I am so sorry

Yesterday was a very bad day for rescue dogs.

I hate, gentle readers, I just hate to have to share this with you, but I feel it would be somehow dishonest not to.

Last evening, Matt called with the very sad news that Elsa/Shelby had died. She was undergoing her heartworm treatment (they had opted for the more gentle six month treatment, due to her heart enlargement) and things were going well. Then she came in season, only to find she had pyometra. They had no option but to do emergency surgery.

She seemed to be doing fine post op, but while she was still recovering at the vet's, she started to hemorrhage intra-abdominally (a common complication of pyo surgery) and had to have a second emergency surgery. Unfortunately, because her liver and kidneys were compromised from her malnutrition and/or the heartworm infection, she was unable to recover from the second surgery, going into multi system failure.

Molly and Matt were with her, and, after hearing the news from the vet that her situation was quite hopeless, they had just made the decision to end her suffering. Practically at that moment, Elsa simply laid her head down and stopped breathing. She probably had an embolism, or she maybe knew that it was OK to stop fighting and rest.

Please, dear readers, hold Molly and Matt, and Deb and Merle in your hearts. I pray those four good people are able to take significant comfort in the great good they did for this dog. Elsa/Shelby knew love and pampering and couches and sleeping in bed and good food and treats and play and more love. Dogs don't know time, but they do know love. And thanks to those good people, Elsa/Shelby knew an infinite love.

hug your precious hounds

Another Angel

[I am a storyteller. Sometimes when reality is ugly, I make up a story, and fill in the blanks, to make it better. You never know, it could be...]


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The landlord checked out the apartment. Poor old lady, he thought to himself. Not a single "next of kin" and what was he going to do with all this stuff? Well, that china cabinet might be worth something. He didn't even see the small dog trot out through the open door. He did see the dog dishes in the kitchen, but assumed the police had taken whatever it was to the pound. Then he noticed the small black dots on his pant legs. Oh, great. Fleas.


The two friends were talking about what a scorcher it was going to be as they walked around the corner, and the two whippets they were walking went into "small furry animal" alert. Straining on their leads, heads and tails up, eyes trained on a little something hobbling in the parking lot.

"Oh, no," the woman said to her friend, Karen. "It's a dog."

It was a blessing that Karen had just recently started walking with her, as there would be no way to approach the little dog with the whippets barking and being whippets. Karen held her two dogs, with the woman giving the younger one a firm 'sit, stay' command. As she got closer to the little dog, her stomach lurched.

It was nearly bald, and what coat it had was filthy and matted. The temperature had already reached ninety-four degrees with stifling humidity, at seven thirty in the morning. The little dog, which she could now see was a Shih Tzu, was panting with raspy breaths. And limping.

The woman tossed a small blueberry dog treat from her pocket in front of the little dog. "Come here sweetie." The little dog smelled the treat, and then wagged up to the woman's voice. "Oh, you poor dear. Let's get you out of this heat."

Karen led the two curious whippets, and the woman carried the little dog home. "I'm sure it's a Shih Tzu. I wonder if this is mange, look how swollen and inflamed its skin is. I don't see any fleas or flea dirt at least."

"She must be old," Karen said.

"I don't think so. because she doesn't have cataracts. Look how black her eyes are." The woman lifted a lip. "Oh and her canines are sparkly white. She's had a litter though. I think she must be maybe around two?"

After her dogs were walked and Karen had gone home, the woman got the little dog out of the crate. She was pleased to see that she had eaten the senior food and had a nice drink of water. The little dog wagged and then convulsed in long raking coughs. The woman saw a flea. She picked it off, only to see three more. Bath time.

She bathed the little dog in a flea repellent herbal shampoo, followed by a soothing oatmeal shampoo. She tried to cut off some mats, which were pulling the dog's face in a twisted, grotesque distortion. The little dog struggled, setting off another debilitating fit of coughing. "No more of that for now," said the woman. She wished she knew more about coated breeds. And she wished it wasn't Sunday.

She took the dog outside to dry. Now the warm sun and hot breeze was just the thing, and the dog was dry in an instant. And so were the fleas. Scores of them, leaving the mats in droves. The woman shuddered, and made her decision. She sprayed the little dog, much to the dog's delight, and toweled off the dead fleas. The little dog had another bite to eat, and another drink of water, and after another coughing spell, she curled up on her clean bedding in her crate and slept.

The next morning they were at the vet's at nine-thirty. This woman just loves her vets. "I think she's young," the woman said. "But I'm really afraid of her cough. Could she have an irritation from being out and panting so much?"

"It could be a tracheitis," said Dr. Compassion. But her face betrayed her concern. The woman told the vet that she had found three toenails in the crate bedding this morning. The vet said, "Mmmm. She looks like a thyroid dog. She's completely blind, you know."

The woman said, "What! Her eyes are so black!" The vet explained that she had a disease where the cornea is replaced with pigment, and is like a window with a blackout shade pulled down. Then, after looking at her teeth, she said, "She's probably more than ten."

"What! Her canines are pearly white!"

Dr. Compassion showed the woman that all the bottom front incisors were not only gone, but the gum had long ago healed over. She explained that all the roots were exposed, and the constant itching in the long coat had flossed those canines clean. "This is an old, old girl," said the caring vet, giving the little dog a gentle caress. Then she put her stethoscope in her ears and listened to the dog's chest. "Oh dear. Did you listen?"

"No," said the woman, who was a retired nurse. "I'm no cardiologist."

"You don't have to be," said the vet, handing the ear piece over.

The woman listened. No lub dub. Just a rapid, loud, leaky wusha-wusha-wusha. The little dog started to cough again, a long, wheezing, choking rasp.

Dr. Compassion continued with the exam, giving the woman a moment to digest what she was learning. "Her knee joint is destroyed. I can't even find her patella. Oh, there it is. Poor, poor girl."

Tears were forming in the woman's eyes. "Damn," she thought. "Damn it all to hell."

"This heart might last four months, if we're really aggressive, but it would not be a good four months for the dog."

"I just can't walk away from them when I see them. I just can't," the woman was crying.

"No, I know you can't," said Dr. Compassion. "I'm glad you brought her in. She's not out in that heat, alone and blind and lost. But now? It would be a kindness."

And there, where ever "there" is, a lady opened her arms in delight. "Sweetie! My little darling! There you are! Oh how I hated to leave you, but here you are!"

The little Shih Tzu, long silky coat in glowing beauty, tail gaily wagging, proudly trotted up to her Lady. She looked with eyes that, after so long, could see again, and with legs which felt no pain, she jumped up onto her Lady's lap, and kissed the face she had loved. And she felt her heart, strong and full, dance in the loving embrace of her Lady, which would now last forever.


hug your hounds

**** Sweetie update ****

Photos and first post HERE. Thank you, every one of you, for all your helpful information and suggestions. It helps immeasurably to know that you are out there caring what happens to this dog.

I know if I were a really good blogger I would have updated photos for you, but I just don't have the heart.

Here's the new information.

She absolutely does have fleas. I didn't see any flea dirt, or fleas when I first brought her home, so I assumed... wrong. I gave her a bath, in some soothing herbal flea repellent shampoo, and then in an oatmeal shampoo. The mats on her feet and legs are flea colonies. I H.A.T.E. fleas. I picked about twenty-five off her. (She is about five pounds and is neither over or underweight.) And then I couldn't stand it anymore and sprayed her with some Adams. (I had the Adams from a long ago field trial where the seed ticks were so bad they were on our dogs by the hundreds. I hate ticks too.)

The good news in the flea infestation, is, as Wally pointed out, she may have a flea dermatitis which would be better (in my mind, anyway) than sarcoptic mange. (I hate sarcoptic mange - same bug as Scabies - MOST OF ALL ... hang on I'll be right back I need to take another shower.)

I was able to cut off some of the mats, but not many. They are so bad that they are pulling her face contorted and it hurts her. I am afraid of poking her with the scissors or cutting her, and until we see the vet, and I have some help holding her, I just can't do it.

She still wags her swollen, scabby tail at me, even after I tried cutting off the mats.


She has a cough. It's a raspy, wheezy tracheitis sounding cough. I HOPE it's an irritated trachea from being outside and panting panting panting. I hope it's NOT kennel cough or heartworm. I really hope it's NOT those things. She is in Bill's studio until we find out if she is contageous.

Her nails are disgusting. She has a nail on a front foot and a back foot which curl all the way around, under the foot and come back up, beyond 360 degrees, more like about 410 degrees. She has to walk on them.

She comes when you call her.

Hug your hounds. I'm going to take another shower. I can't get the stink of human disgrace off me.

***** Oh, SWEETIE ***** HELP! Advice needed!!!

I will go into the details later, but this little darling Shih Tzu was wandering in my neighborhood this morning, and asked for help. She is limping, and I believe she has sarcoptic mange. She doesn't have fleas.

At first I thought she was very old, but after I got her home, I got a quick look at her teeth and she is NOT OLD. I only got a glance, but I think she maybe around two or even less. She is soooooo sweet and friendly so right now I'm calling her Sweetie.

My question- Does anyone know if there is a decent over the counter dip/shampoo that I can use to get a start on the mange? Or to soothe her skin a little? I will take her to the vet first thing tomorrow, but oh, she is heartbreaking.

And those of you with HAIRY DOGS, do I just cut the mats off on her face and legs? I don't know about these things.

I'm guessing someone who couldn't afford to treat her dropped her off. She is not skinny and I do NOT believe she has been out in the elements for long. She is not in the least cowed, and just wags and wags her gay little tail.

If I don't get some advice here, I will call my dear vets later. I don't want to interrupt their Sunday morning, though, as this is not a life and death situation.

I think she is a beautiful little dog! But I can't stop crying.

Hug your hounds, a little extra today, for Sweetie.

The Rescue (Part Three - Conclusion)

[This the conclusion of a three part story. If you haven't read PART ONE, please CLICK HERE. It will link you to PART TWO, which will bring you back here. Or you could simply scroll down.]

She pulled into her driveway just as the mail man stepped onto her porch. "Hey, Doug! Want to meet the new rescue? I just picked her up."

The mail man walked over to the van and reached in his pocket for a biscuit. The dog in the van stood in her crate and wagged at him, accepting the treat with glee. "She looks like a sweetie. And she doesn't mind the mail man," he laughed. "Remember Joe? I'll never forget that dog. It sounded like Armageddon on the other side of that door every time I tried to push your mail through the slot, and I thought we'd never win him over."

"Yup, good old Joe. He shredded my bills before I paid them. By the time he left here he loved you though, Doug. Amazing what a treat and a kind word can do, huh. He was a good dog, that Joe."

"Well, here's your mail. Good luck with the new one."

The woman said, "Thanks. She'll be easy to place. Her owner died in a car accident, so she's a little lost right now. I'm sure I'll find a home that will be just right for her in pretty short order."

She sat in the doorway to her van and leafed through the mail. One little envelope made her heart jump. "Well, speak of the..." She opened it with a broad smile and began to read.


I want to thank you for the joy you brought us by trusting us with Joe for the last thirteen years. He has brought so much to our lives. Thank you for letting me call you those million times for advice. When he chewed up my shoes that first week, and you said how hard it is on a dog that had a good home to be abandoned because they had known love. You told me he didn't know anything about expensive shoes, "he only knows they smell like you."  Thank you for helping us get his I.L.P. number, and thank you for celebrating with us when he got each of his Agility titles. Did you ever know a dog who loved Agility more? How much I learned from him!

He was so good for Toby growing up. When Toby was mad at the world, Joe was always there, doing something crazy to make Toby laugh. Remember the time he ran around and around the yard with Toby's underpants on his head? I don't know which one I worried over more when Toby left for college: the kid or the dog. But they were both fine. And our house wasn't empty. Joe was there.

I write with both grateful joy and a terrible sorrow. We had to let Joe go today. His fifteen year old heart just got too big. I have a confession to make. That day when we came and got Joey from you, you were so brave, and I even wondered what kind of person you were, that you could give up a dog you had literally brought back to life. But after we had turned the corner, I thought of something I wanted to ask you and we backed up the car. I saw you, crumpled on your lawn, face in your hands, sobbing. We drove off, not wanting to intrude. I've never shared that with you, in all these years. But I realised that you had given us a piece of your heart.

I wanted to give you that piece back. In the form of my deepest gratitude, and this little token. It came from you, thirteen years ago.

I could never, ever thank you enough.



The Rescuer turned the envelope over, and an old dog tag fell into her lap. She always had the new homes keep the tag with her phone number on their dogs until they got their own. It was Joe's old tag from when he was with her. A scuffed up, red metal tag in the shape of a heart.

She held tight it to her chest, while images of a good dog danced through her heart with each beat. She wiped her face on her sleeves and turned to the dog in the crate.

"Come on, girl. Let's get you cleaned up and settled. I know someone who needs a good dog like you right now. I need to make a phone call."





hug your hounds

The Rescue (Part Two)

[If you haven't read PART ONE, please CLICK HERE. There will be a link to bring you back to part two.]

The van pulled up to a modest, cheerful house with a small front yard. The Rescuer unloaded the rest of the dogs and put them in the fenced back yard, where play broke out in riots of toy shaking, grass rolling, and boisterous games of tug and tag. As she returned to the van, her husband pulled in the driveway from work.

"So you were able to spring him?" he asked, kissing his wife hello. The two peered in the dog's crate.

"Oh my dear Lord," cried the man, clutching his mouth.

"They were going to put him down today. Apparently he hasn't eaten since he got dumped two and a half weeks ago. I hate to put him through getting a bath first thing, but I've got to do it. I have to treat those sores, and I can't stand the smell anyway. I had to ride the whole way home with the van windows open."

The Rescuer's gentle hands took him out of the crate. He felt the sunshine as he stood on the warm grass in the front yard and he started to tremble violently. His legs buckled, whether voluntarily or from weakness, he didn't know. The Rescuer sat down beside him, placed his head in her lap, and stroked him with kindness and care. His eyes started to see then. He lost the nothingness stare and he looked at the Rescuer. And his tail wagged once.

He didn't mind the bath. The water was warm and the hands were gentle, and though the sores burned like fire, he didn't flinch. He was toweled and medicated with ointment and wrapped in warm blankets. By habit, he turned away from the food. The Rescuer gently opened his mouth and put some in, and softly held his jaws closed. He swallowed. Hello! What was this? He sniffed the bowl, and then gulped the rice and hamburger and broth as fast as his jaws would let him. Was there more? The Rescuer laughed and clapped her hands in delight. He slept.

He was now better than he had ever been. The sores had long healed. His dead coat had been replaced by a shining, healthy, proud one and he was friends with the other dogs in the Rescuer's house. He had learned so many lessons. The Rescuer had taught him to sit, lie down, shake, and his favorite, roll over. When he raided treasures from trash cans, she taught him a great trick. She put a piece of Italian sausage in a trash can and put it in the middle of the kitchen. When he trotted over to retrieve it, she said a sharp, "Unh-uh!" and when he turned to look at her, she gave him a piece of the delectable sausage that she had in her pocket. Cool! They practiced this and practiced this, in every room in the house. He did love this game! And after a while, when there was something wonderful in a trash can, he would trot over to tell her and she would fish an ever-present treat out of her pocket and give it to him. And tell him what a wonderful dog he was.

When he was first well enough to realise that there were girl dogs in this house, he became the Humping King. He was delirious with Humpzeist. He thought he was Rescuebert Humperdink. He humped air, he humped pillows, he tried to hump the girl dogs.

"We will never find you a home if you live in Humpville," said the Rescuer. She had gotten his boy parts removed as soon as he was strong enough, but this did not stop him. He heard the "unh-uh" but there were no treats involved. Then she told the girl dogs, "OK ladies, let him have it," and let him in the room with them. They did not appreciate his advances. They let him know this and his nose bled and his ear. Then he thought he would bestow his love on one of the boy dogs. He did not try that again. His humping days were done, and besides, he went on such long walks, and played for so many long hours in the yard, that he was tired and forgot all about it anyway.

"Joe," the Rescuer said as she was drying him from a bath, "Your Forever Home is coming in the morning. They are good people and I have told them all about you, and I have checked them out, and I believe they are perfect for you. Nope, I know it in my bones. Perfect." She had started calling him Joe, because he was a Good Joe, and he liked it very much. "And you are ready. Yes you are. But, Joe, my heart is going to break a bit. You will take your piece of it with you. And it's an awfully big piece you own, Joey. You are such a good dog."

Joe didn't know why her eyes were leaking, but he cleaned her face and wagged his best for her.


The Rescuer.


His Rescuer.




... to be continued HERE (part three, conclusion)


hug your hounds

The Rescue (just a little short story - fiction)

Part One

He had no idea what had happened to his life. He was sure he hadn't done anything Against the Rules. He hadn't Pooped in the House in forever, and he had chased that neighbor cat back to Creation, when it had dared to step on his family's property. He was pleased with the job he'd done terrifying the invading mail man every single day. He was sure his family appreciated his excellent skills of finding treasures in all of the garbage cans. Especially when he found the best treasures in the bathroom garbage and brought them into the living room for all to see.

Still, his safe, familiar, loving home had disappeared faster than stupid squirrel up a handy tree. He had heard his tall humans fighting and arguing about nothing and everything. His whole family was crying and sobbing and boxes were filled with their stuff. Then he was at a very strange place and the dad was sniffing and saying, "Sorry, buddy. I'm so sorry," and after handing his leash to a tired person, the dad walked away, without turning back. The tired person put him in a run with two other dogs and he had never felt such all encompassing, stark terror.

He curled up in a little ball in the back of the run and closed his eyes to all of it.

He didn't notice how many dark times passed. He knew the lights came on, dogs barked, and people came in and cleaned up the run, food dishes appeared, which he couldn't bring himself to touch, so his runmates argued over his. The lights went off and dogs continued to bark. So many dogs. The lights came on and the routine started again. He knew his bones were sticking into the hard cement more than they had when he first came, and he knew his family hadn't returned; that was all he knew.

A woman stood at the front of his run. Something tickled his nostrils.

"Oh he absolutely is one!" the woman was saying. "Thank God you listed him on PetFinder! We try not to let any of them spend a day in a shelter. I guess his family didn't bother to let the breeder know they couldn't keep him. Or I suppose he could have come from a puppy mill in the first place. Who knows. I just so appreciate y'all working with Rescue."

The shelter worker sighed as she accepted the fee and the paperwork from the rescuer. If only all of the dogs had such active advocates as these less popular breeds. Oh well, one less dog to put down today. One less.

This woman's van smelled of joy and treats and fabric softener. Instead of riding in the back seat like he had with his family, the woman put him in a crate. His eyes were still blinded by the sunlight, so he relied on his nose. The crate had fluffy blankets in it and clean water and a chewie and a biscuit. There were other dogs in the van, dogs just like him, and they wagged and sniffed greetings from their crates.

His Rescuer gave him a tender pat as she gently settled him in his crate. "You'll be all right now, sweet heart. Everything will be all right now." He smelled her tears, and without thinking he licked her face.

"Oh you poor, dear dog," cried the woman. "Let's go home."


... to be continued [Click HERE for Part Two]



hug your hounds

Elsa Update

What a difference a week makes. Deb and Merle are working miracles with this dog, who is now called Shelby. Her tail just wags, wags, wags and she makes eye contact and uses her ears to convey her joy.

I have to tell you dear readers a little more about these good people, Deb and Merle. They are doing all of this, knowing that they can't keep this dog. They are doing all this while their house is on the market, being shown!!!! Thankfully, their real estate agent is a dog person who totally understands. Can you imagine showing your beautiful home, "Oh and this is our starved-to-death foster dog." So, if you dear readers could think positive thoughts about Shelby finding a forever home...

She loves to retrieve (no big surprise there!) and has learned to

"go get your ball"

"give"

"'sit"

"ya-hoooooo!"

"stand patiently while the humans yack"

"give kisses"

She got a dose of Heartguard today. The vet had us give benedryl 50mg a half hour beforehand. I've never had a heart worm positive dog before, so I don't really know what to expect. I know the Heartguard today was simply to lessen the microfilaria load in the bloodstream, and the real heartworm treatment can't start until she's gained ten pounds. (Which will be soon at this rate!)

My experience has been with Whippet Rescue before, and finding a home has meant picking the best fit from a long waiting list. If any of you have ideas to help find a forever home for Shelby, I'm all ears!

hug your hounds

Community

We live in a magical neighborhood. In the last five years, people from all over the country have come to this small southern town at the confluence of the Tennessee and Ohio Rivers, just up from where they join the Mississippi. Artists. Because the people who live here are the Nicest People in the World. You can read more about that here.

And everyone has dogs. Our neighborhood is full of dogs and people who love them. And some cats, too.

Two days ago, the whippets told me someone was at our front door. We poured downstairs and found our neighbor Kathleen, who loves Buddy, her twelve year old sweetheart of a bully dog. When I opened the door, I saw the trouble on her face.

"Oh, Patience, I just saw a loose dog and she's in bad shape. Bad shape. She's starving. And she's had puppies."

We spent an hour, each in our own car, crawling back and forth through the neighborhood alleys and streets, with no luck. I walked my dogs, keeping an eye peeled: nothing.

Yesterday I saw the dog for myself. She was trotting down the sidewalk on Jefferson, a one way street. I had to go around the block to get to go the right way on Jefferson, and by then she was gone. But what I had seen chilled me. She was beyond emaciated. She was walking skin and bones. And from each side of her mouth hung ropes of drool. Could she be rabid? Could she have some oral abscess? I called Kathleen and told her I had spotted the dog. "Kathleen, I don't think you or I should approach that dog." I told her about the saliva. "I think if we see her again, we should call Animal Control."

Today, my neighbor Deb called. "Patience there is a puppy in Chad's garage. Could I pick you up and come see her?"

"Is she the color of sand and really skinny," I asked?

"Yes!"

"Don't approach her, Deb. I think she is seriously sick and she could be dangerous," I warned.

"Oh," said Deb. "Merle and I have already petted her and Chad gave her some food." Hmmm.

"OK, come get me at the side door."

I put my puzzled dogs in their downstairs crates with their biscuits, and put a hat on my scary undone morning writer's hair, and a coat on against the rain. Again this rain. Sweet Deb swung by and drove me the kattycorner half block to Chad's gorgeous property.

And in Chad's garden shed on an old wrought iron lawn chair with a folded cushion, was a dog curled in a tight, I don't care if I live or die ball. It was the most skeletal living dog I'd ever seen, and I do whippet rescue. You couldn't look at her and not have your throat get too tight and you eyes sting. You just couldn't look and not feel a stabbing in your heart and your gut suddenly felt like you shouldn't have had that coffee because it was burning and maybe you needed to excuse yourself and puke. She was that skinny.

Well, I didn't know what to do. I knew if we called Animal Control she wouldn't live through the day, and that might have been a kindness, but I couldn't have survived seeing that pole/loop thing around her neck and her struggling and being heaved in The Truck. Chad came out and said he had given her water and a little bit of puppy food and the second time he did, she followed him to his porch. No, he answered, she hadn't growled, hadn't shown her teeth, hadn't done anything but duck her head out of the way when he tried to pat her. Like she'd been hit before, he said. I dropped a biscuit from my pocket onto her chair.

She swallowed it whole.

Then after all my advice to Kathleen, I stroked the top of her head. Bone. "I think she's a Pit/Lab cross. She could be all Lab, it's so hard to tell in this state, but no, her coat is too short. I think she's a Pit/Lab cross," I said to Deb and Chad, like that meant anything to them. What was I going to do?

"OK, here's the deal. I'll go back to my house and get a crate. If I can get her in the crate, I'll take her to my vet. Bill has been asking what I want for Christmas, and here it is - a big vet bill! If I can't crate her, I think I have to call Animal Control." Head nods all around. Deb drove me back around the corner (well it was raining) and I grabbed a crate, a hot dog, a martingale lead and my check book. And Bill's famous Rendezvous! I didn't want a sick dog in the Whippet Wagon.

I gave the dog a tiny piece of hot dog. She lifted her head but those yellow eyes were empty. I gave her another tiny piece. I dropped a bigger piece in front of her chair and she dripped down off her perch. I placed a piece in the doorway of the Vari Kennel, which she inhaled, and then I threw the rest of the hot dog in the back of the crate. She walked right in, snarfed the meat and lay down in the crate. Didn't blink when I closed the crate door. Didn't blink.

"All righty then. My vet is going to kill me!" But I think I've mentioned on this very blog that I am Blessed with the best vets in the world. "Bring her right in," said Gail. Chad came back out of his house with a wad of cash for the vet visit and the bag of puppy food. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Deb volunteered to come along. The dog didn't make a sound as we drove.

Deb and I carried the crate into the exam room. Ol' Poke 'n Stick, as my whippets call their dear friend and healer, is off on Thursdays, and his associate, Doc Rennie came in the room. Rennie has a smile that makes you feel like you're in a special space, and a heart just full of love and respect for her clients of all walks. She's purely beautiful. "What have you brought me, Patience?"

Rennie opened the crate door, amidst my warnings that I didn't know if the dog was aggressive, or anything about her at all. The good vet spoke to the dog and let her sniff around the exam room. Eventually and with absolutely no struggle or fuss or notice, Rennie had scanned the dog for a microchip (none), had drawn blood for heartworm (positive), had listened to lungs (clear), palpated belly, (full of worms but not full of puppies), checked gums and teeth (very pale and only around two years old), gave her a dose of Panacur in a bowl of A/D while testing her for food aggression (none, and she sat on command), put a kennel leash around her neck to see her reaction (a little worried but fine), and elicited the first feeble wag of the tail. Deb and I for the most part stood uselessly wiping our tears and marvelling at the skill, the gifts, and talent of Rennie the Remarkable.

Oh, Dear Readers, I know this is long for a blog. And I beg your forgiveness, but some stories just have to be told and that's all there is to it.

Deb said she would keep Elsa until we could find her a forever home. (Oh yes, we started calling her Elsa because she looked so much like the lioness in Born Free.) Deb has cats and an understanding husband with a huge big heart. I worried about the cats, beautiful Maine Coon cats. Deb said she could close off the back kitchen. I stopped and got a collar and a leash, my camera, a dog bowl and some food for sensitive stomachs, and a big foam bed. (Recognise your gift, Laurie? Thanks!) We got the collar on Elsa and let her out of the car at Deb's.

The dog was being polite, but still was not connecting at all. As we walked her around a small grassy section, she never acknowledged us, but was searching for things to get under, places of shelter. Then we took her in Deb's kitchen, letting her sniff around, dragging her leash. She drank a ton of water. We heard that tummy rumbling: puppy food from the morning, biscuits and a hot dog, a can of A/D and wormer, and a ton of water. Yah, let's take her out and try again!

Voila! A monstrous big pile of poo! On lead! A miracle! I fingered the whippet sized sandwich ziplock in my coat pocket. "You're going to need bigger than sandwich size, Deb." "We'll get quart sized. Gallon!" she laughed.

And we went back inside. And then there started to be a Change.



Elsa walked up to me, a hint of a wag, and leaned against me accepting my strokes and scratches. Then she walked over to Deb, and lay down next to her, again with a little wag. And her eyes weren't empty. They were coming to life.





I know Deb and her sweet husband Merle have taken on a very sick dog without batting an eye. I know that I am blessed beyond comprehension with the Most Wonderful Veterinary Practice In The World. I know this whole neighborhood will be pulling for Elsa, the way Chad and Kathleen did, without thinking twice.




This was the last picture I took today. What a difference! She started looking at us. Her eyes were no longer empty and dead. Can you see it? She's in there! And I think, from everything I've seen so far, she's a really, really good dog.

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[Addendum: the whippets were truly stellar and terribly deprived yesterday. After spending all afternoon in the Great Elsa Caper, I came home, let them out, fed them and took a shower. When I got out of the shower, Bill was in need of his own trip to the human variety of ol' poke and stick, and we spent the evening at the E.R. Bill is FINE. He has some follow up studies to do, and he's going to see his regular doc today. He had his second episode ever of Transient Global Amnesia,
the first being eight years ago. I mention it only because when the E.R. doctor asked Bill who the President was, Bill said, "I don't know but he's a real jerk." That's my Bill!]

A Rescuer's Question: How?

This is for Ruby the Greyhound's Rescuer at the Lurchers' blog. Ruby is going to her forever home tomorrow.

It was first published in my book, Mama Pajama Tells A Story, 2nd edition

© 2007 Patience C Renzulli and I gave myself permission to reprint it here.

How?


How do I tell this little dog that the love she gave me will be forever treasured?

How do I thank this little dog for teaching me lessons in cheerfulness and optimism despite having been treated so badly by people in her past?

How have I fallen so in love with this brave good soul in just six short weeks?

How, oh how do I reassure her? She has given so freely of her love from the first moment, but her trust, that has been much slower, and is just starting to emerge. And here, as she starts to trust me, I will disappear from her life.

How do I tell this little dog, as I place her in a stranger's arms, that I have done everything in my power to make sure that this home is the absolute best possible for her. Better than my own arms.

That she will be treasured, protected, loved. That this home is everything I prayed for, and even more.

How do I turn away from her questioning eyes? Those deep, loving eyes that won't understand how I could be leaving her with strangers?


She's been through so much...

How do I tell her thank you?


How do I tell her goodbye?



© 2007 Patience C Renzulli, all rights reserved
illustration © William F Renzulli, all rights reserved

Time for a little fiction

Her tea had gotten cold again.
She stood, balancing herself for a moment against the kitchen chair, and then carried the cup over to the microwave, thought better of it and dumped the stuff in the sink. And put the kettle on. She would start over.
She glanced at the clock and realized she had been lost somewhere in her thoughts for a good half an hour. This was a bit concerning; what was happening to her?
She was eighty-six years old. She had outlived her husband by twenty-two years. It had been a good marriage, wonderful really, and she was ashamed that after twenty-two years of living alone, she could barely remember what living with her husband had been like. She could no longer remember the smell of him, or his touch, and she no longer thought she heard him call her from his study. That hadn't happened in years.
She buried her only child ten years ago. She thanked God her husband hadn't been alive for that. She had been close with her daughter, Cappy, who had been quite the scientist, never married and childless. Her funeral had been so very hard, and if it hadn't been for Zelda, she was quite certain she would have simply blown away, like one little spent spark of a fireworks display. No one to notice, plenty of other fireworks to see, just drifting away on the dark breeze.
But there was Zelda. Her dog needed to go out. Needed to be fed. Needed to be hugged. Five years before she died, Cappy had argued and argued with her mother.
"You should not rattle around this old house alone. You've never been without a dog. Of course you can still travel, Jim and Sue will watch a dog for you, you know that. You are not too old, don't be obtuse."
And finally, she had simply brought Zelda to her mother. But that was fifteen years ago, and Cappy had been inconsiderate enough to die, and then last month, so had Zelda.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, we have a policy not to adopt our pets to anyone over eighty-five. I'm sure you understand: there's such a likelihood that the pet would have to be re-homed in the future, and that wouldn't be fair, would it?" said the nice lady at the shelter. And it seemed most breeders had the same policy.
She knew better than to buy a puppy from the Internet, as that was just the newest outlet for puppy mills, now that folks knew not to buy from pet stores. Then a neighbor asked her if she had tried any pure breed rescue representatives in the area.
"Maybe they would have an older rescue which needs a home. It wouldn't hurt to try."
She felt a little excitement for the first time since Zelda died as she contacted several rescuers by email. But the replies weren't coming. And then she noticed that one person lived right in her town.
"Hello, is this Sarah Jones? I contacted you before about getting a rescue. I don't mean to be a bother, and I can understand why people wouldn't want to adopt to me, I mean at my age. But my Zelda had such a very good life, you see, and I think I could give another dog a nice home. I'm alone, you know. I have no family." And she immediately hated herself for sounding so old, so pathetic, so hungry.
The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Oh I think you would be a fine home. Luckily our breed doesn't get that many into rescue but sometimes we do get an older dog in and you would be just perfect. I will definitely spread the word, and let you know if I hear of a good match for you."
"Well, I don't think I could handle a dog with a lot of health problems, but I would appreciate your help."
It had been two months since that phone call, and no word.

The foster home "mom" figured Old Mac would be with her for the rest of his life. He didn't know how to walk, and was nearly totally blind. He had been kept in a crate for his entire eight years, and when the animal control officer opened the crate door, the dog refused to come out. He could stand, but to move he would drop on his belly and slither like a snake. But he would wag his tail, and he would melt with delight at a kind touch.

She sat down with her newly brewed cup of tea, picked up the newspaper and was trying to be interested in the front page when her phone rang.

"Hello? This is Sarah Jones. I have heard about a dog that might work out. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to you. The dog is in Chicago, and he needed some time with his foster mom before he was ready to be adopted. He will need a very special home, and you came to mind."
She worried about a "very special home" - that spelled trouble.
"Could you please tell me about him?"
The rescuer took a little too deep of a breath.
"Well, he hasn't had such a great life. Horrid, really. He stayed in a crate for eight years, and he had to learn to walk again. Well, not again, I mean, he had to learn to walk."
"Oh, oh dear."
"But he's quite healthy, and though he's a little timid, his foster mom says he is just a love, and he adores to snuggle, and he's never ever had an accident in the house. He is a beautiful dog, and just as sweet as they come. He's been neutered and of course has a totally clean bill of health."
"Well, that sounds promising!" She felt her heart step up the beat, just a bit. "How would we get him here? I couldn't drive to Chicago."
"Oh that's no problem, we can get him a ride with folks going to shows. He loves to ride in the car. There is one thing."
"Yes?" She didn't want there to be one thing.
"He's pretty much blind. He can see light, so when he goes out at night you'll have to lead him with a good, strong flashlight. He still plays with toys, and can fetch a ball like you wouldn't believe, but he will depend on you more than most dogs would."
"Oh. Oh, I see. Oh, dear. I don't know."
There was a pause. An awkward, loaded silence.
The rescuer said, "Would you like to think about it? You could talk to your vet, do some Internet searches and learn about blind dogs, talk to friends."

She had never been the impulsive sort. She had always planned and studied, researched and carefully considered before she made any decision, and she could scarcely believe her ears when she heard her own self say, "Why no, I don't think I need to do any of that. I think I need to get some dog food and biscuits and a new, no two new flashlights and lots of extra batteries. How soon can he come home?"