Rescue Work Overload & the Difference a little Trust Can Make

Every now and again, the dog-thing gets a bit overwhelming. This weekend was one of those times. It makes me pause and wonder if I’m doing too much, asking too much of my family, my own pets, my own heart.

It’s so easy to anthropomorphize dogs. (I toss that big word out there as if I didn’t have to look up the spelling and be sure I was using it correctly. It means to attribute human characteristics and purposes to inanimate objects, plants, and animals.)

We imagine we know a dog’s motives, emotions. We think we can read its expressions, sense its moods, understand why it responds the way it does, even interpret its feelings. (I’ve been anthropomorphizing Gracie for years — but who knows what really goes through that little head of hers.)

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This week confirmed for me once again that dogs, like people, are mysteries. It is nearly impossible to know another person’s heart, let alone a dog’s, and twice as easy to imagine that we do. We assume based on our own experiences and bias, but in reality we’re wrong as much as we’re blessed with a lucky guess or two.

Yesterday morning, for the first time in weeks, Gala and Darlin’ had a nasty fight. Continue reading Rescue Work Overload & the Difference a little Trust Can Make

Missing Dog, My Drug Problem, and the Power of Family

On Sunday a dog that had been adopted from OPH by a family near me, got loose and ran off. She’s been missing ever since.

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I’ve sadly been unable to be much help to the searchers as I spent the weekend in a fog of pain. I developed a pinched nerve in my neck on Thursday and it escalated to the point where I felt as if someone was driving a knife in the back side of my head and twisting nonstop. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’ve read about the kind of people who live with chronic pain and I am most certain that I could never do it. In fact, as I sat (because lying down was even more painful) through the night on Saturday, I understood how a person could become addicted to pain killers.

I had swallowed four ibuprofen and two Tylenols and I was eyeing the serious pain killers that were left from my son’s wisdom teeth extraction. The pain was so far beyond crazy, I really didn’t care if I OD’d; I just needed some relief. I would have traded my first born son (although he’s away at college, so it might be an expensive trade) for the pain to stop. I’d have driven to a dark alley and made any kind of deal to get it to end. Continue reading Missing Dog, My Drug Problem, and the Power of Family