Category Archives: Dogs

January Spring

Posted by dkrashb on

I take Tisen, our new foster dog, for a walk.  I leave my jacket at home because it’s 61 degrees.  The birds are in full-on spring mode.  Even the insects seem to have hatched.  I don’t know if 61 degrees in Chattanooga in January is normal, but it’s nice.  I’m disappointed when the sun starts to set at 6PM as if the warmer weather brought longer days.

As I watch Tisen prance along (if he were a horse, he’d be a Lipazzaner), looking more full of himself after 36 hours of being spoiled silly.  A runner passes us going the opposite direction.  He didn’t react to her at all yesterday–it’s the same woman.  But today, he lunges at her, growling a low warning.  Either the spring weather has him feeling his oats or he’s decided I’m someone he needs to protect from mysterious people running at us.

He reacts the same way 10 minutes later when two men run on a path that curves around and runs into ours.  Yet, they’re running away from us.  What makes runners look so threatening to dogs?  Even our gentle Bogart was not happy if a runner didn’t make a wide enough berth when they were coming towards me.

The spring weather has runners out in droves.  I don’t know if they’ve been running on treadmills and are thrilled for the change in temperature or if they have been waiting to start running since the New Year and the weather removed their last excuse.  Whatever it is, I have been walking these paths daily and I can tell you there are more runners out today than there have been since we moved here last August.

This is the “way up” phenomena, I suppose.  The “way up” phenomena in temperature changes plays out about the same as the “way down” phenomena in weight changes.  When the temperature is on the “way up,” it feels extra warm by comparison to the cold temperatures and so we suddenly feel inspired to don less clothing and exercise out doors even though, if the temperature were on the “way down,” we would be wearing layers at the same temperature.

Similarly, the “way down” phenomena in weight loss inspires us to think we look much better when we’ve lost a few pounds and to dress in clothing that, when we were on the “way up,” we would not have been caught dead in at the same exact weight.  Maybe that should be called the “weigh down” phenomena?

Tisen and I stop in our favorite store, Bone Appetite, for the third day in a row and pick up the oatmeal shampoo they were out of.  Tisen’s skin is getting less flaky and his coat is getting more shiny, but he still has red, irritated areas that he licks and chews at.  Between switching him to a high quality food, feeding him fish oil, bathing him in oatmeal, and treating him with “Nu Stock,” I’m hoping he’ll stop itching soon.

Returning a Crate

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We needed to return the dog crate we borrowed from the McKamey Animal Center.  That’s all we we were going to do.  Drop off the crate.  But Anna, the volunteer coordinator, was there and she asked if we wanted to meet a dog she wanted us to foster “so we could think about it.”

We met Tisen (which I think should be spelled Tyson, but then he’d be named after a chicken company, so it’s just as well).  He is an 8 year old mix who looks like a collection of terrier breeds and maybe even some dalmatian.  He trotted out to us in the exercise yard, just a little shy at first.  Soon, he was giving us kisses.

Anna told us Tisen’s owner is dying.  And, out of “love” for his dog, he decided he wanted Tisen to die with him.  So, he stopped feeding Tisen, apparently thinking the dog would starve to death about the same time he died and they would go to heaven together.  I’m not sure what the rules are about getting into heaven, but if starving a dog to death is on the list of ways to get in, I think I’ll pass.

The man had a daughter who was caring for him and his dogs who apparently agreed to this ploy and was feeding the other two dogs, whom the man loved less.

I don’t know much more about this story except that the police were called and they called McKamey and the wonderful staff at McKamey decided this dog needed to be saved.  He’d been in their clinic under constant care for many weeks, regaining his strength.  He’d become a favorite among the staff and his many fans were giving him extra love and attention.  However, when he had recovered enough to be adopted and was put out in the kennel areas for public viewing, he started showing signs of stress.  He apparently has a hard time being surrounded by other dogs.

We looked at his flaking skin and thinning fur, chunks missing in places and his skin bright red underneath where he’s started chewing on himself from stress, and, I ask, how could we have left this sweet boy there?

I have to say it felt pretty good when one of the staff came out to say goodbye to him and personally thanked us for fostering him–she felt strongly that he not only needed it but he really deserved it after all he’d been through.

When we rode home, he stood between the seats with his front paws in my lap, licking my face.  When we got home, after sniffing around, he plopped across my lap and nestled in like he was home.  I managed to coax him over to Pat’s lap so I could run to the dog store to get something for his skin.  When I came home, my boys were curled up on the couch snoozing.  For once, I feel certain we did the right thing.

The Aftermath of Dog Fostering

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There is a tangible shift in the energy of the apartment.  If the sound and movement in a space were represented in a quilt, our quilt would have a giant hole in it.  The only thing to do is to repair the hole.  This means putting things back to where they were before our guests arrived.

I gather the toys we didn’t send off with the dogs.  I move the remaining food and treats to a cupboard in the kitchen.  I hide the chewed up laptop chargers in a drawer.  I start mentally calculating how much we spent on our week of dog fostering:

  • fee to have dogs in apartment:  $250
  • donation to shelter:  $200
  • dog supplies:  $280
  • replacement laptop chargers:  $160

Instead of adding it up, I conclude with “A week with Lucy and Rex, Priceless.”

But, as I continue to put leftovers away, I realize it would be a sound financial decision to foster more dogs since the money we’ve already spent would cover their costs for the most part.

But am I ready for the next foster dog?  I fold and remove the crates from the living room, gather up the dog blankets and throw them in the laundry, vacuum away the dog hair, and steam away the odors.  When I am done, I have transformed the living room decor from “Dog Kennel Chic” to, well, let’s just call it “Human Occupied.”  There are no signs that dogs ever lived here.

I sit on the couch for a minute, stretching my back and think about the advantages of not having a foster dog:

Sleeping.  I not longer feel on edge, waiting for the dogs to bark or do something loud that must be interrupted immediately when living in an apartment building.  My own anxiety is more of the problem than the dogs, but a problem none-the-less.

Going Out.  We are free to come and go as we please.  When Pat took me out to dinner for my birthday, it was the only two hours we left without the dogs.  Lucy was an only dog by then.  We put her in her crate with a special chew treat and a bone and then went on our way.  She wasn’t barking when we left and she wasn’t barking when we got back, but there was a Post It on the door that said, “Please stop the barking!”

Bird Watching.  I can walk along at my own pace with my eyes in the trees.  When I am training dogs to walk on a leash, I don’t notice a single bird.

Although the quiet and the freedom feel good, I still find myself looking around for the dogs.  The hole in that quilt leaves me feeling a little cold.  Before I know what I’m doing, I’m looking at the calendar and wondering if I could take in the next foster dog in a week or so.  I’m hoping I will be well rested by then.

 McKamey Animal Center

The Big Hill

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s Sunday morning and 5:00AM.  We are flying today.  In fact, today will be my maiden voyage off the big training hill.  While most people might not celebrate this milestone, this is such a momentous occasion for me, I cannot help but get excited.  It has taken me 53 flights off the small hill to get to the big one.  I am sure I’m am getting close to a flight park record.

We take Lucy, our foster dog with us to the training hills.  She has been dying for an opportunity to run around and the training hills are the perfect place.  When we arrive, she literally runs a few laps around the field just out of sheer joy.  It reminds me of our girl, Katie, who used to jump in any body of water we got close to and swim laps just because she loved being in the water.

There are 4 of us flying today.  3 of us are re-clearing for the mountain and have already taken several mountain flights.  I’m not part of that “us.”  I’m the only one who has never flown off the big hill before.  When I get up to the top, I decide to go last in the rotation.  I want to watch the others launch before I take this on.  The big hill doesn’t look very intimidating from the ground below, but from the top of the hill, it might as well be the mountain.

My stomach does a flip as I look down across the field below.  For a moment, I consider going home.  But I remember the feeling of being lifted off the ground the first time.  The joy the memory evokes helps me find a little courage.  Everyone assures me I will like the big hill better than the small hill–it’s easier to launch because of the vertical drop.

Ironically, it’s this vertical drop that worries me so much.  What happens if I don’t launch before I reach the drop?  But, I go ahead and hook in when it’s my turn.  I go through the hang check, my stomach getting tighter.  Pete, the instructor, talks to me about just flying straight and level.  He makes it sound easy.  He assures me I will launch.

I pause, do my pre-flight mental check, channel David Hasselhof, push my shoulders back, stand up straight, and call “clear.”

I hear Pete behind me, reminding me to walk, jog, run.  Then, I am airborn–really airborn!  I cannot judge how close I am to the ground.

My glider starts to turn and I try to correct.  I get the glider straight just in time to feel the ground effect and realize it’s about time to land.  I get my hands up and flare, landing on my feet and walking away as the glider floats back down to my shoulders as Lucy comes running over to check on me.  All I can think is, “I want to do that again!”

Goodbye to Lucy Lou

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Lucy, one of our two foster dogs, was adopted today.  Her brother, Rex, was adopted on Saturday.  I was happy for Rex with only a little sadness, even though he was my favorite.  Then something happened.  Lucy bloomed.  Removed from the shadow of her big brother, she came into her own.

She went from being terrified of the elevator to pushing at the door like she owned the thing.

She was suddenly sitting like she’d understood all along but was too nervous to sit in front of her brother.

She figured out walking on a leash didn’t mean towing me.

She learned to amuse herself.  First, she decided the socks on the bedroom floor should be piled on the couch.  Then, she decided to move all linens from her crate to the couch, too.  She started with the heavy quilt draped over her crate.  It weighs almost as much as she does.  She grabbed it by a corner and wrestled it off the crate, one inch at a time.  She managed to get one corner of it up onto the couch, adding to her pile of socks she’d collected.  Then, she hopped down on top of the rest of the quilt, took the corner in her mouth and tried to jump up on the couch with it.  She couldn’t figure out her own weight was preventing her from performing this feat and ended up in a wrestling match with the quilt, growling at it while she tried to figure out how to get it into place.

Finally, she gave up and went for the first blanket in the crate.  Then the second.  Then the towel we’d put underneath for extra padding.  She had a massive nest on the couch plus the large quilt draping down to the floor.

When Pat came home and sat on the couch to print a document he needed, she jumped out of her nest, barking at the printer across the room.  I laughed and said, “Maybe we can teach her to retrieve your printout?”  30 seconds later, the printer stopped and Lucy ran over, grabbed the printout off the printer, brought it to within 3 feet of Pat, and dropped it on the floor.  It was almost scary.

Sitting on the couch with her cuddled in my lap, she gazed up at me with her brown eyes and I started thinking thoughts like, “Maybe she could just sleep with us tonight?”  Then, I remembered she had an audition with a potential new owner this afternoon.  I rubbed her belly and tried not to think of it.

Pat came and took her to her appointment.  He came home without her.  He liked the family that took her.  I am happy for Lucy.  But, part of me wishes she could have left a couple days earlier when I was less attached.  The shelter says we broke a record for the shortest time to have a foster dog.  Turns out it’s not a record I was prepared to break.

Adoption Day

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Every time we take in a stray animal, we enter into the search for owners hopeful that we’ll find a happy place for the cat or dog quickly. There are reasons for this.

First, let’s face it, animals that have been abandoned have often been abandoned because they lived with people who didn’t know how to train them and they’ve developed bad habits. While I enjoy training dogs (I don’t even try with cats), habits that disrupt my sleep wear on me quickly.

Second, there is an attachment factor. The more time I spend figuring out the particular quirks of a particular dog and how to work with them successfully, the more I get to know them, the better they start to behave, the more I feel like we’re working together as a team, the more attached I get. I’ve found there is an interesting pattern in the relationship that goes something like this:

I’m not sure what canine instinct makes a stray dog behave like the best dog ever at first. It’s as if they know to be cute enough to rope you into keeping them.

The dogs themselves seem to start out feeling complete adoration towards us plus nervousness about being in a new situation. Then, as they lose their nervousness and increase their confidence, they also let their guard down much the way a human might be the most polite person to a perfect stranger and then turn around and snap at a cherished family member.

By the time the dog really feels at home, I feel the frustration that led to their abandonment. When all the bad habits surface, I know it’s time to crank up the training.

With Rex, we had run into a few bad habits–he ate both our power supplies for our laptops, so if I don’t post tomorrow, my battery died. 🙂 But really, he was just completely lacking in training.

Sitting on the bench at the adoption center while Rex’s new parents filled out paperwork, he came and laid his head in my lap. I petted him and talked to him quietly. Then, his new dad came over and sat down on a nearby bench and Rex walked over to him and laid his head in his lap. His new dad leaned down with his face close to Rex’s, stroking his ears and looking at him with the kind of wonder parents show newborns. It was obvious that this man was in love with Rex.

This man struck me as the embodiment of calm. His wife was sweet, too, although I suspect she’s a little higher strung, like me. But the bonding that was taking place right in front of me between Rex and his new dad was what gave me confidence that Rex was going to a good home.

But you know what? I’m still sad.

Who is Training Whom?

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Well, it’s 10:30 and I’ve just tucked the foster dogs into their crates for the night and I’m completely exhausted.  Today’s lessons:

  1. Some dogs have to pee every 2 hours
  2. It’s easier to clean a hard-surface floor than an area rug
  3. It’s even easier to set a timer and get the dogs outside before they need to go
  4. No matter how much we walk, the humans will always be more tired than the dogs
  5. Some dogs play rough.

Two accidents today.  One on the rug and one after the rug was put away.  The big progress was that I recognized the signs that Lucy had to go out before she actually had her second accident.  The problem was that I was in the middle of a conference call and couldn’t take her out right then.  She doesn’t yet have the concept of “holding it.”

I went to a workshop on macro photography this evening.  I felt a little guilty leaving my husband home alone with the dogs for 2 1/2 hours.  We put them in their crates before he drove me to the workshop.  It was the first time they were in their crates during the day.  When he returned home, Rex was barking like mad.  I suspect we are the most popular tenants in our building right now.  Fortunately, it only took 10 minutes to run me across the river and get back.

Last night, Rex was barking furiously in his crate when we went to bed.  I got out my iPad and googled for suggestions on what to do.  I found a checklist for successful crate training:

  • Don’t use crate as punishment.  Check.
  • Feed in crate.  Check.
  • Have special treat they only get while in crate.  Check.
  • Make sure they’ve gotten plenty of exercise during the day.  Check.
  • Make sure they’ve gotten enough attention during the day.  Check.
  • Don’t feed them less than 90 minutes before they go in the crate.  Check.
  • Make sure they go out and go potty before going into the crate.  Check.
  • Cover the crate to help block out distractions.  Check.

Then, I see the suggestion of shaking a can of pennies.  I had already prepared a can of pennies in the hope of interrupting Lucy when she pees in the house.  (Unfortunately, another idea not suited for conference calls.)  But, it was 11PM and the dog was going nuts and I figured it was get him quiet or face the wrath of neighbors.  I grabbed the can of pennies, opened the bedroom door, and stood out of sight.  When Rex started barking again, I gave the can a big shake.  He stopped.  We repeated 4 times and then he laid down and remained quiet the rest of the night.  Whew.

Tonight, we are trying putting the dogs in their crates before we go to bed.  They are sleeping peacefully with us in the room.  They look exhausted.  Maybe all that walking paid off after all?

All-in-One Resolution

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Let’s say, for arguments sake, that when you thought about your New Year’s Resolutions for this year, you decided that you wanted to lose weight.  But, instead of setting that as a goal, you decided to set some specific steps as goals instead.  Your New Year’s Resolutions might look like this:

  1. Take the stairs instead of the elevator every time you go up or down the 4 floors to your home.
  2. Get up earlier so there’s time to start every day with a walk
  3. Eat less
  4. Take a long walk at least 3x a day

Perhaps you will undertake these resolutions for a week or two and then, the elevator is mighty nice when you come home with a load of groceries.  Suddenly, the next time it’s harder to take the stairs.  Getting up early wears you out, makes it too difficult to walk in the morning.  Soon, you’re sleeping in and skipping that morning walk.  Then, you’re not walking at all.  And, when you give up walking, you spend more time sitting near food and suddenly your food consumption goes back up.

I think I have the solution for these New Year’s Resolutions.  First, if you don’t already live in a 4th floor apartment or condo, move into one, but make sure they allow dogs.  Second, make a single resolution to foster a pair of adolescent dogs who have apparently lived in the woods most of their short lives.  Preferably ones who don’t know how to walk on a leash, aren’t potty trained, think elevators are leftover from the holocaust, and have never been around traffic.

Log, Day One, Early Morning:

4:15AM Get up.  Get dogs out of crates.  Put on leashes.  Take them outside as quickly as possible, pausing to squat down and call them every time they balk at walking on a leash.  Coax them down the stairs, which are only slightly less terrifying than the elevator.  Walk around the block while reassuring dogs they are not going to die.  Make sure they both go potty.

5:00AM Feed dogs breakfast.

5:15AM-6:15AM Take Dogs for long walk in the dark, in the pouring rain.  Discover one dog doesn’t like puddles.  Carry over large puddles when necessary.  Discover other dog is capable of backing out of his collar if panicked.  Feel grateful said dog doesn’t run away after escaping from said collar.  Avoid getting poop on hands when picking up out of tall plants (which seems to be Rex’s preferred potty).

6:15AM Return to building.  Coax dogs up stairs to entry door.  Coax dogs through the door.  Coax dogs into stairwell.  Coax dogs up the stairs.

6:30AM Attempt to dry dogs with large towel they think is a new chew toy.  Get dogs back behind the barrier separating the non-puppy-safe area from the semi-puppy-safe area.  Watch dogs wrestle and try to keep them from waking up all our neighbors.

7:00AM Curl up with said dogs on couch.  Smile to self while nodding off.

What About Paris?

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Good news!  I heard from the shelter and I get to pick up our foster dogs on Tuesday.  I have become obsessed with dog preparations.  It started with a stop at the local dog supply store, Bone Appetit.

I was only looking.  I just wanted to know what kinds of toys and tools were available for dogs these days since it’s been a few years since we lost our last dog to cancer.  We met an owner and she explained a new type of leash to us that is a thick, rubber leash that prevents jerking either the dog or the owner.

This reminds me that our foster dogs don’t know how to walk on a leash. I’m not sure if a gentle leader or something like this semi-stretchy leash is a better idea to start with.  I’m pretty sure that whichever route I go, we’re going to go through a lot of bacon in the process.  🙂

I look at the display of stuffed toys on the wall and remember my own childhood when I used to save up my earnings from mowing lawns to buy myself stuffed animals.  When we discover animals that look like pelts, I realize these are not for human children.

I can’t make fun of anyone for spoiling their dogs.  Besides working on not being judgmental, I was guilty of spoiling our dogs rotten.  We used to feed them a raw diet that involved stocking a huge freezer with whole chickens, grass-fed cow bones and stomachs, livers, and a variety of other “goodies” that we would never eat ourselves.

I check out the brands of dog foods offered by this store and am happy to see that several I’m familiar with are available.  I don’t plan to go the raw food route, but I would like to use a high quality food that will help with the house breaking.

The owner tells us that the store works with the same shelter.  I’m excited to meet people who love dogs and work with the shelter–it gives me confidence that the foster dogs are being treated well and will be OK.

I return home and dig out some photos of my best friend’s dogs.  One of her dogs, Bonnie, hates the camera.  I crawled under a table to try to get a shot of her and only got the back of her black head in an even blacker shadow.  I tried sneaking a shot from my iPhone and she was even savvy to that.  No pictures of Bonnie.

The other dog, Paris, just laid there and let me shoot her for as long as I wanted.  The lighting wasn’t great, but I managed to have fun talking to her like a fashion model while I shot.  “Paris, look this way.  Oh, that’s it.  Now tilt your head.  Now raise your eyebrows.  Perfect.  Play dead.  Perfect!”

I am sure I will be posting plenty of foster dog pictures in the near future–I hope Paris isn’t jealous.

One Man’s Trash

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We are up before the crack of dawn, on our way to the hang gliding training hills.  We arrive early–the gates are still locked.  As soon as we settle in to wait, two dogs come running down to greet us.  They are collarless, thin, very young, and very adorable.  There aren’t any homes near enough to explain why these dogs would be hanging out here before dawn.

When the instructor arrives, we drive on, deciding to worry about the dogs on the way home, but the dogs chase us down the dirt road for as long as they can keep up.  We lose them when they tire, but they arrive at the parking lot about the time we get out my glider.  They jump all over me, wanting to be petted some more.  I turn my back on them when they jump and pet them when they have all four paws on the ground.  It takes three times and they figure out they can get what they want by standing still.  They are smart dogs.

As I go through my flying lessons, the dogs chase me when I fly off the hill and run up and start licking my face if I land on my belly.  I’m not sure if they’re worried about me or just having fun, but it’s cute.

After a few flights, they run off to explore something else.  I am relieved–these dogs are breaking my heart.  But, I don’t want to jump into a 12-14 year commitment because they’re cute and hungry.

When we call it quits for the day, the dogs reappear to “help” disassemble my glider.  They remember not to jump on me and I am impressed with how quickly they have learned that lesson.  When I am done, I sit on the ground and let them share my lap.  They are so sweet.  I remind myself they’ve been running around and are exhausted.  Tired dogs usually are sweet.

But my husband looks at me sitting on the ground with these hungry, adorable dogs and says, “All right, get them in the van.”  They ride comfortably with us to Wendy’s where they wolf down burgers.

We discuss the choices we’ve made since the death of our sweet Mastiffs to make it easy for us to travel.  We decide to take the dogs to a shelter and volunteer to foster them.

The shelter is large and clean and the man at the desk is reassuring.  I meet the volunteer coordinator and she is equally friendly.  I fill out paperwork and we bring in the dogs.  It will take 5-7 days for the dogs to get vet care (including spaying and neutering), have their behavior assessed, and be ready for foster care. I am sad as we walk out.  I cannot shake a feeling of unease, like I have shirked a responsibility.  I imagine their disappointment at being left behind.  I feel my own disappointment.  I resist the urge to run back inside and ask for them back.