggest a particular breed. Lab mix is the default breed for rescue dogs with short, dark hair and a medium-large size. We’ve had lots of ‘lab mixes’ and they’ve covered a range of personalities and sizes. I’m not suggesting she isn’t lab, but I could easily agree she’s nearly any breed you want to suggest. She’s a classic mutt. I happen to love mutts, so I see that as just one more of her many attributes.
All of that said, I’m beginning to think there could be some kind of border collie/shepherd in her, short hair and all. I have two pieces of evidence to suggest this.
First, she is devoted. I’ve read/heard that working dogs tend to fixate on one person and give their complete attention/devotion/affection to that person.
Schuyler loves me. Nevermind that Nick spends more time with her than any of the other dogs we’ve fostered, and suggests almost daily that we should keep her (we won’t). Schuyler likes him very much, even giving off a little squeal when she sees him pull in the driveway. She likes Ian, too, greeting him with happy wags when he appears. She even likes Addie, who takes loud offense at Schuyler’s friendly, snuffly nose.
But she has chosen me.
When I work in the kitchen, I can feel her eyes following my every move. When I go outside, I have to lock the door because she quickly figured out how to work the lever handle door so she could let herself out to follow me. While I do barn work or garden work, she waits at the kitchen door, watching, vigilant. If she catches sight of me, her excitement spills over. Here’s a video of Schuyler reacting to spotting me moving around outside: Continue reading “Introducing….Schuyler!”→
Puppies aren’t a tough crowd. Kind of like toddlers. In fact, many days I feel the same way I did when I had toddlers and preschoolers underfoot and needed to keep them out of trouble. Other than your constant love and attention, they really just need an empty box or something messy like play-doh (or the stuffing from that animal they just ripped apart). Here’s ten ideas I’ve gleaned from my repertoire of puppy entertaining:
Novelty is good. The pups love new things. That said, I have to qualify the definition of new things as “something they haven’t seen for a few days.” Novelty is relative with this crew. And new things can also be items like an empty paper towel roll (see video), the tag on a towel, the spray bottle I set down for a minute, or the stink bug who happened into the wrong puppy pen.
The box is always better.I remember plenty of Christmases when we thought we’d found the perfect Santa gift, only to have the recipient tear the gift from its box and then have more fun with the empty box. The puppies are big fans of cardboard and happily crush boxes for me in preparation for the recycling bin. Their favorite plaything BY FAR is an under-the-bed-box. Whenever I place it in the pen, they react as if it’s Christmas morning – big eyes, yips, major excitement. It’s still their favorite play toy and they can spend entire mornings shoving each other in and out of it. Eliza and Angelica seem to win the space most often, but as soon as it’s deserted Peggy and Alexander will claim it for nap time.
Mess is inevitable with every good time. When the pups start tearing around their pen in one of their wild games of race-around-and-body-slam-each-other, I know I better be ready for the clean up. I know that in the course of this craziness, someone will poop and then EVERYONE will run through it. And all that physical effort means many of them will also pee and then during the next tussle, most of them will roll right through the waters. Unlike my teenagers, puppies have no qualms about puppy poo/pee.
Change in scenery works wonders. I broke down and purchased another puppy pen so that we could set up a semi-permanent playyard outside for the crew. It’s a bit of a process carting all nine of them outside and up the hill to a relatively level spot in the grass, but once they’re all out there it’s party time. And the best part – no clean up!
I’ve been thinking a lot about weaning. Mostly this is because I’ve been helping Schuyler let go of her pups and reclaim her independence, but also because my 16-year-old is straining to wean herself from our cloying care. But, really, isn’t that what raising a parent is all about? Teaching them that you can make it on your own? (As long as you have a cell phone and they’re paying the bills?)
Schuyler’s much better at this weaning process than me. She began weaning her pups at 3-weeks. In dog years, what’s that? Like maybe the equivalent of four months? Kind of standard for the very beginning of weaning a baby, too, I suppose.
The puppies were just over two weeks old, when she began struggling to keep up with their demands for food and they began sharing her bowl of kibble. I wetted the food so they wouldn’t choke on it and once the puppies discovered they could eat solid food they doubled their weight in a week.
Caring for these puppies brings back so many memories of caring for my own babies.
For instance, everything looks like a potential choke hazard or a threat to their safety. I worry about them all day long – is it too hot? Too cold? Can that one breathe on the bottom of the pile? Is the water bowl too full – could one fall in it and drown? Was that a sneeze? It’s gotten ridiculous – I’m even examining the fringy edges of the older towels – what if a puppy started eating this loose string and kept going and going….
Sometimes when the puppies sleep, they sleep so hard I worry they’re dead. SPD – Sudden Puppy Death Syndrome – is there such a thing? I don’t know, so I lay a quiet hand on a belly to check if they’re breathing. Lafayette and Peggy sleep so deeply they don’t move, even when other puppies trample them or I lift their heads trying to get a reaction.
And the laundry! Just like when I had babies and toddlers at home, the laundry is endless. Non stop. Towel after towel after rag after blanket. Truly unending.
The sounds are also reminiscent of living with babies – there is crying and whining, but there is also that wonderful snuffly sound they make when they’re nursing. They’re just learning to work their vocal chords and the volume and repertoire is growing daily.
When they chase their own tails and then chew on them, it reminds me of my own babies discovering their toes and being so delighted they had to put their toes in their mouths.
I know I don’t say a lot of positive things on the blog about my personal dog, Gracie. In fact, she is many times the foil in my stories. And for good reason as she is less than welcoming of any foster dog we bring home.
Partly, this is because she is socially awkward – sort of a permanent middle schooler. And partly, this is because she doesn’t have an obedient bone in her body and her mental capabilities can many times be suspect.
Still, she’s very cute. That’s pretty much her saving grace.
Other than that, it’s many times hard to find a redeeming quality in this dog we’ve had for eight years who still rolls in horse manure every chance she gets, spends entire days barking at imaginary dangers in our neighbor’s yard, chases the cats, has never (ever) come when she is called, and threatens to take out the poor UPS guy every week. (She bit the Fed Ex guy, so we don’t see him very often anymore.)
Because of the horse manure-rolling issue, she isn’t allowed on the furniture. As you would expect, this means that her days revolve around finding a way onto the furniture (this despite the fact that she has three dog beds to choose from). To combat this, bedroom doors are kept closed and every piece of furniture in my house is loaded with barricades – boards (expressly kept in the house for this task), upturned cushions, books, even shoes if that’s all I can find. Suffice it to say, our house will never be on a home tour.
She has periodic barking fits aimed at nothing visible to the rest of us (or the foster dogs, some of whom will back her up and others who only look at her like she’s possessed). She will run up and down the steps, circle the living room, racing from door to door and back to us as if she is clearly trying to tell us something. Sometimes when she is on a barking tear, Nick will tease her- “What is it Lassie? Did Johnny fall down the well?”
Whenever I complain about her, the kids come to her defense. They love her. (Although they rarely want to go track her down in the pouring rain when she’s run through her invisible fence and spent a few hours wallowing in horse poop.)
But Saturday night, Gracie finally redeemed herself. Big time.
It was late, probably close to 3am, when she started barking like the lune she can be. I felt like I had just fallen asleep, having stayed up after midnight waiting to hear the sound of the car in the driveway (driven by my 16-year-old starlet coming home from a cast party 30 minutes away in a nasty storm).
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.
Every day reveals another layer of Schuyler. She’s no longer Mama dog – as we’d taken to calling her when she arrived with her brood of nine pups. Now she’s Schuyler or Sky. Her mothering duties are over and she’s even beginning to regain her girlish figure.
Another Good Dog™ 