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.

Rescue that isn't

I've been seeing a disturbing trend in animal rescue lately. Private parties, unaffiliated with any particular rescue group, are attempting to rescue animals but failing to fulfill their responsibilities to those animals.


Animal rescue is not easy. I think the reason rescue groups form is so that people can pool their resources and support one another in a time-consuming, emotionally taxing, and often expensive process. Any individual who attempts to rescue an animal without the support and structure of a responsible, reputable group needs to be very knowledgeable, organized, wealthy, cool-headed, energetic, and have a fair amount of free time in order to do it well. Rehabilitating and rehoming at-risk animals can be extremely rewarding, but it can also be utterly heartbreaking, and well-meaning novices are rarely prepared for the challenges it can present.


I am constantly fielding e-mails and phone calls from people who say, "I rescued this dog a few months ago but I can't find him a home, and I just don't have time for him, and I can't afford to get him fixed or vaccinated or wormed, and he's tearing up my back yard, so I can't keep him anymore." It makes me cringe. If you're abandoning an animal, you don't get to claim you rescued it, especially if now you're asking ME to rescue it. My rescue group saves animals that are in kill shelters and are about to be euthanized; we rarely take them from the public. And yet, at least a dozen people per month want me to rescue THEM from the guilt of failing an animal, or the pain of simply not being able to help. I'm not involved in animal rescue to save people from hard choices and feelings. Please, if you're not prepared to take care of a stray, abandoned, or injured animal until you can find it a good permanent home, take the animal to a shelter. That's what they're there for. Yes, that cat or dog may not make it out alive, but that's simply the reality of our world. Many of us are trying to change that reality, but it hasn't happened yet. There are far more animals than there are loving, responsible homes. If the animal really is a stray, its breeder or original owner is to blame for letting it end up in a shelter. You can certainly feel sad for that animal, but you need not feel guilty. However, if you are the breeder or owner of that animal, I hope you do feel guilty, and I have even less interest in relieving your pain and your guilt.


Benign neglect and ending up in a shelter are not the worst things that happen to animals that are "rescued" by inexperienced, unprepared, and irresponsible people. Sometimes, animals are "rescued" from humane euthanasia only to have their suffering prolonged. Some of these animals are rescued again, and their suffering is finally relieved by veterinary care, but not all are so lucky. I just heard a story about a young woman who took in a small dog that had been abandoned in the desert, and found him a home. Her friend decided the home was not safe, since there was a pit bull in the home, so she took the dog to her own home on a temporary basis, and put him in the back yard with her two German Shepherds. 48 hours later, one of the shepherds attacked the smaller dog. For some reason, she did not take the injured dog to the vet. Instead, she called a rescue group for help, who gave her the number of another rescue group, whose representative agreed to take the dog on a temporary basis. The young woman picked up the injured dog and drove for an hour to meet the rescue representative, who was horrified when she saw the condition of the dog: deep puncture wounds to the throat, white gums, signs of shock and blood loss. She took him home and fifteen minutes later, the dog died of its injuries.


I will never understand how this severely injured dog passed through the hands of three supposed animal rescuers and then died without ever seeing a vet. After being dumped in the desert, this dog was shuffled between four different homes before it died a violent and painful death as the direct result of mismanagement and improper care. That is not rescue, and it was not a better fate than being taken to a shelter.

Tidbit's progress

This is a picture of Tidbit. He fell asleep with his foot in his ear. Notice the testicles? (How could you not?) I'm happy to report that he will soon be relieved of them. Tidbit has been struggling with a nasty case of Tick Fever (ehrlichiosis), which took to 4 courses of antibiotics to get under control. His blood work finally looks good, and he can discontinue the antibiotics and get neutered.


Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean he'll be adoptable at that point; we're still working on getting his allergies under control. He hasn't had any skin infections in a while, but his eyes have been watering and itching so much, he's lost some hair all around them and the skin is irritated and even scabby in spots. Benadryl wasn't doing the trick, so now we're trying Claritin, and some eye ointment the vet prescribed.

And once the allergies are under control, there's the issue of his extreme shyness. Quick movements still cause him to startle and bolt like a wild horse. I'm afraid the bustle and busyness of PetSmart will completely overwhelm him. We have a lot of socializing to do! At least the sweet guy has started to solicit affection here at home. For months he was only interested in the other dogs and the cats, but in the past few weeks he has begun to approach me for pets and kisses.

Gypsy the Maggoty Aussie

Gypsy was brought to the vet by her owners with a horrific infection on her back that was infested with maggots. She had been bitten by some of the owners' other dogs in a fight some time earlier, and because the wounds were deep and never treated, infection set in and spread. They told the vet, "She musta gotten the maggots from eating that dead pigeon." I'm not sure what they thought the dead pigeon had to do with it. This was an elderly couple with 6 dogs and very little money; when they discovered how much it would cost to treat Gypsy, they told the vet to euthanize her. The vet asked them to sign her over to him instead, and called rescue to help him out. She was much too sweet and beautiful to let the maggots have her.


The pictures above are after three weeks at the vet hospital and two surgical procedures to clean and close the wounds. The pink skin is all new skin that has grown back where the maggots had eaten it away. The open wounds are much smaller than when I first saw her a week earlier; then, they were oozing pus and surrounded by dead tissue, which is why she needed a second round under anesthesia.

In a few more days she will go to a foster home where the gentleman has 3 other Aussies, all of whom are his pride and joy. He doesn't go on vacation unless they can go with him. As long as she gets along with his other dogs, he will adopt her once she is spayed. Hopefully she will never suffer from neglect and poverty again.

Diamond and Tidbit

When Diamond first came to live at my house, I noticed that she had diarrhea. As the days passed, the diarrhea did not clear up, and she began to show signs of an upper respiratory infection. Her appetite waned, and she began to lose weight. One morning she was lethargic and cold to the touch. I prepared a hot pack to nestle her against and took her to the vet, fearing she might not survive the day.

Her blood sugar was low and she was dehydrated, but after 24 hours at the vet she had perked up and was ready to come home. With antibiotics and a probiotic supplement, her eyes cleared up and her stool became firm within a few days. Her appetite and energy level returned to normal. Thank goodness!

Tidbit was originally rescued by a local pure-breed rescue group when they went to a home to rescue a dog of their breed. The volunteer saw Tidbit, a mutt with no sign of the rescue's breed in his mix, and felt she couldn't leave without him. He was emaciated, covered in ticks, pus was oozing from his ears, and his nose was crusted with snot. His owner said he had allergies; the volunteer knew it was more than that, and that he would die if he stayed in that home. She called the breed rescue's director and received permission to take the dog out of the home and bring him directly to the vet hospital for diagnosis and treatment, even though they had no foster home for him.

The director of this pure-breed rescue group called other rescue groups asking for help with Tidbit. At first, my group offered to assist with his medical bills, but told her that our foster homes were full. The breed rescue rep supposedly found him a foster after about a week, but the foster brought him back to the vet hospital after 24 hours, saying, "He tried to climb my fence, he chewed my furniture, and he peed on my floor." Two weeks later, my group received a call from the vet hospital: the rescue group who had saved his life had given up on finding him a foster home, and no longer wished to pay for his boarding, so they had asked the vet hospital to euthanize him.

The vet who had been treating Tidbit was very unhappy with this turn of events. When he first came to the vet hospital, Tidbit was so frightened and sick, he wouldn't eat for several days; but with kindness and medication for his advanced case of tick fever (erlichiosis) and severe ear infection, he slowly began to gain weight and return to health. He became a favorite of the vet techs. One of my rescue group's volunteers visited him there, and melted when she saw his sad, haunted eyes; she described him as a "broken soul". There was no way we could let him die. So, I brought him home.

Sure enough, he tried to climb my fence at first; he lifted his leg in my house; he pulled the bottom of my bedroom curtains and the strap of a carrying case into his crate and chewed them. So, we don't let him outside without supervision; he quickly stopped trying to climb the fence. After a couple of days and a few gentle corrections, he quit lifting his leg in my house. OK, so he chewed on my sandals yesterday, but he is learning to go into his crate and he loves to play with my dog Darby, when he's not snoozing on the couch. So in my book, he's a very good boy.

Tidbit's biggest challenge will be overcoming his fear of being hit. I have had dozens of foster parents and adopters of shy, cringy dogs tell me, "I think this dog was abused", and I have always told them, "Not necessarily. It's possible the dog was just poorly socialized, and/or it's part of the dog's inborn temperament." However, I'm pretty sure Tidbit was abused. He doesn't just cringe, he braces himself for the blow. It's heartbreaking. But in spite of his fear and his past full of neglect and abuse, he has never growled or snapped. I think the chances are good that his broken soul will heal.

Update on the "Cutest Puppy in the World": Wendell, A.K.A. Duke, is officially NOT a Chihuahua mix! At 4 months old he weighed a whopping 20 pounds, which means he may top out at close to 40 pounds when he's all grown up. Gone is the big round head and bulging eyes; they were artifacts of developmental delay, not breed type, and developmentally he is all caught up. He is full of mischief, and likes to chase the cats; when he catches them, he sits on them. He's in the first picture above. The other pictures are 4 of my 5 current foster kittens.

Update on Mr. Big: The gorgeous German Shepherd I pulled from the pound and sent up to German Shepherd Rescue completed his heartworm treatment successfully, and is doing extremely well. He is now full of energy and very active. He will soon be finished with his medication for tick fever as well. Last I heard, he was heading for a foster-to-adopt home for a two week trial period. Let's hope he's in his forever home now!

Update on Courage the Stumpy Rump kitten: she will be altered this week and will go up for adoption next weekend. Her tail stump is completely healed. She is the terror of her litter, always pouncing on her mother and her 7 brothers and sisters.

Update on Andie the semi-feral Chihuahua: Andie is still at my house and has made a lot of progress. It took three months and suddenly she no longer cringed away from our hands; suddenly, we could pet her on top of her head or on her back and she wouldn't run away. A week later, we discovered we could bend over and pick her up with no fuss. A few days ago, she climbed into my lap of her own accord for the very first time. She has discovered the joys of being scratched behind the ears! She has learned to walk on a leash, and has made a few visits to the dog park; she visited PetSmart once but it was too much for her, so we are still working up to that final test before she becomes adoptable.

My current crop of kitten fosters is too adorable for words. I took three tiny 4-week old babies from the pound, thinking they were old enough to "mush" (eat a mush of canned kitten food and kitten formula from a bowl), but they were completely unable to grasp the concept. They would climb into the bowl and frantically try to suckle on the edge. No matter how many times I gently pushed their noses into the mush or tried to get them to lick it off my finger, they just couldn't figure it out! I ended up feeding them with a large syringe for two weeks before I could finally wean them. For the first week, I fed them 4 times a day, which was pretty exhausting. But they are fat and healthy and happy little kittens, and I'm proud of them! Chickie is a gorgeous torti-tabby with white, and has the biggest purr; she loves to visit with my dogs and has no fear of them. Chili Bean is black and white, and the most independent and adventurous; unlike her sister, she likes to arch her back and puff out her tail at the dogs and won't go near them. Chief is a gray tabby with white, and he is a chunky little monkey who loves to cuddle.

Then, last weekend, a woman came into PetSmart with a tiny little kitten named Sweet Pea that she had found the previous day on the side of the road, moments from becoming road kill. She is a torti tabby, like Chickie, but very different-looking; she is mostly a very dark tabby with fine striping, with one large patch of orange on her head. She is a little hellion; she likes to run around and play-fight a lot more than her big foster brothers and sisters did when they were her age. At only 5 weeks old, she is already mushing happily.

Yesterday, I took in yet another 4 week old kitten, named Diamond. She was an orphan brought to the spay/neuter clinic we use when she was just 3 weeks old. Her foster mama decided she was too lonely on her own, so we put her with Sweet Pea so they cold both have company. She is even more active and outgoing than Sweet Pea, and at 4 weeks old actually prefers to eat from a bowl. She is a tortoise shell, very dark with one large orange diamond-shaped spot right in the middle of her forehead, and white feet.