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

All Before Nine in the Morning

I woke up this morning from an odd dream. It had to do with giving birth, and in it, Bill said, "Patience, if you just let go, I think it will come right out." Made me think about the trouble I'm having with my novel. In my dream I didn't "know nuthin' about birthin' no baby," and in real life I don't know nuthin' 'bout writin' no novel, but perhaps if I just let go, it will come right out. Even in my dreams, Bill is so wise.

We ate our yummy organic non-instant oatmeal with real maple syrup and started right in on walking the waggle. Very Old Dog has been having a bit of trouble lately. The ligaments in one of his toes on his right front foot just gave up working at all last week. So this one toe is flat instead of arched like its neighbors. And it hurts. I've been giving him some Trammadol, and wrapping his foot in Vetrap, and that has helped a lot. We've been able to do our usual walk that way, around just one block with the Lady Maria.

This morning, after I wrapped his foot and put on his coat, Very Old Dog went into a crate and wouldn't come out. (He doesn't even have a crate; he has a special bed, so he got in Maria's.) He just looked at me with one ear kattywonkus and his worry wrinkles had sprouted on his forehead. For all of his thirteen and a half years, there was not a dog in the house more enthusiastic about going "walkies." Back at the farm, he would leap straight off all fours like a pogo sticking cartoon character as we headed off. We walked miles in the farm fields on lead and off, chasing deer and fox, squirrels and groundhogs, cottontails and the wind. And for the last five years we've walked all over this southern city, never shedding the leads, but losing none of the enthusiasm. Trading sunsets for river views, fields for sidewalks, deer for Stupid City Squirrels, fox for admiring strangers. Even two weeks ago, he was trying to pogo stick at the sight of an Evil Kitty, which is how he injured his toe.

But this morning, he went in that crate, and he made it clear that he did not want to go. So I told him it was fine and gave him his biscuit with the rest of the dogs waiting their turns to walk, and Maria and I headed out alone. I was crying a little bit.

We got to the next corner and Maria and I got attacked by the Evilest Evil Kitty of Them All. It's our new neighbor's cat, and I'm sure he is a wonderful companion. He is certainly quite the Character. He goes on walks with their dogs (though he's loose), and he spends a lot of time outside Stalking the Neighborhood. We heard a great commotion in the leaves to our left, and turned to see the Evilest Evil Kitty of Them All charging full speed at Maria and me. Yikes. At the last second, he charged up a tree right next to us, stopped on the first branch and blew a big raspberry right at the stupefied Maria. If a dog could stand with her jaw down around her ankles, Maria did. She looked up at me with big eyes.

I gave her a yummy for having not barked and we proceeded. We went about ten steps when I saw a very large, loose dog come around the corner of the next house. My heart jumped. Maria would be so vulnerable. Oh, thank God, it was our sweet neighbor Woody. Woody looks like he is maybe a Rottweiler/German Shepherd cross and is just the most wonderful guy. He belongs to our friends, Keyth and Elaine, and they take the very best care of him. They walk him miles and miles and pick up his poop and he's always beautifully groomed and he is loved and socialized and oh my good Lord, what a relief it was Woody. I called him and he came up grinning and got a treat and we headed back to his house. I knew Keyth and Elaine would be frantic that he had gone AWOL.

I rang the doorbell at Woody's house. Now, I must describe my typical morning walkies appearance. I am not a morning person. I usually get up, eat breakfast, and start to walk. Then comes the showering, getting dressed in real clothes, brushing teeth, putting on make up, doing hair part of the day. So I can look a little scary when I walk, but my neighbors are a tolerant bunch, and they're used to me.

I rang the doorbell again, somewhat urgently. Woody had run around to the back of the house, presumably to the site of his escape, but I couldn't see him. Luckily, I didn't see Keyth coming down the stairs, as the door surprisingly opened. OH! Oh, dear! Oh my!

My father had wanted to name me Prudence, but my mother prevailed. Something must have stuck, because I really am a prude.

I had rousted Keyth out of his shower. Keyth grew up in California. I don't know why I mention it here, but it seems important. He was holding a towel in front of his wet unadorned self. I don't know anything that was going on below his bare, nekked shoulders, because my eyes never went below shoulder level.

"Woody's loose!" I blurted, my eyes fixed firmly on Keyth's face.
"Oh, OK, wow, thanks," said Keyth. I don't know which sight was more scary. My morning walkies appearance, or Keyth's birthday suit. I did not see him turn around (thank God in heaven) because Maria and I were already scurrying down the sidewalk, back on our merry way.

Well, after that, the rest of the dogs' walks were just tame. Never mind the eight Stupid City Squirrellies during Fat Charlie, Mama Pajama, and Swede William's walk. "Oh, that's nothing!" I said to them. Puhff. And the bus full of high school students touring the galleries who thought it was clever to bark at Sam I Am and Lindy Loo? Forget about it. I just waved at the kids, delighted that they were fully clothed. "Oh yeah, no one has ever barked at a dog before. You're so original and clever, even the dogs aren't impressed. Have a great day!" I said under my grateful breath.

Very Old Dog did not lobby to go on any of the walks, so I was confident that I had understood his wishes. I gave him an extra treat, and he is now on my lap as I type. Such a huge change in our lives.

All before nine in the morning.

Hug your hounds!

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A Dog's Christmas

My dear canine friends, I've a story for you.
I beg you to listen: what I say is all true.
Your Humans are human and can't help their behavior,
They get all confused 'bout the birth of their Savior.


See, it's that time of the year, when the humans are hopping.
"No time for our walk today, gotta go shopping.
And tomorrow we have to put up all the lights.
You understand, don't you? You'll be all right?"

No time for your Frisbee, no time to throw balls.
Got to wrap all the boxes and deck all the halls.
"I'm sorry," they say as you're back in your crate,
"Office party tonight, we won't get home til late."

So you sit in your crate for a very long time.
You're warm and you're safe and they know you'll be fine.
But you're bored and you're worried and you don't understand
Why this time of the year things get all out of hand.

As if rushing around like a nut's not enough,
They keep filling the house up with all kinds of stuff.
There's holly and candles for all to see,
Then to prove they've gone starkers THEY BRING IN A TREE!!!

Yep, fellow dogs, they bring a pine tree right in
They put glass things on the branches and plug the lights in.
You think "Hey! Indoor plumbing!" But they say, "Get away!!"
"This is Our Special Tree for Our Special Day."

And don't think for a moment those tree balls are for you.
Though they bounce on the branches and call you, they do!
You haven't been chasing your own ball for weeks,
Or played tug o' war with your toy that goes "squeak."

As their Big Day approaches, their tempers grow short.
They're tired and stressed out and all out of sorts.
They've spent way too much money, whatever that is.
On gifts, decorations, and on something called "status."

See, they're only humans, and they always forget
It's not about presents or getting in debt.
The Birthday they're celebrating is all about Love
About gifts of the Spirit, sent from up above.

And that same great Father who sent them his Son
To teach all the humans to love every one,
Sends us to remind them, my good fellow hounds:
We exemplify love with positively no bounds.

So when their Big Day is ending, their presents unwrapped,
And they've eaten their feast and settled down for a nap,
That's the time when we dogs can show by example
That it's just about love, and can give them a sample.

They will feel something’s lacking, will see something's missing.
This is the time you can teach with your kissing.
They've ignored you for weeks with their rushing around,
Still you shower them with Love - the True Love of a Hound.

Whisper quiet, Dear Dogs, "It is not about Things!"
"It's not about buying new cars or rings."
The True Gift of Christmas is Love, sweet and pure.
And at Love, none can out do a dog, that’s for sure.

copyright 2006 Patience C Renzulli, not 2206! duh.

thank goodness the dogs love me anyway.

A Page From the Novel

I have posted two other excerpts - isn't that just the strangest looking word - from the novel in progress. One is at the bottom of this page and the other is here.

The man let the broken screen door slam behind him, making the boy look up from his homework with concern. He could see the temper rising off his father like dust from old tires on a dry dirt road.

“You git off your lazy butt and git out to that shed and you clean every cage. I’m so tired of your worthless ass sittin’ here doing nothin’. You’re old enough to start earnin’ your keep. Just ‘cause you go to that fancy school and git on computers and read your books, you act like you know everything. Let’s see how damn smart you are after you do some real work. Go on. I’m sick and tired of lookin’ at you. I am so damn tired to my bones.”

The boy looked into his father’s eyes and said, “Yessir” as he closed his math book, keeping his place with his homework page. His heart fairly leaped out of his chest. He couldn’t believe this explosion of good luck. Any time he was caught anywhere near the dogs he got a whipping from his father. He got a cursing for making the dogs “soft”. “They ain’t pets,” the man would spit. “They’re investments. They’re dinner and electric bills and the goddam roof over our heads. You go out there spoiling them and they don’t have no puppies and I don’t have no way to pay the mortgage, and we’re on the street.”

He had no earthly idea what had caused this abrupt turnaround on his father’s part, but he was thrilled at the notion of being sent out to take care of the dogs. He had been sneaking out to the shed all his life, and here he was following an order to do what he loved most. He walked the rutted path through the desolate back yard quickly, quietly praying that he wouldn’t hear the screen door slam again with his father’s mind changing faster than the whip hitting his bare butt.

By habit, he slid through the smallest possible crack in the old shed doors. The odor smacked him silly, as it always did, but this time he could do something about it. He turned back and opened the door, hanging heavily askew on its rusty hinges. Some of the stink went out and some light came in. He had never dared take the time to count before, but now he quickly counted cages and dogs. Ten cages on the bottom back row, each with three to five dogs. Five on each bottom side row, mostly with three dogs. Standing alone in the center of the shed were stacks of three larger cages, three tall, each with a bitch nursing a litter of puppies. His eyes returned to the back of the shed. Stacked on the bottom row was another row of twelve crates, though these held two to three dogs each. Six more were stacked on each side row, with three perched on the top of those. And on the top of the back cages were five small rusted cages, each containing a male dog.

There were one hundred and five dogs in that shed, not counting the nine litters of puppies.

The boy was overwhelmed for a moment. He couldn’t believe there were that many dogs and he just didn’t know where he would start.

Please! I’m so thirsty. We’re hungry! Please! Water! Pain. Oh, Boy, please help us.

The voices were so loud in his heart, in his head, for just a moment he covered his ears.

"You know what to do. You are here and you know and some of us are dying."

That one clear voice gave him courage and jolted him out of his shock. He nodded at the little whippet, his “Angel” and he got to work. First the water buckets. He opened cages and grabbed buckets as fast as he could. He scrubbed the buckets in the work sink, using burning hot water and bleach and an old scrub brush he found in a corner. He filled them with fresh cold clean water and put them back in the cages. And he moved to the next row.


After all the dogs had fresh water, he started to work on the food bowls. Some were crusted with old food full of maggots, and the boy wretched every so often. But he shook his head and breathed through his mouth and kept on. He washed all of them out first, scrubbing until his fingers started to crack and bleed, oblivious. He was frantically aware of how fast the time was passing. When he looked in the food bin, the kibble was moldy, and the boy swore under his breath. The dogs, who were finding their voices and a little strength and a tiny feeling of hope after drinking the fresh water started barking, crying, screaming for food. It was contagious.

“Quiet! ”shouted the boy. “He’s going to come out here. Please, please try to be quiet. I am going as fast as I can.”

The barks and screams turned to shuddering whines. The boy ran out to his father’s truck and found a new bag of kibble in the back. He dragged it back to the shed, though it practically outweighed him, tore it open and started filling the beat up but clean bowls. He loaded as many bowls as he could carry and went from cage to cage. Some of the cages were so cramped with dogs that he couldn’t figure out where to put the bowl. Some of the dogs couldn’t stand, didn’t even try. Some of them looked away from the bowl.

This upset the boy terribly. But he put a food bowl in every single cage. Then he went back to the dogs who weren’t even trying to eat. He added a little water to the kibble to see if that would help. It did, in a few cases. He held some kibble in his hand for some of the weaker dogs, and they took a bit, to be polite.

He went to the whippet’s cage. She had emptied her water bucket. He raced to the utility sink and filled it again, physically hurting from knowing how little time remained for him to be out there. He put her water bucket back in the cage. She tried to wag for him. This was a dear soul, she knew. The boy gently stroked the top of the little dog’s head.

“You gotta eat, girl. You’re nothing but skin and bones and sores. Oh, man, look at those sores. Here - try just a bite of food.”

The dog ate some kibble and her eyes never left his. She drank in his kindness with even more desperation than she had the water. Her infected teeth caused her just amazing pain with every chew, but she could taste the boy’s joy with each bite, so she took bite after stabbing bite.

“I knew you could eat something,” the boy said with a grin. The pinched face of the dog and the thin face of the boy were only inches apart. For a moment, oblivious of the stench, the sores, and the filth, the boy leaned his forehead against the dog’s forehead. Her heart pounded with such abandon, she felt her ribs could no longer hold the thing. Surely it would escape her broken body and run some butt tucked zoomies, and land right in the boy’s chest. Her sunken eyes widened and she managed some wags which were so successful that her tail actually thumped the side of her cage. The boy felt his throat tighten and his eyes stung with desperate tears, and he kissed the little bony dog.

“I got to go. I’ll come back. I’ll make you get well.” He looked at all the other eyes. “I’ll try and I’ll make it ok for all of you. I sure don’t know how, but I will.”

He kicked the dirt in a rage of exhausted frustration as he crossed back to the house. What could he do? He was sure that if he only had a mother, there would not be a hundred starving dogs in a shed behind his house. He stopped with his hand on the screen door. Other boys had mothers. Other boys had dogs that played ball and slept on their beds. Other boys had fathers that came to school programs and put their arms over their sons' shoulders and beamed with pride. Other boys.

The boy wiped his eyes and nose on his sleeve and crept by the snoring form of the man, his father. He quietly took his math book to bed, but he fell asleep before his homework was finished. He ached. In his heart, in his bones. Too much for a boy. He dreamed of a soft hand on his cheek and he and the little whippet were running and he heard a lady laughing.

copyright Patience C Renzulli, all rights reserved

I've Been Tagged - 5 Random Facts

Rules:Link to the tagger and post these rules on your blog. Share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. Tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Oh this is fun! This is one of those blog things that I am slowly discovering.

Linda, at her most delightful Abby Creek Art blog "tagged" me. Here goes:

1. I went on my first date with my husband twenty-five years ago. I knew in my deepest soul/heart/gut that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him during the first hour of that first date. After twenty-five years, I still think he is the most admirable, the funniest, the most compassionate, and the smartest person on Earth. I don't know how I got so lucky. I figure he must have been really bad in his last life, or I must have been really good.
2. I would rather pick up warm dog poop than cold when using the Baggie Method, but vice versa when using the Scooper.
3. I am currently writing a novel about a little dog who has exceptional powers of communication. She starts out in a wonderful, loving home and goes on all sorts of fun adventures but then she gets stolen and ends up in a puppy mill. Sometimes that part is so hard to write, and the research is so gruesome that I just have to stop.
4. It is 11:21 AM and I am still in my jammies!
5. I talk in my sleep.

Hope I haven't bored you to death. Now I get to do some tagging. Hmmmm. OK, I'm going to tag my funny neighbor, Aynex, and the awesome genius of iList Paducah, Mary, and of course my dearest in the world Bill, and my new dog blog friends Graham, and Asta's Mommi who might tell us a little about her painting???

Thanks, Linda!

Some Sunday Smiles

While I work on my little one person campaign to get Google to stop advertising for puppy mills, I have some smiles to share.




Have a Seat!

Lindy Loo makes herself comfy.

Swede William says, "Do I look like a dog bed?"

More Maria

This time of year, Maria likes to wear her jammies 24/7. (We get our jammies from Cottage Hound Designs. Christel is the nicest lady and does a ton for charity.) But Her Ladyship also likes to be covered up. The cover-upper blankets are mostly polar fleece, and the jammies are softest cotton flannel, and they stick to each other like velcro.

So this morning we hear this strange flump-step, flump-pause, step-step, flump. Puzzled, I look up from my computer at the rest of the waggle, to find them looking towards the stairway. I step out of my computer/sewing closet and this is what I see:

She's like the Sweat Pea character in the old Popeye cartoons.

That's better! All tucked in her special hidey bed.

A friend surprised me with this fun picture of Maria and me having a howl together:

Thank you Tim for this photo!

I hope your Sunday is full of smiles.

********************************************************

Some good news and a worthy cause!

Permission is granted to post and cross-post the text of our press release below.

From: Kris L. Christine
Founder, Co-Trustee
The Rabies Challenge Fund
http://www.RabiesChallengeFund.org

CANINE RABIES CHALLENGE STUDIES BEGIN !

One of the most important vaccine research studies in veterinary medicine is underway at the University of Wisconsin School of Veterinary Medicine in Madison. Dr. Ronald Schultz, a leading authority on veterinary vaccines and Chair of the Department of Pathobiological Sciences, has begun concurrent 5 and 7 year challenge studies to determine the long-term duration of immunity of the canine rabies vaccine, with the goal of extending the state-mandated interval for boosters. These will be the first long-term challenge studies on the canine rabies vaccine to be published in the United States.

Dr. Schultz comments that: "We are all very excited to start this study that will hopefully demonstrate that rabies vaccines can provide a minimum of 7 years of immunity."

This research is being financed by The Rabies Challenge Fund, a charitable trust founded by pet vaccine disclosure advocate Kris L. Christine of Maine, who serves as Co-Trustee with world-renowned veterinary research scientist and practicing clinician, Dr. W. Jean Dodds of Hemopet in California. The Rabies Challenge Fund recently met its goal of $177,000 to fund the studies’ first year budget with contributions from dog owners, canine groups, trainers, veterinarians, and small businesses. Annual budget goals of $150,000 for the studies must be met in the future.

Dr. Jean Dodds, DVM states: "This is the first time in my 43 years of involvement in veterinary issues that what started as a grass-roots effort to change an outmoded regulation affecting animals will be addressed scientifically by an acknowledged expert to benefit all canines in the future."

Scientific data published in 1992 by Michel Aubert and his research team demonstrated that dogs were immune to a rabies challenge 5 years after vaccination, while Dr. Schultz’s serological studies documented antibody titer counts at levels known to confer immunity to rabies 7 years post-vaccination. This data strongly suggests that state laws requiring annual or triennial rabies boosters for dogs are redundant. Because the rabies vaccine is the most potent of the veterinary vaccines and associated with significant adverse reactions, it should not be given more often than is necessary to maintain immunity. Adverse reactions such autoimmune diseases affecting the thyroid, joints, blood, eyes, skin, kidney, liver, bowel and central nervous system; anaphylactic shock; aggression; seizures; epilepsy; and fibrosarcomas at injection sites are linked to rabies vaccinations.

Study co-trustee Kris Christine adds: “Because the USDA does not require vaccine manufacturers to provide long-term duration of immunity studies documenting maximum effectiveness when licensing their products, concerned dog owners have contributed the money to fund this research themselves. We want to ensure that rabies immunization laws are based upon independent, long-term scientific data.”

More information and regular updates on The Rabies Challenge Fund and the concurrent 5 and 7 year challenge studies it is financing can be found at the fund’s website designed by volunteer Andrea Brin at: www.RabiesChallengeFund.org.