And so it begins, this year 2017...

I hope you had the most wonderful beginning to the new year. May 2017 bring you naught but positivity and hope. (I know, for all us progressive, liberal types hope seems a tad out of reach, but remember all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. It's easy to feel hopeful when things are going well; it is in dark times, though, when the light of hope is most needed. Keep the flame burning.)

I'm sorry for my absence. I haven't posted for over a month, and haven't written a serious post since the A to Z Challenge ended. And I'm sorry about that. You deserve better—and there's been plenty to write about, just... not enough time to do it, I guess. Speaking of time, I won't be joining the Challenge this year, by the way... A multitude of reasons, but mainly because the rescue book—the one that began in said A to Z Challenge—will be coming out within the next couple of months, and promoting that will probably overlap with April in some way.

The cover for the rescue book. Photo by yours truly (yes, that's Sam),
and design by Matt Potter, publisher extraordinaire at Truth Serum Press.

A shame, really. I had a theme all planned out. The A to Z of Fostering Rescue Dogs, ha. A good follow-up to the Rescue posts of last year (and my publisher wants to work on a follow-up book, too, so... two birds, one stone, all that). In October I got involved in fostering again—which is part of the reason I've been so freaking busy. I'd been unable to foster since 2013 because three of my own dogs have 'issues' with new dogs, but... Well, the way things worked out, we didn't get much of a choice. (More on that later.) But, hey—perfect, right? I mean, this is all fresh material that will bring the whole fostering thing much more alive for strangers to the 'craft'...  Yes, I'd have had some excellent A to Z posts. And I still plan on writing them, and certainly on writing the Fostering book, but... No, it won't happen this April.

I may do something in April anyway, just to avoid losing the habit, but it won't be an alphabet thing. I'm thinking maybe a music thing. Maybe on the other blog. I saw this 30-day music challenge on Tumblr a while back and, with some tweaks (additions, deletions, combinations, etc.), it might be fun. Maybe, if you're not an A-to-Z-er yourself (and if you love music), you might want to join me. We'll be the rogue April Challengers—ha!

Anyway. I wanted to keep this short, but I promise to be back soon—like, within the week—to tell you about these fosters we've had. The first was a little Chihuahua mix that seemed to have some severe neurological issues; so severe, in fact, that he had us (heartbreakingly) convinced the kindest thing we could do was put him down and end his suffering. Then, a month later, he went to the best of the best forever homes—and we got a litter of five puppies, about 6 weeks old, who'd been abandoned in a plastic carry-all on the side of the road to die. One did, in fact, in my arms two weeks later, but the other four are doing great. The week before Christmas—the day of the winter solstice, actually (which I found beautifully coincidental)—they were declared healthy enough to receive their first vaccination.

The puppies! Clockwise from top left: Bowie (F), Jopie (M), Lemmy (M), Harper (F).

So. More on the foster stories, puppies and Chihuahua, coming soon. I promise. One of my resolutions for 2017 is to never abandon this blog (or the other one) for more than 2 weeks. Yes, you can hold me to that :)

Thanks for sticking with me, y'all.

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Your Feel-Good for the Day. Or the Week.

How cool is this?

High school cross-country team take shelter dogs out for a run. Read the story here, and watch the video the team's coach (and mastermind behind the whole idea) posted on Facebook.

Kudos, St. Joseph High School. Here's to more kids (and adults, and schools, and offices, and... well, people) following your example.

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The Story of Little Leo (and How He Adopted Us) — Guest Post by Susan Brody @unpubYA

It all started when cancer took our beloved Murphy from us in February. He wasn't quite 11 years old.

Murphy & me

We'd had three months of warning that this was coming. In November, he had collapsed. I was the only one home. I scooped him up and drove like a lunatic to the vet. The vet did a sonogram and showed me the unmistakable outline of the large tumor on his spleen. He could probably save him this time, the vet told me, but it would only be a matter of weeks or months until the tumor ruptured and no one would be able to save him. Every day from here on in would be a gift.

The vet did save him that time, and then performed the same miracle once again in December. But in January Murphy began steadily losing weight and becoming weaker, despite his six daily medications. When he collapsed again on February 6th, we knew it was the end. Despite all the time we'd had to prepare, once he was gone no one in my family could imagine what we would do without him.

But we still had another dog at home that we had to take care of: 8-year-old Finney, our younger Goldendoodle, who from the age of 8 weeks had never known life without Murphy. And, unlike us, he didn't understand what had happened.

Finney (left) and Murphy

The month of February passed in a blur of tears. But at some point along the way, my 19-year-old daughter began campaigning for us to get another dog. It wasn't that she imagined we could ever replace Murphy; it was that she was very worried about Finney not having a companion. Gradually, my husband and I began to think about it, and we both came up with the same idea: that the best way to honor Murphy's generous spirit would be to save a life by adopting a shelter dog.

By the end of March we felt ready to begin our search. My daughter insisted that we look for a dog close to Finney's age, so that they would have roughly similar life expectancies. My husband and daughter both have pet allergies, so we tried to look for poodle mixes, but they were few and far between. And possibly the hardest part of all this would be that Finney has always been very selective about other dogs, and not in the least shy about making his preferences known.

We hit our fair share of bumps along this journey. Then, on April 12th, my husband emailed me at work: "Is this Cockapoo worth inquiring about?" It was a little guy, about 7 years old, who when rescued had been so neglected, his hair so hopelessly filthy and matted, that he had to be shaved down to the skin.

Leo, when he was rescued...

But he was described as friendly and affectionate, and we decided it was worth the hour-long trip to the shelter to see whether he and Finney could get along.

The two of them seemed perfectly comfortable together right from the start of our meet-and-greet, and the three of us humans all fell in love with the little guy, who had recently been given a name at the shelter but who clearly didn't recognize it. When we signed the adoption agreement that day, the woman at the shelter urged us to give him yet another name, and we came up with Leo.

At our meet-and-greet. (The white furry cutie in the back is Finney.)

We didn't bring Leo home that day because the following weekend we were going to take a long-planned trip to Washington, D.C., visiting our adult son and his girlfriend. We weren't staying at a pet-friendly hotel, and we couldn't leave little Leo in a kennel his first weekend with us, so we arranged to pick him up the following Sunday on our way back from Washington.

Everything went smoothly that day. Leo didn't display any recognizable emotion—not fear, not excitement, nothing. He sat straight up on my daughter's lap in the back seat the whole way home, looking out the window. He didn't make a sound during the hour-long drive, and it was impossible to tell what was going on in his mind.

When we got home and out of the car, my daughter and I immediately attached his leash and took him for a walk around the block. That seemed to go fine. Meanwhile, my husband left to go pick up Finney from the kennel where he had spent the weekend.

We finished our walk and brought Leo into the back yard, and that was when I realized how freaked out he was. He wouldn't go farther than a small corner of the yard, no matter how much we encouraged him to explore. And when I brought him inside the house and put him down on the floor to sniff around, he went right back out to the yard again. I finally put his leash back on him, which he seemed to find comforting, and walked him around the house a little before bringing him back outside.

Leo in the backyard, the day we brought him home.

And that was when my husband pulled up in the driveway with Finney in the car. I panicked. If Leo was so traumatized by his new surroundings without another dog there, what would happen when he encountered Finney, who is three times his size? I instinctively scooped Leo up in my arms and braced myself for Finney to come bursting into the yard and finding the little intruder. A few seconds later, Finney did burst in, but the strangest thing happened. He walked right past me and Leo as if we weren't there. No reaction whatsoever. Had all the dogs in my life suddenly turned into zombies?

I figured that the two of them were going to have to meet sooner or later, so I put Leo down on the ground. Finney continued to act as if Leo were invisible, and Leo didn't show a whole lot of interest in Finney, either. I couldn't believe how nonchalant they were both acting. In fact, Finney's arrival seemed to make Leo feel more comfortable; he willingly followed into the house and started checking the place out.

That night, and the next day, I kept waiting for the shit to hit the fan between them, but it never did. And it still hasn't. Finney has been a saint about this attention-grabbing little interloper, and Leo quickly started acting as if he'd known Finney his whole life.

Things weren't perfect. Leo pooped in the house twice. It's been very had to convince him that whatever food is in Finney's bowl is the same as what's in his own bowl, not some magical elixir. But, overall, it's been a smoother ride than we ever imagined it could be. When we took them for a hike the following weekend, Leo just followed Finney around like an old pro.

Leo's first hike

Leo's hair is growing back, and he's a healthy little boy who would be happy to sit on his new people's laps 24/7. I would have to say that, after 10 days of living together, we've all really adopted each other.

The family

And I feel sure that, somewhere, Murphy is watching and smiling.

 ~ * ~ 

Thank you so much, Susan! Yes, I agree; wherever Murphy is, he must be so happy that you opened your home, and your hearts, to little Leo. There's so many positive things about this experience... You did a fine, fine job at all sorts of levels. I'd love to get into the details of how this magic happened—Finney's reaction, for instance, is a lesson in itself—so here's the plan: I'd like to invite this little community to join me in assimilating the learning here, and in a few days, once people have had a chance to read, comment, ask questions, mull it all over, I'll put up a follow-up post on bringing rescue dogs home using your story as illustration. Sound like a good idea? Oh, I hope so!

Thanks again for sharing this here. Much love and light to your beautiful family!


Susan Brody blogs at TheArtofNotGettingPublished, tweets as @unpubYA, and can also be found on G+. 

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Youth vs Age — #AtoZChallenge

What are the pros and cons of rescuing older vs. younger dogs? Is it really easier to rescue a puppy than a senior? 

Puppies can be easier. They tend to follow Mom’s example, and if Mom is approachable, chances are the puppies will be, too. Even if she isn’t, though, if the puppies are young enough (under 12 weeks), their natural curiosity might still work in your favor. A good rescuer can take advantage of it, and turn the whole rescue into a game. 

In a puppy, also, the natural affinity dogs have for humans might still be unchecked by negative experiences (which produce fear), so although they might be wary at first (they’ve never seen one of us), the domestication gene may be a good rescue ally.

But—you knew there was a but coming, didn’t you?—not all is peaches and cream with those cuddly balls of fur (i.e., they’re not always quite as willing as we’d like to be cuddled). Some of those fear-producing negative experiences seem to be passed on genetically; we fostered a dog once who turned out to be pregnant, probably had just become so a couple of days before we picked her up, and although her puppies were born at home and never knew a bad experience (trust me, we kept three of them and they’ve been as spoiled as any dog ever could be), they’re still fearful. 

If Mom isn’t around, and especially if the puppies are under 8 weeks, their instinct is to hide… Which makes them incredibly hard to find. (Remember the Botched post?) Also, they rarely come singly—there’s usually a litter—so you’re going to have to deal with several of them at once. Pick carefully which one you’ll get first: if that intrepid explorer gets spooked, cries out or fights you as you pick him/her up, chances are the rest of the litter will run and—yep, hide. 

And you also have the mom to contend with. Even the most docile of dogs will become a lioness when her babies are in (what they perceive as) danger. 

Adult dogs, on the other hand, may seem like a tougher job for rescue—but they don’t have to be. If they’ve survived on their own for however long, it means they’re street-smart, which may mean they’ll be warier of humans, but may also mean they have the necessary experience to make judgment calls: is this a good human, or a bad human? 

Don’t misunderstand me; these judgment calls don’t happen overnight, certainly not in a few minutes. What I mean is that these dogs will be willing to give you the chance—they’ll stay at a safe distance, and watch you from there—to show your true colors. But that is one chance, and one chance only. Squander it at your own, and the dog’s, peril.

Because of these street-smarts, adult dogs may also fall easier into a feeding routine than puppies, and, through it, into a relationship with you. Adult dog brains (just like adult human brains) are already wired to look for the pattern, to understand cause and effect, to analyze possible outcomes. If you are constant and consistent, if you follow the Trust Quadre, you have a good chance of establishing yourself in their good graces. 

The truth is that, like with everything else concerning rescuing, the issue of age cannot be taken as hard and fast. The only rule, when it comes to dog rescue, is that every dog is an individual. Every situation is unique. 

As they’re so fond of saying in investment disclaimers, past behavior is no indication of future results. No truer words…

 ~ * ~ 

My apologies on the late posting, guys... I'm about ready to drop, haha. The Z post will go up soon... well, soon-ish. Sometime before midnight :D And, once again, thank you so, so much for all the love you've showered this blog with all month. You've been an amazing crowd, and I'm beyond grateful for your readership. And to celebrate you—and the end of the Challenge—I leave you with this... (No, no Kleenex needed. Unless you're the type that cry when you laugh too hard ;) )

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: The X-Factor — #AtoZChallenge

So what is it, once all is said and done, that makes the difference between a successful rescue and a failed one? All month we’ve been talking about what to do and how to do it, but—really, does this all add up to a fail-safe recipe for success in dog rescuing?

Short answer: No.

(Wow. Shortest post I’ve written. Ever.)

No, of course it’s not that simple. There are too many variables in dog rescue. Too many unknowns. Too many X factors.

Beginning with the dog, of whose history you know nothing. You may assume and deduce and guess, but… no, not know. Same goes for his/her character. And these two things, their history and their character, are a huge factor. How skittish is s/he? How responsive to the lure of food? Plenty of strays and ferals prefer the safety of distance to the reward of even the tastiest morsel. 

The location also plays a role: is the dog in a trash dump, in an abandoned lot, out in the street close to busy intersections? Any of those will require a different rescue approach. The clothes or shoes you’re wearing, the equipment you may (or may not) have in your car, the time of day, the people you’re with (or without)… 

Regardless of the integrity of your intentions and your own preparation and experience, any number of things over which you have absolutely no control have the potential to affect the result.

Sometimes these variables play right into the plan. Sometimes everything just falls into place. Sometimes what seemed like a disaster ends up being a most unexpected windfall.

And sometimes… well.

Memes.com

It can be something as idiotic as your phone ringing just as the dog is coming closer. Or a curious stranger approaches and scares them off. Or workmen nearby start up their hydraulic drill. 

It can be something as unforeseeable as the dog having negative associations to the food you’re using as bait—or, on the other hand, maybe your scent is similar to someone’s that the dog loved once, and your fellow rescuers will watch on in amazement as this frightened, catch-me-if-you-can dog approaches you with ears down and tail wagging, and begs for a belly rub.

When stuff like this happens, you realize that your role in this whole thing is actually very, very small. Rescue truly is about being the right person at the right place at the right time. And that rightness… well, it just can’t be predicted. Rescuers differ from other animal lovers in that they’re willing to put in the effort—the chase, the weeks of building a feeding routine, the counter-intuitiveness of approaching a snarling dog to slip a leash around his/her neck—to find out. And willing, also, when the rightness simply isn’t there, to try again. And again. Over and over.

The difference between a successful rescue and a failed one is blind, cosmic luck. You can get the odds to lean in your favor if you’re prepared, if you have some experience, if you’re in the right mindset. But, bottom line, what will make you a successful rescuer is perseverance. Stubbornness. When everything fails, you don’t give up.

Because you have the absolute certainty that, sooner or later, that unknowable, unforeseeable, uncontrollable X factor will be in your favor. And you have the patience to wait for it.

 ~ * ~ 

Can you believe we're two posts away from the A-to-Z Challenge finish line? Kind of bittersweet, isn't it? On one hand I'm looking forward to the end of my sleep deprivation... But on the other, quite honestly, I'm going to miss this daily interaction with you all. It's been such an enriching month, at so many levels. So, please, let's stay in touch, yes?

P.S. for those of you who so generously insisted these posts should be turned into a book: I mentioned the idea to my publisher—and he's interested! Sight-unseen as yet—and maybe, once he reads all this, he'll feel differently—but if he does like the posts, there will still be a lot of work ahead to build a book worthy of calling itself such. Sooooo... if you have any suggestions, topics that we didn't touch on in the series, or ones you want more of (or don't want more of), please let me know. Your feedback has been instrumental in the success of this series, and will be even more so for the book.

In advance, a huge hug of gratitude :)

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Who Rescues Who? — #AtoZChallenge

BELLA

By Michele Truhlik at Angels Bark

There is something known as the “potato chip syndrome” to those of us in the greyhound communities. The famous Lay’s Potato Chips line, You can’t have just one, applies also to greyhounds: you simply can’t have just one! Many of us end up adopting a second greyhound, and then a third… and, for me, a fourth and a fifth.

Bella was my second. She joined me and Maggie. 

Bella’s story is heartbreaking, from her unfortunate beginnings and then her tragic end.* I first met her back when she was known as “Carol” (because that is the name of the woman who found her wandering around in the fields of her property), when she came into the foster program with the greyhound adoption group. And she was a mess! She had been out in the wild so long that she had developed a horrific case of mange. She literally had no fur! Her whole body was bald. Only her face had some sketchy patches of hair left. No one even knew what color she was going to be when her fur came back in. Yet, when I looked at her face, I saw an incredible beauty.  

Nothing much was known about this naked dog except that she was a former racing greyhound (as evidenced by the NGA** tattoos in her ears). But, from the condition she was in, everyone believed she had been relegated to the world of underground racing after her career was over. 

(Some greyhounds are lucky and get put with adoption groups when their racing days are over. In these parts, others are not so fortunate and they end up in the seedy world of “rabbit runners”—the name for people who take greyhounds for illegal gambling purposes. They call them rabbit runners because these horrible criminals use live rabbits as bait for running. The dogs receive very little food—if any—and very little water, absolutely no veterinary attention, and they’re usually abused).

For some reason, I just couldn’t stop thinking about this dog! I called Beth, the adoption coordinator, and inquired about her status. Yes, she was still there, she had been spayed, was fattening up and her fur was finally filling in. So I let Beth know that if it was okay, I would give that dog a home and she could come live with me and Maggie.  

The adoption was quickly finalized. I wasn’t crazy about the name Carol. I renamed her Bella because that Italian word for beautiful so suited her. Boy, was that ever a long settling-in process. Bella was a very frightened dog. So frightened that she was reluctant to even eat! I had to gently pull her up to her food every day and let her know that it was okay to indulge in that big bowl of kibble and mush in front of her.  It was so obvious that she had suffered abuse at the hands of those who had once held her captive. When I’d reach down to pet her, she’d cower. Every time I’d move, she’d shrink down, with head bowed and tail tucked. I knew instantly that she had probably been hit or kicked…and probably both.

I would lie on the floor next to her, stroking her gorgeous golden fur. I felt her heart beating nearly out of her chest she was so scared, eyes wide with panicked uncertainty, always on the ready to flee. I worked with her every day to let her know that she was safe with us, and nothing bad was ever going to happen to her again. It took a long time — nine months in fact — before that angel girl would even allow me to stroke her face without flinching. She always did continue to keep her head down when approaching people… and she always approached with caution. Then she’d go off to a quiet place in the house, away from the activity. So came her nickname, compliments of my dad: 

Lonesome Dove.

Over the years, Bella blossomed into one of the most trusting and sweet dogs. It was a process in which we both flourished. Bella was actually teaching me to trust as well. You see, I got Bella. I understood her fear and apprehension. Through her, I saw my own fears and insecurities. She was afraid of being hurt by people. So was I. She was afraid of being abandoned. So was I. She was afraid to love. So was I.

Bella taught me many things. She taught me that even though I’ve been hurt in the past, not everyone in the world is out to hurt me. When someone extends kindness toward me, I take one step closer to trust.

Bella grew to love and be loved. She grew to trust, and with that trust came security. Through her, I learned that when I trust and let people in, although a bit hesitant, I gain a sense of connectedness and security. Surprisingly, I feel safe. Bella taught me to have an open heart, knowing that even though the pain of the past never quite goes away, I can get past it to live a full and happy life.

This beautiful fawn greyhound enriched my life beyond measure. Like Bella, I still find myself going to my quiet place sometimes. But, in the silence, when I curl up to go to sleep, I have nothing to worry about. I know I am loved.

Although Bella was considered the rescued one, I have to argue that it was I who was rescued.

*I wish I could say that Bella and I had many years together. Sadly, she died on the table getting her teeth cleaned due to a reaction to the anesthesia. She was only 8. I was robbed of her physical presence, but the lessons she taught me and the love she shared with me live on forever. Until we meet again, my sweet girl…

** The National Greyhound Association (NGA) is the primary registry body for racing purebred dog Greyhound pedigrees in the United States.

~ * ~

Michele, thank you so much for sharing Bella's story—and yours—here today. It's an honor to host you both. Although I'm still in tears that you lost her so soon, I have no doubt at all that the time she spent with you was the happiest of her life. You say she enriched your life beyond measure—but you enriched hers just as much. And now both of you have enriched mine :)

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Vets, Unsung Heroes — #AtoZChallenge

So you think rescuers have it bad? Putting their lives on the line with strange, scared dogs capable of anything? Yeah, it’s a rough life. But you know who else does that? Every day? 

Vets.

In fact, vets may well be the most undervalued of animal welfare heroes. They do so much, and get so little recognition. 

Being a vet is kind of like a mash-up of all the negative aspects of being a doctor (for humans), without any of the pluses. Think about it. Veterinary med school is just as hard, takes just as long—but with one crucial difference: you can count on one hand the ones who’ll ever come close to making the big bucks people doctors make. Their patients can’t talk, can’t say where it hurts or what they last ate. At least pediatricians have a parent to fill in the blanks—and a mom or dad can usually be trusted to follow instructions, call if something looks or feels wrong. (You wouldn’t believe how many dog owners don’t.) Also, people doctors restrict themselves to either general medicine (for anything more complicated than the common cold they’ll give you a referral) or to a particular specialty—and only for a single species (humans). But vets are expected to cover all the specialties, from reproductive health to ophthalmology to X-ray technician to pathology to diagnostics to odontology—even surgery! And they’re expected to do all that not just for dogs and cats but for all sorts of species.

Try asking your ophthalmologist about your digestive problems. Try asking him about your dog’s digestive problems.

You small, pathetic piece of feces. I am a doctor. I don't poke around in—in animals. Take it back before I sue you.

No, being a vet isn’t easy. And, as if all of the above weren’t enough to qualify them for most challenging profession ever, they get all sorts of crap over their fees. You’ve no idea how often I hear people—smart people—complain about the vet bills they have to pay. Not long ago, at the vet’s waiting area, I witnessed a woman who refused to pay her bill. She’d brought in a puppy who had been diagnosed with parvovirus, too advanced to do anything but give him a painless way out. But his owner, this woman, didn’t want to pay for the euthanasia. “Why do I have to pay? He’s going to die anyway, right?” 

She preferred, rather than pay a measly 50 bucks, to take the puppy home and let him die on his own, in pain.

(The vets waived the fee—which is to say, they paid for it themselves—and put the puppy down anyway. The woman left happy.)

This is why, back when I was around 15, I decided against becoming a vet. This situation, with me as the medical professional, would’ve ended in a lawsuit. Or me in jail. And this is, too, why vets are my heroes. The idiocy they put up with, the costs they absorb, the strength of character and the patience they exhibit to educate the more-often-than-not clueless, and only sometimes well-intentioned people that walk through their doors… 

And then there’s the actual patients. A vet’s physical integrity is on the line with every single animal they see, Chihuahua dog or Arabic stallion. We rescuers talk about building trust and taking our time, we talk about kits and traps and tranquilizers, and then we celebrate when, after three weeks, we finally get a dog into a car. The vet? S/he won’t get time to make friends, or to earn the dog’s trust. S/he’s got a job to do—and that job means putting fingers and even noses closer to those unfriendly and very strong canine jaws than any rescuer. Do they balk? Do they say, Ah, well, let's try again tomorrow? 

No. They GET THE JOB DONE.

Comics got it wrong, y'all. Clark Kent wasn't a journalist. He was a vet.

Oh, and then there’s the rescuers themselves. “But this is a street dog. You should be doing it for free.”

Look. Vets volunteer enough of their lives to animal welfare already. They’ve committed their entire careers to low wages and the hardest, broadest, most challenging of medical professions because they care. No one becomes a vet for the money, or for glory, or even for academic recognition. No one’s going to win a Nobel for veterinary medicine.* No one’s going to name a hospital after you. No, if you chose to become a vet, it's because your desire to help animals trumped everything else. 

Compared to vets, then, us rescuers are nothing but dilettantes.

Seriously. Hug your vet today. Bring them some coffee next time you visit. Some homemade cookies. And, please, don’t complain about your vet bill. If you have reason to believe you’re being overcharged—I won’t deny it happens; there’s unscrupulous people everywhere—then change vets (because, if their ethics are faulty that way, then your dog isn’t in safe hands anyway). But do your research. And check why a certain vet might be more expensive than another. If it’s talent, or commitment, I suggest you pay up. 

*  This guy actually did win a Nobel. Even if the research that earned him the prize had to do more with human well-being rather than with animals', it gives me hope that maybe the world is beginning to realize we owe veterinarians huge, and long-overdue, recognition.

Coming soon (in May, after we've all slept a week): HOW TO CHOOSE A VET

Hint: not because they treat you nice.

Thanks for the visit, everyone! This has been the most rewarding A-to-Z I've done (it's my 5th)—and it's all thanks to you. Your comments, the stories you've shared, the insights you've provided... It's been one heck of a special April. Masha danki! (That's thank you in Papiamentu, the language of Curaçao.) Tomorrow there'll be a special treat waiting here for you: Michele Truhlik, of Angels Bark, will be here to tell the rescue story of one of her own dogs; it's guaranteed to stay with you for the rest of your life. (Bring Kleenex.)

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Universality (The Price of Compassion) — #AtoZChallenge

Dog rescuing comes with lots of consequences. A houseful of dogs, for instance. An ever-growing dent in the balance of your bank account. A fast-track education in veterinary medicine—and the basics of Zen philosophy. Some of these consequences you might expect; many you probably don't. Like how you'll start judging others by their attitude toward dogs. Or how your priorities will shift... All of a sudden those when I win the lottery dreams become less about yachts and round-the-world trips and more about buying a piece of land and turning it into a dog sanctuary.

Most of all, though, you’ll begin to notice a broadening of your perception. A certain universality. 

Rescue, at its core, isn’t about a love of dogs. That might well be what brought you to it, but, once you’re in it, you’ll realize there’s a weird alchemy at work in your soul. Rescue, you see, is about compassion. And compassion is universal. 

Prince said it best. (Bon voyage, Your Majesty.)

Compassion doesn’t restrict itself to a certain breed or a certain size or even a certain species. Compassion for one is compassion for all. It will happen before you know it; maybe your vet will raise an eyebrow the first time you show up with a pigeon or lizard or hamster, but by the time you start coming in (or calling them out to the middle of nowhere) with a horse, a goat, a deer, a… well, whatever form of life needs your help (and theirs), they’ll know to expect you with the broad-spectrum vet kit. 

The thing is, not every vet can deal with any animal, or any emergency. And your local dog shelter will probably balk at housing a raccoon with a broken leg. So here’s my advice to you, dear Rescue Padawan. Do some research on the wildlife in your area. Are there any species that, like raccoons or possums, might be considered pests? Those are the most likely to cross your path in need of rescue. There might even be organizations devoted to their protection and welfare; many offer brief trainings or information sessions, even online.

Your focus might well remain on dogs (or cats, or whatever started you rescuing), but consider this your fair warning: even if it does, it won’t be only there. Prepare yourself.

P.S. — The rescue yesterday went... well, okay. The plan was to get two females to bring them in for sterilization, but we only managed to get one. Like I said before, though, one really does need to celebrate every little thing, so I'm looking at this as a 50% success rate :D I'll write more about it, and share more photos, later. For the time being, here's the little one we did catch...

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: The Trust Quadre — #AtoZChallenge

Throughout this series, we’ve been throwing around the word trust like a pinball. Getting the dog to trust you is, after all, the cornerstone of rescue. So maybe it’s time to talk about what trust means to a dog—and how you go about getting into their good, trusting, graces.

Dogs are, by nature (and by human domestication) not leaders but followers. They don’t want the Alpha role—and they’ll take it on only when they have no choice. Which is often the case on the street: through abandonment or abuse, a street dog’s covenant with humanity has been broken, and so they’ve had to rely on themselves to survive. But, at the core of every dog, is a nugget of instinct and desire to find safety—in the form of a pack, and a strong leader. 

That means you.

Humans, being the clueless idiots we are, tend to equate leadership with loudness, strong personality, even violence. Dogs, being so much more intelligent than us, see this for the bullying it is—and the weakness it exhibits. For a dog to sense you as a leader, you’ll need to show four things:

Balance

You can’t be nervous. You can’t be excited. You can’t be angry, or sad, or frustrated. Okay, let me rephrase: you can be any of these things, but you can’t let them control you. If you’re not in control of your emotions, how could you ever be in control of the pack? Get in touch with your Zen. Breathe.

Assertiveness

Assertiveness isn’t dominance. It’s not a “my way or the highway” thing; your way is the highway—to safety, to a happy ending for the dog. Believe it, and the dog will believe it, too. 

Respect

Don’t just look at the dog; see him/her. Observe their attitude, their body language. Seek to understand them, and—more importantly—their needs. Establish a line of communication, but not of the here boy kind; your body speaks volumes, much louder, and more effective than any words. Avoid looking them straight in the eye; dogs read eye contact as aggression. Don’t move so fast; give them time to get used to you, to read you, to understand what you want. Bring your hands in from below, never from above. Always keep whatever you’re offering—food, your hand, a leash—under their nose. (Remember the Botched post?)

Use your body language to make it clear you understand what they’re saying to you (I’m afraid, I don’t know what you want), that you respect that, and that you have something important of your own to say (I’m here to help, You don’t have to be alone anymore).

Honesty

Dogs can read you better than a gypsy palm reader at a state fair. (I mentioned that in the Food post—oh, by the way, remember that awesome video of the two-dog rescue on that post? it’s gone now, sadly…) Dogs sense ulterior motives, so honesty really is your best policy. Keep your bag of tricks, such as traps, for the very last of recourses—and prepare yourself: you’ll have a hell of a time gaining that dog’s trust afterwards.

Balance, assertiveness, respect, and honesty. The Trust Quadre.

Thank you so much for the visit! Tomorrow, Sunday, some of us are getting together to try to bring in a group of dogs wandering around Curaçao's World Trade Center. Wish us luck, please... I don't know these dogs, and I'm hoping they're not too skittish, but... well. Luck always comes in handy :)

Have a wonderful day off, A2Z-ers! See you Monday—for the last week of the Challenge! (Phew. Like Jeffrey Scott said at the beginning of this week, when it's over I think I'll sleep for a whole week :D )

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A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Right (or Wrong?) — #AtoZChallenge

In rescue, there’s no right or wrong—as long as it’s About The Dog. Every situation is different, every dog is different. What worked yesterday won’t work tomorrow; what’s never worked before just might work today. And every rescuer is different; what works for you might end in a bloody arm for me. I’m not trying to scare you off; my point is that rescue requires keeping an open mind. And lots of outside-the-box thinking.

So how do you know what’s right—or wrong? With thousands of rescue videos out there—zillions of websites on dog behavior—hundreds of books on animal health—how do you tell the wheat from the chaff? You’ll find different, even opposing, views from people with impeccable credentials. 

Do your own research. 

Nothing beats finding out stuff for yourself. Check every fact. Even when you agree with someone’s point of view, make a point of reading up on the opposite side. This isn’t about being right (or wrong). It’s About The Dog.

Consensus breeds confidence. 

Remember that pack we talked about, the group of people you’re supposed to collect to help in your rescuing endeavors? Consult them. Get their ideas, mine their experience, pick their brains. If you can get agreement from those trustworthy few, you know you’ve got a winner plan.

Go with your gut. 

There’s no overestimating the power of your own instinct. What feels right to you? What are your other, not-so-obvious senses telling you? These will be the things that are hardest to communicate to a non-observer—but they’ll often be the ones that make the biggest difference.

Keeping it short today, folks. Pffff… just another week of A2Z-ing to go. We can do it. Yes, we can!

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