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Oh, Ellie.

Elliebelly.

Bagel Dog.

Ellie Funt.

Ellie is a beagle.  She came to the rescue, about two years old, and gravely ill.  They were not sure she would make it, but they tried anyway, and she did.

Seriously, this poor dog was just a series of unfortunate events, with big floppy soft ears.

She came to stay with us, and stay, and stay, and stay some more.  NOBODY WANTED HER.  Nothing.  No dates.  No nibbles.  No nothing.

She was happy.  She thought we were her people, but we knew we were not.  Somewhere out there must be somebody that would be the right fit for her.  She was kind of a pain in the ass.  I did a lot of searching online, and interacted with other Beagle owners.  It was all pretty typical Beagle behavior.

In the meantime, I took photos of Ellie.  I made videos of Ellie.  I made stupid videos of me and Ellie (no link, if you missed it the first time, you are just out of luck).  I posted them to facebook.   One of my friends in California saw them, and kept commenting how much she would like to have Ellie, but she really didn’t need another dog.  She already had two dogs, and a husband who was not interested in having a third.  I told her the truth about Ellie, in a long email that certainly included a lot of nice things, because Ellie was a total love, incredible sweet, and with these great eyes that made it look like she thought humans were brilliant and fascinating.  However, the email also included things like:

“Basically, if she stops in one area to super sniff, she has found something that she thinks is awesome. Most likely it is not something a human will think is awesome.  It is either a great trail to chase, “food” very nearby that you totally don’t want her to eat, or something incredibly gross that she will roll around in if you give her the chance.”

and

“Ellie LOVES to solve puzzles.  She is very smart.  If she has to work for her food it is good because A) Beagles have a tendency to get overweight easily without enough exercise.  They like to eat.  B) Any time she spends exercising her brain solving puzzles I want her to solve, she isn’t spending solving puzzles I don’t want her to solve – like opening the cabinet to get into the garbage again, or moving the foot stool so she can reach stuff on the counter.” (Yes, she really moved the foot stool and used it to reach the counter.  I had to store the foot stool in the pantry for the rest of her stay.)

The weather started getting rough, the tiny U.S.S. Beagle was pissed.  She HATED the cold.  Hated it. We’d get the leash out and she would be so excited for a walk, and then we’d open the door and she would stare up at us accusingly.  “You are doing it wrong.  THAT is not what you promised me, Lady.  You promised me a walk.  Let’s try the other door.”

Not only that, she developed a bad cough (*cough* *cough*  See, I told you it was too cold, Lady) and a chest x-ray showed trouble in her lungs.  As if everything else she had been through wasn’t enough.  Time passed and her recheck showed that she had some permanent lung damage, and might need to be on medication for the rest of her life.

In the meantime, my friend back in California had been working on her husband, trying to convince him that Ellie should move in with them.  I explained about the lung problem, and instead of scaring her off, it made her think it would be even better to rescue her from the weather in Minnesota.  The vet agreed.  The rescue had never shipped a dog.  They don’t do long distance adoptions, because they require home checks.  However, I’ve been to the home and could vouch for everything that would normally be checked on.  So, my friend submitted her application and was approved, and I made flight arrangements.

The night before Ellie’s early morning flight, she stole my daughters Subway sandwich off of the counter, and ate most of it before my daughter caught her and wrestled it away.  Yep.  Locking a dog 25 lb dog that had eaten 3/4 of a six inch sub (including mustard, onions, peppers, 5 tons of sodium and 10 million nitrates) into a crate for most of the day to take an airplane flight.  We rock as foster parents.

Ellie was with us a long time, longer than any other foster.  She had gotten used to us, and us to her.  I was really excited for her that she had secured such a great living situation, in a much more agreeable climate.  Still, I took her to the airport with trepidation.  She was being shipped cargo.  She was too big to fly in the cabin, and we had hoped to at least fly her baggage, but we knew nobody making that flight within a good time frame to send her along.  The cargo bomb scare had just happened the week before, so I suspecting the cargo people would be on security steroids and looking for an excuse to make my life miserable.

Luckily, the woman we dealt with when dropping Ellie off was very nice.  I also felt better because so many other dogs were being dropped off.  There was one waiting for a flight when we arrived, one checking in ahead of us, and two who followed us.  Clearly the people there were used to shipping pets, and that made it a little easier.  I gave Ellie a big hug before putting her in her crate.  I cried.  She is the first foster I cried when saying goodbye to.  Having her a long time was part of it, but mostly I felt guilty.  There was no way to explain to her what was happening.  I was just dumping her off in a loud warehouse with forklifts driving around.  Leaving her with strangers, and then she was going to get locked into a cargo hold for several hours.  Hey, I’ve never been in one, but it doesn’t sound fun.

I waited anxiously for contact from my friend AS SOON AS they picked Ellie up in Los Angeles.  I was very relieved to hear from her and I called V immediate to report the good news (V had already called once to check on the situation, misunderstanding my report of the flight schedule).

My friend loves Ellie dearly, and Ellie loves having California sunspots to lie around in.

When V next contacted me, I reluctantly agreed to give a small dog a try.  I like big dogs, but in theory for fostering it doesn’t matter.  I’m not planning to keep the dog.  Still, Indy has an issue with small dogs.  She is very sensitive about her feet and tends to have a fear aggression issue with little ankle sized dogs.  Bad enough out on walks, but definitely not something I wanted in my house.

The rescue is totally supportive of the fact our own pets come first, so if they drop a foster off and it doesn’t work, I am just supposed to call and they will send somebody over to pick the foster up.  I hope I never need to do this.  They also have crates and exercise pens that they can loan me.  I would have a way to keep the small dog separate from Indy if necessary.

So, V came over and dropped off Buzz. I had put Indy in my bedroom so we could go through the drop off smoothly. I need to meet the foster and get care instructions. V deposited the dog and left, and as soon as the coast was clear, I looked down at my new foster dog and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Really.

I called my daughter downstairs to introduce her to Buzz, and she laughed hysterically at him.

Yeah. We’re kindhearted. Uh huh.

Anyhow, Buzz was found abandoned at a rest stop.  He was very matted and needed to be shaved, and he ended up with clipper burn on his scrotum.  Ouch.  He kept trying to lick it, hence the cone of shame.

He was so small that he was really too small to interact with easily on the floor.  We are a family with bad backs.  We had to have a little family discussion about the no dogs on furniture rule.  My daughter kept saying, “That’s not a dog.”  We determined that we were size-ist, not specie-ist.  Since Buzz was smaller than our cats, he too could be allowed on the furniture.  That’s pretty much where he stayed his entire time with us, snuggled tightly to somebody on the sofa.

Buzz was the least troublesome foster we’ve ever had.  He never chewed anything he wasn’t supposed to (clipper burned scrotum excluded).  He never had a potty accident in the house.  He didn’t give us trouble when crated.  He didn’t lick his lips hungrily when he looked at the cats.  All he wanted was love.

He and Indy did more or less okay with each other.  Buzz didn’t seem to realize how small he was, so instead of barking and nipping at Indy’s feet, he’d bark and launch his tiny teeth at her head.  This didn’t particular bother Indy because he was too small to be more than a buzzing fly annoyance to her, she is only super sensitive about her feet.

Our daughter refused to walk him, “That’s not a dog.”  I have to admit, I was embarrassed when walking him.  I wanted to tell anybody that I saw, “It’s not my dog!  My dog is big and mean looking and she could bite your face if you mess with me.”  Under normal circumstances I don’t want to talk to people I don’t know (and a large number of people I do know), so this drive to explain myself was clearly pretty strong.  I refrained, but the instinct was there.

My husband was a fan of Buzz, “What’s not to like?  He’s no trouble, takes up very little room, and is very sweet.”  “That’s not a dog,” our daughter informed him.  I pointed to the stains being left by the ointment I had to put on Buzz’s clipper burned scrotum.  “You guys are mean,” he’d tell us, and go back to petting Buzz.

A couple came to meet Buzz.  Buzz clung tightly to me.  I gave them some treats to lure him over, and explained that he had been extremely shy when we was brought to us, but had bonded very quickly, and I was sure that he would settle in with them quickly if they gave him a chance.  I told them to truth, I always do, but usually the truth involves a list of things that are great about the dog, and a list of things that need work.  With Buzz I just told them that he’d been really easy for us.  Very reliable and trustworthy in the house.  Very easy going.

The liked him and applied to adopt him, and soon V came to pick him up and take him to his new home.

He was our shortest fostering experience, he was snapped up quickly, and I bet they are very happy to have him.  If I were ever going to be a small dog owner sort of person, Buzz would have been exactly what I was looking for.

When next V contacted me, it was about a small husky mix named Kira.  I’d met her previously while I was fostering Char, and I knew that I did not want to foster Kira, because I wanted to foster Kira.

She was just so pretty, and interesting looking, and my heart was is still aching from the hole left by our husky’s death.  Still, they needed a place for her so that they could take in another dog, and she was a better fit for our household than any of the other dogs were.  We need dogs that are not too rambunctious because of our own geriatric dog.

Kira had an injury to her foot, and needed to have a couple of toes amputated.  She was in foster care for an extended time while she healed from that amputation.  Then, they thought they had a home for her, but it ended up not working out as the prospective family was unwilling to submit to a home visit.

Kira came to stay with us.  She walked in our door and settled down comfortably on the dog bed in front of our fireplace.  She made herself at home.  She was trouble.  My daughter fell in love with her immediately.  My husband found it very comforting to glance over and see familiar coloring curled up and sleeping nearby.

I was not immune to this feeling of familiarity.  It was not a secret.  V even asked at one point if we were considering keeping her.  It was tempting, but it wasn’t the right thing to do.  Her prey drive way high and her keen interest in our cats meant that it would be ages if she ever became trustworthy around them, and quite frankly it might never happen.

Still, I will admit, it was very important to me that I knew she had found a good home.  At the time work was talking about sending us back to CA under short notice, kind of a pre-warning that we might be moving with no warning.  If they had sent us back, I’d have been strongly tempted to just keep her, so I knew for sure she had a home.  I am not sure I could have moved away without having it locked down.

But, they did not move us, and a couple came to meet her and it was very clear they would spoil her in just the way she’d love to be spoiled.  So, Kira left us, and my daughter cried.  Okay, to be honest, she cried when the two others left us too, but this was different crying.  This one was resentful of me letting Kira go.

So, we said goodbye to Kira and we had another family meeting about whether to go on with fostering.  We decided to still do it.  It is a good thing to do for the sake of the dogs.

She is doing very well in her home.  V says that she is totally spoiled.

When V next contacted me, she had a dog with a foster, but that foster was going on vacation.  The dog, Char, was going in for surgery and V was hoping she could recuperate with me instead of at the clinic.  It is much better for the mental health of the dog to be in a home, and obviously easier on the financial health of the rescue. Char was a puppy with a badly shattered leg, that had never been treated and a healed into a useless and painful appendage that could support no weight.  There was no way to help her regain the functionality of the leg, so they she had surgery to amputate it.  After getting to know Char better, I am pretty sure the original injury was from being hit by a car.

Char is amazing.  Really sweet and loving, and very playful.  When she first came to the house she was super stoned, and mellow, but she soon started to feel better and became a wriggling mass of boundless energy.  She was a bad match for Indy as Char desperately wanted to play, and was not at all respectful of Indy’s limits.  The main foster returned from vacation and Char left us, and I missed her, but it was good.  She was too much for our household.  We are kind of couch potato-y and she was extreme sport-y.

But, she is one of the wounds in our fostering so far.  The right family hasn’t found her yet.  This makes me so sad.  We’ve visited her a couple of times and she is overjoyed to see us.  She clearly remember us.  She is such a great dog and it makes me so sad that she doesn’t have a permanent home, especially after all she has been through.

I think the problem has been that people who want an active dog, think that a three-legged dog won’t be able to keep up.  People who are open to a three-legged dog, are thinking they like the idea of a calm, lay by the fire, disabled dog.  This dog is play fetch for hours and go go go.

She is gorgeous.  I am sure the right family is out there for her.  I really hope they find her.

Char on Petfinder.  Help find Char’s people!

A new year is here.  We are a more than a week in.  I tried to write a summary of 2010 at the end of 2010.  Something to send out to the people who supposedly give a shit, but that I am somehow rarely in contact with, or whatever.  More than anything, a reminder to myself of what my year was like.

However, truth be told, as I went about the process of thinking about what I’d write about my year, I realized that most of it wasn’t anything I wanted to recall, and considering how bad 2009 was, that was really saying something.

But, there was one set of memories about 2010 that seemed semi worth putting down, and that was the fosters.

In 2009 we lost our beloved London to cancer.  That left us with the space and bandwidth to have another dog, but not the heart to commit to such a thing.  Instead we decided to try our hand at being fosters.

Our first foster was Betty.  She was young, less than a year old, and had ended up at the rescue clearly having recently given birth, but her litter did not come in with her.  No idea what became of them.   The rescue spayed her, and she came to stay with us, and we nursed her through her recovery.  She was thin, no surprise after puppies, and her hair was thin and falling out like nuts, also normal post litter.  Her leash manners were terrible, but a gentle leader kept that issue under control.  She also had some separation anxiety issues, which is such a chicken and egg issue when it comes to abandoned dogs.   Luckily she didn’t get destructive, but she’d scream and cry horribly.  She wasn’t housebroken either (most of the fosters are not), so between those two things it made the experience kind of rough at times.  She had two meetings with people who did not choose her, and then a couple came and they felt like the right people.  Sure enough, V, my contact at the rescue, let me know they had formally applied to adopt Betty.  All that was left was a home visit (the rescue does home visits to verify that the information about the living circumstances on the application is accurate).  V also had a good feeling about it, so she came to pick up Betty and go do the home visit.  If all went well, Betty wouldn’t be coming back to our house.

She didn’t come back.  So, our first foster dog found her family.  Time for us to rest, regroup and reflect.  It had not been easy.  Yes, we used to have two dogs of our own, and heck, that was a pain a fair amount of the time, but having two of our own is a ton easier than having one of our own, plus a random extra dog with her own set of baggage that we were not yet familiar with.  Also, it isn’t entire simple to provide a dog with enough love and support that you are helping them to be a better family pet, without developing some feelings on attachment, especially when you don’t know what the end date is.

For a week we just enjoyed the peace of a house returned to normal, other than our dog passively missing the stimulation a bit.  Then we had a family meeting to decide if we would do it again.  We agreed that it was worth doing again.