I'm slacking off already, I guess.

Classes start tomorrow. I wish I felt more anticipation than dread, but I don't. I'm getting bogged down in the financial mire again, too. I need to not let it get to me--with my loans and everything I will be OK. Still, it worries me. I would really prefer not to have to live hand-to-mouth all semester (though I know that what I am thinking of as I type "hand-to-mouth" is a really rich white Westerners version thereof and I should be ashamed to complain about it).

Today is a very exciting day in the Mitchell-Harnett household. We just got our dog, Chance. His name was Champ at the rescue, but we figured a small change would be OK. He seems to be doing OK with being here so far, though he's only been here for about an hour. He is already asleep on the office floor while both Mark and I click away at our computers. That can't possibly be a bad sign.

All the federales say
We could have had him any day
We only let him slip away
Out of kindness I suppose
-"Pancho and Lefty"

I am so fucking thrilled. I have discovered that I can download all my mom's old-time country music from Kazaa and listen to it. It's making me homesick in a bittersweet way, but it's nice. It's really nice. I hear this stuff and I'm home again and I know exactly who I am. Nothing to reconcile, nothing to worry about. Just a small town Western girl.

Which is totally untrue, of course, but it's still nice to be in that place for awhile.

Another brilliant idea of the day? Buy Chance stuffed animals to play with from the Goodwill. They are cheap enough that way that I won't freak out when he rips them up. Hopefully Mark won't either. I can't believe how uptight Mark is about the damn dog. We're in the opposite roles I expected. That's probably good.

Oooh, I love this song!

Mmmmm...it's Sunday night and my life is just good. I love my Mark, I love my dog, I love what I'm doing (school and work). I love that I made lentil soup today and it's cheap, it's good and it's nutritious. I love that even though I am tired, I am tired from actually doing school work and chores and playing with the dog. I love that the TV hasn't been on all day and isn't on now.

It's hard to just be content. I don't trust it for very long, and it worries me when things get too quiet and seem too good. But I am content with this. This is what I want. Mark and were sitting on the couch and Chance came up and sat between us (on both of our legs) and we petted him and he just stayed there for several minutes. This is my family, I thought. And it is. I love my family of origin, but this is the family I am creating--the family we are creating. There isn't anything better than that.

OK, I should go get some more reading done before I melt completely into a puddle of gooey romantic nonsense.

It is getting a little old that cleaning up dog vomit is apparently part of my morning routine. Chance really need to stop eating things that make him vomit.

I walked Chance into an amazing golden sunrise this morning. It almost made being up at 7:30 when I don't have class until 2 worth it. Almost.

I have a stupid group project meeting at the massively inconvenient hour of 9am this morning. Then I'm coming back here and working (read: coming back here and taking a nap) before 2 o'clock class.

So far, having my schedule split into work week and school week seems to take a lot of pressure off.

I am trying to decide if I want to submit a paper/which paper I want to submit to the Women's Studies Colloquium thing. I am tempted to submit an abstract of the paper I am going to write for PD on HPV, since I would like to get more into women's health policy work, and presenting some would be good for the resume. However, I feel weird about signing up to present a paper I haven't written yet. Hrm...The deadline for abstracts is Nov. 14, so the chances of me writing it before then are pretty low, too.

Still, I think that's what I will do.

I am going to try to have grits for breakfast. We'll see how that goes.

So there is something wrong with my shoulder. It's like the pain that I had when Chancey pulled my shoulder out that one time, but a bit less. And it's persistant. Taking a shirt off over my head just about makes me cry.

Great. A health problem. Just what I don't have time for.

So you tell me if this is stupid...

I was sitting on the couch this morning, waiting for Mark to be ready to drive me to work, petting Chancey. And I got to thinking--why are we so much more comfortable with physical contact with animals than with other people? I would pet anyone's dog, but to even shake hands with the person freaks me out, and I certainly wouldn't touch them, or want them to touch me, in the intimate sense that petting implies. Does it have something to do with the power differential between us and animals? Or is it even simpler than that--would we all pet each other if we were all covered in fur?

Sometimes the "no touching" thing bothers me. I wish I could be more physically affectionate. Other than with Mark, I have a really hard time with it. Even hugging friends or my parents or whatever feels strange and stifling to me. And that definitely makes me feel like I'm missing something, because I like petting Chance, and Chance obviously likes to be petted.

We just took Chancey for his nightly walk, and I had the brilliant idea to let him off-leash for a few minutes in the schoolyard. His recall is so good at home, I figured he'd run around a bit and then come right back when we called him.

I was wrong. We chased him all over. He was practically in the highway. But he eventually allowed himself to be caught (once he was tired, I think), so all is well.

Except Mark is having a fit and says he is never allowed off-leash again.

Chancey and I just had an encounter where he lunged and barked at a 2 or 3 year-old little girl.

I can't deal with this. I just called Mark and told him we need to give Chance back. I'm second-thinking that now, of course, but...this is just too awful. I don't know how to make him behave the way he needs to in order for us to be able to trust him, and if we can't trust him, we can't keep him. It's really that simple. We spend a ton of time with him, he gets all of the love and affection any dog could want, we work with him as far as training and stuff goes...and he still does this every once in awhile. And it only takes once. So far we've been lucky, but...

Fuck. I can't even believe I am considering letting him go. I love him to pieces. I would feel awful if he weren't here. I would feel like my family was broken apart. There has to be another way.

Once upon a time, not long ago, there was a dog named Chance. Chance lived with a very loving couple. He had some behavioral problems early on, but he was a very good boy. Chancey was also a very big boy, weighing 113 lbs.

One day on his walk, Chance met Dottie in a yard just a few blocks away. Dottie was a Carin Terrier puppy some nice folks had rescued from the pound. Unlike big Chance, Baby Dottie was very small. She weighed about 8 lbs. She was roughly the size of Chance's snout, definitely smaller than his head.

On my way home from work, I often see a group of homeless people on the side of the street, particularly at one busy intersection. Sometimes there are only one or two, sometimes there are several spread out for several blocks. One of them, a man, nearly always has a dog with him. I have admired the dog, who looks to be a black Lab, before. I hadn't seen them in a couple of weeks at least, though, because I'd been taking a different route home due to my stop at the gym.

Y'all, I am exhausted. I should be OK today, as the little monsters let us sleep from about midnight to 7 am (time they apparently spent shitting and rolling around in it), but it's all catching up and I can barely keep my eyes open today.

Everybody is doing well, eating a ton and playing and showing beginning signs of being paper trained (OK, very beginning signs--that might just be wishful thinking).

The whole herd of them got their first shots and heartworm pills Saturday morning (complete with 2+ hour wait at the cheap vet clinic). Monday, the tiny one, only weighs 7 lbs, but the rest of them are between 10-12.5 lbs., and all are healthy. We were quite the sight trying to haul them to the vet in two carriers and a leash.

Gee, didn't exactly leave the blog in good spirits, did I?

Things are better, I think, than they were upon my last post. There are worse things to be than 20-30 lbs overweight. Lots of worse things. So...I've started keeping a food journal for a bit, just to get a sense of what I am eating, and my main focus is on exercise. Or was on exercise. I tore my pectoral muscle, so all exercise is suspended until I can breathe without Vicodin.

Mainly, I've just re-entered the zone in which I am tired of thinking about my weight. There is too much else going on to focus on it. We're closing on the house in just over a week. There is paint to pick out, there are boxes to pack. There is work drama that never ends, which may or may not turn out good for me. It is really and truly spring here, with green trees and blue sky and tank top and flip flop weather. Who wants to waste all that fixating on her fat ass?

We had a truly fantastic experience last weekend. The dog rescue we work with had a picnic, and three of our former puppies and their families came! I say former puppies because at not-quite-seven-months, they are HUGE! All about 60 lbs. And they are obviously all great dogs, and dogs that are integral parts of the families who adopted them. I don't think I've ever felt quite so proud as I did watching them play, watching their families mingle and thinking that yes, I made this happen. It is because of me that these dogs are alive and happy and healthy, and because of me that these people have these dogs to enrich their lives. How could I not be proud of that?

You know, the best friend I ever had was a dog
It sounds like a cliche unless it's happened to you
Some days that dog was the only reason I even got out of bed
-Dan Bern, "Estelle"

Tonight, I am moved to share my feelings about dogs.

Going over what I wrote last night, I realize I've barely scratched the surface of what I wanted to say. That is what happens when I try to post with the television on and Mark yammering at me. :)

First, I don't know if I made my feelings about my dog clear. I do not think Chance is a person. He is an entirely different species, with completely different needs and capacities. He does not understand logic, he cannot be reasoned with, he has a prey drive, he will never be able to use a toilet...the list goes on and on. But even though I don't think of Chance as human or humanesque, his life is worth as much to me as a human life. Yes, you read that correctly. My dog's life is worth as much to me as a person's life.

This is Sahara. She is somewhere between 2 and 3. She's half Pit Bull, half Boxer. She was rescued within minutes of being put down.

Cuddly Bow and Chancers

Chance is in at the emergency vet. He had surgery late last night for bloat. His stomach was completely turned and it is not yet 100% sure if parts of it died off or not (they did not think so when the did the surgery, so nothing was removed). If he lives through the next few days without complications, he should be fine (we are currently told the chances of this happening are 80-90%). If there are complications, it likely means that part of his stomach is dead and there could be infection. This would mean another surgery and his chances of living through it would be very decreased (50%, possibly lower depending on the extent of the damage).

This dog is my family. Please, please if you believe at all in praying or sending good vibes or whatever you do for animals, do it.

It all started at 6:30 AM on Thursday, when the alarm went off to wake us up to go to the airport. Actually, it started before that, about six weeks ago, when my job was making me crazy and I was yelling "I need a fucking vacation!" at the top of my lungs every 30 minutes or so. After some discussion and exploration of ticket prices and possibilities, Mark and I decided to take a long weekend vacation in Boston in early July. Some of our favorite people in the world happen to live there, so it seemed a good idea. The tickets were ridiculously expensive, but we decided to do it anyway. Fast forward back to the alarm Thursday morning. We got up and got to the airport alright, and our plane from Austin to Dallas only left about 30 minutes late, which was close enough to on-schedule that we didn't have any connection worries. So far, so good.

My baby is gone. Sudden heart failure this afternoon, after living through surgery #2, to repair a several inch diameter hole in his stomach. They did everything they could do, there was just too much damage. His stomach had been leaking into his abdominal cavity, which caused infection and a fever spike. They went in and fixed what they could with surgery this morning. We saw him briefly before he came out of the anesthesia, but were supposed to go back this afternoon when he was awake. The doctor called a couple of hours ago to tell us that he died in his sleep.

There will never be another dog like this dog.

For those who have been so kind as to email me and ask, this is the rescue who pulled Chance out of the kill shelter, and anyone who wants to donate in his name, we'd be happy if you'd send your money here.

Mark and I have started looking for a new dog. There's a lot of controversy about whether or not that's a good idea at this stage--Chance has only been gone for a week--but it definitely feels right to me, and I think it's beginning to feel right to Mark as well.

We haven't met anyone yet, but I've been in touch with some fosters and rescues and we have some contenders. One is a 1 year-old female Bernese named Cookie. I don't have a picture of her yet, but her personality sounds great, if a bit on the hyper side for us, and I absolutely love Bernese Mountain Dogs. She's at a rescue in Dallas, and I am communicating with someone there to get more information about her.

I just talked to the woman who runs the rescue where Leo is. We are going to adopt him. I am so, so happy. It feels very right, adopting a dog his age (they are now guessing him at closer to 6 than 4). We will be able to give him the spoiled, mellow old age that we weren't able to give Chance.

Like all things, though, there is some sadness in this. Specifically, I also heard back about Cookie, the Bernese (now called Caroline by her rescue, which is a much better name, I think). She sounds delightful as well, and is, as you can see, quite beautiful in a goofy puppy way. I would have loved to have her. Mark and I even taked about taking them both (they both get on well with other dogs), but decided that Leo needs some time to adjust to us and to living inside and everything else before we get another dog, especially a fairly hyper young dog. So someone else will have to make a good home for Caroline. I hope that they do.

When Mark and I first adopted Chance, we considered getting pet insurance. I'm the type who likes to insure things (as well as ensure things, I guess), so I assumed we'd get it, but we'd heard it didn't cover routine stuff (shots, yearly exams, etc.) and Chance was young and healthy, so we decided against it without ever really doing any research.

Mistake.

I am so angry about this I can barely type. Seriously. Fuck these people. Fuck anyone who would do this, anyone who would support it, and anyone who thinks it is no big deal.

A slightly more in depth piece on the same subject.

Actual text about our adventures in picking him up to come, but until then, pictures!!

He's absolutely fabulous. He's sweet and gentle (even has an amazing soft mouth). He is warming up to us very quickly. For the first two days, he was almost completely immobile (as in, we had to put a leash on him to get him up off the dog bed for any reason), but now he wanders around and follows us from room to room. He has shown no signs of aggression or fear. We're bonding. Mark and I are both in love with him already.

In the comments to my original post about Atticus, Scand asked me to speak about why I have all-male pets, as feminist. She also asked why I gave Atticus the name I did. So I thought I'd answer those things:

My co-worker brought this ad in to share with me yesterday, and it amused me so much, I have to share it with all of you. Tell me, does this depressed-ass dog make you want to buy his variety of food?

We had a big weekend at my house this weekend. Friday night was the usual laze about, but Saturday was jam packed with activity. First, Mark and I took Atty and Leo to the vet, Atty to get microchipped and Leo to get blood work down. Atty screamed like he was being killed while they were inserting the chip, but was otherwise fine. Leo was a trooper, but we're under strict orders to reduce his food intake, as he's up to 135 lbs, when he'd be healthier at closer to 110. Which is totally my fault, I'll admit it. I just couldn't see how fat he was getting.

The other day, Mark and I caught a show on Animal Planet called "Rocket Dogs." Rocket Dog Rescue is a dog rescue in San Francisco, run by an amazing women named Pali Boucher. The show did not just talk about the rescue, but about Pali's life and how she came to be doing what she's doing. I have rarely admired anyone more. Born a ward of the state with a drug addicted mother who died when she was 10, Pali had a rough, rough childhood and early adulthood. A number of years back, she was homeless and drug addicted. Then she met a dog named Leadbelly (looked to be a hound/Rott mix of some time) and wanted to be able to take care of him so badly that she went into rehab and got clean.

In case anybody was wondering, I am supporting Kinky Friedman for governor my beloved adopted home, the Lone Star State. And yes, I am completely serious. Not only is he the by-far least nauseating of the "candidates," he actually does and has done good things, which is more than I can say for 99.9% of politicians, especially viable ones (let's save the discussion re: whether or not he's viable for another day). Don't believe me? Check out the Utopia Animal Rescue Ranch.

I have been following the discussion over on Fussy with great interest. Mrs. Kennedy posted about the eye health issues her bulldog, Katie, is having, and that started an intense debate on breeders vs. rescues as places which to obtain dogs, neutering and spaying, etc. This is obviously something on which I have an opinion. And quite a strong one. One which is different from Mrs. Kennedy's. So, rather than clog up her fantastic blog with it, I'm going to use my soapbox.

Intrigued by Belinda's comparison of my position on pet breeding and that of PeTA (in the comments to my last dog post), I decided to delve a bit more into things. A good starting place was Belinda's own anti-PeTA post from October. Then I checked out PeTA's website to make sure Belinda was portraying their views correctly, and I think she is. In addition to being against animal research and wearing or eating animals, PeTA is also conceptually against pets (or, if you prefer "companion animals") and believes that they should not be intentionally bred.

A while back, I wrote a post about my new personal hero Pali Boucher, the founder and driving force behind Rocket Dog Rescue. Boucher's story inspired the hell out of me when Mark and I saw the show on Animal Planet about her work, and I've been thinking a lot about her and her rescue ever since. And Mark and I have bandied about the idea of our own rescue some day, but not here, since there are already so many rescue orgs and foster networks and we don't really have the time or the money or the space to dedicate to it.

I have some things to say about responsibility.

Our foster dog, Bridget, is suffering from a tick-borne virus. It's not (usually) fatal. It's being treated with antibiotics. She will most likely be fine, after a lengthy time-and-money intensive treatment.

However, it seems a bit suspicious whenever a dog who has obviously been someone's pet shows up at the pound and isn't claimed. Especially in smaller towns. The likelihood that the dog was dumped seems much higher. And when the dog has an illness that's expensive to treat, it seems even higher.

In other news, an acquaintance of mine has a lovely pit mix. She's going to give her away, or surrend her to the pound, or have her put down (hopefully not the latter). Why? Because she's "too hard to handle" has "too much energy" and training is "too expensive."

When I was a kid, my dad referred to his and my then-stepmother's dogs--when I was young, a Husky-mix, Sheba and a hound mix, Shiloh, then later a Rottweiler, Khan, and an Akita, Kuma--as my brothers. It always drove me nuts. The dogs were smelly. The dogs were hairy. The dogs drooled. The dogs were...dogs. They were not my brothers. It seemed devaluing to me, as a human child, to be referred to with the same terms as dogs.

What I didn't know then, and I do know now, was that my dad loved those dogs so much that if he'd felt half of what he felt for them for me I'd have had a much better parent. I ought to have been honored to be compared to them. My dad makes no excuses about preferring dogs to people.

And the older I get, the more I see the old man's point.

Last week, a dog hoarder was busted near here. I haven't written about it because I've been too angry to get anything sensical down. The person wasn't just hoarding, I guess, but was breeding intentionally and selling as well, in really despicable conditions. Over 100 dogs (mostly daushunds, with some other small dogs as well) were rescued from her place, and they all went to local rescue, mostly the Humane Society.

It's a sad story, and it's one that happens all the damn time. So I was going to write about it in order to cajole any readers to donate to their local Humane Societies and what have you. And you all should still do that.

BUT, I just went to the website of the Austin Humane Society, and it had this to say: "It was a whirlwind adoption weekend and every Brownwood Dog that was available, got adopted. Even our 'special needs' friends: Prancy, Calvin and Deja! It was so crowded in the adoption center, and many of our longer term dogs like Oreo got adopted too! Congratulations to everyone who took home a new friend this weekend."

Bless you.

I feel sure that pictures of my dogs will improve your day. Or, you know, just improve mine.

As you can see, Ata is really quite tiny.

edited by Megan McMorris
Seal Press, March 28, 2006

This is a book of short pieces from a variety of female writers (mostly journalists), all about dogs. I've been slowly reading it for several weeks now, and just finished it the other night.

A few of the women featured in the book are ones I've read before, most notably Pam Houston and (the late) Caroline Knapp, both of whom have other work I much admire. The dogs featured are a motley bunch, from Pam Houston's herd of Irish Wolfhounds (how I envy that!) to a couple of dauschunds. They are personal pets, dogs of friends and family, or neighborhood menances. Some of them are already gone, but most are still alive. And the essays in the book explore several angles of the human-dog relationship. Or, I guess, more specifically, the woman-dog relationship. There are good dogs and bad dogs, and relationships that are more and less fulfilling. Which is exactly why I liked the book as a whole--it portrays the relationships between women and their dogs as something more than a simple idea of unconditional love or, worse yet, surrogate children. It portrays these relationships as complex, organic entities. Which is what, in my experience, they are. As books about dogs go, I'd rank this one up there with Knapp's full length work, Pack of Two. And that's saying something.

I was asked recently by an acquaintance what precipitated my interest in and love for dogs. I gave her a fairly brief answer, but the question got me to thinking about the long answer, so I thought I'd have a go at it here. An illustrated history of my life in dogs...

Chapter One, the Boston Years

I was born into a dog loving family, though as far as I know, neither of my parents had a dog at the time of my birth. My mom's parents, with whom we lived briefly right after my birth, had a Springer spaniel whose name escapes me now. My dad's parents had a whole passel of Boston terriers. Dad's dad bred them. These Bostons are my first dog memories, and I remember them as vicious, yipping, nasty little things. For a long time, even after I started loving dogs, I really disliked Bostons. He named all the female ones ridiculous things like Beauty and Princess and Darling, but they were still mean and ugly, to my little girl's mind. He even gave one to my mom and me (my parents weren't together), but she ate the furniture and nipped at me, so she didn't last long. Twenty-five plus years later, my grandfather is gone, but my grandmother still raises Boston terriers. And though I've come to have some appreciation for them, they still are not my favorite breed. I'm irrationally scared of them, to be honest. Guess they make me feel like I'm two again.

This Friday, June 23, is the 8th Annual Take Your Dog to Work Day. I'm fairly certain I'm not going to be able to participate (though I am going to inquire about bringing Leo in), but I think anybody who can do so should. I'd love to see it normalized to take dogs to more places--I think it's good for dogs and good for people. And yes, I realize there are problems with it (allergies being the biggest one and dog phobia falling close behind it), but I think those issues can be negotiated if dog owners are willing to be reasonable and responsible.

So heres to reasonable and responsible pet ownership, and to the increases in employee satisfaction and productivity dogs can bring to work places!

In talking with a few people about Take Your Dog to Work Day, and about dogs in public in general, it's become clear that a lot of people who have issues with dogs in public places or work places really have issues with dog owners who don't act responsibly. And I can understand that. As I hope I made clear before, I think it's a necessary part of dog ownership to make sure your dog isn't a PITA to other people, at least to a reasonable degree. I also think it's part of the responsibility of someone like me, who wants to see the places for dogs in our society expand, to show how that can be done without inconveniencing anyone. In that spirit, I decided to start a list of rules for responsible dog ownership. Please feel free to add other rule suggestions in the comments--this list is a work in progress.

Rules for Responsible Dog Ownership

1. Keep your dog on a leash in public places. With the exception of places that are explicitly leash-free, like dog parks and private yards, I believe dog owners, no matter what size their dogs are, should keep their dogs leased when they aren't at home. Even if you completely trust your dog to stay right with you and you're only walking through the neighborhood, I still think the dog should be leashed. This is both for the dog's protection (particularly from cars) and for the peace of mind of anyone you encounter. Because the truth is that no matter how trustworthy you know your dog is, someone out there is going to be afraid of him/her, and it's going to freak that person out to see the dog without a leash and not under your physical control. People don't need that.

A year ago this week (I thought today, but actually Tuesday--which I am glad I didn't know on Tuesday), Chance died. It's something I honestly don't think about any more than I have to, because even a year later it still hurts too much, He was my first dog-baby, my best friend, and the bridge over which Mark and I crossed from two individuals to a family. He kindled what will clearly be a lifelong passion for dogs in me, and I am grateful in so many ways for the little tiny bit of time we had.

What I keep thinking about today, though, is talking to my dad on the phone a couple of days after he died. When Dad gave me what is probably the only good piece of advice he's ever given me or ever will. He told me that as soon as we could stand it, Mark and I should go get another dog, because we're dog people now, and that's what dog people do. And he was right. I know some people think they should wait after one pet dies to get another pet, wait until they are ready. Well, the truth is that if we'd waited we never would have been ready. It was something we had to jump into, and without Leo, I don't think we ever would have been able to live with losing Chance.

So July 11 was the first anniversay of Chance's death, and July 30 is the first anniversary of our life with Leo. And that's the cycle, how it's always going to be. It breaks your heart, but that's how it is.

What a lovely weekend I had! I wish it weren't over. Mondays are so depressing. No matter how much I like my job, Mondays are just sad.

We sold the Mazda, which was fantastic. We got $200 less than we asked for it. We probably could have held out for full price, but it's nice just to have it over and done with, and the family to whom we sold it were very nice. So now our floor fund is complete, I think, and we are going to start figuring out what our plan is for the floors. Finally. Mark got all emotional about letting the car go--it's such a great car, it was our first major purchase together, etc. I thought it was funny. But I apparently have ice water in my veins, so there you go.

An acquaintance of mine is about to adopt a dog. While it is not her first dog, it is her first extra-large breed dog, and the first time she's planning on having a dog reside mainly inside her house. It's also her first experience with rescue, rather than buying dogs from breeders. So she's asked me quite a few questions lately, and I've given her what advice I can, based on my experiences. This has gotten me thinking about a more general list of recommendations/advice for those who are adopting a dog for the first time, or who are considering their first very large dogs, or first inside dogs, or their first dogs of any kind, or whatever. So I thought I'd start compiling a list.

1. Make friends with your vacuum cleaner. Seriously, if you and your vacuum do not have a good relationship, then get a new one. If it's subpar, replace it now. You are going to be spending a lot of time with it in the near future. This is important particularly if you are adopting your first long-haired dog, but even with a short-haired dog you'll be surprised how often you need to vacuum. It's not just their hair (though it is, at least in our case, mainly their hair); they also bring in a lot of dirt and leave and various other stuff you don't want on your floors. Someone asked me once how often we need to vacuum. Need is an ever-changing thing. In order to keep my house in the shape it was typically in pre-dog, I'd need to vacuum every day, at least once. In order to keep it livable by my new, dog-adopter standards, we vacuum at least twice a week, and usually 3-4 times. So, like I said, learn to love your vacuum, or purchase one you can love. Also, buy stock in the vacuum bag company, because you are going to be changing your bag a lot more than you ever thought possible.

I have probably mentioned here before that if I could clone our older dog, Leo, I would. Leo is a beautiful animal and a truly good soul. I told Mark the other night that in the last year (the time we've had him), Leo has given me more unmitigated joy than any other creature I've ever known (it speaks to how well Mark and I understand each other that he didn't find this insulting in the least). And it's true, he really has. Chance taught me that I love dogs, and that they are completely worth the effort, but Leo is my canine soul mate.

A few days ago, on one of my frequent trips through all of the local dogs on Petfinder, I may have found Leo's clones. Or perhaps even his offspring.

This is Leo:

One of my favorite blog-dogs, Mrs. Kennedy's gorgeous bulldog Katie, had to be put down this week due to cancer. In her name, September giving goes to the National Canine Cancer Foundation, to support research into cancer in dogs.

Atakan, our younger dog, is completely convinced that he is a lap dog. I think in his mind he weighs about 10 lbs. In reality, he weighs about 120 lbs, I think. When these pictures were taken, it felt more like 300.

It is once again Love Thursday, and I'm all in it today. I love, love, love Leo. And today Leo is having surgery. Just a minor surgery, to take out a few broken off teeth and get the rest of the chompers cleaned up so they won't rot away, but it's still making me plenty nervous. So I'm thinking about what a wonderful, positive presence has has been in my life, and in Mark's, since we adopted him last summer.

I'm not generally the dopey "dogs are all angels" type, but if I were, I would tell you that Leo is an angel. He was exactly what we needed when we needed it, when the grief over Chance was so deep we had no idea how we'd slog through it. He is a patient, gentle, loving creature, as well as being a dog who had fallen on some very hard times and really needed our help to get back into a comfortable, safe life. I'd like to think that we've done as much for Leo as he's done for us, but honestly, we haven't even scratched the surface.

So that's what I'm thinking about on this Love Thursday. Hoping that Leo has a safe and speedy surgery and that his mouth doesn't hurt when he wakes up. Or at least that it doesn't hurt anymore than soft food and a few doggie painkillers can take care of.

Yesterday, some kind soul looked at my pictures on Flickr and sent me the following e-mail:

I love your Anatolians, and I thinking of getting one to be a companion to my little girl (she is 10).

I heard they are very good with children.

Little does this unsuspecting soul know that she's given me license to ramble on at length about one of my very favorite subjects. So I emailed her back, but the audience of one wasn't ultimately satisfying, so I'm going to share my thoughts on the noble Anatolian Shepherd with you unsuspecting blog readers as well (increasing my audience to about three, probably).

A perennial favorite question: how many cats do you need to have to be the crazy cat lady? Alternatively, how many dogs do you need to have to be the crazy dog lady? What if you mix it up and have both?

The current size of our menagerie is four: two feline, two canine. For some people this would clearly be too many. I respect that. Four pets is a lot of work, a lot of expense, a lot of poop scooping and litter box cleaning and lugging bags of dog food and a million other not wholly enjoyable things. We always have vet bills. We always spend a lot at the pet store. We always have hair on our clothes, on our furniture, and often between our teeth. We spend a ton of time grooming and feeding and medicating and walking and playing. Our pets are our number one priority, the first place we direct our money and time. For many, probably most, people, there is little appeal to this lifestyle.

For Mark and I, though, it simply can't be any other way.

By request, I am re-posting this entry from August 10, 2006.

An acquaintance of mine is about to adopt a dog. While it is not her first dog, it is her first extra-large breed dog, and the first time she's planning on having a dog reside mainly inside her house. It's also her first experience with rescue, rather than buying dogs from breeders. So she's asked me quite a few questions lately, and I've given her what advice I can, based on my experiences. This has gotten me thinking about a more general list of recommendations/advice for those who are adopting a dog for the first time, or who are considering their first very large dogs, or first inside dogs, or their first dogs of any kind, or whatever. So I thought I'd start compiling a list.

1. Make friends with your vacuum cleaner. Seriously, if you and your vacuum do not have a good relationship, then get a new one. If it's subpar, replace it now. You are going to be spending a lot of time with it in the near future. This is important particularly if you are adopting your first long-haired dog, but even with a short-haired dog you'll be surprised how often you need to vacuum. It's not just their hair (though it is, at least in our case, mainly their hair); they also bring in a lot of dirt and leave and various other stuff you don't want on your floors. Someone asked me once how often we need to vacuum. Need is an ever-changing thing. In order to keep my house in the shape it was typically in pre-dog, I'd need to vacuum every day, at least once. In order to keep it livable by my new, dog-adopter standards, we vacuum at least twice a week, and usually 3-4 times. So, like I said, learn to love your vacuum, or purchase one you can love. Also, buy stock in the vacuum bag company, because you are going to be changing your bag a lot more than you ever thought possible.

Mark and I have decided to start back up with dog fostering. This is good, I think. We've wanted to do it for a while, now that we've gotten over our several month run with the Bridget. I advocated strongly for fostering a new type of dog this time, one we didn't already have experience with, and probably a smaller one, since we do still have two gigantic hounds already. While Mark and I were talking about what type of dog we'd like to foster and what type of foster organization we'd like to get involved with, I happened to see a posting on Petfinder from the Austin Hound Rescue, saying they were looking to expand their foster network. Hounds, I thought, would be perfect. So I talked to Mark and got in touch with them and we're going to give fostering hounds a shot.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Friday!

As you may or may not know (depending on whether you are a dog dork like me), last night was the first night of the annual Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Even though I am (some would say nastily) against purebred registered dogs, I love watching dog shows, and this is one of the biggies. So Mark and I plopped ourselves in front of the TV for multiple hours last night and watched the dogs, making predictions, naming our favorites, and making fun of the truly funny-looking breeds.

Here's how the first night went:

The Working Group was the first in the ring. This is both Mark's and my favorite group (unsurprisingly, given the dogs we live with). From the minute she entered the ring, my money was on the Akita to win. A 3-year old female, called Macey, she's one of the best looking Akitas I've ever seen, and I've seen quite a number of them (my aunt bred and raised them for years). Her coat is phenomenal and her movement is beautiful. How surprised was I when the judge agreed with me!?

The second night was just as exciting as the first!

The first group of the night was the Sporting dogs. So a very long parade of spaniels. I was very fond of the Golden Retriever, but he didn't place. The other dogs that stood out to me were the Brittany, James, who took first, and the Irish Setter, Fonzie, who took fourth.

Came across this article this morning, about some lost hikers who made it off Mount Hood alive. In part, their luck was due to the lab mix hiking with them, Velvet. Quoth the article:

"The dog probably saved their lives" by lying across them during the cold night, said Erik Brom, a member of the Portland Mountain Rescue team. As the group started out on Saturday, the weather was clear and Velvet was leading the way, Liston said. "She looked back every once in awhile to make sure we were OK."

Gotta love that.

I came upon a story today about a California Wal-Mart asking a woman and her service dog in training to leave the store. Why? Because the dog, 10 month old Chloe, is a pit bull. You can see a bit of local news coverage of the incident here.

There's so much wrong with this...first, it is illegal, as per the Americans with Disabilities Act (1990), to deny access to a person with a service dog. Everybody should know that by now. I t shouldn't ever be questioned. That's the last thing folks who use dogs to help them get around and get through their days need or should have to put up with. Secondly, there are no breed specifications on who can and cannot be a service dog. Just because we are used to seeing labs in service vests doesn't mean they are the only dogs that can perform the tasks needed of service dogs, or even that they are necessarily the best choice for service dogs. There are many breed characteristics of pit bulls (including loyalty, strength, and intelligence) that make them great candidates for service animals. The Wal-Mart employee who approached this dog and her owner/handler asked them to leave because "there are children in the store and we can't have a vicious breed in here" was showing nothing but plain ignorance.

I haven't written in a few days, but it's been busy! Lots going on!

First, Friday found his forever home, and it's a great situation. He's living with a single man who was obviously just yearning for a dog. The guy works at home, so Friday has his own full-time person, and his own giant yard (at least twice the size of our yard). His person is not at all adverse to getting another dog in the future, and there are dogs living on both sides of his new home, so he won't be lonely for canine companionship either. A match made in heaven.

But we weren't without additional dogs for long. Our new fosters, Edie the middle-aged heavyweight, beautifully-tempered beagle and Oliver the rambunctious puppy joined our pack yesterday. Both of them were in danger of euthanization at an overly-crowded city pound in one of the suburbs. I had just come for Edie, having been alerted by the Hound Rescue, but they showed me Oliver and it wasn't like I could leave him there to get killed. I have no idea what manner of puppy he is (guesses are welcome), but so far he's a joy--hyper, of course, but very well-behaved, sleeps through the night, and only a couple of minor potty accidents so far.

On other fronts, things are good. Work is busy, but I'm thriving on it. My plants are doing exceptionally well. I'm harried enough that I don't have time to shop anyway, so not shopping is going well.

Also, I went to church on Sunday and it felt really, really good. Better and more comfortable than it ever has before. Maybe I'm ready this time.

I am not going to bore you with the various and sundry ways in which I sucked this weekend, nor with beating myself up about it. I shopped, I didn't go to church, Mark and I fought, it was bad. However, it is back to being not bad now, and so forward we will go.

On a happy note, both Oliver and Edie are now on trial adoptions with their new families, who seem in both cases to be well-suited for them and happy to have them. This is great for them, and good for us, as well, as we need a little bit of less stressful non-fostering down time to get our collective shit together.

ORLANDO, Fla. --A 17-pound beagle named Belle is more than man's best friend. She's a lifesaver. Belle was in Washington, D.C., on Monday to receive an award for biting onto owner Kevin Weaver's cell phone to call 911 after the diabetic Ocoee man had a seizure and collapsed.

Heh. Awesome! Go here for the rest.

Meet our newest foster pup, Jake! Jake is a four to five year old black & tan coonhound mix (maybe mixed with Doberman, or at least that's the best guess we've heard so far). As you can see, he's very very skinny. He has had a hard life, and spent the last several months (maybe more than a year) roaming without a home. He got into some kind of a scrap with a critter of some variety (the guess is raccoon) and got a bad bite on his back leg, which got really really infected. Then some good person picked him up and took him to the vet, who fixed up the leg and got in touch with us, and now he's walking fine, infection free, and at our house.

It will be a bit before Jake is ready to be adopted--he needs to finish his course of antibiotics, and he needs to gain some weight. Right now, he has worms, which is impeding his weight gain, but that will be cleared up pretty quickly. He's either had some sort of throat surgery or been debarked, as he has a large scar on his neck and no real bark (a howl/whine instead). And he's totally sweet--he is very affectionate, playful with the other dogs, and just wants to be loved and taken care of. We're working on his manners (he's a jumper), but otherwise is no trouble at all, so we aren't going to mind taking care of him until we find him a perfect home.

It occurred to me that I haven't introduced you all to our current foster pups. Yes, that's plural--we have two. We didn't mean to have two, it's just that Ruby, the little one, was in a high-kill situation and needed an immediate placement. We're hoping not to have her for too long, though honestly she's a joy so far (could be because she was just spayed on Tuesday and her energy is still kind of low).

Anyway, the bigger one on the left is Sonny and the smaller one on the right is Ruby.

I just couldn't resist...

So I have been refraining from posting anything about Michael Vick, mostly because I didn't think my blog readers needed to have their eyes assaulted by the inevitable onslaught of profanity that would ensue. I also didn't think my repeated wishes of great pain and suffering to Vick would put me in the best light. However, today it was brought to my attention that the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) is planning to honor Vick at their 50th anniversary celebration this weekend.

Honestly, there are no words for the pure rage that fills me with.

The SCLC has done fantastic work, from the Montgomery Bus Boycott through the March on Washington, voter registration drives, etc. I am fully in support of their history, even if my loyalties tend to lie with more radical organizations. Choosing to honor a man who is currently facing charges of horrendous, sadistic animal abuse, however, is beyond the pale (hit Google if you want info on Vick's case, I really don't have it in me to go through those stories again). How can the SCLC choose to honor Vick for his outstanding humanity? The message they send by doing so it terrible in two ways. First, it implies that Vick's alleged crimes against animals make no difference is his great humanity; and secondly, it implies that they couldn't find any other great black people to honor who actually are outstanding humans. This choice is offends me not only as a dog advocate, but as a human being. It's not just completely without regards to the animals abused and destroyed by Vick and others like him, it's also really racist.

I've been meaning, for a bit of time, to write about FlexPetz (no link from me, fuck them) and how much I hate the whole concept and how it makes me want to vomit. However, Laurie at BlogHer wrote a post this morning that made all of my major points without extraneous cursing, so go her.

One thing I will add is this: if you want an animal in your life, but don't feel ready to foster in your home, then you should really look into volunteering with an animal shelter or rescue. You can help homeless pets without putting them or yourself in a situation that is destined to fail. Pets should not be consumables, to be bought, or, in the case of FlexPetz, rented. While I can think of nothing in my life that has been as singularly rewarding as working in animal rescue, the rewards it brings to me are absolutely the wrong reason to do it. It has to be for them, first, last, and always.

Chance (my former dog, for those who are newer to the blog) was hell on toys. He loved to chew and pull on things and was a big dog with a very powerful set of chompers, so things didn't last too long around him. Due to this predilection for destruction, and the ridiculous cost of dog toys, we learned fairly quickly that Goodwill stuffed animals were the best way to go. Since they were just going to be gutted in short order anyway, it didn't much matter how ugly or silly looking they were.

Leo and Ata (current dogs) aren't anywhere near as hard on toys, or as excited about toys, as Chance was. They'll sniff and lick and lightly chew on anything new that comes into the house, but once they've thoroughly explored whatever it is, it's likely to sit in the toy basket for a month before either one of them thinks to pick it up again. We have holiday-specific stuffies from at least a year ago, and when something does get thrown out, it's usually because it's just gotten too damn dirty, not because it's been eviscerated.

There is news today that Michael Vick is entering a plea bargain in his dog fighting case. It sounds as if he may well do some actual prison time for his crimes, though probably not much. His sponsors are pretty much all ending their relationships with him, and he's currently suspended from the NFL. I wouldn't be surprised if he never plays again.

It's not nearly enough.

The Austin city council has passed an anti-chaining ordinance! Basically, it states that it will be illegal as of October 1 to chain or tether your dog and leave him/her. It further states that dogs who live in outdoor pens or kennels must have at least 150 square feet of space per adult dog. These are both big advances in humane pet ownership and I'm thrilled that the city council has taken this stand. Now I am crossing my fingers for actual enforcement.

If you are having that cranky Monday feeling this morning, I suggest taking a trip over to the American Humane website, where they have posted the winners and finalists of their pet photo contest.

Not as good as another hour's sleep, maybe, but it'll do.

P.S. This one is my favorite, hands down.

I just realized I haven't introduced you all to our new foster dog, Eugene.

After our long break from fostering, we decided it was time to start up again. Since our house is pretty much in shambles anyway (more even than usual--I actually put my foot through the shower wall the other night), there isn't much they can hurt, and we're going to be home steadily from now until Christmas. So we went last week and met a beagle mix, at the pound, and Saturday we brought him home. And named him Eugene, because we're cruel like that.

Eugene is a fantastic dog. He's clearly been someone's beloved and cherished pet. He is the cuddliest thing ever, loves to sit on your lap and sleeps contentedly (and quietly!) right next to me at night. I really wish I could find his people, as I'd assume he lost them, but since I can't, I am dedicated to finding him a great family to replace them. Honestly, I'd keep himself if given half the chance.

I don't usually post the images from my dog-of-the-day calendar here, because, well, it would get annoying. And also probably be copyright infringement. But because today is Friday, and because it is not yet 9 AM and I am already fed up, I'm making an exception:

OK, so Ellen DeGeneres adopted a dog from a rescue organization. The dog didn't work out with her cats. Rather than returning it to the rescue, as the contract she signed stated she was obligated to do, she gave it to her her hairdresser (read about it here). When the rescue called to check on the adoption and was informed that that dog had been given away, a rescue representative went to the home of the hairdresser (who has pre-teen children) and reclaimed the dog. The Ellen went on her show crying and apologizing, saying that she thought she had done the right thing by finding the dog a family, and that the rescue is not a home or a family, and that her mistake shouldn't be taken out on the dog or the children, who had become attached to it.

Got it?

Now imagine livid little me.

I am going to have SUCH a hard time letting this dog go.

When I was a kid, I used to tell people I was going to travel the world and get pregnant in different countries and end up with a multi-lingual, multi-ethnic brood of kids. As I got older and understood adoption, I decided I'd do it that way. I had in mind a family that looked a bit like Brad and Angelina's, actually. I loved the idea that I would have a family that had all come from different places, at different ages, and had different life experiences. In my biological family, people tend to resemble each other quite a bit physically, talk in similar ways, and live in similar conditions. I wanted something more exotic (remember, this is when I was a kid, please, and no flames for what I now recognize as a pretty obnoxious thought patterns). A mixed bag.

On Friday evening, Eugene went to his new home. All signs are good there and I think it will be a great situation for his new family (which includes a not-quite-five year-old boy) and for him.

On Saturday, we inherited our new foster dog, Tucker, from another foster home who needed to get him out in order to make room for a new high needs dog. Tucker already has an adopter lined up, so we will only have him for 1-2 weeks (until we can make transportation arrangements, as his new adopter is out of town).

Tucker is a 14-month old bloodhound. He is very much on the skinny side (and eating 8 cups of high energy puppy food a day!) and weighs about 100 lbs. He's a big, big boy. He's also a drooler, and has an amazing bark/bay. He's a big sweet love. He's not at all what we expected to have next, so we've had to make some adjustments, but I think he's going to be just fine. Doesn't he look like one of ours already?

The foster dog of the moment is the very lovely Mr. Yogi Bear.

Mark has started calling Yogi Smeagol the Beagle. Which is funny, really.

Smeagol totally attacked Ata like 2 seconds after this picture was taken.
(The photo is of Ata, a very large white dog, and Yogi, a largish beagle, lying close together and smiling.)

We spent a couple of hours last night with Leo at the emergency vet. Always a good time. Nothing to worry about, he'll be fine, but still, stressful.

On Friday night, Leo and Ata got into it briefly over something (not sure what). This never happens, so it was scary in and of itself, but what was scarier was that Leo fell and got a pretty gnarly, though small, puncture wound (I think from something on the dog crate he fell against, but honestly I'm not sure--Ata didn't bite him, though, it had to be from the fall). It looked pretty clean and not terrible, and wasn't bleeding much, so we just cleaned it up and bandaged it. However, by last evening it was clear that he was developing cellulitis in the leg below where he was cut, so off to the emergency vet we went.

Two plus hours later, we left with a newly cleaned and wrapped wound, a bottle of antibiotics, a $150 bill, and directions to follow up with our regular vet on Monday. So now we're checking and re-wrapping every 12 hours, trying to keep him from chewing on it, watching for infection, and administering antibiotics with the tried-and-true peanut butter method.

I like lists.

While I'm sure I could learn to love any type of dog...

Dog breeds for which I have a particular affinity

• Airedale Terrier


• Akita


• American Staffordshire Terrier


• Anatolian Shepherd Dog


• Basset Hound


• Beagle
• Bernese Mountain Dog


• Bouvier des Flandres


• Bulldog


• Bullmastiff


• Clumber Spaniel


• French Bulldog


• Giant Schnauzer


• Great Dane


• Great Pyrenees


• Greater Swiss Mountain Dog


• Greyhound


• Harrier


• Irish Wolfhound


• Komondor


• Mastiff


• Miniature Schnauzer


• Newfoundland


• Old English Sheepdog


• Otterhound


• Petit Bassot Griffon Vendeen


• Rottweiler


• Saint Bernard


• Standard Schnauzer


• Yorkshire Terrier

I am cool with the lion bedding down the lamb and all that, but do they have to do it on my bed?

(The photo is of a large white dog, Ata, stretched out on the bed, along with two cats, the tabby, Atty, and the tortie, Esme.)

Email dispatch from my mom:

Now, the bad news. Bella started having seizures Sat. night she had 5 that I know of. Then Sun. night she had one every 1-2 hours. I think she had been having them during the day Sun. too, I just didn't see any. Mon. she kept having them during the day. When she wasn't having a seizure she was mostly out of it. I didn't see but two, but I know she had some outside too from the way she looked and she was covered on the back with mud (she is on her back when they are happening.) Before when she had them they never went more than two days - and she only had a cluster of 2-4 each day. I thought she would probably be over them and be good for another month or so. But when she was so bad Sun. night and Mon. I knew we had to do something. Anyway, George took me to the school Mon. afternoon and I worked for 1 hr. When we got back Bella was dead on the porch. Evidently she had one that she just didn't come out of, or maybe had a heart attack or something. I don't' know. I had decided that we were probably going to have to have her put down on Tues. but I felt really bad we weren't there. The seizures were awful though and I know she is better off. It's pretty sad though. We feel pretty bad. It helps that Hank is here during the day. I could have dealt with her having a few every couple of months but these were almost non stop and she didn't deserve to have to go through that.

Hope you're in a better place, Bella.

It's been a really, really bad day. My allergies are as bad as I can ever remember them being, so I felt crappy and out of sorts all day, and then we had a pretty tragic few hours with our new and now former foster dog, culminating in him making a valiant effort to kill Leo (don't worry, Mark and I were both right there to intervene, so Leo is fine).

We agreed a long time ago that there are lots of things we'll give fosters another chance with. Attacking Leo is not and never will be one of those things. He's earned this cushy retirement, and his needs, and certainly his safety, comes first. Still, it's awful when we're not able to help.

So anyway, terrible day. I'm off to take a bath and try not to think about it any of it anymore.

Lest you think things at my house are all bad, I give you the following photo series:

(This is my second post for the OTHER mother's carnival.)

Last night, in a small corner of the world about which not all that many people care, history was made. Something new happened.

A beagle won Westminster.

What you see here is the 15-inch beagle, Ch K-Run's Park Me In First, or Uno, being crowned the top dog in the nation.

Why do I care? Well, a few reasons. The first is that I love to see a dog from a working breed of any sort win. A dog that functions first as a dog, not as a showpiece. And beagles, who have changed not much at all from their hunting stock, definitely fit that bill. Secondly, I love to see breeds that don't usually win take the big trophy. If you look here, you can see a list of the historical winners of the show over the past 100 years. Lots of terriers. Spaniels. Poodles. Almost no working dogs, and few hounds of any kind (all I see is a couple of Afghans). So a beagle winning is unprecedented, which is great. Third, I loved watching Uno show--he's a perfect show dog. Great movement, beautiful coat, fantastic stack. Loved it.

And finally? Mark and I are, at present, hound rescuers. We see first-hand the surplus of beagles and how badly they need homes. Having one in the news could increase interest, which could increase our possible adopters. That's not a bad thing.

Check out this idyllic scene from my house last night.

Some mornings, you just need a pick me up (or two). Luckily, we have the Internets. My personal pick me up predilection? Dogs adopting other animals.

Dachshund Adopts Piglet

Boxer Adopts Goat

I got this meme from Sarahlynn:

Not necessarily accurate, but funny anyway. And made me think, what are my favorite dog breeds? If I have to hold it down to say, 10, which ones do I choose? Thus, today's list.

Grace's Top 10 Dog Breeds
10. Akita
9. Rottweiler
8. Beagle
7. Otterhound
6. Great Pyrenees
5. American Staffordshire Terrier
4. Anatolian Shepherd Dog
3. Mastiiff
2. Bernese Mountain Dog
1. Irish Wolfhound

Gee, do you think I maybe have a type?

We picked up a new foster dog, Belle, on Saturday morning. The story is a bit long and complicated, but basically she'll be staying with us for a while. She has a few health issues--short term, some allergies and ringworm, and longer term, cherry eye--and she'll need some taking care of before she can be put up for adoption.

The hard part is happening right now--because ringworm is contagious to both us and our other pets, she has to be quarantined until she's no longer contagious (72 hours after we began her treatment, more or less). That means she has to spend any time that we can't supervise her outside in a crate. She's taking it very well--minimal fussing and crying--but it's still a pain. Her house manners show every indication of being very good, so it will be nice when she can be out and about with our dogs and cats (and when we can pet her without fear of contamination).

Once the ringworm has cleared up and she's had a couple of weeks of good food and being taken care of, we'll get her in for a surgical consult for her cherry eye. Hopefully it's fixable. The concern is that her eyelids have been prolapsed for too long already and it won't be reparable. We'll have to wait and see.

So, meet Belle:

We had such a lovely 4th of July. A few friends, the best burgers I've had in years, some really tasty watermelon, a homemade pie, a few drinks. Really a splendid time. I insisted we go "All-American" with the food: burgers, potato salad, corn on the cob, apple pie. It was so good. And the company was just as excellent as the food.

The best part? It's still only Saturday morning. There's a whole weekend left! So I can give in to my exhaustion and just laze around this morning, not doing any chores, and still have plenty of time to get everything that needs doing done before Monday.

I'm making my way through The Last Emperor this weekend (from my Oscar moving watching project). I'm only about an hour and a half in, but I am really enjoying it so far, or at least enjoying it more than I had expected to. It is unfortunately racist, but I know almost nothing about Chinese history, so it is interesting from that angle, plus I really like the main actor, John Lone. Next up is Out of Africa. Can't say I'm all that excited. Ghandi is after that, though, and that is one of the ones I haven't seen but feel that I should have that got me started on this project to begin with.

Belle the foster beagle is doing exceptionally well. Her ringworm seems to be healing up nicely (hopefully--she's got to go back to the vet for a re-check next week) and she's got a lovely personality. She sleeps right next to our bed now--we're only crating when we're gone. She is still terrorizing the cats a little bit, but that's good for them.

OK. Off to at least put in some laundry before I begin my day of serious loafing.

Three years ago this week, we lost our first baby.

We still miss you Chancey.

A few weeks back, I introduced you to our newest foster foundling, Belle. It occurs to me to give an update:

First: Belle is doing great. We love having her. She's got a fantastic personality--she's incredibly loving, obedient, and eager to please. She is getting along great with our pack, particularly Leo, with whom she's gotten quite close. They play every day, and he grooms her. She is definitely good for him.

She's warmed up to us quickly as well. Though she clearly wasn't well taken care of when we got her, she just as clearly hasn't been abused and has had good relationships with people. She's very trusting. After a few nights in the crate, we thought she was trustworthy, so we put a bed for her in our room. It's so cute how excited she was. She trots right in there and lies right down when we're going to bed, and doesn't move all night. She's also pretty clearly been trained--she refuses to come up on to furniture even if we invite her.

We've been extremely lucky with our fosters, and Belle is definitely another in that line of luck.

All of the above is good, since it seems we might have Belle for a while. After consulting with our vet this weekend, we've decided not to have her cherry eye surgically corrected. In a dog her age, who has clearly had the condition for quite some time, the procedure could very well do more harm than good. While the cherry eye itself is mostly a cosmetic problem (unless the exposed glands get scratched or dry out or become infected, but Belle's seem very healthy), the surgery would have a good chance of leaving her unable to produce tears for the rest of her life. This wouldn't be unbearable--but it would necessitate eye drops multiple times a day for the rest of her life.

So the cherry eyes, pending any additional problems with them, will stay. Sadly, this significantly changes Belle's prospects at adoption. I feel very sure we'll find a perfect family for her eventually, but it will likely take longer than placing a totally healthy and cosmetically perfect dog. As it happens, that's fine--we're happy to keep her for as long as she needs to stay.

In the meantime, if you know anybody in the Austin area who is looking for an extremely well behaved and absolutely lovely dog who happens to have funny eyes, do let me know.

Well, funny for passers by, anyway. Not so much funny for me until afterwards.

Picture this:

An overweight and completely out of shape woman, dressed in nearly see-through PJ pants that are three sizes too big, a tee shirt that is several sizes too small and shows her belly rolls, and flip flops. With no bra. Running down a residential street at her absolute top speed, after a very short beagle who, despite her 2" legs, manages to stay just ahead of her.

At 2pm.

She's out to get me.

Seems that a "middle class neighborhood" in Lima, Peru, has passed an ordinance whereby apartment dwellers are only allowed to have one dog; detached home dwellers are allowed two. The reason? Barking dogs were decreasing quality of life in the neighborhood. And somehow, having fewer dogs in each home is going to fix that.

This would really piss me off if it didn't seem so patently ridiculous. I mean, I know there are various ways that people think it's OK for the government, at whatever level, to infringe on our lives, but this one seems particularly odd. Enough to turn a girl into a Libertarian.

You get Huey.

So we have too many dogs. It's a fact. Our current crew includes our two and two foster beagles.

And now, number 5.

This is her:

Hopefully she'll be a very short term addition. Mark found her running down the street this morning. We're betting she's a neighborhood dog that escaped her yard, and have put up some signs and contacted our animal shelter. She's got a Home Again tag, but it's registered to our local animal control, implying that she was adopted there and it was never re-registered. We'd hoped they would be able to tell us to whom she was adopted, but so far they aren't returning phone calls.

So, until we find her family, she's hanging out with us. Luckily she's got a great personality--very sweet, mellow, and loving. The only big problem is that she can't be trusted in the yard. She tries to swim in the pond.

It is their world, we just live in it.

As I've mentioned, Mark and I are very active in dog rescue. We currently have two foster beagles, Belle (who you see in the basket here) and Huey. For the last couple of years, we've been fostering through a great local organization, Hound Rescue. Today we had a Hound Rescue meeting, and we learned, among other things, that the organization is not doing great financially. Mostly, this is due to a recent influx of older and sicker dogs, due, at least in part, to the general economic downturn. People give up their dogs when they can't make ends meet, especially if those dogs are elderly or have health issues (like both Huey and Belle do). In order to keep taking in and taking care of these elderly dogs, the organization needs to refocus on fund raising.

And that's how I want you to help. No, I am not asking you to write a check or Paypal over some cash (though we of course wouldn't turn it down). Rather, I am asking for some mouse clicks. If you go over to The Animal Rescue site, you'll find a contest they are having, the Petfinder Shelter Challenge. Once a day on each computer, you can go there and vote for Hound Rescue in Austin, Texas. If we get the most votes in our state, we get $1,000. If we get the most votes in a given week, we get $1,000. If we win the grand prize, we get $25,000 (that's a lot of beagle care, folks). $1,000 goes quite a long way for these guys, and voting is really no big deal to do, so please take a second (or as many seconds as you can, on different days between now and December 14), and give us a vote.

Over on my side bar you'll see a button that will take you straight to the voting. Just come back to WINOW and click on it anytime.

Thank you!

As you know, we have dogs and cats. As many people who have both species know, dogs, in general, find the contents of litter boxes endlessly fascinating and enticing. Which is, to put it mildly, nasty. In order to combat this problem, we keep our litter boxes in our laundry room and we keep the dogs out of the laundry room with a baby gate that the cats can easily jump over but the beagles are thwarted by (our bigger dogs, thankfully, have no interest in the cat boxes, as they could jump the gate if they wanted to).

Except that Huey the big-ass beag has learned to dislodge the gate somehow. One evening last week, we came home to find the gate down, cat litter all over the floor, and the top to one of the cat boxes missing.

Then we saw this.

That, folks, is a beagle with not just his head, but his entire upper body (including both front legs) stuck in the cat box lid.

Once we got up off the floor and our hysterical laughter subsided, we tried to get it off of him. But not before we took some more pictures.

As it turned out, he was well and truly stuck--we couldn't work the box lid off him and had to cut him out of it. He clearly hadn't been like that very long, though, as he wasn't all that agitated and he didn't have any abrasions or anything from trying to get out of it himself. So no danger. Just the funny.

Since this is my first post this year, and I am hopeful that I have a few new readers (maybe some of you from the contest stuck around?), I thought it might be a good use of my first Show Me Saturday post to introduce you to the players here in the What If No One's Watching saga.

First, there's me. I'm Grace, and I'll be your host. I'm a 29 year old Oregon native, transplanted in Austin, Texas by reason of education. My Austin-education is over (Masters in Public Affairs that I plan to never use), and my partner's is nearly completed, so we'll be moving on here within the year. I work as a University number cruncher, which is not my passion but does me just fine for now. My actual intellectual passion is U.S. history, and I'm still playing with the idea of getting a Ph.D. in that field some day. My non-work passions are dog rescue (more on that in a minute), reading, movies, crafting, thrifting, and, recently, the English Premiere League (football).

Next up is Mark, my partner. Mark and I have been together for seven years, and we were friends for four years before that, so we've known each other pretty much our entire adult lives. He's a fantastic human being, even if he doesn't think so. He's a Ph.D. student in neuroscience, and he's very, very smart. He's also truly good-hearted, which he sometimes tries to hide. He's into gourmet cooking and home repair, as well as sharing my passions for dogs and soccer.

The next eldest member of our family is Leo. Leo is a rescue dog. Mark and I adopted him in August of 2005 (read about it here). At that time, we thought he was between 6 and 8. Three plus years later, it's clear he was definitely closer to 6 than 8, because there is no way he's 11 now. 9, maybe. We don't know what Leo's mix is, though we're always game to hear a guess. The current best-guess is Pyr/Old English Sheepdog.

Leo is basically my soul mate in dog form. I loved our previous dog, Chance, whom we lost way way too soon, but Leo...Leo is something else. He truly makes me believe in miracles.

Our next addition was tabby cat Atticus, in September 2005. We adopted Atticus from a PetSmart, where they were housing cats that had been moved out of shelters to make room for animals orphaned by Hurricane Katrina. It took me a bit to sell Mark on the cat idea, but I really wanted one, and then I met Atticus. His name was Sam then, and he was about 4 months old. All of the the other cats were mellow and friendly. Sam jumped out of my lap and made a mad escape into the store. Yep, that's the one I want. He continues to be alternatively cranky and affectionate, and to love Mark and only barely tolerate me. (You can read Atticus' story here.)

In January of 2006, we added our second dog, Atakan (pronounced Ah-tah-kahn, called Ata). Ata is another rescue, this time from the next county over's county shelter (read his adoption story here). He was a pathetic case when we adopted him, but has grown into an absolutely beautiful Anatolian Shepherd. With a kind of strange personality. Honestly, if Leo is my dog soul mate, Ata is Mark's. He's socially phobic, yet sort of outgoing. He's a guardian breed with a fear of thunderstorms. He's weird, and atypical and totally awesome.

At this point, with our two dogs and our cat, we thought we were done. The perfect pack. But things happen...

We inherited our tortie cat, Esme, when our good friends moved to Europe. They wanted to take Esme, who they'd adopted not that long before they learned of their move, with them, but they were moving into a small apartment with their two big dogs, and poor Ez wouldn't have had a good place to escape the dogginess. So, in October 2006, she came to us (read that story here). And I will tell you absolutely unequivocably, Esme is my favorite cat. She's our most low-maintenance animal, spending most of her time chilling on or under our bed and in our bathroom, but she's extremely cuddly once she gets to know you (unlike Atticus, she doesn't make a game of showing you her claws). Give her something soft to stretch out in a sunbeam on and let her drink from the faucet when you brush your teeth and she's a happy, happy cat. I adore her.

After Esme, with two of each, we really were done. We were fostering dogs (all of whom have great stories, spread out over the last couple of years--click on the "Dogs" category on the sidebar if you want to read those), and we had a full house. But thing still happen...

The thing that happened next was Illy. In October 2007, this incredibly scrawny, sick-looking Siamese mix cat showed up in our neighbor's yard. Said neighbors have two great dogs who are not cat friendly, so they brought the scrawny cat over here to ask for our advice/help, since they knew we have cats and do animal rescue. And we said we'd take her (read about it here). We made a cursory effort at finding her people, but she had pretty clearly been stray quite a while, and nothing came of it.

Come to find out, a couple weeks later, that the cat, who we'd dubbed Illy after the espresso company, was pregnant. It was impossible to believe--she was SO little--but there you have it. So we took care of her, she thrived (all she really needed was to be fed, she was already pretty friendly), and in December, she had four healthy kittens (read about them here). She was a great mama, the kittens did wonderfully, and we adopted them all out by Valentine's Day. But kept Illy, who has since grown extremely fat and rules the roost here at our house with an iron paw.

That wraps up our permanent crew. But we do have two long-term temps right now, so I should probably introduce you to them as well. We have been fostering with a local organization called Hound Rescue (see that button on the side bar? Click it to give HR a chance to win some cash!) for a couple of years now. We typically only have one dog at a time, and we often have larger dogs, rather than beagles, but this time we have two beagles.

Belle came to us in June, from the city pound, where she had been owner surrender (read about that here). She's one of the nicest and most well-mannered dogs I've ever met. She won't get on furniture, even with an invitation, even though the rest of our crew goes where they want when they want. She's not loud. She's gentle and calm and just fantastic. Plus she's Leo's BFF--they play non-stop, which is wonderful to see in a dog Leo's age. Belle has clearly had a hard road, and she has some scars to prove it (most significantly some pretty advanced cherry eye, which isn't bothering her, but doesn't look so great), but she's come out an incredible dog. She's one of those foster dogs I'd be happy to keep.

Our more recent addition is Huey P. Long, who came our way in September. Initially we were only supposed to have Huey for a few days before another foster would take him, but the rescue is overrun right now (hard economic times will do that), so we've needed to hang on to him. Huey is very, very fat (he weighted 62.5 lbs on the day we picked him up, hence the name I bestowed him with the minute I saw him). He's also old (9 or 10 is the best guess) and has a host of medical problems (a horrible ear infection when we got him, bad teeth, various lumps and bumps, some skin conditions, arthritis, and most recently a torn ACL which will have to be repaired surgically). Despite all of that, he's a joy. He's active, friendly, and seems to have no idea he's old or sick. He's probably a long-term boarder, given his host of issues, and honestly, that's fine. He can be a bit of pain (likes to bark at the cats), but he's a super sweet dog, and we're enjoying having him.

Whew. How's that for a first post of the month novel? Hope you got through it OK, and now that you've been introduced to the players, you will know who I am talking about when I write my posts for the rest of the month. Welcome to NaBloPoMo at What If No One's Watching. Happy to have you!

Remember I told you about Huey, the beagle/porpoise cross we've been fostering who likes cat boxes? Well, it turns out that Mr. Huey needs some surgery. It's nothing huge--he blew out his ACL and it needs to be repaired. It's a fairly common surgery for dogs and has an excellent success rate. Huey will need several months of post-surgical recovery time, but Mark and I love him to death and will be happy to have him into the spring. After that time, there is no reason to believe that he won't go on to leave several more happy and healthy years.

The problem, of course, is that the surgery isn't cheap. As I believe I've mentioned, Hound Rescue has been really swamped these past months--the worse the economy gets, the more dogs are in need. Right now, HR just can't afford a couple of grand for a beagle surgery that isn't life-saving. So, for at least the time being, we're in a holding pattern. Huey is on three legs and we're trying to raise funds.

If you can, please consider helping Huey out. If you click on the Huey button in this post, or on the sidebar, you will be taken to Hound Rescue's donation pages (through Paypal). If you can make a donation, that would be great. Please indicate in the comments that it is for Huey's surgery. And if you can't give but want to help, or want another way to help, please grab the button and post it on your blog or online space.

Thank you!

At about 9pm last night, I looked around at my companions and found that I must be very boring company indeed.

Were it not for Leo, I may have gotten lonely.

I don't think Huey realizes this is the same creature he spends half of his waking hours chasing after and howling.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

We just took Belle to her new home.

I know I should be thankful, and it's not that I'm not--I like the home a lot for her and I think they'll do well together.

But I'm really, really sad.

This is what love looks like to me.

Haven't you missed them?

Leo got a sock monkey at the bins tonight:

Atticus cuddles with his dog buddies:

Sphinx kitties:

Mark and I have found ourselves taking care of a five-month-old black lab puppy, Pepper, for a few days. It's an extreme situation, or I never would have volunteered--a five-month-old lab is, to be blunt, not my kind of dog.

I have to be fair to her: She is very sweet. Completely affectionate, absolutely no aggression, very soft mouth (especially for one who is still teething), and fairly good behavior. But even the best behaved dog in the world is a handful at this age, and a dog like a lab, who is really, really supposed to be doing something and not just lying around at my house, has the potential to be completely insane.

So far she hasn't been. She's been maybe...partially insane? She's trying to play with all three of my old man dogs, none of whom really want anything to do with her. Leo sort of humors her, Ata growls at her if she gets too close to him, and Leo barks right up in her face, which may or may not be his version of a playful gesture. But none of them are exactly frolicking material. So she wants to play with us. And play, in this case, means be right on top of every minute. Me especially--her owner told us that she has much more love for women than for men, and that is clearly the case. If I leave the room for even a moment, she sits at the baby gate and whines. Luckily, it hasn't yet occurred to her that she could clear said baby gate in an instant if she had a mind to.

It's frustrating, because I know exactly what she needs. A long walk, a swim, some time on an agility course, some concentrated training. But we are really not in a position to provide those things right now, which is exactly why we don't foster dogs like her normally. I did walk her for nearly an hour this morning, and will try to take her again this evening (not like I can't use the exercise), but she's not getting the stimulation or the activity she needs otherwise.

Makes me realize, again, how much I admire people who do foster dogs like her. People always think we're saintly for taking the old and sick ones, but in many ways, they are easier. Huey hasn't been on a walk in months, and won't be able to go on anything but a very short one for months more. He spends 90% of his time lying down and watching the world go by because that's what he is physically capable of doing (and because that is the time he's at in his life). We don't just take older dogs and larger breed dogs because we like them and because a lot of people won't--we take them because they are lazy!

The other thing that strikes me is that Pepper is a member of one of the most popular dog breeds in America. Many, many people have labs, and may of them have never even had a dog before and have no idea what they are getting into. Going in blind and then having her kind of energy and chaos in your house all of a sudden has to be awful, both for the dog and for the people. It's a rare person who can give a dog like her the environment she really needs in order to thrive, and the way they can behave when they don't get what they need is so totally disruptive that it suddenly begins to make sense why some people hate dogs.

Mostly, having her here makes me realize how lucky I am to know what I do about dogs and about my own limits. Doing rescue work is incredibly important to me, but I would have to restructure my entire life in order to rescue dogs like Pepper. I'd have to become someone I'm not. And it's not just labs--some of my very favorite breeds fall into that category (pit bulls come immediately to mind). If, back when we had no idea what we were doing, we'd have tried to fit these breeds into what is essentially a sedentary lifestyle, I'll bet we never would have even had a dog of our own long term, much less starting doing rescue work.

So, give us your old, your sick, and your extra large. While an occasional few days with the young and hyper is OK and keeps us on our toes, it only reaffirms my commitment to dogs who, like me, find that the best exercise is a good nap.

She's leaving tomorrow, and I can't say I'm sad about that. She has been fun and educational, though!

And I thought you might like to see her.

While waiting for his bus yesterday morning, Mark saw a dog across the street. The dog didn't seem to have a person, but it was just wandering around in a neigborhood, so Mark hoped its person was close by and go on the bus. Just as he did so, the dog crossed the street (using the crosswalk!) right in front of the bus.

The bus stop is on a busy major road. It's not remotely dog friendly. So Mark did what he felt he had to do, and I would have done the same. He resigned himself to getting to work late, got off the bus, and called the dog over to him (out of the street).

The dog was very friendly and came right to Mark. She was an older, overweight chocolate lab with some clear hip issues. No collar or tags.

So Mark borrowed a length of rope from the gas station next to the bus stop, looped it around to make a leash for the dog, and brought her to our house, a few blocks away. Then he called Animal Control to see if there as a missing dog report that matched her description. There was not.

Needing to go to work, Mark asked our neighbor if the dog could stay in her back yard until he got home and could figure out what to do about her. This would at least keep her safe and out of the street. She couldn't stay in our back yard, because our dogs, who are inside during the day, would go ballstic and tear the house apart if she was back there. Our neighbor agreed and Mark went to work.

When Mark got home, he tried to introduce the dog, whom he was calling "Pickles" (which is what we call all random dogs, for reasons unknown to me at this point), to our dogs. She was so friendly to him and to the neighbor, he thought she'd be fine. She wasn't. She growled and snarled at our Leo.

This is, always, our limitus test for dogs staying in our house. We will deal with many things, but threats to Leo are not acceptable. And so, by the time I got hom, Martk had already pretty much resigned himself to having to take the dog to animal control and hope for the best.

We decided, however, to take her on a walk through the neighborhood first, just to see if she would lead us to where she belonged, or if anybody would recognize her. So we leashed her up and began to walk, following her lead.

She led us through the neighborhood where Mark first saw her, then across the major street and down a side street. Along the way, we asked everyone we saw if they knew her, but nobody did.

Then we came to a Montessori School. A little girl and her mother were just leaving the school, and the little girl immediately ran toward her. We asked her mother if she recognized the dog, and she did! In fact, she said, she'd picked up th same dog less than two weeks ago, right here in the school parking lot, along with another dog, a Husky. After having both dogs for two days, she found their owner via a call to Animal Control. She knew the owner's name, and that he lived on the cul de sac of that street, but not which house. So we continued on with the dog, letting her lead.

And she led us directly to the last house on the cul de sac. There was a Husky in the back yard. And nobody was there.

After waiting a few minutes, we decided to ask the neighbors if they recognized the Lab. Just as Mark went to knock on their door, a truck pulled up and the owner of the house hopped out, thanking us for finding his dog, who had gotten scared and bolted during the storm the night before.

Then he told us that she gets out often.

I am very happy this all worked out. It's often not this easy. As much as you'd think maybe they should, dogs don't always lead you back to their homes. But also, honestly, I'm pissed. It is just not that hard to put a collar and tags on your dog. Then, if s/he gets out, the nice person who finds her can simply call you, rather than having to go on a wild goose chase, or make the tough decision to take your pet to an animal control facility that will, in the best case, be uncomfortable and tramautic for him/her.

The owner of this particular dog went on to tell us that since she gets out a lot, they microchipped her. And that's good, but it's not sufficient. A microchip is only useful if the dog is taken to a vet or animal control facility that can read it and find you. It's not useful in the least for the person who disrupts their life to scoop your dog up out of traffic. It's a back-up plan. It shouldn't be your pet's only indentification.

I'm not perfect. My dogs have gotten out before. Once, Huey even got out without a collar on, as we had taken it off to bathe him and hadn't put it back on yet. But that happened once. It should not and does not happen regularly. That would just be irresponsible.

OK. Rant/PSA over. Put a collar on your dog. That's all.

So, as anybody who reads WINOW for more than a day or two knows, I'm a dog person. In my case, "dog person" means someone who loves dogs, has dogs, volunteers for dog rescue, and has done quite a bit of dog training work. It means someone who has all sorts of opinions on dog politics and health care. It doesn't mean someone who knows a damn thing about grooming or really much at all about breeds or showing or dog pedagogy. For that stuff, by all means let me refer you to Joanna's amazing blog. Joanna knows her dogs.

I've never been to a dog show. I watch them on TV, but I've never attended one. I have been exposed to show dogs only in the form of the relatively low-ranking show Akitas and Boston Terriers raised by my family. Due, I guess, to this lack of information, I haven't ever really considered that there is a world of difference between a champion dog and a "regular" dog.

And then, on Saturday, I met Uno.

Remember Uno? The beagle who won the Westminster Dog Show last year? First beagle ever? His owner was kind enough to bring him to an event we held for Hound Rescue this weekend. He was a big draw and we got a ton of donations, but beyond that, I think seeing him was really eye opening for some of our rescuers. I know it was for me.

Over the past couple of years, I've either fostered or evaluated lots of beagles. At least a couple of dozen. Some of them have clearly been mixes, some poorly bred, a couple AKC-registered. I have never seen a beagle that looks anything like Uno.

This is a picture of Yogi, who we fostered last year. Yogi was pretty typical of the dogs we see in rescue--likely full beagle, but not "perfect." The "flaws" in his body were pretty obvious--heavy set, short legs, smoother and longer than breed standard tail, etc. These are areas in which I'd expect our average foster dog to differ from Uno. What is really interesting and surprising to me, though, is the face. Yogi's face, as you can see, has a very definite point, with pointed ears and a narrower forhead.

This is Uno's face. The jaw is much more square, the ears are set differently, they eyes are farther apart. This, apparently, is what a beagle is supposed to look like.

So what happened? Why have I never seen a beagle that looks like Uno before, if Uno is the standard for beagles?

Dogs bred indescriminately is what happened. The beagles I know and love don't look like Uno because Uno is a purposeful creation. Before Uno was ever conceived of, people were thinking about the genetics that would make him up--his perfect head, his perfect stack, his perfect little beagle yodel. Uno is, frankly, eugenics. My beagles are, by and large, accidents.

None of this is to say that Uno is "better" than any beagle I've ever fostered. He seemed like a very nice little dog, but I'll keep Huey, who is, frankly, funny looking, but has one of the best canine personalities I've ever encountered. But Uno is markedly different than our dogs. It seems almost wrong to call Uno and Huey (or Yogi, or any of our beagles) the same breed. I hadn't realized it before, but even if you are comparing two "full bred" dogs, the difference between one that is intentionally and carefully bred and one that isn't is almost as big as the difference between one breed and another.

All of which is to say that I think, finally, I kind of understand what good breeders are trying to do in protecting the integrity of breeds. Had I never met Uno, I honestly would not have known that our beagles, varied and wonderful as they are, do not very well represent the beagle breed standard. I love every one of our muttly beagle crew, but even those among them who are likely "pure" beagle are steps away from, rather than towards, what beagles are "supposed" to be.

Whether or not maintaining the greatest possible variety of differnet breeds is imporant is, of course, a matter of debate. If you think it is, however, this illustration proves, at least to me, that intentional and careful breeding is the only way to succesfully do that.

In September, the rescue called to ask if Mark and I could pick up a dog at the shelter and hang on to him for a couple of days before another foster could take him. Since we already had one foster (Belle), we said sure, so long as he wasn't permanent. We were briefed on him--older, friendly, overweight--and expected a dog much like our Belly.

That was the day we met Huey. While we were waiting for someone at the shelter to bring him out to us, we looked at his intake form. Under weight, it said 62.5 lbs. "Must be misprint," we said to each other. "Or he's a mixed breed. No way a beagle can be that big."

When he came through the door, we saw that we were wrong. I took one look at his rotund body and short little legs and smile, and christened him Huey P. Long (though the man himself was apparently not that fat, whenever I think of him I see him as portrayed by John Goodman, and that's what popped into my brain upon seeing Huey for the first time).

Huey P. had a lot of weight-related issues, obviously, but some fairy serious other problems as well. He had parasites, fleas, and the worst ear infection I have ever seen (there was, literally, black liquid coming out of his ears). Boy were we glad he was only going to be with us for a few days!

And then a few days became "a bit longer," as the foster who was supposed to take him ended up with another dog instead. And by the time "a bit longer" could possibly have rolled around, we'd already decided he was fine where he was. We are pretty centrally located and close to the vet the rescue uses, so we had less trouble than most taking him in for his numerous appointments. And he was getting along very well with everyone at our house, including Atticus, who is, in general, not that easy to love.

Not just easy to get along with, though, Huey also just made himself at home. Unlike a lot of fosters, he was almost immediately comfortable and at home at our house. He picked out his spots, attached to us, and moved right on in. He was too fat to get onto the furniture, but loved the dog beds, and made a special favorite place out of a basket intended for the much smaller Belle (much to her dismay).

Then, in late October, Huey suddenly started limping very seriously. When it didn't get better, we took him to the vet and learned that he had torn his cruciate ligament. This is not an uncommon injury in dogs, especially those who are very overweight and large breeds. It can be fixed surgically--often very successfully--but the surgery costs a lot of money and comes complete with a long recovery period. Before Mark and I called our rescue coordinator to tell her all this, we talked about it ourselves. We both agreed that if the rescue couldn't come up with the cash to fix Huey's leg, we could. These are the situations for which credit cards are invented.

Luckily, the rescue did come up with the cash. Some very generous folks (including some who came right from the button on this blog!) ponied up, and we were able to schedule Huey's surgery for January.

A few days before Huey's pre-surgical consult, he started limping on the other side. It looked bad. Mark took him to the consult and the doctor confirmed that he had indeed blown the other ligament. Since it would render the dog completely unable to walk, he recommended against getting both sides fixed at once. Rather, he said, he would fix the new injury, which was more serious, and Huey would continue to get around on his other leg until he was healed up from surgery and the second one could be done. We agreed to this plan.

While we were waiting for his surgery, Huey continued to endear himself to us in all kinds of ways. One reason we didn't adore him, however, was his insistence on trying to get into the cat boxes (which neither Leo nor Ata shares). To keep him away from them, we put a baby gate up in the doorway to our laundry room. Then, one day, we came home to find the gate knocked down and Huey running around with his head completely stuck in a cat box lid! (I blogged about that here.) Even though we ended up having to cut the box lid off him, we couldn't be too mad--it was just too damn funny!

As luck would have it, Mark ended up being out of town on the day of Huey's surgery. I worried myself into near hysterics and got horribly lost on the way to the surgical hospital (which is the same place where Chance had his post-bloat surgeries and died). By the time I got there, I was frantic, but I had to hand him over and hope for the best.

Early that afternoon, they called to let me know that it had gone fine and I could come and pick him up after work. When I got there, he looked a bit pathetic and out of it, but happy to see me. He had a couple of tumors removed as well as the ligament repair (including a large one in his tail), and those injuries were even nastier than the stitched up leg. With strict instructions to keep him still and coned, I took him home.

Huey was not the model patient. Always rambunctious (especially given his size and age), he had trouble understanding why he couldn't play fetch or roam outside. For the first few days, he had to be crated whenever I wasn't watching him, and he hated that. He also hated being taken outside on a leash only. But we survived, and his leg and other injuries began to heal.

After about a month of healing, we discovered something--Huey could now (with a little boost) get on the couch! To many people, this wouldn't be considered a good thing, but given how much Huey loves to cuddle, we thought it was excellent.

Now it's June. Huey's incisions are all healed up and he's down to around 45 pounds. He's still big for a beagle, but he looks very good. He's ready to have his other leg fixed, and I'm sad to say that we won't be the ones who care for him after that happens. See, we're moving across the country, and we can't take foster dogs with us. And, even after spending the better part of a year as part of our family, Huey is a foster dog. So, he's is going to be going to another foster family. It's probably going to happen sooner rather than later, in order to give us one less pet with whom we had to deal while trying to fix up and show our house.

This is the part people ask about most often. How do you let them go? It's a very good question. It's not easy. Especially after so many months and him (and by extension, us) having gone through so much. But even after all this time, and as much as I adore Huey, I don't feel like he's one of my dogs. I knew from the beginning that he was with us only temporarily, and I kept that idea in the back of my head all the time. Which isn't to say I didn't get attached to him--I did and I am--but it is still a very different thing than the way I feel about the dogs I know are staying with me until they (or I) die.

One thing that makes it easier is being very confident that he'll be taken care of. It is not unlikely that Huey will remain a "foster" dog forever. He's approximately 10 years old and he's beat up. He's got scars and a permanent limp and his tail, though much better, is still pretty mutant. As well as he's doing, he's still not a dog for someone who isn't willing to spend a lot of time and money at the vet over the next few years, or for someone who isn't willing to take on the possibility that s/he just won't have very long with him. Given those odds, and as many dogs as are in rescue right now, it may be that nobody ever picks Huey. But if they don't, he'll still have a home, just like the one he's had with us. One of the benefits of working with a small rescue, like we do, is knowing the other foster families. Because I know them, I know that Huey will be fine with them. It's a tribute to Huey's personality, as well, that I am so confident he'll make himself right at home and become part of someone else's family, just like he became part of ours. And if it turns out he needs to move between several homes over the remainder of his life, which may well end up being the case, he'll do fine with that. He's that kind of dog. I have absolute faith, however, that the rescue we've been working with over these past few years will do right by him, even if he costs more money than he brings in (which will be the case no matter what happens) and takes up valuable foster space. That day Mark and I, as representatives of the rescue, pulled Huey out of the pound, the rescue made a commitment to him forever. And they will see it through, even if Mark and I aren't here to help out.

Over the past few years, rescuing dogs has been among the most challenging and worthwhile things I have done. It may well be THE most worthwhile thing. It has been a fantastic experience that I absolutely believe has made me a better person. Having Huey here for this last year has been the perfect end to that experience, and has done nothing but cement my commitment to rescue, and in particular to rescuing old dogs and dogs with health issues. He is an amazing, resilient, goofy, lovable, loud, loyal, wonderful animal. Our lives have been vastly improved by having him, as I am sure his has been by being with us. The end our role in it may be making me a little bit weepy, but Huey's a very good story.

Remember when Huey got his head stuck in the cat box lid?

Well, apparently, it's not just the cat boxes he gets in too far with. He's into their toys, too.

Back when I had that contest to ask for blogging ideas, Jill wrote:

I'm with Julia: more about your dogs. I'd like to know how you introduce rescues to your permanent pets, do you walk all of them?, do you do anything (obedience, etc.) to make the fosters more adoptable...that type of thing.

Those are good questions. I'm afraid my answers aren't going to be that enlightening, though. I'm not really a great dog advice person. I've been around a lot of dogs now, and done quite a bit of work, but I don't have a real philosophy or guidelines or anything. For a real dog expert, I highly recommend checking out Joanna's blog. That woman knows her shit.

Me, I just sorta do what works.

The whole dog rescue journey started quite by mistake. Mark and I adopted our first dog, Chance, from a rescue in 2003. In retrospect, adopting Chance was a big mistake. I wouldn't change a thing, of course, but we went in pretty blind. You should NOT choose a totally untrained 120 lb Rott-Anatolian cross to be your first dog. But we did, and we loved him from the beginning. Which is good, because if we'd loved him any less, he'd have ended up being put down. Chance was aggresisve. Aggressive enough that he was dangerous. We spent a whole lot of time and money fixing that issue, which the help of a really high quality trainer. Those training sessions (and there were a lot of them) are pretty much the sum total of my dog training expertise. And much of what was suggested for Chance, particularly regarding establishing dominance, I don't bother with when relating to my current dogs. Chance needed it. They don't.

About a year after we adopted Chance, we found ourselves fostering seven five-week old Lab mix puppies. The how and why of that is a long story, which you can read here if you are interested. By that time, Chance was pretty mellow (well, all things considered). But seven five-week old puppies is a lot by anybody's standards, and we were completely unprepared. It was, as well as being one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, hell on Earth. Weeks of cleaning up after them, running after them, not getting any sleep, worrying about them...but they all lived to be happy, healthy dogs, and we found homes for all of them. It was expensive, it was frustrating, and it was amazing.

After that, we just knew we could do it. We didn't actually do any more rescue for a while, as we weren't quite sure how Chance would react to having another adult dog in the house (he loved the puppies), plus we were in a rental, but the seed had been planted.

Then we bought our house, and Chance died. We adopted Leo, and when we went to pick him up from the rural rescue where he was living, I fell in love with the idea of having land and being able to rescue large scale. We didn't take any more fosters for a bit, though, as we wanted to give, Leo, who turned out to be elderly and have some health issues, time to adjust. Then we met and unexpectedly fell in love with Ata, and so we had two dogs. They got on so well together, we figured it was time to take the plunge.

Our first intentional foster was Bridget, the Anatolian Shepherd. We had Bridget for about six months. She was not an easy dog. Unlike Ata, Bridget was a very typical Anatolian--very standoffish and difficult to get attached to. Plus, we learned about the difficulty of walking three dogs who are all 90 lbs+. But we kept at it, and she came out of her shell. She never really fit in as part of our pack, but she was safe and healthy with us, and we eventually were able to find her a great home.

The bug had bitten us by then. We started looking more seriously for a rescue with whom we would like to work. And, a bit later, we hooked up with Hound Rescue. Neither of us had any particular hound-love, but I heard or saw a call for fosters from them somewhere, and called on a lark. I liked the person who got back to me so much that we decided to give hounds a try, with the specification that we wanted bigger hounds, not the beagles the rescue specializes in, since they'd surely be yappy and annoying.

Our first HR foster was Friday, who was an absolute nightmare. He was a basset hound/fox hound mix. When we first got him, he was sick with kennel cough and seemed very mellow. The healthier he got, the worse he was. He was destructive, he howled non-stop, and he refused to be housetrained. It was such a headache! He clearly knew he was supposed to go outside to go to the bathroom, but he would get mad at you and look straight at you and pee on the floor. We made him wear a doggie diaper. He peed in it, then peed through it. We checked for a health issue. The issue was determined to be behavioral. We pulled our hair out.

And then Friday got adopted, and we learned from his new owner that he never peed in the house. We realized it was us, or our other dogs, or our house. Sometimes dogs are good matches for your family and sometimes they aren't. You do the best you can. The thing we learned from Friday was that the key to being succesful in rescue is support. We had lots of people to talk about our issues with, they made suggestions, they offered supplies, and when it became clear Friday just wasn't going to work out at our house, they offered to house him elsewhere (which ended up not being necessary). Even though our experience with Friday hadn't been great, our experience with the rescue was, so we went on to foster through them again as soon as Friday was adopted out.

And since then, we've fostered, by my count, 10 dogs through Hound Rescue. Four beagles; three beagle mixes; two larger hound mixes; and a bloodhound. One of the mixes was a puppy. The bloodhound was a disaster and did have to go to another home (suddenly, it became clear just what it means for a house to be too small for a dog). Three of them I would have kept in a heartbeat. Two of them had fairly major medical issues. Nearly all of them had ear infections, mange, fleas, or all three. All of them taught me something. And, most importantly, all of them had a home with us, and now have homes with other loving families (well, aside from Huey, but he will).

I've never done anything else that has filled me with such a sense of wonder as dog rescue. These animals NEED us, and they give us so much for what amounts to so little. But it's not always easy. I've had to learn to be more patient, for sure, and deal with more extreme nastiness than I ever could have guessed (there is seriously nothing grosser than seven puppies being dewormed). It's been hard on my permanent animals, particularly the cats. It's been hard to let them go. It's been hard to keep them.

My major piece of advice for anyone considering doing rescue is to focus not on the type of dog you want to foster, but on the organization with whom you are going to work. The support you are offered by the organization makes ALL the difference. It turns out that we love beagles, and I can't imagine not having more of them in my lifetime, but I doubt we'll foster beagles in Virginia, unless we happen to find another fantastic hound rescue. It's generally harder to find fosters for larger breed dogs, and we're comfortable with the big guys, so we'll likely look in that direction. Also, since I am going to work from home, we're open to puppies again, which we haven't been. Mostly, though, what we're going to look for is an organization that supports its fosters, provides resources, and never makes you feel like you should do more than you can. We've found that here, and we never would have gotten this far into rescue without it. I very much hope we can find it there, too.

Dear Mr. Goodell,

I'm sure this letter will echo many others you have received lately and will continue to receive. It will likely not say anything you haven't heard before. Still, there are times when one has to speak out, even if it seems like yelling into the wind, and this is one of those times.

I am a football fan. I am also a dog rescuer and advocate. It is in both of these capacities that I am both shocked and horrified at your decision to allow Michael Vick to return to the National Football League. It matters very little whether he is allowed to play as soon a team picks him up or has to wait until October. He should not be playing at all. He should never play professional football again.

In your statement, you said "I hope that the public will have a chance to understand his position as I have." What understanding is it, exactly, that you hope the public will achieve? Michael Vick bankrolled and participated in an operation dedicated to the abuse and extermination of innocent animals. He admitted as much. I see no need for any further "understanding" of that "position." This is not an issue up for some kind of debate, where we all just have the wrong idea. This man did these things. He served 18 months in jail for them. You suspended him for them. Now you're allowing him a second chance.

Michael Vick does not deserve a second chance in the NFL. It undermines the seriousness of the crimes he committed that you are giving him one. Not only are you allowing Vick himself a second chance at a great opportunity that he squandered the first time (playing professional football), but you are sending a message to the fans of your sport that this kind of behavior is acceptable. Sure, he had to miss a couple of years and do some time, but his career is salvageable. Suspensions similar in length to Vick's have been issued for doping and substance abuse. Was Vick's crime really no more serious?

I had hoped that the Vick situation would shed some much needed light on the problem of dog fighting in the United States, and that it would begin to be taken more seriously in that light. For a while, it looked like that might happen. Now, I am not so sure. It seems equally likely that Vick and his supporters will be allowed to sweep this under the rug and that he will pick up where he left off. Anyone who has seen the long-term consequences of dog fighting, including shelters full of dogs bred to be fought and killed who are now unable to be rehabilitated, due only to human greed and stupidity, knows this is unacceptable.

I only hope that the NFL teams themselves will follow the lead of the Giants, Jets, Cowboys, and Falcons and show better judgment than you have when it comes to Vick. Just as he is an embarrassment to your league, he will be an embarrassment to any team that will have him, just as he ought to be to you.

Grace Mitchell

I couldn't not share these pictures for Love Thursday. Mark and Ata--peas in a pod.

If you were wondering, this is what a wholly good creature looks like.

If you have one, hug him or her for me today. Leo died this morning.

People ask my advice about getting a dog fairly regularly. Almost without fail, I tell them to adopt a young adult dog from a rescue. I have repeated at least a hundred times that puppies are an excessive amount of work, and that there is no reason to put yourself through that work unless your heart is set on a particular breed that can't often be rescued as an adult, or the puppy is going to require some sort of specialized training (like an assistance dog). For a regular pet dog, get an adult. It just makes more sense. Let someone else handle the destructive phase and the part where they aren't house trained.

I already held this position before we fostered seven Lab puppies from their fourth week to their twelfth, but even if I hadn't, doing that would have solidified it. Those pups were a shitload of work. They were, like, an infant-level of work. Up every two hours, feeding with bottles, constant crying, and a mess I can't even describe. Though the experience remains among the very most rewarding of my life, I've always said I would never do it again.

You know where I'm going with this, right?

Today we were in a big box pet store, buying cat food (yeah, I know, but I'm damned if I can find a local anything here, much less a local pet store). And there was a rescue group there with several litters of puppies. Lab mix puppies. Shepherd mix puppies. Husky mix puppies. All sort of medium-to-large mutt puppies. Dogs that are going to be infinitely easier to adopt out at this cute puppy stage than they would be as very average looking adult dogs. Dogs that are likely not house-trained, probably chew everything, and may well cry all not.

I wanted one so bad I swear my ovaries twinged. It was just like baby lust. Their bellies! Their noses! Their too big paws! The way they tripped all over each other! I very nearly squealed.

And then I got to thinking about it, and it would actually be fairly reasonable to get a puppy now. Well, maybe not now, since we're going away for Christmas, but in the new year. I'm home all day, in a perfect position to house-train and spend as much time as is needed with all the basic puppy care stuff that made me crazy with the Labs. Ata is a gentle and patient dog, but also an Alpha--he'd be great with a puppy. The cats are used to rescue dogs, but aren't aggressive in the least--they'd do fine. We really could adopt a puppy and have it be OK.

The thing is, everybody wants to adopt puppies. No matter how much I tell them that they'd be better off with young adult dogs, puppies adopt out much faster. So would it be wrong for us, people who know about taking in adult and even elderly dogs from shelters and aren't afraid to do so, to get a puppy instead this time? Would it be a cop-out? And if not, is there any chance in hell I could talk Mark into it?

We woke up to snow this morning, and it hasn't let up for at least two hours. I don't think we're going to have it long--it's over 35 degrees--but it's sure nice while it lasts.

Ata thinks so, too.

Never let it be said that cats and dogs don't have feelings for each other, and don't miss each other when they are apart.

On our mantle, we have two sets of photographs, leashes, and collars. One is Chance's, one is Leo's.

Atticus is only interested in one of them.