Puppy Yoga?

So, our volunteers decided to trim the toenails on Tracy, one of the pups we had up for adoption today, and Chloe sat Tracy down on her lap. At first, Chloe was holding up Tracy's front paws, but when she let go and held Tracy by the torso, the silly puppy kept her front toes touching her hind toes in this doggy yoga pose. I showed the picture to another volunteer later that afternoon, and Helen's comment was, "That puppy looks like she's ready for a pelvic exam." Cracked me up!!

So Ugly They're Cute

I got to visit the bottle babies today, although they're not bottle babies anymore. They're very young, only about 5 weeks, and if they had a dog-mama they'd surely still be nursing, but they never liked the bottle much and were more than happy to wean. They gave me lots of kisses, but no one tried to suckle on my chin or nose today. They are fat and happy babies, and as much as I love them, I have to say that little Chex is one of the ugliest puppies I've ever seen! So ugly, she's cute, thank goodness. Chunky Chuck is still the biggest, and it looks like Chip is going to have blue eyes.

Skinny Ted

Ted was listed as a "cruelty impound", which means he was removed from his owner due to the poor treatment he received there. He went up for rescue at the county pound almost two weeks ago. He was too skinny and sick to go up for adoption. He has been on medication for over a week, but has not gained weight and still doesn't feel well. I'm worried he may have tick fever, or maybe valley fever. We'll be bringing him back to the vet soon.

What infuriates me about poor Ted is that the county pound neutered him before putting him up for rescue. They have recently begun "pre-altering" not just healthy, adoptable dogs but even the sick ones that are unadoptable. One of the primary reasons the county pound partnered with rescue groups originally was to give the unadoptable animals a safe place to recover BEFORE they underwent major surgery for sterilization. No ethical veterinarian would consider putting a sick, emaciated animal through elective surgery. Rescue groups provided the animal's foster home for the county, until the animal was healthy enough to undergo surgery. Once the animal was sterilized, it became the property of the rescue group. A few careless rescuers have neglected to keep good records and/or ensure that all of their county rescue animals have been altered before going to permanent homes, and as a result, the county has made this decision to "pre-alter" even the sick rescue animals. It's wrong to make animals suffer because of the failures of a few irresponsible people. Controlling pet overpopulation is extremely important, but not important enough to justify such inhumanity.

Just because an animal is on the rescue list does not mean that a rescue will be able to take it. Some of these animals will undergo sterlization surgery while sick, and then a day or two later, be put to death. It turns my stomach. I am dedicated to getting this horrible practice abolished.

The bottle babies sleep over

Tired... so, so tired... Suzanne went out of town for a week, so Helen and I each took three of her bottle feeder pups. Did I mention I'm TIRED? It's gotten a little bit easier with time, but I have to remember never to take bottle babies for more than 2 or 3 days ever again. The amount of laundry I have to do is unreal, and when they're screaming for the bottle, I want to cry. Now I know why I never had human babies!

Bottle Babies

A stray, possibly feral dog left two newborn puppies on a man's front porch. Later that day he found six more in various locations around his yard, and the mother dog didn't appear to be caring for them. Several of his neighbors came forward to help bottle feed the tiny pups, and they split them up between them, but very soon he and one of the neighbors became overwhelmed by the job, and called my rescue group for help.

Convincing puppies (and kittens) to take the bottle is not always easy; sometimes, even if they're desperately hungry, they squirm and cry and spit out the nipple. They also need to be fed every two or three hours around the clock when they're brand new. Finding volunteers with the time and energy for bottle babies is not easy. I love to bottle feed, but don't have the stamina to keep it up for weeks on end, so I get my fix by helping other fosters. Today my friend Lisa and I went to Suzanne's house to help her feed the six puppies turned over to rescue by the overwhelmed gentleman and his neigbor. My bottle leaked, and I probably soaked up as much milk as the puppies did, but it was still a treat for me. I even let one suckle on my nose for a few seconds, but not long enough to get a nose-hickey.

I think most puppies who still have their eyes closed look a lot more like woodchucks than dogs, and the fat little brown guy in the picture above is a great example. Apparently Suzanne agrees with me, as she named him Chuck today.

Tidbit is no longer suffering

Tidbit's troubles were not caused by a relapse of Tick Fever. He was admitted to the vet hospital yesterday, where the vet who examined him suspected a foreign body in his sinuses. They anesthetized him this morning and using a scope and x-rays, were able to see a large mass in his sinus cavity. Cancer. They didn't wake him up, just put him out of his misery.

Tidbit was 7 years old. Much of his life was spent in neglect, suffering, illness, and abuse. About a year ago, Dr. Stofft and his staff worked very hard to bring him back from the edge of death; when he was stable enough to come home, my partner Liz and I worked hard to help him complete his journey to health. We fed him good food and watched his gaunt frame fill in with muscle. We gave him medication to keep his allergy symptoms minimal. Our dog Darby did a wonderful job befriending him, putting him at ease, playing with him for hours every day, and showing him that humans give good ear scritches. It took many months, but eventually he learned to enjoy human touch. He started coming to me many times per day to get his scritches and give me a kiss. He would dance with joy at dinner time. He would take naps cuddled up with our dog Andie. He would chew a Nylabone with great gusto. He would stalk and pounce foster-cat Mia, occasionally letting out a hound-like BAROO! He would howl his mournful baritone howl when the pack got going. He was part of the family. We loved him, and he loved us.

What I wished for Tidbit was that he could have at least as many years of love and good health as he had of suffering and neglect. At the very least, I wish he could have passed without suffering for as long as he did before we figured out what was wrong with him, and let him go. I wish that all of the precious lives that must end could do so suddenly and gently, that each one of us, animal and human, could pass quietly and painlessly in our sleep with no pain or fear before hand. Life is hard enough. Why does losing it have to be so cruel? Doing animal rescue has taught me that suffering almost always precedes death. I'm so tired of seeing so much suffering, and of death so often being the only way to end it. Tidbit's suffering is over now, but we who loved him suffer on.

Today's Rescue

It's been a long time since I've been able to go down to the county pound and rescue a large, adult male dog. We've been adopting out a lot of puppies and small dogs lately, and our large adult dog adoptions have really slowed down. A foster home came available this weekend, and for once, there were no returns pending, and no other foster homes that needed to move a dog out. So I went down to the pound to scout out the dogs that had been placed on the rescue list. Any animal on the list is euthanized after 5:00 if not rescued.

The only adult male on the day's list had a note on his kennel card that stated, "Aggressive to small dogs." That was a deal-breaker: the foster has a little Brussels Griffon. But in the kennel next door, I spotted another male dog with the big "R" for rescue marked on his card. He wasn't on the day's rescue list because he was from the previous day's list. Technically, he should have been euthanized last night. Why was he spared? Maybe in part because the kennels were not very full, so space was not an issue; and maybe in part because he was just so nice. He had the typical depressed demeanor of a dog with a slight case of kennel cough that has been languishing at the pound unclaimed for two weeks, but when greeted, he wagged and kissed. A note on his card read, "Placed in kennel with small dachs x and large pit, OK, no aggression." Perfect!

He seemed bewildered and surprised when I opened his kennel door and led him down the aisles to the office area to complete his paper work. When I sat down to wait for my copy, he came alive with excitement, wiggling and kissing everyone within reach. It was as if he realized this was really it, he was finally leaving the bad place! As we walked out the door, I asked the prancing pup beside me, "What's your name, doggie?" and it hit me immediately: Dougie. Today was Dougie's lucky day, and he knew it!

Tidbit's Troubles

Poor Tidbit started feeling sick a couple of weeks ago. At first we thought it was an upper respiratory infection, picked up at the adoption center from another rescue dog. He snorted and "reverse sneezed" several times a day, and didn't want to play with Darby anymore. He began snoring more than usual at night, and finally we noticed his nose was very congested even in the day time. When his inner eyelids began to show, we knew he was getting worse instead of better. On the day of his vet appointment, we noticed a pinkish tinge to the irises of his eyeballs, and a slight haze. He was bleeding into his eyes. My stomach lurched with dread.

His vet feared the worst: she suspected a relapse of tick fever, causing immune mediated hemolytic anemia, a grave condition where the immune system attacks the platelets in the blood, so the blood no longer clots. She drew blood for tests, and sent us home with doxycycline for the assumed relapse of tick fever, drops for the inflammation of his nose and eyes, and prednisone to suppress his immune system's attack on his own blood. She said we would know in a few days if the medication was helping; if he got worse instead of better, his prognosis was very poor.

A few days later, his breathing seemed a little bit easier, and his eyes a little bit clearer. His vet called with some puzzling news: according to Tidbit's blood work, his platelets were just fine. She decided the blood in his eyes was probably due to vasculitis, a condition that can cause small blood vessels to rupture. This meant his situation was less dire; he was no longer in immanent danger of dying. She thought the nasal congestion might be connected to swollen blood vessels as well. She told us to reduce his prednisone dosage by three quarters, and continue with the other medication.

Several days later, his congestion was as bas as ever; a week later, his eyes were just as bad again, too. Off to the vet again, who added another antibiotic, in case of secondary infection, and restored the prednisone to its original dosage. Let's hope a few days of the new regimen will ease his suffering. I miss his happy, prancing "Tidbit dance".

Pupdate: Winter Star

I love it when we get updates from adopters, especially on our animals that were adopted as puppies or kittens, and especially when they send pictures! This is one of my puppy-sitting clients that I weaned from the bottle for our foster mom, Cathy. She was just adopted 9 days ago, but I swear she looks like she's grown! You can see her picture in the "Great adoption weekend" post, and in the "Puppy sitting" post. Here is what her new mom wrote in her e-mail, sounds like this puppy is living the high life:

"The puppy, Laney, is doing so well and so happy in her new forever home. I've attached a photo of her playing with my husband at his airplane hangar yesterday. You can see who's the boss!"

More rescue that isn't

My county's animal control center has been experimenting with a program that opens animal rescue to private parties, rather than limiting it to established rescue organizations. If an animal is unadoptable due to illness or injury, an individual may pay a reduced fee and sign a contract stating that the animal will receive the veterinary treatment it requires, and be brought back to the shelter's spay/neuter clinic to be altered within 30 days, or as soon as it is healthy enough. Sometimes everything goes well and the rescuer abides by the contract, but all too often, these individual rescuers don't follow through on their commitments. At least a dozen of these private parties have brought their rescued animal to a local vet, only to abandon it there when it became apparent that the illness would cost money to treat. Some have abandoned the animal rather than pay $35 for antibiotics.

It's apparent that some of these so-called rescuers never intended to honor the contract they signed. A young woman was at the county shelter, looking for a small dog for her sister. She left with a shepherd mix puppy with an injured leg. She took them because no rescue group had spoken for them, and they were about to be euthanized. She signed the contract that stated she would provide for the treatment of their medical issues and bring them back to be altered in 30 days, but two hours later she was at PetCo trying to give the dogs away to anyone who would take them. When confronted by a county shelter volunteer who happened to be present doing adoptions, she took them home and offered them free to a good home on the internet, and sent e-mails to rescue groups begging them to take the dogs. Someone informed her that many of the vets in town will give a rescued animals a free vet visit, so the next day she took the dogs to a vet, where she was told that the puppy's injured leg was badly infected, and would probably have to be amputated. They prescribed an antibiotic and a pain killer, which cost about $100, but the young woman couldn't afford them, so she took the puppy home and left the medications behind.

Thankfully, a concerned volunteer from one of the rescue groups she had contacted (the one I volunteer with) was able to contact her and offered to come pick up the puppy that night. He was brought directly to an emergency veterinary hospital, where the diagnosis was confirmed by x-ray. The vet felt that the infection was so severe, the puppy would die of blood poisoning within a day or two if the leg was not removed immediately. He went into emergency surgery that night. It took over a week for the pus to stop oozing was from his incision, but he finally beat the infection and was able to go to a foster home, where he learned to walk and then run on three legs. About a month after his surgery, he was adopted.

Pupdate

It's amazing how much bigger Maxine's pups have gotten already. Maxine is a champion milker. She is always full of milk, and therefor, so are the pups. They were 11 days old today, and one of them is beginning to open her eyes. They are also starting to try to stand up on their legs instead of just squirming on their bellies. Three of them managed to crawl over the lip of their crate door today, and I was amazed at how fast they could scoot across the floor!

Great weekend for adoptions!

Great news: my four pet-sitting puppies were altered last week, and all four were adopted this weekend! It was wonderful to see them again, and see how much they had grown. They were an exceptionally sweet litter of puppies, and my favorite little girl, the one that always asked to climb in my lap and snuggle, was adopted first. No surprise there. We had three other adoptions this weekend: Beast, a 102 lb. Rottie pup; this was his first day up for adoption, so although we were happy for him, we weren't nearly as excited as we were when Nala and Oscar found their forever homes.

Nala is a brindle pit bull mix who was dumped at the pound with her 8 little pups back in March. All 8 of her pups were adopted long ago, and poor Nala's original foster home didn't work out, so she spent several months at a boarding kennel. Her second foster home also didn't work out... she chewed a shoe, and that was that. (This foster was not asked to foster any more dogs for us.) She had been in her last foster home for a long time, and her foster mom did a great job working with her quirky personality. Nala was very fearful at first, and when she felt overwhelmed, she would simply plop down on her belly, legs partially splayed, and refuse to budge. Her foster mom carried this 60 lb. dog from the car and all the way into PetSmart to attend adoption events. We all celebrated the first time Nala walked all the way from the car to her crate at the adoption center without having to be carried. Despite her fearful nature, she is a sweet, submissive girl who will crawl into your lap for cuddles, given the chance. She is great with small children and other dogs, and has a smile and soft eyes that can melt ice. I couldn't understand why she was passed over weekend after weekend. We were overjoyed when she and her new owner fell in love with one another at first sight.

Oscar has only been with us since October, but he has been bounced around too much and desperately needed to find his true home. A woman gave him away because he was marking in her house; he was taken by a gentleman whose phychiatrist had recommended he get a dog. He tried his best, enrolling Oscar in a comprehensive vet care program and a training class, but after several months he felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities of pet ownership, and had not bonded with Oscar. We offered to help him place Oscar in a new home, but after about a month of trying, he gave up and took Oscar to the pound. A friend of his found out and called us immediately. Oscar's chances at the pound were slim, since he will occaisionally growl at strangers who approach him when he's in a cage, and his legs are deformed from a car accident early in his life. I adored Oscar, as did everyone who got to know him, and bailed him out of doggie jail the next day. His new foster took excellent care of him, and made sure he got pain medication when his old injuries were hurting him. He got along beautifully with her own dogs, and was house trained in a week. Despite the fact that he's small and cute (we think he's a Chihuahua/Jack Russel Terrier mix), not many people are willing to adopt a dog with visible deformities that require medication for pain management. The woman who adopted him today was specifically looking for a special needs to dog love. She brought her two small dogs to meet him, and they got along as if they were old friends. He trotted out of the store with them like he'd been part of their pack forever.

Mrs. Bumble Goes Home for the Holidays

On the day before Thanksgiving, I was walking through the county pound, checking on dogs that might need to be rescued. I came upon the startling sight of an elderly Great Pyrenees standing forlornly in a kennel. That night I sent her information to my friend who volunteers with Great Pyrenees rescue, knowing the dog was probably too old and skinny for the county pound to consider adoptable. Sure enough, a few days later my Pyr rescue friend e-mailed me to say that the old girl needed to go into rescue, but all of her group's foster homes were full, and could my group possibly take her in? I volunteer with an all-breed animal rescue group in. As it happened, this friend had donated a number of kennel panels to my group, and one of our volunteers had just recently finished building three spacious, sheltered kennel runs on my group's new property. What better way to thank her than to rescue this dog and house her in the kennels she had made possible? I named the dog Mrs. Bumble, after the abominable snowman in the holiday classic cartoon "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

For the breed, she was actually quite small, weighing only 78 pounds. You could see every bone in her skinny body because she had been groomed and shaved almost to the skin just before she was brought to the pound as a stray. All that was left of a Pyr's usually luxuriant white coat was a poofy head and a tuft at the end of her tail. She had sores on her hip and knee joints from lying on hard surfaces, then licking the calluses raw. As soon as she came near anyone who would hold still, she leaned her big head against their leg. It was impossible to keep from scratching behind her ears. We worked hard to put weight on her, but had a difficult time tempting her appetite. We cooked chicken, rice, macaroni with butter, and eggs to mix with her kibble and canned food, and served it to her warm. I found that if I sat down with her and held her bowl between my knees, she was more willing to eat. We soon realized that she was unhappy out in her kennel run, and let her stay in our treasurer's office most of the time.

Mrs. Bumble came to one of our weekend off-site adoption centers in a pet supply store three different times in the month of December, two Saturdays and a Sunday. She received a lot of attention and had many admirers, including a generous and kind man who donated a bath and brush for her at the store's grooming salon. But by the end of the Sunday before Christmas, she still had not been adopted. Every Sunday evening, we pick one cat and one dog to submit to the local paper's "Adopt A Pet" feature in the Accent section. We write a small description of the pet and send their picture. Other shelters and rescue groups also submit animals, so we never know if one of our pets will be chosen for the feature. Our wish came true on Tuesday when Mrs. Bumble's bio and picture were published in the paper, and the calls and e-mails poured in. Our inquiry manager sorted through the inquiries and found a home that seemed perfect: a lady whose elderly Great Pyrenees had passed away about two months prior, and whose house felt empty with only one remaining Pyr to love. Her application was pre-approved that night, and an adoption counselor made special arrangements to take Mrs. Bumble to meet her at the pet supply store the next day, which was Christmas Eve. It was true love at first sight. The adopter's granddaughter had come along, too, and was more excited about this new, huggable addition to the family than she was about Christmas morning. Mrs. Bumble was loaded onto a soft dog bed in the back of a Mini Cooper, and driven home for the holidays.

We heard from Mrs. Bumble's new owner the very next weekend, when she stopped in to tell us how wonderfully she was doing. She and her new "brother", a young male Pyr, were already the best of friends, and loved to prance around their yard together, playing gently. Her appetite had also improved greatly, and she was now eating like a horse. Apparently, Mrs. Bumble had a wonderful holiday in her new home.

Mamacita Rosarita tells her story

I have dim memories of being touched gently by human hands, and washed lovingly by another cat I trusted, but that was long ago. My adult life was not gentle, and somewhere along the way, I lost the knack for affection. When I became pregnant against my will, I lost my appetite, for life as well as food. I felt as if I had turned to stone. When they were born, I cared for my kittens instinctively, reflexively, but my heart was cold. I was not surprised when my kittens and I were unceremoniously stuffed into a box and taken to the terrible place. The stench of fear, death, disease, and despair seemed like the natural conclusion to the path my life had taken. If I had not turned to stone in time, the sounds and smells of hundreds of cats, dogs, and humans under so much stress would have driven me mad. I simply waited in my cage for the end.

I remember a soft voice and a soft touch, and gentle hands holding my kittens. I was as tolerant as a rock, unmoved and unmoving. I was put into another box with my kittens, and taken to a new place, a much quieter place. A human person brought me food and water, and cleaned up after me and my kittens. Every day she would roll a ball past me, or wave some feathers in front of my eyes, but I didn't watch the ball or the feathers. Every day she picked me up, placed me on her lap, and stroked me gently, but I didn't arch my back or purr or rub my jaw against her hand. I just held still until she put me down again. I washed my kittens dutifully and let them feed, but I took no joy in them.

A day came when my kittens were taken away in the morning. All I felt was a faint sense of relief that my responsibility to them, an iron chain forged by instinct, was finally severed, and by the afternoon, I had fully adjusted to finally being alone. It was a shock when they came back, reeking of chemicals and a faint but distinct whiff of blood. I was terrified and confused, and hissed at them; they still ran to me, trying to press themselves against me, and I swatted them away. The person gathered them up and quickly moved me to a new room. She put a litter box, food and water, and a bed in the room with me and shut the door. As soon as I confirmed that I was alone again, I settled into quiet solitude.

Every day, the person placed me on her lap and stroked me gently. Eventually, the stone that had invaded my body and my heart began to wear away, and I was surprised to feel a sort of ticklish pleasure at her touch. After a minute it became unbearable, and I hissed or snapped at her hand. She always stopped, and left me alone for a while, but she always came back later to pet me again. Gradually, the feeling of irritation at her touch eased, and I allowed her to touch me for longer and longer stretches of time. One day I felt strangely restless, and it took me a moment to understand that I was missing her presence. I began to look forward to her visits, and when she stroked my face, I began to close my eyes and rub my jaw along her hand. The only thing that spoiled this feeling was the presence of other cats outside my door. The sound of them made me angry and frightened, and if I heard a meow while my person was petting me, I had to hiss and jump off her lap. People didn't seem so bad any more, but the presence of other cats was unbearable.

One day, my person suddenly stopped stroking my head and placed her hand gently on my throat and chest. I realized she was feeling the faint vibration that had risen there: I was purring, very softly, for the first time in as long as I could remember. At night, I began to seek out her company before she went to sleep. I would jump up on her bed and let her pet me for a few minutes, then find a spot to sleep within sight of her. One day I noticed a long string hanging from her clothing, and reached out to swat it. She wagged the string back in forth in front of me, and I followed its movement intently, swatting as it came closer. Soon I discovered the joy of chasing all kinds of moving things: strings, feathers, bits of paper or plastic. I became more and more exuberant in my efforts to catch them, leaping in the air and exposing my belly without fear. At bed time, she would move her hand underneath the bed covers, and I would stalk and pounce the lump as if it were a mole burrowing under sod.

These days, I realize I am grateful that my path did not end in the terrible place, where so many other desperate lives have ended. At the time I would have accepted death as something to be expected from the hands of humans. It took a long time, but now I've learned to accept and expect more from human hands: kindness, companionship, nourishment, pleasure, and play. My person can pet me for a long time now; in fact, she doesn't have to pick me up anymore, I will usually jump onto her lap of my own accord. And I rarely hiss or bite at her anymore. I am proud to say that even in my darkest time, I never marked her with my teeth; I was only warning her, and she always respected those warnings. I guess that was my first inkling that I could trust her, and how she learned to trust me as well. My only regret is the presence of other cats on the other side of my door. If only I could have all of this in a home with no other cats, I would be completely content.

No pictures, please!

Maxine's puppy objects to being photographed. Less than a week old and already a diva!

Poor Maxine is already over the whole "doting mother" thing. She's still taking good care of her babies, but she's happy to leave them alone for a trot around the yard and some quality cuddle-time with whatever human is handy.

Puppysitting part II

Cathy's foster puppies were not orphaned by accident. The sad fact is that these puppies came to the county pound with a living, healthy mother who did not make it out alive. There were two mother dogs with puppies at the shelter that week, and both were deemed too aggressive to release for rescue. This caused a terrible outcry from some rescuers and onlookers. They argued that it's natural for a mother dog to be protective of her puppies, especially in such a frightening environment. They believed that these mother dogs deserved a chance, that with time and patience and a quiet, safe environment they were likely to come around and their aggression would abate. I decided to go down to the shelter and see these poor doomed dogs for myself. One of them was obviously very frightened. She huddled at the far corner of the kennel with her pups, head down, and refused to look at anyone who approached. When I spoke softly to her and made to open her kennel door, she growled. The other dog was frankly terrifying. When I approached her kennel, she charged the door, locking eyes with me in a hard stare, barking and snarling.

There is no way I would ever rescue either of these dogs, and I don't think there's anyone in my rescue group who would disagree with me about it. It's very possible that one or both of them MIGHT come around in a quieter, safer environment, when they didn't feel so threatened and their puppies weren't so vulnerable, but the risk was just too high. The shelter staff had tried to get each mama dog out of their kennels and away from their puppies to see if they were less aggressive in a quiet room with no puppies to defend, but neither dog could be safely caught and removed from their kennel without the use of a catch pole and a big fight. The risk of injury to both the staff member and the dog herself was too high. Who would be willing to transport such dogs to their homes for fostering? What if they remained just as aggressive in their new surroundings? I would never dream of putting the fosters who volunteer for us at such terrible risk. There are plenty of non-aggressive mother dogs who need to be rescued and won't compromise the public safety.

In fact, I recommended that we only rescue the puppies of the first mama dog, the one who merely growled from a distance. In the past, we have rescued puppies from aggressive mothers, and sometimes we have discovered the aggression had its roots in genetics. Just like in humans, behavioral traits and temperaments are both inherited and learned. A combination of genetics and environment shape who we are, both dogs and people. It is impossible to know why these two dogs were so aggressive. Were they feral or just poorly socialized, and simply unused to humans at all? Or was there a genetic, hereditary component to their aggression? We've rescued truly terrified, poorly socialized mother dogs that never even growled when humans handled their tiny puppies, and of course, sweet girls like Maxine from my Jan. 9th entry who wag their tails and lick the hands of total strangers, even in the overwhelming environment of the shelter kennels. And at least once, we've rescued the tiny nursing puppies of mother dogs so aggressive they've had to be euthanized, and watch those puppies grow into an inherited predisposition for aggressive behavior as well, despite a loving and gentle upbringing. I thought the risk of this happening with the puppies of the mother dog who charged the kennel door at me was too high.

I was overruled by two other volunteers on the "dog team" for my rescue group. Cathy was willing to take the really young puppies, eyes still closed and not even 2 weeks old yet, and these were the puppies of the mama dog who rushed the kennel door. These are the adorable fluff-balls who begged to climb up into my lap after they had tired themselves out playing so they could fall asleep on my chest. I tried not to think that about the fact that I had been willing to consign these precious beings to death along with their mother, after a cold evaluation of risk factors. And out of fear. The idea of fearing those roly-poly babies seems absurd now. Please say a prayer that it will always seem absurd, for their whole lives.

Puppysitting

I'm a pet-sitter, and one of my clients, Cathy, is also a rescue volunteer and foster home. Her specialty is underage puppies. She has two dogs of her own: Lucy, the first mother dog she ever took in as a foster, and Nemo, a puppy from a litter she raised about a two years ago. Lucy is a large black Shar Pei with some behavioral issues, which Cathy and her husband Bob have done a great job to address. There were a couple of times when I pet-sat for Lucy and Nemo when Lucy wouldn't come in the house unless I was in bed. I had to sleep with the bedroom door open to the back yard so she could creep in at night to sleep in her dog bed. Now she is much calmer, will take treats from my hand, and will even come ask me to pet her when I'm sitting quietly. It took a combination of behavioral modification, training, and medication to help Lucy, all under the supervision of a veterinary behaviorist. Cathy and Bob have also been working with Nemo, still an enormous puppy at two years old, who wants to guard the house from strangers a little too vigorously for a couple with an active social life.

Despite his bull-in-a-china-shop exuberance, Nemo is an excellent foster-brother to the tiny puppies Cathy cares for. For two weeks at Christmas, Nemo (and Lucy) helped me care for 4 orphaned puppies. They were between 4 and 5 weeks old when I started, and still drinking formula from a bottle at least 4 times per day. I would take them from their pen one by one, sit them on a towel in my lap, and try to hold them still while they wiggled in excitement. They liked to sit up on their haunches and push their front paws up against my hand on either side of the bottle while they fed, eyes rolling back in milky ecstasy. Nemo would help by licking up any milk they dribbled down their chins or splashed up onto their noses. His head was bigger than an entire puppy.

The puppies were just reaching the age where they needed to exercise their legs and explore a wider world than their pen, but the weather outside was appropriately frightful for the season, so a couple of times per day I would let them out of their pen and hover over them with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Formula 409 in my hands, ready to clean up the numerous "puppy bombs" they dropped (both solid and liquid) as they romped and scooted around the living room, dining area, and kitchen. Tiled, thank God, with a few utilitarian area rugs that could take a good scrubbing. Nemo would help supervise the puppies, trotting after anyone who tried to escape down the hall to the bedrooms, even picking up in his mouth any pup who tried to disappear under the Christmas tree. He was also an effective lure for keeping them all within my sight. I would spread a throw blanket on the living room floor, and Nemo would lie on it and let the puppies pounce on his tail and ears.

Pregnant and Unwanted

This is a story about a sweet dog named Maxine, and about the controversy over how to handle pregnant animals in shelters.

I was walking through the kennel at the county pound last week and spotted a sweet-faced dog leaning up against the chain link of her kennel run. Some dogs at the pound avoid eye contact, and some will do anything to catch the attention of the people passing by their kennels, barking and jumping. This dog was one of the quiet ones who drew me in with her stillness, her presence, and a tired but kind-eyed and hopeful glance. There are some dogs you just can't pass by. The second thing I noticed, after her sad yet serene energy, was her enormous belly. Pregnant.

I greeted her softly, and she pressed against the chain-link to lick my hand, wagging her tail and looking up at me with soft eyes. I scanned her kennel card -- she was a stray, newly arrived, release date in five days -- and then scanned her kennel. It was bare concrete, no plastic riser or bed box. I flagged down a kennel tech and said, "This one needs a bed box and bedding. She's very pregnant, I think she's about to pop." The tech looked at the kennel card and commented, "You think she'll pop before the 7th?" I told her yes, I thought she would.

I came to check on her 3 days later: still pregnant. I told Jose, a kennel tech who is often assigned to assist with rescues, that I wanted to rescue her if she was not redeemed by an owner, since she would not be fit for adoption. He told me that one of the enforcement officers had offered to foster her, but Dr. L, the county vet, refused to let him. She planned to spay her, abort the pups, and I assume put her up for adoption.

In past years, my rescue group has encountered this conflict of philosophies regarding pregnant animals at the shelter. I personally heard the vet state, "I will not let a pregnant animal leave this shelter." Her supervisor has assured us that this is not the official policy of the facility, and has released several pregnant animals to us.

It is my rescue's position that cats and dogs in the final days of gestation should not be aborted. It can be very confusing for them; their hormones are telling them they should have offspring to care for. The puppies or kittens, which are viable by that time, are usually simply left to suffocate in their sacs. People want to adopt puppies and kittens. If they get them from their neighbors and co-workers, or buy them from the pet store, how many of those puppies and kittens will never be altered, and will go on to make more puppies and kittens? How many irresponsible back-yard breeders and puppy millers will profit from the transaction? Puppies and kittens adopted from our rescue are altered first. They will never reproduce and contribute to shelter populations. I can understand that when shelters are overflowing with unwanted animals, there is some logic to making sure that no additional unwanted animals are produced there. But when the kittens or puppies are wanted, even if it's just a foster home or a rescue group who wants them at the moment, I think they should live.

I called the new rescue coordinator and asked if he could get the dog released to rescue. The next day, he told me the dog was ours in 24 more hours. She had one more day on her stray hold. The chances that anyone was coming for her were slim. When I arrived at her kennel the next afternoon to pick her up, she was sound asleep in her bed box with 7 tiny puppies snuggled up to the milk bar. When I opened her kennel door, she lifted her head and wagged her tail in greeting. When I put her puppies in a pet carrier, she followed them intently down the hallway, and when I loaded her and the carrier in the back of my truck, she cried and bit at the carrier door because she couldn't touch her puppies. I opened the carrier door, hoping the puppies wouldn't tumble out onto the bed of my truck, but figured it wouldn't hurt them if they did, and the mama dog was more likely to hurt herself biting at the carrier. She tried to stuff herself into the carrier with them, but could only fit her head and shoulders inside. Finally, she was satisfied that she could get to them if she needed to, and settled down near them.

Her name is Maxine, and she and her puppies are no longer unwanted.