Stumpy Rump

Courage the kitten's broken tail fell off. We were very lucky that the wound was already well scabbed over with no bone exposed, so she will probably not need surgery. She will just look like a little Manx once the wound heals.

The puppy is Wookie, who is being fostered in the same home as Courage. Foster mom Rita has a soft spot for "special" animals, and it doesn't get much more special than Wookie! I think he has the strangest face I've ever seen on a puppy. He is blind in one eye and has toes that sometimes curl under on the front foot on the same side as the eye; Rita says she fostered a kitten once with the exact same issues, and the vet said it was a developmental deformity. Wookie is also special because he is a cool dude. He has an easy-going, laid back, happy temperament, and lets Rita's little granddaughters hug him like a teddy bear.

Courage and friends

Courage is one of seven kittens rescued from the pound two days ago. Her foster immediately noticed that her tail was "crunchy" and there was a red lump at the base on the underside. Foster mom was unable to take the kitten to the vet, so as the driver of my rescue group's van, I provided transportation.

Rather than take her into the vet's office in her carrier, I decided to hold her against my chest to give her some comfort, as she had been crawling around the carrier looking for her mama and littermates, mewing pitifully. She quieted immediately once I picked her up, and the staff in the vet clinic enjoyed seeing her. I took her picture with the camera in my outstretched hand while we waited for the vet in the examination room. A minute after the picture was taken, she looked up into my face, then leaned backward until she was laying on her back in my hand and started batting at me with her tiny paws. She wanted to play! I tickled her with one finger, and she grabbed it and licked it. I've never seen anything more cute.

The vet says that Courage's tail was broken approximately a week ago (when she was only about 3 days old) and now the tail is dead. It will have to be removed, but she is too tiny for anesthesia right now; she only weighs half a pound. She's on antibiotics and will have surgery when she's big enough.

The second picture is Mr. Big, the German Shepherd I wrote about in my last entry. Today I transported him to his new foster with GSD Rescue, and handing him over was extremely hard. I wish I was in a position to keep him, but the timing just isn't right. Some day I hope to own a GSD very much like him. He's an amazing boy.

The third picture is Andie the semi-feral Chihuahua from a few entries back in the crate with my dog Darby. If we crate Andie by herself, she will wake us up at the crack of dawn crying; if we crate her with Darby, she'll happily sleep late. Darby is the kindest, gentlest dog you'd ever like to meet, and happily shares her crate with the occasional small foster dog.

German Shepherd

This handsome boy is the only survivor of 22 dogs impounded from one home. There were two dog corpses in the yard, and most of the living dogs were heavily infested with ticks, emaciated, and sick. They all tested positive for either tick fever (erlichiosis) or heartworm, or both. 21 of the dogs were euthanized; I was told that this one was spared because one of the officers fell in love with him. In any case, the county vet wrote "call rescue groups" on his kennel card, and so the kennel staff called me.

My rescue group is full right now, but I often contact breed rescues about purebred dogs. The representative of a German Shepherd rescue up in Phoenix said her rescue group was short on funds, and she was hesitant to take on a dog with a lot of health issues. I told her that our group would assist her with vet costs, if she had room for him. She asked me to find out if he was good with other dogs, and if so, help transport him to a third party, "D", in another city who would transport him to Phoenix this weekend. I agreed, and today I took him out of his tiny, dirty kennel and walked him past numerous dogs; he did not react. When a runaway Fox Terrier came nose-to-nose with him, he sniffed politely and wagged his tail. It was a go!

He was skin and bones and his coat was dull and brittle, and despite 4 tubes of Protical and gobs of Adams tick spray, he still had dozens of live ticks attached to him. But he pulled on the leash to get at interesting smells; he trotted happily a time or two as we walked around the shelter; he greeted every person who passed. He was alert, bright-eyed, and very interested in food. His teeth had only moderate tartar and not much wear; I'm no expert, but I didn't think he could be more than 3 or 4 years old. I felt confident that despite his medical issues, he was remarkably strong and full of life, and would flourish with good nutrition and veterinary care.

I filled out his rescue paperwork, and just as I was going out the door, a kennel tech came running from the clinic and said, "The vet says she spoke to German Shepherd Rescue and they've decided to pass on the dog because it has heartworms and tick fever." That made no sense, since I had already told the rescue rep what his issues were. I checked my cell phone, wondering why no one had called me, and discovered that it had turned itself off; it has been doing that lately. Sure enough, I had several messages. I called my contact at German Shepherd Rescue and she said, "The vet told D that he's 8 years old, and has heartworm and tick fever, and he probably has valley fever as well, and it might be best if he didn't have to go through all that treatment, which he might not survive. We think it might be best if they just put him to sleep so he can die with dignity."

I was completely flabbergasted. There is absolutely no dignity in dying at the county pound, covered in filth and ticks. I didn't think he could possibly be 8 years old, and she was speaking as if he was a frail, fragile, decrepit old husk who was better off dead. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Why on earth would the vet mark this dog for rescue, keep him alive for 3 days in an atrociously overcrowded shelter, then try to talk his rescuers out of rescuing him? It makes no sense. I told her she could back out if she wanted to, but there was no way I was taking that dog back through that door into the pound. When she realized I had already filled out the paperwork and was out the door, she agreed to take him after all.

He jumped up into the van and into the crate like he'd been doing it all his life. I drove him to my rescue group's office, where I scrubbed him with tick shampoo. I opened a big can of dog food; he ate it in 3 bites. I gave him a bowl of dry food, and he snarfed that down in 30 seconds. I put him in a large crate with a second bowl of dry food; when I came back 3 or 4 hours later to take him out for a potty break, I gave him another bowl of kibble. I spent an hour brushing him, picking ticks, feeding him biscuits, and applying Ovitrol spray. We trotted around outside for a while, and then I put him back in his cage with yet another bowl of kibble.

I think this handsome gentleman is a survivor. I could be wrong; the heartworm treatment might take his life. But even if it does, I will not regret taking him out of the pound. He is getting the care he deserves. If he dies, he will die well-fed and well-loved, not stinking of his own waste, his body hauled to the county dump with dozens of others. If he dies, he will die with dignity.