From Rescue Dog to Foster Sister, Cat Magnet

 

"Misty-Rough Collie" was what I had printed on her name tag, as so many people nowadays (in California) have only heard of Border Collies. I didn't want her to be misidentified, if she were ever lost.

Misty was two years old when I adopted her. She'd had a bad start in life; abandoned by the breeder, one of only nine surviving dogs. Misty was placed on a feeding tube as she was too weak to eat. She was afraid of everyone and everything at first.

I've always greeted everyone we meet on walks. It gives a dog confidence that humans are potential friends and helps allay the fears of our multicultural neighbors, who have not all grown up with exposure to safe, polite Dogs.

Asking the dog to sit and rewarding them with a treat doubles the sense of security of both dog and human and reinforces the positive encounter.

Many times, people with children said that this was their first time having the courage to approach and touch a dog. In this way, Misty was a great Ambassador and I was proud of her.

Misty's other role in life was as Foster-Sister to a parade of dogs in transition from old lives to new ones. Some stayed for a few days and some for several months.

Misty was also a magnet for cats. She integrated easily into a tolerant relaitionship with our resident feline and other cats we saw on our walks didn't run from her when we crossed paths.

Our bossy outdoor feral cat, Winnie, took a liking to Misty and would rub up against her. If Misty tried to walk away Winnie would swipe at her with a paw. Misty would sigh and put up with her.

Winnie began following Misty into the house through the doggie-door and would often be asleep on Misty's bed in the morning.

Misty with Sadie & Feral Cat, Winnie

Misty had degenerative myelopathy; a nerve disease similar to ALS (Lou Gehrigs disease). Initially diagnosed by our vet who noticed she had a slight drag to a back foot. Anti-inflammatories helped for quite a while, until her deterioration accelerated. She collapsed at 3am April 20th and couldn't get up. 

It was time to let her go ahead.

Misty was only seven and I feel lucky to have shared five of those years. She was my Heart-Dog and I was her Person.

(Un)-Ruly and a Rescue the Size of Texas

I have a card that says "Someone please stop me from volunteering again". The new clown dog, who has taken up temporary residence with us, is Ruly.
Our Collie Rescue Group doesn't take on mixes, except when they do:) Ruly was out of time at the shelter and is obviously part smooth collie. The rest of his DNA probably involved some hound, but it's anybody's guess.
Ruly was called Max, as are half the dogs in this world, and he went to join the 9 collies at our area coordinator's farm. A couple are hers, the rest are returning guests as she dog-sits for prior rescues. Max/Ruly was described as exhausting; wearing out the patience of the older dogs with his relentless rough play and lack of manners.
I stayed quiet on the sidelines of the email-group discussion about him, keeping my twitchy trigger-finger away from the buttons that would draw attention to me. We still have a lot going on after our move, not to mention having a business to run.

The gal who originally signed me up to foster, many Dog-Moons ago, is no fool. She innocently wrote to Ruly's beleaguered temporary guardian: "Doesn't so-and-so specialize in The Unruly?". Sideways compliment or baited trap? I jumped in and said that I'd take him on for a few weeks, if I could have naming rights and give him the aspirational name of Ruly.
Ruly is in his third week with us. He's learned to walk on the leash, improve his meet and greet skills with other dogs and make the most of relaxing in front of  the office fan. He relaxes a lot, as my biggest and best rule of dog-training is to keep them as tired as possible.
Ruly's good with cats and kids and a great companion in the car. He's been deemed adoptable and his picture is on Facebook and on the rescue website. Unfortunately, he's being eclipsed by a story from Texas. A woman there had a history of hoarding; breeding collies but never relinquishing them to homes. The initial count of undernourished dogs seized from backyard cages was over ninety. Two pregnant bitches have whelped thirteen and ten pups respectively, over the weekend. Four frightened dogs who've been hiding in the back of their igloos were finally spotted and counted, bringing the total to 120.
There was a hearing earlier today and a judge signed them all over to be cared for and adopted out by Houston Collie Rescue, which is great news. Sometimes dogs can be in legal limbo for months or years before they get a chance at a normal life in a loving home.
At the hearing, it came to light that there are an additional three dozen collies that were hidden at the hoarder's father's house, then transferred back to her since. Concerned neighbors had called in to say that they could still hear dogs barking at her home.
For once an animal abuser was taken away in handcuffs. She had done this before in 2007. Fifty five dogs were taken from her at that time. The current numbers were produced from the ten dogs she hid and kept back then.
Many rescue organizations have reached out to share this load. The financial outlay so far is close to $50,000. The Collie Club of America has donated $10,000 and some pet-food companies have sent supplies. Pilots for Paws are waiting to schedule flights, as needed, to transport dogs across the country. Vets are vaccinating, evaluating and treating all the dogs. Every one has been bathed, micro-chipped and given a name.
We don't yet know how many of these dogs will be allocated to California. If they do come, I've signed up to take two.

Catching Air

No Halloween costumes at the barn, on Sunday, but I did ditch a huge bag of leftover candy in the tack-room, for all to share.
Chief and I jumped this weekend. Our first real jump. We've previously worked over poles on the ground and then progressed to crossed poles. Today we had crossed poles going in, a half dozen strides, and then a small vertical. As we picked up our canter and rounded the end of the arena (both of which are recent accomplishments) I could tell that Chief had noticed something new and then I felt him decide that he could do this.

I've always worked horses on the lunge first, so that they became familiar with hopping over poles. This is not my horse, nor my establishment, and they don't seem to use that educational building block. Either way, a rider can never be sure exactly what an inexperienced horse is going to do when faced with an obstacle. A horse can choose a sudden halt; to look at the thing in its path; sometimes followed by the "Rocket Vertical Lift-off" approach, to get over it from a standstill. There's the "OMG, how Scary is that?" approach, with evasive maneuvers to right or left, before even getting to the poles, and there's the "Hippo-jump" of a horse who is willing but who doesn't usually have all four feet lifted of the ground at once.
The rider has to roll the dice and decide to sit tight in the saddle, to ride out any change of direction, or to be more forward to follow the momentum. I admit to being a defensive rider and I didn't want to go "out the front door" if Chief refused or dodged so I sat tight.
My good-natured horse did his best "Hippo-Jump", with a lot of upward energy. I caught significant air between myself and the saddle and, at one stage my finger-tips were at the very end-buckle of the reins. Luckily, Chief is a sizable target for a landing area and we managed to reunite on the way down, and stay together.
The photo above is of our second attempt. I committed to the more forward position and Chief had more of an idea what was expected. I'm so proud of him.

Monday morning, I took my toe to the doctor. It had been somewhat sore since I stubbed it last week and I'd noticed that it was swollen and an angry red. They said I had an elevated temperature and sent me over to the outpatient surgery to have the ingrown toenail removed. I'm not sure exactly what they did. I'll see when I take the bandage off later today. I don't watch myself being sliced and diced. I don't need to have those images imprinted on my inner eye, thank you.
I did fashion a boot so that I could still walk my latest foster dogs.

Max and Rany are brothers who lost their home to foreclosure. Their owner had kept them in his back yard, without ever taking them out. They have a lot to learn about the outside world. They take up almost all of the floor in my little office and are a furry whirlpool in the back seat of my car.

Free Smiles:)

There is, of course, a back-story, but let's just go with the smiles that puppies bring. I drove to get them out of an urgent situation and kept them for a few days until the rest of the team could set up foster homes for them.
We had our neighborhood transfixed each time we went for a walk. Four month old puppies, who had never walked on leash before, learned by following Brook and got the hang of it pretty quickly. There were some major tangles and some outbreaks of romping on various lawns. Much laughter.

I deliberately didn't name them and steadfastly resisted volunteering to foster longer. Brook goes back to her other Mom tomorrow. I have work to catch up on. I made a hair appointment for myself and I'm even going riding this weekend.
I started to write "If I see a stray dog, I'll let someone else deal with it" but that would be a lie. Fingers crossed that all dogs are safe and sound in happy homes, for at least a few days.

Down, Up and Sideways.

(Scroll down for dog story)
250 miles down and 250 miles back up, all in one long day. Throw in a client meeting on a construction site, perched above the pretty valley of  Los Olivos, and a buffet lunch with an interior designer, in an Indian Casino near Santa Ynez, and you'd be surprised we still had energy and an appetite for a late dinner in a restaurant near home, before falling into bed last night. Today we are a bit road-stunned. My knees are stiff from sitting in the same position for hours and I regret that second carafe of wine we shared, but not for one minute the escargot. Any dish that requires one to dip crusty French bread in garlic flavored melted butter is top of my "can I have some more" list.
We hit the road early'ish yesterday morning and passed south, through Steinbeck Country swathed in skeins of mist. Newly furrowed arable land stretched out on either side of the highway. There were richer pockets punctuating the scenery with white post and rail fences and horses, and scrubby bad-lands animated only by the nodding heads of the occasional oil-well pump, watched over by a couple of tanks at the entrance to the National Guard training camp.
The Madonna Inn, garish pink, rococo landmark, marking passage towards Southern California, and all things tasteful (?) flashed by and we were soon driving in sight of the Pacific Ocean. Although the day had warmed to T-shirt weather and the hills were greener than ours, the grape vines covering the rolling landscape were still dormant, holding the hills in place with row after endless row of perfectly spaced brown stitches.
Signs for Santa Maria meant it was time to watch for our turn-off. The infestation of giant toadstools ahead morphed into the rotund silhouettes of citrus trees, as we drew closer. Squat forms, densely packed with glossy green foliage and peppered with day-glow orange orbs.
We like Los Olivos, a small town north of Santa Barbara. There is an affluent community with many who dabble in wine growing and horse breeding and they've been good clients. We were saddened that almost all of the art galleries have been pushed out by wine tasting establishments, attracted by the exposure given in the movie Sideways, and willing to bid higher for rents than more bohemian businesses can afford.
After our construction site meeting, the designer proposed that we go to lunch together. We had planned to treat ourselves to a nice restaurant on our travels and the "all you can eat" buffet in the bowels of an Indian Casino, was not quite what we had in mind. It was interesting, if you like pasty faced retirees indoors on a beautiful afternoon. In a windowless atmosphere, grey with cigarette smoke and churning with the noise of the slot machines, there was certainly no shortage of food. It was cheap too, which may have been her main motivation, although she was very familiar with the molten chocolate brownie dessert.

It wouldn't be right to leave out news of our new foster dog. Emma is a Collie/Labrador  mix who was found running along the side of a busy road. One of the shelter employees sent these sad photos to collie rescue in November and we posted her on the web and all crossed our fingers that she would be adopted. Emma's time was up between Christmas and New Year but they agreed to hold her for us until we could organize transportation. Naturally she was miles from anywhere.

Emma was handed over to me in a Church parking lot two weeks ago. Head shy, stressed and smelly, she cringed when I looked at her and licked my fingers surreptitiously when I turned away. She's estimated to be about eighteen months old. Although still cautious about new things and people, Emma is putting her days in an institution behind her.

Many of the photos I was trying to take were empty as Action-Emma had moved on at the speed of light.

This sweet shot of Emma napping in my office belies the fact that this dog is not inhibited by such things as gravity. My desk is just a hop-up to see out of the window and much of my paperwork is decorated with paw prints. I now stash the computer keyboard when I'm not using it. Emma is a four-paw typist.

Emma has since had her spay stitches removed, she's been vaccinated and tested clear of heart-worm. Bathing her was such a small portion of the work normally involved in grooming her bigger, hairier collie cousins. It was a snap!

This girl is a charming, happy, playful dog. She had a play date yesterday with a neighbor's dog and there was much romping and tearing around the garden. They're thinking about getting a friend to keep their dog company when their daughter leaves for college. It would be great if this works out, but I have to let them think it through. In the meantime, I have a walking partner again.

Adoptions and X-Rays

 

It's official. The papers have been signed. Sweet Abbey-Rose has been adopted. No tears this time. We spent so much time with Abbey's new Mom that the final transition was stress-free.

The timing worked out well as I had come to the conclusion that there was something amiss with my feet. I've been blaming my shoes for several months now. I bought new trainers for dog-walking. I carried two pairs of shoes in my car and had another two pairs at the office, so that I could change frequently. The epiphany came at the nail salon. When my pedicurist firmly grasped my foot at the base of my big toe, I almost decked her. Ouch! The X-rays (mine, not hers) show osteoarthritis in my toes.

What am I supposed to do with that? Me? The dog-walker and even without-dog-walker, Hobbled! It's taken a week of rest, pills and not much improvement to understand that if I play my cards right, I can turn this around. She who can no longer walk must ride everywhere, and I'm talking four-hooved locomotion, not some sleazy limo. See, it's all about the spin.

Rabbit, Dog, Horse

Abbey's future mama picked us up yesterday morning to go to dog training class together. I was planning on perfecting my role as spectator and cheering section but the trainer has no problem delegating and I was handed a leash and told to work with Lucky; a chocolate brown, compact version of a dachshund; all wagging tail and a true believer in humans being a direct source of good things.
Lucky knows a lot more than I do. The class was working on going from having their dogs "come" and "sit" in front of them to "finish", with the dogs at our sides , sitting in "heel" position. Using "watch me" commands, and leading with a treat-filled hand signal out to the side, circle and back in, is how this is taught. Lucky knew this one and that he would be rewarded at the end of it. Imagine a chocolate brown hermit crab shuffle, his eyes never leaving my face, as his wiggly butt swiveled from front and center to ankle ready position. A turn-key dog.
Abbey did well with Barbara, ending with our "meet and greet" manners exercise when dog owners stop to chat and dogs sit politely until told otherwise. We pretended to ask "can you hold my dog a moment while I go over there to get something?" and each took turns working two dogs, who were still expected to behave as if nothing was happening. Barbara spent some time with Abbey in one hand and another dog in the other. This was the perfect practice run for our after class activity which was to return home and continue acquainting Abbey with Barbara's dog, Bella.
Barbara and I took Bella and Abbey for a short walk then had lunch in her garden, with Abbey on leash and Bella sniffing around. Abbey was a good girl, except for one attempt at a snap, which was useful as an opportunity to correct her. I set up a doggie pen so that Abbey could stay there and acclimate, but not endanger Bella and I left them to it. Barbara was invited to return Abbey to me at the end of the day and to stay for dinner with us.
The Artistic One had volunteered to plan a menu and cook, which is always a promise of something tasty. Unfortunately he has no problem delegating either. I peeled and diced a million veggies, each of which was cooked separately to perfection, before combining for the final phase of seasoning. (Is butter a seasoning?) We had cantaloupe, rabbit in red wine and rabbit roasted in the oven. The veggies were divine. One guest asked for grated cheese and so we all tried adding that to the flavor bouquet as well.
There was a cheese plate and then tiramisu topped with fresh raspberries and blueberries that I had intoxicated with a sweet red wine and brown sugar.
Barbara had brought home a very tired Abbey. She had managed both dogs at her home very well. She had worked with Abbey, side by side with Bella, without the pen and managed to take a rest with one dog sleeping on each side of the bed. I've had a good vibe from Barbara since our very first meeting. What I learned yesterday in our dinner table conversation was that her career was as a psychiatric nurse. Great qualifications for staying calm and handling unexpected situations.
This morning was hard. We had gone to bed after midnight after copious amounts of food, wine and good company. If I had no dog to take for a walk and no riding lesson scheduled I think I might have lingered between the sheets. Not to be. Luckily, Abbey lets me have my coffee before we go out. I warmed up to the rhythm and didn't listen to my lazy suggestion to self that a foreshortened circuit would be O.K. just this once.
At the stables by 9'ish, I rode a large bay quarter horse called Mac. He's a beauty with a huge stride and a noble head. It was the start of a new session so I had imagined there would be more people than usual in the class, which would allow me to take it easy. My name was the only one on the board so I ended up in a private lesson. Warm up was a struggle but we ended up working through a low level dressage test quite respectably, for a horse and rider who had never met before today.
Lunch was a no-brainer. Hurray for left overs. The Artistic One worked on a new water color this morning and is now taking a nap. I am trying to catch up with all the blog posts that I haven't had time to read. I am on the cusp of attaining my one hundredth follower. There are so many kind and interesting people out in the blogosphere. Who would have thought that so many would show an interest in my search for pony-dom?
I don't write as much as I did in the beginning. For a while this blog was a bit of a lifeline; an exploration and affirmation of identity that I had lost sight of; A crutch, a retreat and a safety valve. Abbey has been a part of my journey back onto a path that once again feels as if it might lead somewhere worthwhile. I'm  getting my life back. I'll try not to lose sight of it ever again.

Collie or Shepherd? A. Rose by any other name.

Collie?

German Shepherd?

Softie!

OMG! 

A House Divided

We have a new foster dog. Abbey Rose is a Collie/German Shepherd cross who was left in the night drop at the Oakland Humane Society. The accompanying note said she is 9 years old and had been living outdoors for the last 5 years. No explanation as to why she was being left. Collie Rescue have been keeping her on their radar, hoping she would be adopted straight from the shelter.
I received a call on New Years Day that a foster home was needed and Abbey Rose arrived a few hours later. Her name was just plain Abby but we've embellished it a little.
This time, I actually told my husband that we were expecting a dog delivery, before it happened. There was only minor grumbling, which is a huge improvement.
Abbey Rose is a sweet girl. She has house manners and adores people. She is really a shepherd in collie clothing. Her coat is long, sable and white but her big, erect ears, stance and profile are all German Shepherd. It's a bit disorienting, like looking at one of those pictures that changes depending on how it's viewed.
One complicating factor is that she's not as cat-friendly as we hoped. We are down to one cat, as fearless Domino must have gone to have a chat with a coyote one night. (Three cats have gone missing in the immediate neighborhood in less than a month and the pack can be heard yipping as they hunt the canyon and golf course nearby).
Slinkie is much more cautious and suspicious. Abbey has barked and wanted to chase her so we've barricaded the house in half, in order to convince Slinkie not to leave home. Our house is a split-level two storey and the old ferret play-pen unfolds into the perfect barrier across the stairs to the lower level, cat/dog door and garden and across the two steps up to our master bedroom at the same time. McGyvered together at the center banister with a bungee cord, the fence stops the dog from accessing the cat and still allows the cat to creep into our bedroom at night when the dog is sleeping. I've been luring Slinkie in each evening and sliding the solid door into the cat flap to keep her in. We've had a few cartoon-like accidents where Slinkie has planted herself face first into an unyielding surface that she expected to open. It is a life or death situation for both animals so we're doing the best we can under the circumstances.
Abbey Rose has some understandable separation anxiety issues and I am only gradually being allowed to descend to the lower level of the house to use the computer, without her rushing about and crying as soon as I get out of sight. She will now relax if Hubby is with her and this morning I was permitted a brief interlude to check my email with only some quiet background whining from behind the barricade.
Funnily enough, Abbey Rose is much happier in the car. I have had her with me at the office so that Slinkie could relax at home during the day. Abbey comes with me to appointments and doesn't mind waiting in the car until I return. I haven't left her for long and I've been able to see her to make sure all was well. This isn't going to work as soon as the weather warms up but I have hopes that she will find her new home before long and/or that she is going to feel comfortable trusting that I will not abandon her.

Boomer doesn't need me anymore.

Hubby and I headed for the coast today to meet up with Boomer and his "Forever Folks", for the first time since we handed him over in May. We both received some much-appreciated collie-hugs but it was obvious that Boomer belongs to his new family and is secure and happy with them. As with children, loving them is letting them go.

Graduate of Finishing School

Boomer embarked on his future last evening, jumping into his new Dad's car without a backward glance. We had previously had an introductory visit so that John and his wife Janet could walk Boomer and feed him treats and fall in love with my big sensitive foster-collie.
They're getting a hell of a nice dog and he should be set for life.
Boomer's new home is in Half Moon Bay, right on the coast. He will like the cooler climate and enjoy his new people. They are collie-lovers of long standing; still missing their last dog who passed away six months ago. Boomer's new parents will take him jogging on the natural trails and take him with them to the cafe overlooking the ocean where he can attract admiring glances, as is his due. They are so impressed by his current level of manners and obedience that there is talk of dog-rally obedience competitions, just for fun.
I look forward to visiting Boomer one day, once he is well established with his new family. For now, I am proud and happy and a little heart-sore.

Herd/Heard

You would expect, after a decade and a half of life with a herding dog, that Hubby might remember that such creatures are hard-wired to herd. This instinct manifests itself most noticeably when something passes by at a speed above a walk. If the "must be herded right now" target is accompanied by rumbling wheels, engine decibels and, "What could beat that?", brushes swirling around, then the weekly street sweeper surpasses even the irresistibility of UPS or the Garbage Truck.
Diva, our good citizen, now-geriatric, collie continued to attempt a take down of the wheely beast for many years after her physical abilities waned. The occasional triumphant guided-missile run far outweighed the subsequent need for anti-inflammatories to calm the crippling aches and pains of adrenaline-induced action. Now that her hearing is completely gone she is serenely oblivious to the passing temptation.
Foster-Dog Boomer took up the gauntlet this morning. We know he's fast. He can catch cats. We know he's a herding fool. Although he obeys me now on-leash rather than lunging after cyclists, joggers, skateboards, and trucks, I am always conscious of his hyper-awareness, bouncing gait and a look that asks "Can I? Please, Please! Can I?" I have worked hard with positive reinforcement training. I never leave home with him without treats to reward his good manners but I have no illusion that off-leash he'd be willing to answer the call of hundreds of years of breeding.
Monday is street sweeper day. I was happy to conclude our walk without encountering our nemesis. Back home, as I got changed and ready for work, Boomer was half-climbing on the living room furniture to get at the window and barking fiercely as the sanitation equipment slowly went by.
Hubby was gathering his wallet, phone, shoes etc. in the entry when I reminded him "Mind the dog. Don't open the door. Today is street sweeper day."

Back in our bedroom, a few minutes later, as I bundled the laundry that I was planning to wash into my arms to take downstairs, I heard "Aghh Merde!". As I stepped toward the entry I could tell from the quality of the light that the front door was open. No dog in sight but the sound of excited barking receding into the distance gave me a pretty good clue as to what had happened. Boomer was off on a quest to herd that which was out of sight but not forgotten.
I have never before felt the need to jump into my car for dog chasing purposes, but this was obviously going to be one of those far and wide searches. I grabbed a handful of treats and my cell phone, covering the full spectrum of situations I might encounter and zoomed off in pursuit, turning off the radio and lowering the windows so that I could follow the sounds of the unseen drama.
The street sweeper leaves wet brush marks as it passes. Ear to the wind and eye to the giant tracks, I was about to turn up a cul de sac nearby when the mechanical behemoth appeared over the horizon in front of me, trundling back in my direction to clean the other side of the road.
By this time several neighbors were out to see what all the noise was about. Concerned, half-dressed and uncombed the citizenry made no impact on the driver of the vehicle. It is entirely understandable that driving something the size of a Cross Channel Ferry Boat would make one impervious to worrying about possible dangers. Insouciant in the face of a crazy canine; leaving a rudely awoken throng unwashed and untucked behind him; the driver of doom held to his mission. Boomer, meanwhile, was barking his battle cry, hair lifting in the slip-stream like a Scottish warrior's kilt as he beat the invaders back to Hadrian's Wall. Flying in circles, which any herding dog will tell you is proper herding etiquette, he was here, there and everywhere in a flash. I was pretty surprised that my voice yelling his name was heard over the motor and the barking. (More so as I apparently was unheard in the quiet of my own home a short time before). I was even more surprised that Boomer responded by running straight to me. I leaned across the seat to throw open the back door of the car. He missed that cue as he was circling my car to come back to my side. The sweeper driver finally understood that he was part of our morning scene and he slowed down to await the outcome. Boomer bounced back to me so very proud of what he had accomplished and bounded joyously into the back seat, panting wildly.
Hubby was in his car just leaving our driveway as we returned. He sheepishly handed me a leash as a peace offering as our cars passed one another. "Quelle C...!" he said, referring to the naughty, happy dog. "I counted two of them" was my reply as I went back indoors to gather my wits and the laundry I had thrown down all over the floor.

Boomer has a Forever Home!

Foster dog number two has found a cat-free forever home. His new family came to meet him and took him home almost two weeks ago. We have just gone from Adoption-pending to Adoption-confirmed status. I didn't want to jinx it by mentioning it before. The retired couple who have him have never seen so much of their grandchildren. Boomer has company and kids to play with.
I'm never going to attain great wealth or stardom to measure my success in life, but I'm O.K. with what I have tried to do and sometimes achieved this year; in human and in canine terms.

Five Hundred Miles

How long did you have your Foster Dogs? Well over Five Hundred Miles.

Miles that started out a little frantic with dogs who had no clue what had happened to them; neighbors had found them by their deceased owner's side and they had been collected by Animal Services and taken to the Pound. Collie Rescue was alerted by someone and, with the help of several intermediaries, they came to me.

I've already written about them a few times. They've done well; calmed down, confident, well mannered and adoptable; most of which I credit to the miles we've walked together every day.
This post was originally destined to be a little sad, as I launch these temporary (almost 5 months) family members off to their new lives.
Boomer was picked up on Sunday-last to go to a home by the beach in Santa Cruz and Darcy has her new person collecting her on Saturday. She will be overlooking the golf links at Pebble Beach with a retired gentleman who is already planning to have play dates so that she and her brother can reunite.
As I walked the two dogs together for the last time on Sunday, I had a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. On Monday morning, when I received a call from Boomer's new Mom, regarding the fact that he is totally obsessed by her cat, I thought: "Oh Shit! Bounceback-Dog"
We had previously discussed Boomer's focus on all things small and furry. New Mom said her cat was outdoors a lot, mature, used to dogs and she wanted to make it work. Apparently, Boomer has seen the cat through the window and is mountain-climbing over all kinds of furniture to get to the window for a closer look.
I'm a bad person. Even though I want this to work out, I can't help but visualize the Chaos Gymkhana that is going on right now. I also loved the look on my husbands face when I recounted the story to him. His suspicious question, "What are you going to say if they want to bring him back?" Is a stupid question that he didn't really need to ask. Of course, I already said I'd take him back if needs be.
I have recommended some training with treats and, above all, that they start walking. A tired dog is a good dog.

Dog Tired

The "neither here, nor there" moon was fighting for space in a troubled sky; momentarily embraced by a dark-rainbow circumference, as it's bright, cold luminosity refracted unevenly through the prism of moist air.

The mystique of my dog-walking has turned to drudgery as yet another flare of optimism fizzles in disappointment on the adoption front.

It is hard to find a home for two dogs at once. In addition, these are energy-filled, can't be placed with cats or small children, potential grooming nightmare, emotionally high maintenance, big hairy dogs.

Boomer and Darcy are on the Collie Rescue web site and on Pet Finder. We have flyers up with vets and groomers and on many community notice boards. I don't have a client who has not heard about them. They have sent emails to their friends as well. Several single collies have been placed in new homes since June, when I acquired my Foster-Canines.

During the first month there was not even a tiny glimmer of interest. There have been three or four couples since then who have applied, had house inspection visits and been approved to adopt, only to withdraw at the last minute for one reason or another.

This past weekend we had a call from a lovely older couple of dog lovers. Their previous Labrador had lived to be twenty. His name was Sam Spade; in reference to the character in The Maltese Falcon; a book written by this gentleman's uncle. They came to visit the dogs and it was, unfortunately, evident that, although 80 may be the new 60, recent open heart surgery for one and hip surgery for the other rendered them too frail to have such robust new additions to their family. They made a donation to Collie Rescue and may yet end up with an older, quieter version.

The first time that it seemed likely that the Fur-Children would be leaving, I found myself snivelling away as I read the email, even though I was happy for them. I am sure that I will cry again when we do finally find a matching home but I have reached a point that I would prefer it to be sooner, rather than later.

As the days draw in and I find myself walking in the dark both morning and evening, I am anticipating the first real rainy day. I already have a collie. I know how many gallons of water can be absorbed into that beautiful double coat. Now multiply that by three!

Business is picking up (no complaints there). I am neglecting my clients; arriving late and leaving early. Some days even putting an extra 30 miles on my car to return home at lunch and walk the dogs so they don't get bored before I come back again and walk them some more in the evening. I haven't been horse riding in weeks, my blog is neglected and I don't have time to fully read and comment on the blogs I love to follow, as I try to speed read to at least keep up a little.

We have been discussing the option of letting the dogs be adopted separately. We don't want to split them up but they are living a half-life with me. I keep them in the garage and side yard when I am not home, which is why I take them out so much. I let them mingle with my old dog when I am there but she falls over easily and could be hurt if they tried to play with her unsupervised. I have brought some client drawings home to work on tomorrow morning and cancelled my appointment with the rep from the Yellow Pages to review our ad. All so I can keep the dogs company and not feel guilty about their care.

The older the dog the harder to place. Darcy and Boomer cannot have their 7th birthday go by in foster care. Four months have gone by like the wind.

Enough with the downer moaning. They are safe and apparently happy with me. I will soldier on and quit whining. I will hold out a while longer for a special home where both litter-mates can stay together.

I have already mentally planned what they will wear for Halloween if they are stuck here another month. Big Boomer will be SuperMan/Dog in blue spandex with a red cape. Darcy was born to dress as a French Maid. I had better go fabric shopping and start sewing this weekend, or we won't be ready by the big day.

Two New Fur-Children

Meet Darcy and Boomer, my new Foster-Dogs.
They are as sweet-natured as they look in the photo and will be prettied up by a groomer in a day or two to enhance their marketability and so to get them a great "Forever Home".
Fostering is always sudden. These two sibling collies were scooped up by animal services and taken to the pound when their owner was found dead last week. The owner was not elderly, she had diabetes, but had every expectation of out-living her six-year old Fur-Children. Another volunteer gave up her birthday Sunday to drive for four hours, round trip and get these guys out of dog-jail.
Life has been hectic at our house, creating separate areas so that my older collie-girl not be overwhelmed by this energetic pair and I can't have them falling in the pool and drowning when I'm not there either, so limited access to the back yard and doggie door.
I have been taking six dog-walks a day; three at top speed with my formula one dogs stretched ahead in racing tandem and three of the "slow, sniff and stop" variety with old Diva. The formula one team go into overdrive whenever a squirrel, or even a bird, moves in their field of vision. Big Boomer was eyeing a 747 today as it entered our airspace. Diva would hightail it after helicopters and planes back in the day, so I am used to this.
The first night was rough, with much lonely howling. The new nightly routine has me going down to the guest bedroom with my two charges and I lie and read a book for a half hour to keep them company. Last night I "lost" Boomer. He had crawled under the bed into the frou-frou cave created by the Ralph Loren dust-ruffle. He is huge, so he was on his side, happy and secure. They have both informed me that they would accept invitations to climb on the bed, but they have both respected that I did not want that.
I have some hopes of a good and rapid resolution for these two. Someone I know who had a collie before, has just retired from teaching and was waiting to get another dog. She might take them both, which is what we are trying to achieve. She is out of town this week but we have exchanged emails and she is interested. All our paws are crossed for this lady to fall in love at first sight with Darcy and Boomer. Their pictures are going up on the Collie Rescue web site too, so we keep their options open. I'll let you know what happens.