If Eeyore were a dog:
“Thanks for noticin’ me.”
When Maggie came to me as a foster, Rich was out of town for the summer. That means we had weeks of bonding under our belt before he was even in the picture. To say that she disliked the sudden appearance of a man in the house would be the understatement of the century. She was terrified of him.
I’m pretty sure Rich loved Maggie even before he met her. Every time we talked over the summer I was telling him all about her and how much she was blossoming. You would think coming home to a dog quite opposite of the one I had been describing would be a turn off. Instead, I think it made him love her even more. Every time she growled at him he would turn around and ignore her per my instructions but he would also say, “It’s okay Maggie, I just want to love you.” And his favorite line to recite to Maggie, “Love doesn’t divide, it multiples!”
Eventually the growling subsided and she slowly began to let him sit near her. Then touch her. And eventually full on cuddle. It took almost a year, but finally she got excited and would initiate play with him when he got home from work. A sight I honestly didn’t know if I would ever see and still makes my heart swell. Now, Maggie can typically be found cuddled up with her dad; her favorite human in the house. If not for Rich’s persistent love and devotion to little Maggie, she might never have turned the corner with men. She still occasionally give a little growl at men she doesn’t know but I am quite pleased with her progress. She may never run up to a strange man just to give him kisses, but I can live with that. The most important thing is that Maggie has learned to love love.
Happy Valentine’s Day from our pack to yours!
(If you’re squeamish you may want to skip this post.)
This morning while getting ready for work I had a flashback to one of my fondest memories of my first foster, Dash. He was around 16 weeks old (if I remember correctly) when I got him. As anyone that’s cared for a young puppy knows, at this point, he should have been dewormed a couple of times. Should have. The shelter he came from does not provide medical care so this was never done. Can you guess where this is headed?
At his first vet visit I received the dewormer to give him. Once home, I gave it to him and waited. And waited a little more. As soon as the sun was completely down and it was nice and pitch black out, Dash decided he was ready to go out and do his business. He squatted down and starting doing his thing. And then froze. And then yelped a little. And then began scooting his bottom on the ground while looking at me, his face a mask of sheer terror, seemingly saying, “Oh. My. Dog. Whatishappeningtomeeeee?!?!”
And that’s when I saw them. Worms. White, stringy, glowing-in-the-dark, worms. Hanging out of his bottom. No amount of straining on Dash’s part was going to get them out of his little body. What’s a foster mom to do? Well get her hands dirty of course. No really, I got my hands dirty. Dirrrr-ty. With a resigned sigh I reached in there and starting pulling. And they kept coming, and coming, and coming. The string of them literally longer than my arm by the time I finished.
Moral of the story? Worms grow. Deworm puppies as recommended by your veterinarian. And of course, foster moms rock. Have you ever gotten your hands dirty for one of your dogs or a foster? Do share!
Another take on this topic. AFF is just the best, period.
We recently read a blog by the good folks at Your Pit Bull and You called: Can Animal Advocacy be Divorced from Animal Behavior? In this thoughtful post, the authors contemplate if animal welfare advocates would be more effective in the long run if they were as educated in animal learning and behavior as they are in the issues related to improving animal welfare.
They wrote,“It behooves advocates (and the dogs who inspire their work) to have a basic understanding of how animals learn, and what drives their behavior. The Humane Society of the United States estimates that 2.7 million adoptable cats and dogs were euthanized in US shelters last year. Behavioral issues are ranked among the top reasons for the relinquishment of pets to shelters.”
We agree. It’s only a good thing when advocates have a deeper understanding of dog behavior and how our actions on the other…
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The busier I am, the happier I am. Lately, you can find me on cloud nine. There are quite a few new things I have gotten involved with lately, and I’m sure I’ll talk excitedly about them one day, but for now I wanted to share the first of two very exciting pieces of news: I will be deploying the end of February for one week to help with the #367 dogs from the fighting ring bust last summer! I am honored and excited beyond words to be part of this amazing experience. Adding to the extreme awesomeness is the fact that my dear friend from And Foster Makes Five will be there at the exact. same. time! Um, yea. That’s happening.
A friend sent this link about the #367 dogs to me a couple of days ago and (if you have a box of tissues handy) I highly recommend reading it. I was instantly transported back to my time at Villalobos Rescue in New Orleans (from the show Pit Bulls and Parolees if you aren’t familiar with the name.) I’ve mentioned my time there in passing once or twice and many people have asked me to talk more about it, but I haven’t felt I possess the eloquence necessary to do the experience the justice it deserves. I still don’t think I do I will do my best to sum it up in a couple of “quick” paragraphs:
Life changing. If I could only use two words, those would be the ones. I can’t honestly say that I remember much from my drive to NOLA but what probably sticks out the most in my mind was the drive home from NOLA. I cried so hard that I had to pull over at one point. I distinctly remember sitting at a rest stop and debating just turning around and going back. Surely I could find a job bartending or something so I had food money and I was happy to just continue living in the warehouse that us volunteers had called home for the week. All I could think about were the things I was so ready to give up just so I could be there doing what I finally realized, with stunning clarity, was my true purpose in life. Obviously my head prevailed and I managed to make my way back to Florida and my regular life.
It was jarring to realize that sleeping on a cot, surrounded by strangers, showering (yes, showering) in a cold porta-potty, and eating processed crap had lead me to realize my purpose, but that’s exactly what it did. Why did I ever think I cared about clothes, or shoes, or a real bed with real sheets? So unnecessary and frivolous. I had always loved animals and I’d volunteered or taken in strays here and there, but it was now blindingly clear that this is where my heart is. I had a semester left of college, which I knew I had to finish, but it was clear that this was the only “career” I had any interest in. Being flat broke and possessing nothing more than rain boots was all I needed to fulfill my purpose in life. Fast forward to today and admittedly the drama of my drive home has worn off some, but my heart still beats to a slightly different drum, and I still view many things I previously thought were oh-so necessary as frivolous.
I had only seen clips of the show prior to my trip (and honestly I still have yet to see more than 10 minutes here or there) so I didn’t really know who anyone was, aside from knowing Tia called the shots. There were two momma dogs with litters of very young puppies and we were asked who wanted to step up to be on “puppy duty”. I assumed everyone would fight for this job but no one seemed particularly excited about it. Desperate to show I was worthy of being there, I tried to maintain my composure when I said I would do it (it was puppies people, putting a lid on my excitement was not easy!) The previous “puppy duty” volunteer was getting ready to leave and showed us everything that needed to be done. Aaaand now I realized why people weren’t fighting for the job. Those things were food devouring poop machines!
And then I met her: brown momma dog. I instantly fell hard and fast for her. While visitors came to “oooo” and “awww” over the puppies, she was the only dog I had eyes for. She was a plain little brown thing. No discernible markings, no discernible breed. Just a plain brown mutt, and it was love. When there was down time, which wasn’t often, I would go sit in her kennel with her. And by sit with her, I mean she would do her best to climb into my lap so every possible inch of her was touching me. I would murmur in her ear, telling her what a good girl she was, that she was the best mom ever, and that she was safe now. She was the biggest reason I wanted to turn my car around and come back, forever.
The days were long and the work was manual. I loved it. I’m not a particularly large person (I claim to be 5’2″ but I don’t think I’m even that) so of course I felt that I had to prove myself. I was partnered up with a guy named Ben and I was damned if I let him work faster than me. As we worked through cleaning our section of kennels he would tell me what he knew about the dogs and their lives before Villalobos. Initially all I could think about was how terribly depressing it was for these dogs to live in a loud warehouse, in a kennel, with minimal exercise and interaction. There just isn’t time in the day to sit and play with each dog, unless maybe you are a zombie that requires absolutely no sleep. Intuitively I knew that crying in front of these dogs was a selfish thing to do. It’s been said many times before, but they don’t need our tears, they need our strength. Holding it in all week is probably what lead to my torrent of tears on the drive home though. But like I was saying, Ben helped me realize just how much happier they were in this setting. They weren’t being beaten, living on chains, forced to fight, scrounging for food, or roaming the streets looking for shelter from storms, or, like my favorite brown momma dog, a safe place to have their babies. They were safe. And they were loved.
There is so much more I could say or describe about this experience but the main things I took away from it were: a deep appreciation and respect for the guys (and girls!) that work there. They are quite possibly the most compassionate people I have ever met. Tia knew everything about every single dog there. It was amazing. Not to mention the other volunteers that week were seriously so cool, and I still keep in touch with some of them! I took away a burning desire to keep at this rescue from now til forever. I learned first hand just how amazingly resilient dogs are. I mean, I had always known that to some extent, but seeing these happy, grinning faces, despite their varying backgrounds was truly amazing. I realized how little I need to truly be happy. A new purse can never, ever make me feel the way I felt while running through the yard with a dog that was just thankful to be out of his kennel. And I learned that sometimes a plain brown momma mutt is truly the coolest dog of all.
I can’t even begin to imagine what the #367 experience will be like compared to my time at Villalobos. I’m guessing it will be even more intense. These are all dogs from a fighting ring. I’m already repeating the mantra “They need my strength, not my tears” in preparation for the week. If my time at Villalobos taught me anything though, it’s that I’ll be giving their past much more thought than they will. I’m quite sure they will just be happy for the safety, regular meals, and especially love, that they are already receiving. Check back in a couple of days for my second piece of super exciting news!