Sitting down to write this morning, I’m debating with myself how much I should tell you. There are times during this fostering experience when the difficulties stretch my commitment thin as tinsel and I am certain it will snap.
I don’t blame the dogs or OPH or even the wrongness of the necessity of the work we do. I occasionally blame my husband, because Continue reading Foster Dog Overwhelm: Saving Dogs Even When Your House (and heart) are Full
The natural instincts of animals are remarkable. Spending so many of my hours with animals in the course of a lifetime, I’ve come to respect this, but I’ve also come to wonder at length about human instinct and whether we are compelled to follow it the way animals do, but that is decidedly a topic for another post.
A week ago today, I had just finished a post about Thelma’s arrival and the happenings in this foster house, when Continue reading A Mama’s Instinct
Daisy continues to surprise us as she gains her confidence and health. Thelma had her puppies on Tuesday and I watched Daisy, wondering if she would be bothered by the sounds in the next room, but she seemed unfazed.
The only notable thing that happened Continue reading Diary of a Rescue Week Ten: Frightened Dog Getting Braver
I’ve always liked dogs.
I wasn’t necessarily a ‘dog person.’ We always had a dog when I was growing up. A steady stream of strays and dogs that just happened into our lives. Truly, I never gave it much thought. I liked cats better. Especially once I hit young adulthood and lived in an apartment.
But now, somehow, dogs have taken over my life. My days, really my hours, revolve around dogs. Currently, we have four here at the house. Two are permanent residents and two are foster dogs only here for a spell awaiting the moment when their forever families find them.
As I write, Continue reading If I Never Fostered Dogs….
“Ah. I can’t do this anymore!” I wailed at Nick after I cleaned up puppy diarrhea coated on every square inch of the puppy pen, every toy, every fence.
“You know,” Nick observed from where he sat with Oreo watching football with a beer in his hand, “You reach this point with every litter.”
I know I post all the fun and cuteness and make it look like puppies are the best thing ever, but here’s the God’s-honest truth: Continue reading It’s Worth All the Poop (really)
I’ve been kicking around ideas for this post—lots to say, not enough space (the usual for me).
My thoughts are scattered because part of me is in North Carolina worrying about the dogs at the three shelters we visited who were all evacuated. I know they’re confused and frightened, but so far, at least, I know they are safe.
In a news story about the Anson shelter, I saw footage of several of the dogs I met – Oreo (who is coming to my home at the end of the month), the Great Dane that Lisa and I flirted with (whose destiny is uncertain), Sparky (the shy, adorable pit mix with bandit eyes that Lisa coaxed out to say hello to us), and a large gray pitbull whose sad face I’ve been carrying around with me ever since I met him. Of all the dogs we met, his eyes seemed to sear my soul – the depth of sadness and the resignation broke my heart.
Seeing those friends crammed in crates and stacked in a van, while the people around them talked in panicked voices and the flood water closed in on them was unbearable. I want to be down there, doing something, and yet again, Continue reading Am I Becoming a Broken Record?
Frankie has another new puppy – only this puppy is ten pounds bigger and at least ten times more trouble than little Zander.
Hops is a gangly, sweet, goofy boy who somehow already seems bigger than when he got here on Saturday. He’s forty pounds, but his feet are so big he looks like he’s wearing galoshes, so I’d say that even though he’s six months old, he’s far from finished growing.
He routinely runs into things and can’t get his long legs out of his own way. He’s labeled a lab mix, but looks like he was put together with spare parts from a handful of breeds possibly including shepherd.
He’s in that awkward adolescence phase, tripping over himself, with a loose discombobulated swagger that makes me smile and think of teenagers trying (and failing) to look cool.
Nothing on the counters is safe. Yesterday he polished off the cream cheese, sampled the newspaper, and [insert frustrated shriek and several curse words] broke Continue reading The Difference Ten Pounds (and Two Months) Make