Goodbye Moll, We Hardly Knew Ye

Three years ago, in rural Yolo County, over 80 Collies, and asundry other critters, including a horse, were confiscated from an old man. The old man had also had over 50 Collies confiscated from him a few years prior in another county. He moved and started hoarding all over again. You’ve got to read the story here. Really. Read it. The guy, to this day, doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

This morning, I got word that one of the only puppies from this confiscation, Molly, had died at age three. She died of acute lymphoma. This was the dog I had fostered just prior to her placement with her permanent family. She lived the life of Riley in her last 16 months. She was adopted by a very well-off couple who love Collies. Molly was one of their favorites and she had it all—ocean-front living, playmates, love, and the very best care available.

Over three years ago, when my friend Dr. Cathy Toft, of the Road Home K-9 Rescue, and a board member of the rescue I work for, was asked to help with the evaluation, care, and placement of the dogs, she started something that would end up being all she lived and breathed for over two solid years. She rallied the animal community and through donations and pro bono services offered by the veterinary school at UC-Davis and various vet clinics, provided quality end of life services for those who would never be able to find a permanent home. She also got me to sign on for a relationship with rescue that continues today. She got most of the dogs prepared and placed with loving families.

Thirty of these dogs have died prematurely so far. Several died in Cathy’s arms. She took on the hardest cases herself. Many others died of lymphoma or other diseases associated with the overuse of vaccinations and pesticides and poor breeding.

I’m not PETA freak, but why is it someone can do this and still be out walking the streets? Twice. The toll these premature deaths are taking on the adoptive families is pretty high too. My thoughts: Yolo County needs to do everything in its power to make sure this man never, ever gets another animal in his possession. I am so pissed off, I can’t see straight (about the only thing I do straight on any kind of basis)

Molly, girl, I’ll always remember you—bye, baby!

The Road Home works with older, ill, and behaviorally challenged Collies. They help secure health services and provide rehabilitative training so the animals can again be placed in a permanent home.

James Herriott Hadn’t Met My Dogs

I have dogs.  If you’ve been to my house, that is readily apparent as soon as you pull up out front.  They have an uncanny ear that can distinguish “company cars” from the mere passer-by.  They sprawl across my chairs and stick their long snouts up to the window and start their greeting of the visitor rituals.  Once the visitor enters, they quickly determine if they are friend or foe.  Friends get some more greeting and I dart to intercept Gina from leaping upon them for a hearty leap up for the welcome tongue-slathering.  They have not met a foe.  So much for the watchdog concept.

 

Last night, we entertained a puppy so young and small it still has puppy breath.  It amazes me that my big oafish puppy, fully 70 pounds as of her vet visit last week, is so incredibly gentle with a little one.  She certainly gives no quarter to 80 pound Taz, her canine cousin.

My older Collie, Daisy, is a talker.  I mean, she talks.  She tells you in detail about everything—what Gina to into, how her day was while your were out, or why she’s disappointed in you for cheating on the healthy eating thing, because she smells Big Mac on your breath.  She is the arbiter of proper canine and teenager behavior in the house and supervises the visits of other dogs and teens pretty closely in my stead. 

I’ve been walking every weekday morning with both of my dogs as well as my sister and her dog.  We do it for both health and sanity.  My puppy drives me insane if she doesn’t get her walk—today, I’m off and slept in until 0545, the usual time for her walk.  It’s become a ritual.  My sister pulls up outside and regardless of their current position—whether it be on the floor licking themselves, drinking from the toilet, or using my pillow for a nap, they immediately race to the door.  I’ve learned to get their leashes on a couple minutes in advance.  They dance gleefully for a moment while I open the door, then we’re off to the races.  I’m saving up now for the shoulder replacement that looms in my future.  Gina, the puppy, zips to Taz and they do a little “Oh, I’m so happy to see you, it’s been so long” thing—a day is like 10 puppy years.  Then Taz pees.  He’s asserted his masculinity, so we’re ready to roll.

For the next little while, Taz and Gina spend their time figuring out who is going to be in front; both pulling at their leash until they make wheezing sounds.  Since we bi-peds are trying to “work it,” their competitiveness helps keep up our speed.   She gets distracted by any little thing that moves, invariably crossing over into my lane.  Learning to avoid falling on my ass has done wonders for my balance and agility. Daisy, however, gently and gracefully glides along without breaking stride, leash never taut, enjoying the scenery.  Occasionally, she’ll look up at me and say something, which sounds eerily like, “Kids these days—in my day, I learned to walk properly on the leash.” 

Dogs are simple creatures.  And, with my complex life, there is nothing better than walking in and getting jumped on a couple of times and told everything there is to know about the day in the life of a dog.

You can say any foolish thing to do to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that! ~ Dave Berry

Puppy For Sale, Real Cheap

 

I get a call, around 3 pm, a call that could be heard throughout the entire office because of our poor sound suppression (wood floors, no rugs, high ceilings) and the fact the kids don’t pay attention when spoken to.  It went a little something like this:

Kid:  Hey, Gina got through the fence again

Me:  What did she get?

Kid:  What?

Me:  (louder)  What did she destroy?

Kid:  What do you mean?

Me:  Did she eat the carpet?

Kid:  I don’t know. 

Me:  What do you mean you don’t know, look at it.

Kid:  Oh, not down here, I thought you meant upstairs.

Scream.  I’m getting IMs from around the office.  “Oh, oh, puppy in trouble again?”  Not good.  And, I have a private office.  Well, at least my boss wasn’t in and didn’t have to listen to it. 

I won’t go into the comedy of errors regarding my various errands necessitated by this latest news, but I have a new fence/gate for the dog to keep her out of the kitchen.  Dinner was deli hot, and I spent the next two hours making the new gate work.  I may have mentioned—this is not my forte.  J-Man stuck in there and helped me out though.  I think he wanted to save my day and stop me from swearing.

Time for me to get some grub and relax for a few before round two of my evening!

 
A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down.  ~Robert Benchley

Come Quick, Timmy’s In The Well

The State of Puppyhood (not one of the lower 48, but one all onto itself), usually lasts about a year.  My Smooth Collie puppy, Gina, is now 12 months old, but I have a feeling she still has several more months of fun in store for me.  Take now, for example—I’m sitting here, typing, and I hear a “thunk.”  It’s an unfamiliar sound, so I automatically, say, “Gina!”  Then, I hear the two paws hit the floor.  This means she’s been counter-surfing*.  Counter surfing has led to me pulling cookies, toast, and even marinating steaks out of her mouth.

Then, there’s the whole chewing thing.  People come over and without even giving it a thought, I take the shoes they’ve just left by the door and put them on top of the refrigerator.  The carpet, which I’ve not been fond of anyway, is scheduled for replacement once her last molar sets in comfortably.

My older Smooth Collie, Daisy, looks at this young upstart with what I would call the equivalent of one of my classic eye-rolls.  Annoyed intolerance oozes from her when Gina is misbehaving.  The fortunate thing is Daisy usually tattles with her equivalent of “Come quick, Timmy is in the well,” hoping fervently disaster will be averted and the puppy will get a well-deserved come-uppance.

But, once Her Majesty curls up with me at night, looking up at me with her beautiful deep brown eyes, all her mischief is forgiven.   Nonetheless, this is the very last puppy.  Really.

*Counter-surfing:  No board needed, this is a maneuver managed by wily animals who believe anything left unattended on said same counter is fair game, including the little corn cob stickers you just laid out.  Whether they realize the corn cob stickers are not a steak is another story.

A Dog’s Life

Today’s adventures in puppy ownership:

  Gina’s social schedule:

     6:00 am   Take long walk with me and bark at random blowing leaves and

                    scary garbage cans along the way 

  7:00 am   Eat breakfast:  One remote control

  7:15 am   Nap in front of door so no one can leave

  9:00 am   Run outside and bark at Chow next door

 10:00 am  Nap with head in dog dish

 11:30 am  See squirrel and bark up a tree until neighbor yells

 12:00 pm  Eat lunch:  Photo paper and business cards

 12:15 pm  Nap on the verboten couch

  2:00 pm   Bark at Poodle on the other side of the house

  2:15 pm   Nap on my pillow

  2:45 pm   Bark with excitement when kids get home from school

  3:15 pm   Go for walk with kids, barking at parked cars and other threatening

                 inanimate objects

  4:15 pm   Read a book, no strike that, eat a book

  5:00 pm   Dinner:  Another chunk of carpet

  5:15 pm   Bark at me until I silence her with a treat

  5:45 pm   Play loudly with Daisy, barking whenever humans in house

                 try to talk

  7:00 pm   Sneak out into garage when door is open and end up taking a nap

                 until laundry is discovered to chew on

  9:00 pm   Nap until bedtime, go outside and bark some more, just for fun

 10:00 pm  Take up entire bed and feign being asleep to ensure spot on bed

                 is secure

 

Did you ever notice when you blow in a dog’s face he gets mad at you?  But when you take him in a car he sticks his head out the window.  ~Steve Bluestone

 

Rocky The Flying Squirrel

Sunday afternoon, while sitting outside on the patio, the dogs were circling around the bottom of the big tree, obviously tormenting half of the pair of squirrels residing therein. They were staring up intently, barking, hoping fate would provide them an opportunity to enjoy a little squirrelo-a-dogo meeting. Suddenly, we spotted a flash of movement through the air which landed with a resounding THUD on the ground right behind the dogs. The squirrel, who apparently missed a branch somewhere, lay on the ground post-belly flop stunned, but only for a second. He looked up and literally flew high through the air to the trunk of the tree, just out of reach of the visiting Taz dog and scurried, out of breath and panicked up the tree until it found a place to rest in the crotch of one of the limbs. The dogs were extremely disappointed they missed their chance and walked back sullenly to the house. That had to be one hurtin’ squirrel, but Sunday was his lucky day.

Ever want to sleep in a tent? I’ve been there many a time. Of course I was under 25 and had a back that didn’t scream when it hadn’t been safely ensconced in luxury. But, I have this weird thing I want to do—sleep in a tent under the stars after a long hike in a sleeping bag for two. That whole, where will I shower and I don’t do outhouses or the bushes thing, I have yet to figure out.

Why does the newspaper boy throw my newspaper in the spot that is furthest away from my front door? Think psychedelic PJs with my hair standing straight up, and me in my usual pre-caffeinated dazed and confused state, and you’ll understand my dilemma. Do I dart out to the other side of the driveway as is, or wait until the great transformation, post-shower? As Winter comes, this will be less of an issue…it will be dark…and I won’t scare the neighbors. He wonders why I don’t tip.

As the weekend begins, I’m just glad that all things are as they should be.

Dog Whisperer

Okay, I did manage to get out for a while yesterday.  The Dog Whisperer of Yolo County (please visit http://www.theroadhome-dogs.org/collies/ ) also known as Dr. Cathy Toft, who is lucky she carries the whispering moniker because a bronchial thing has pretty much wiped out her voice, swung over to take me along on a Collie home visit.  Our plan was to grab some lunch somewhere down that way, but unfortunately, I don’t “do lunch” anywhere, much less down South where I never go, so we ended up at Togo’s.  Great sandwich, quiet so I could hear, and interesting conversation. 

 

It was pretty cool that on my little sojourn to San Diego this past weekend I came across a mob (sure, they may be technically a flock or something, but these guys were definitely a mob) of marauding wild red-capped parrots.  I’d never seen anything like it before as they swooped in each morning at the same time, screaming like eagles, settling into the Eucalyptus trees for berries.  They hit like an attacking Mongol Horde for a few minutes, the remaining berry parts zipping like shrapnel through the air, then poof—they screamed off.  They repeated this performance each day.  So, in conversation with Cathy, I learned that the express purpose of her sabbatical this year is to finish the book she’s writing on parrots.  So, I got to learn even more about those crazy birds that captured my attention.  Who knew? 

 

What I like about going with her on these little home checks is watching her talk, probe, question, and elicit more information than the people involved even know she has gathered.  It helps ensure the placement of a rescue Collie is a success the first time.  It’s a gifted combination of understanding both people and animals.

 

There aren’t that many people in a given life who impart their knowledge in such a way as to make it comfortable to learn.  I’m sure her students have appreciated it over the years, I know I do.

 

Education is not filling a bucket but lighting a fire.

~ William B. Yeats

Gone To The Dogs

From parts hither and yon came the thundering herd of Collies, descending upon Hahn at Home. Five Collies, one yard, and three women, determined to make the playdate work, despite the 106-degree heat. It was great seeing Cathy again—she’s the one who guides my volunteer efforts with the rescues—and who works way too hard generally. With her, arrived Andrea, the current rescue president with whom I’ve been chatting over the months as I get more involved with volunteering. It was a real treat, and great to finally meet her. Tried to keep up with the Collie rescue drama (I guess drama is inherent in any organization, huh?), listened to Cathy explain the pack behavior we saw all day amid the three girls and two boys. Met Peter Rabbit, a Yolo County abuse case dog who met with a happy ending in Andrea’s home. Watched my girls do their thing. So, we’re all sitting out in lawn chairs in the shade outside and the dogs all snuck inside via the dog door after a bit, one by one, to enjoy the air conditioning as we stayed out in the heat. Obviously, the dogs’ version of a playdate entails picking a cool corner inside and going to sleep, leaving the chaperones to melt. They have us all trained very well. Works for me! Overall, it went much better than I imagined it would—just a little counter surfing, a couple of piddling incidents, a few tense moments between a new foster dog and well, everyone, and, as always I learned a lot from Cathy. I’m so glad they made time to visit and I hope we get to do it again.

 

As for Hahn, at home, she’s a bit tired today…stayed up last night redesigning the website…but, let me know what you think about the new look. Must be time for a nap.

 

If a dog jumps in your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer. ~Alfred Northrop Whitehead

My Hero, Taz

It has so been my week. First, starting out with a great date last Saturday. Got a song stuck in my head I can’t get out and one I’m not sure I want to leave. Got the great haircut, won the little company award, received a 2005 WNBA Championship ring replica from someone I know over at the Monarchs, got a really nice call from the woman who mentors me in our company on her day off that was so full of genuine good wishes, I got verklempt, touched base with my buddies, went to two Monarchs games, and did a little retail therapy all by myself without my Personal Shopper—please don’t tell her, and took a nap. What’s not to like about a Friday? Especially when there are so many more excellent Fridays in my immediate future.

 

I had the dog door installed by my best pal over a week ago. Seemed a simple concept—dogs puts nose on flap and walks through from one side to go out and the other to come back in. The dog door marketing people hadn’t met Daisy yet. Even with a nose the size of hers, she just couldn’t seem to get it. Daisy is a smart adult Collie after all, but I now know where “like teaching an old dog new tricks” came from.

 

She’s also the dog who hears anything sounding remotely like a firecracker, a clap of thunder, or a backfire and she leaps straight up into the air into my arms even when I’m standing up, she’s such a chicken. She’d stick her nose down to the flap, but refused to push through, turning back to look at me as if to say, “Why, oh, why do you do these things to me?” I had to stand either outside or inside and hold the flap open and make sure it didn’t drop on her in any way, or she’d skitter away and not try it again for a full day. I looked pretty stupid running out one door, around the house to the dog door, holding it open so they could go out, rinsing and repeating throughout the day—I even contemplated going through it myself to provide a good example, but there was no way my big white butt was going to get through. This became one of those times when Super Taz came to the rescue. Taz is my sister’s dog—a huge, brown beast. He is a pro at the dog door. I sent the little puppy girl Gina over to my sister’s for the week during the day and Taz had her going through the door in no time. And, better yet, my smart little puppy received benefit of all the resources I could muster, and all it cost me was a little T-Bone tip for Taz.

 

From the dog’s point of view, his master is an elongated and abnormally
cunning dog. ~Mabel Louise Robinson

Giddyup

I was giddy part of today. I had this fun, fresh little email exchange that made my day. It’s so refreshing and such a rush to get a thought-inducing or thought-provoking missive when I sit dealing with contracts and numbers and stretching things here to make it go there all day. As warped as I am generally, it’s a pleasure to meet a like-minded lunatic.

 

Legal things were also leapt over today. And, I didn’t knock down the little thing-a-ma-jiggy that had to be jumped over. Ah, I’m so articulate. What do they call that thing—oh yeah, a hurdle.

 

We hired an intern today to work for the summer. Sure, he’ll be part slave to me at work, but that’s a good thing. Or at least that’s how I’m spinning it with him. He’s one of those kids you don’t see every day—bright, fresh, eager, tenacious, and by appearances, refreshingly wholesome and nice. Another bright spot. My current slave will be relieved to know some of the pressure is off.

 

Rita/Sandy/Puppy is doing well. She found a magic marker, but at least it was pink. Makes an attractive accessory to her slender, lady-like forepaw, but not so much to the carpet.

 

My good friend Chris, who can be read at www.redhogdiary.com, in case you’ve forgotten, will be coming out to California at the end of July for a few days. He wrote in his blog earlier this week that he’s looking forward to his Harley ride down Highway 1—an adventure in blogging—and is just a little afraid, I think, of what The Castro, in San Francisco, where I promised to take him, will be like. I think California will be like nothing he’s seen before. Especially the Castro. But, I’m thinking that by taking him to the local Bear Bar, I will give him a taste of something that will provide fodder for his blog. My sister is most anxious to hit the highway on the back of his bike. I on the other hand, will be content to sit on the beach and play in the sand while they go for their little ride.

 

Why do people talk on their cell phones in an elevator? Please, tell me why.

 

He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
~ William Shakespeare