captchaos37206

Georgie Girl, our third child, has been my heart for 5 years now.  She is a working dog, a Louisiana Catahoula Leopard Dog that is actually a cur instead of a true hound.  If only I would have gone to wikipedia before I found her, I would not have brought her home.  There they give a quote, "You must be ready to teach and exercise a Catahoula. If not, he will eat your house. The Catahoula will not let you forget that you own a dog." --Don Abney.  Oh, the stress we would have avoided if I would have known that gem, but I would have lost a lot of laughter and love that comes in a way only Georgie Girl knows how to give.  I mean, look at this ham.  Who wouldn't love to have this creature?

Georgie Girl's infamous upside-down, saying "Cheese!" pose.  11.21.10

After we adopted Romi from animal control, I was made aware there are many small, adult dogs at animal control that never make it out alive.  Puppies typically catch the eye and heart of people adopting when sitting next to a 5-10 year old dog.  Being in animal control or any shelter does nothing to give a shimmer to the coat or a skip in the step.  Instead older dogs that have known years of living with a family, often times in their home, will become depressed and withdrawn in a cage or kennel with little human interaction.  In Nashville, we're lucky that our animal control keeps what they deem as adoptable longer than a few days.  There still is kennel craze that can bring the demise of these older abandoned babes.  Romi, for example, had been at animal control for 2 months, give or take a week or two.  On the day Michael met Romi, animal control scheduled her to be euthanized after closing.  She had been there too long and was getting kennel crazy.  Romi was adopted and I learned that even the cutest boutique dogs are killed regularly at animal control because people prefer puppies.  Ironically, many puppies become yard dogs or are given away after the same people who overlook the perfect mature dog realize that a puppy actually requires time and work.  Go figure.

With my new-found and depressing knowledge about older, adorable dogs dying daily across America, I started surfing animal control's website multiple times per week.  Here it is in case you're interested: http://www.petfinder.com/shelters/TN172.html

In February 2007 there was a little girl, reddish-brown in color and cocker / terrier in breed mix.  She had been there over a month.  I called weekly to see if she'd been adopted.  There were other dogs there that caught my eye.  One was a Chesapeake Bay Retriever boy.  He was over 100 lbs and beautiful.  Another was this funky looking red speckled girl that appeared incredibly frightened in her photograph.  To this day, I still remember the emotion, the fear I myself felt when I saw that photo.

By the time my birthweek arrived, the little red girl was still there.  And I talked Michael into letting me adopt her, bring her home, then find her a furever family.  While I didn't know it then, I was about to dive into animal rescue.  I merely thought I was giving this one little girl a chance like Romi had.  When I arrived at animal control, there was a note on this particular red girl's kennel card.  It read, "Before PTS, call Don," and had a phone number.  I was elated considering the little red girl barked constantly.  Not that I can blame her, but I didn't realize then dogs would bark incessantly.  We had been lucky with Romi, Shylee Sweet, and the original Raleigh Pete.  I walked down the aisle to check out the other dogs.  I found the Chesapeake boy & got him out for a walk.  He nearly pulled me down he was so excited to get out.  I realize this is normal now but then I was afraid.  Now I look back & think I should have surprised Michael with that big dog since he loves big dogs.  Chesapeake boy got a little more love & then I put him back in his kennel before wandering back to the little red girl to figure out what to do.  Go home empty handed?  Take little red girl anyway?

Connie, one of the caregivers, had come to me by then to tell me the little red girl was safe from PTS.  It was then I noticed the terrified, funky-looking, red-speckled girl in the next kennel.  She was so timid and scared that she barely came to the front of the kennel.  Connie said that was a huge improvement since previously she would cower in the corner whereas then she was licking my fingers through the wires.  Hmm.  She needed me.

Georgie Girl showing her pathetic look, which to this day, she can give like nobody's business. 11.21.10

Red speckled girl and I went to a little room along with Connie to get to know each other.  There she cowered under my legs and kept her head in my hand.  Wow.  She really did need me.  I made the call to Michael.

"I've found a different dog that really needs me, Michael."

He didn't care.  If I wanted to bring her home instead of the little red girl, that was fine.  He was sure we could find her a home, too.

"But she needs me, honey.  I want her to be mine.  You can take back all of my birthday presents and never get me another if I can have this dog," I begged.

Our conversation continued for at least 10 minutes as I found different ways to get the point across.  I wasn't going home without this dog.  Oh, look at you who know so much.  Yes, you are going home without that dog.  You see, even though Michael said yes, they wouldn't let her leave unspayed.  It was a Friday, the vet wouldn't be available until Tuesday, thus red-speckled girl and I had to wait.

The following Tuesday after work, red-speckled girl went to Hillsboro Animal Hospital to be fixed.  It was then I was told animal control was very wrong about her age.  Instead of being a mature 2-3 years old, my newest child was a mere pup.  She was about 10 months old, maybe 11, but definitely not more than a year.  Oops.  That was going to be a problem.  We didn't do puppies back then.  We wanted dogs that didn't chew things, potty indoors, or need a lot of exercise.  Another problem was I had told Michael she was smaller than Shylee Sweet.  This only matters because we didn't want another big dog.  Flash forward a couple of years to Mojo's induction as a Minunno and someone would think we were a completely different couple!

As my new red-speckled girl and I drove home, I was concerned.  I was worried.  I had messed up big time adopting this young dog.  Then when I introduced her to Michael on our front porch, I realized I possibly could be in trouble.  She was much bigger than I had told him.  It just goes to show that dogs in shelters appear to be much smaller and sadder than is true to life.  Michael brought Shylee Sweet outside to meet her as I assured him this new girl was at least an inch shorter than Shylee Sweet.  Man, was I wrong.  New girl was more like an inch taller than Shylee Sweet.  Oops for real.  Our neighbor Anita came over as we congregated on the porch with Shylee and the new girl and now Romi.  Anita said with a laugh to Michael, "You let her go to shelters?"  Yeah, oops.

After many minutes of apologizing and telling him if it didn't work out, I would check her into Nashville Humane Association, red-speckled girl was allowed to come indoors.

Shylee Sweet was curious.  Romi was not thrilled even when she was drugged after a major surgery. 2.22.07

Romi snarls at her new sister as she rests with Big Daddy & Shylee Sweet hangs out in Big Mama's lap.  2.22.07

Now when we have working dogs, whether it is hunting or herding, we prefer adopters who have experience with such breeds.  It was a tough row to hoe with Georgie Girl.  Neither of us jogged, we didn't take long walks through the park, and we had nothing for her to herd.  We felt we were at our breaking point many times during the first month, but Shylee Sweet loved her new sister.  They could keep up with each other running.  Romi was able to play then rest and Shylee Sweet had another to continue to play with.  Thus we cancelled the intake appointment we had for Georgie Girl at Nashville Humane Association.  That was part of the deal:  we keep her, you make her an appointment, and if it doesn't work out, you take her there and give her up.  I accepted.  Thankfully Michael felt he couldn't take her away from Shylee Sweet because they were attached.

Was it hard?  Yes.
Was it worth it?  Yes.
Would I do it again?  Yes, but differently.  Then we didn't believe in crating; we thought it was cruel.  Now we know that it is comfortable for the dog if done correctly, plus it keeps them safe and out of trouble.  And Georgie Girl definitely is trouble with a capital "T" bless her heart.

And that's how my heart became full of Georgie-ness.  While I never would have guessed there was room left for another (and another and another and another...) dog in addition to Shylee Sweet and Romi, there was plenty of room because my heart grew.  I learned that love takes work sometimes.  I did not enjoy the work when I was doing it, but looking back, she was worth every ounce and every second of the work we did and the tears I sometimes cried because of the hardship this young dog brought.

Hey there, Georgie Girl...

On Georgie Girl's 5th anniversary, I celebrate making it so far and learning so much.  Hopefully others will take that leap and accept the tasks and toil that come with adoption.  It is worth it.  I mean, look at this happy, beautiful girl...
Georgie Girl runs 3.20.11

Monday I had an appointment on Music Row after work.  When I left to go home, there was a very clean and friendly butterscotch and white pitty boy walking around the parking lot.  Happily he came to me for cookies and let me leash him after a couple of minutes getting to know each other.  While I almost never believe people when they say, “this dog has to belong to someone,” I was thinking that very thing.  It's not that I think people lie, but I no longer assume goodness when it comes to animals roaming at large.  This little guy, however, had a fancy-schmancy Kong harness that was a pretty, clean, light green color.  There, of course, was no identification on it.  What gives?

Here I go walking around Music Row, knocking on doors searching for his owner.  Have you heard the incredibly harsh statistic about people's unwillingness to help others in need?  It's some ridiculously low percentage of people who will stop what they're doing and help another person if that other person is asking or even begging for help.  There was a girl thrown from a bridge and killed a few years ago after a bought of road rage with another driver.  No one helped her despite her pleas as this man physically took her and threw her from a bridge.  I was stunned that not one person would have gotten out of their car to have helped her.  Bygones.  I digress.  Monday night I stood in a well lit street waving at a young woman in her pretty new sports car who was leaving her office. I was trying to ask her if she recognized this dog. I was wearing a skirt, heels, and looked not-dangerous and in need.  It was obvious I was trying to get her to stop, literally 3 feet from her car. Do you know what she did? She put her cell phone to her ear, looked at me, and drove on.  I guess I should have seen that one coming.

On a funny note, however, there was a man that did roll down his window for me. I asked if he recognized this pretty boy beside me.  He was very nice and conversational as he said, “no, I'm sorry that I don't.  It's very odd, though, you found him here since there are so many businesses and so little residential here.  I hope you find his owners.”  Then with a stunned look on his face, he added, “did you just happen to have a leash in your car?”  Mental note:  it is odd to the average person that I am prepared to catch a dog running at large.

I laughed and told him there are more like 8 leashes in my car, all sizes, colors, and fastenings, as well as collars, food, and dog treats. He smiled and wished me luck.  That was nice.  It made me feel better as I was drug around by my new friend, turning my ankles and getting mud on my shoes, and now focusing on the homes instead of the businesses.

Luckily, the third house I got to someone finally answered their door.  A lovely little hippy boy came to my rescue! Of course he knew this dog.  He lives next door and, yes, he knows the owner and has his number.  I gave my new friend a handful of Charlee Bears to celebrate the good news.  In no time the negligent owner came out of the dark basement to collect his dog.  Come to find out my new friend's name is Jack.  His negligent owner told me that he likes to let him out to run around for 20-25 minutes at a time, just to meet everyone and get exercise.  Politely I said that was a good way for him to be hit by a car.  Why bother going through the other scenarios like being taken by ne'er-do-wells? I suggested having a human with a leash attached to it went well that and, at the least get a tag with his number on it for Jack. I used one of Michael's lines and laughingly said, “unless he's brilliant as well as beautiful and can tell people where he lives, he needs a tag.  And if he can talk, why wasn't he talking to me?” Ha, ha. I was a comedian in a previous life.

The guy proudly said, “Oh, he has a tag, it's got all my information on it. It's on his collar, he's just not wearing it right now.”  I couldn't walk away without telling him that was not a good idea, but that was as much as I said as I left my new friend Jack there with his negligent owner.  With worry in my heart and hope in my head for Jack, my new friend, I walked back to the Focus Pocus.

It's never easy for me when I see a situation that needs improvement based on my personal experience.  Wishing whomever will know I mean well and listen is never enough because most of the time they never do.  I understand.  As I've gotten older, I can see how hard-headed and self-righteous I was when it came to taking optional advice.  It's optional because I would live without it just fine.  Raleigh Dog the Pete, on the other hand, may not live without the optional information if I were a negligent owner—and sometimes I was—but I would live.  Back then I didn't see past myself. Thankfully I didn't learn things the hard way at Raleigh Pete's expense.  Man, I miss that dog.  I would give anything to have him in my life now...now that I'm a better dog owner and I would be so good to him.  I digress, yes, but thinking of him gets me off track.  Bygones...but not forgotten.

Good luck to you, Jack.  May you be as lucky as Raleigh Pete for the rest of your sweet life.  May your owner's lack of attentiveness and care never harm you. I wish you a long and peaceful life, my friend.

If anyone is around 1710 17^th Avenue and see a butterscotch and white 45-55 lb, knee-high, neutered pitty boy, his name is Jack.  He is super friendly, submissive, and likes Charlee Bears.  It will take a few minutes to get a leash on him, but he will walk by your side until then.  Jack lives 3 doors down (away from Belmont, toward the naked statue in the roundabout) from 1710 17^th Avenue.

Peace.

This year at Christmastime when you're with your family, take a moment to talk about spaying and neutering.  Why?, you ask.  Let me share my thoughts with you, if you have a few paragraphs of time.

I was thinking today that 2 female dogs can have 20-30 puppies annually, more if they have 2 heat cycles per year and are impregnated both times.  I know this from experience with one man in particular, the owner of the mother dog to previous fosters Hero, Nero, & Dumplin.

Perspective: 2 female dogs had 27 puppies in 2011.  Thanks to a few foster buddies, a couple of great rescue groups, and ourselves, Michael and I have had 31 dogs in our home during the 2011 calendar year.

Just 2 dogs can undo everything we did.

There are more than 2 dogs among my friends & family alone that are unaltered with owners who refuse to get them spayed or neutered.  Yet my family and my friends continue to say to me, "you need to get rid of all of your dogs but 1 or 2."

I'm told regularly by one person or another, "no one in their right mind would do what you do."  They say to me, "I don't know how you do it," or, "look what you are putting your home, your marriage, and your dogs through, and for what?  It's just a dog."

Yet they continue to have dogs that CONTRIBUTE to the problem and therefore THEY ARE THE PROBLEM [insert YOU if you are someone with an unaltered dog or cat].

The problem is there are too many companion animals born in today's world.  You may say to me, "how can you say there's too many if God put them on this earth?"

I can say it, I can sing it, I can scream it from the mountaintops: THERE ARE TOO MANY COMPANION ANIMALS BORN IN TODAY'S WORLD.

If there weren't too many, then there would not be 3-4 million healthy dogs and cats killed in America's animal shelters per year.

Yes, that is 3,000,000 to 4,000,000 HEALTHY dogs and cats killed in a 365 day period.

Are you going to tell me that I am wrong to say there are too many companion animals born in today's world?  Are you going to bring 3-4 million dogs or cats into your home EVERY YEAR?  I bring in 10-30 dogs per year and I can tell you that it is time-consuming, it is hard, and it is heartbreaking on a regular basis.  And why do I go through this time-consuming, hard, heartbreaking process over and over again for 5 years now?  Because he, she, you, and/or they do not spay and neuter your dogs and cats; because he, she, you, and/or they buy pets from back-yard breeders; because he, she, you, and/or they do not take home strays because "it's just a dog/cat.  They're animals anyway so what does it matter?"

Let me tell you that it does matter.  It matters because companion animals are God's creatures which humans domesticated for the benefit of humans.  And now we carelessly breed them, we abandon them, and we allow their precious lives to be spoiled by our selfishness and short-sighted thoughts.

I am not part of the problem.  I am part of the solution.  But without each and every one of him, her, you, and/or them also being a part of the solution, I am nothing.  What I do only changes the world for the small number of animals we are able to save.  Regardless of how badly I want it, what I do will not save all the animals in the world from suffering and neglect on a regular basis.

I will never be able to solve this problem on my own.  But as long as there is a problem, I will continue to have more than 3 or 4 dogs in my home regardless of the time, the hardship, and the heartbreak.  And I will feel better for it.

We can end this horrible cycle of unnecessary death.  We no longer will have to change the channel every time the Humane Society's commercials air.  If you help, there may not have to be anymore tear-jerking animal shelter commercials.  Together we can end the senseless-yet-necessary-due-to-overpopulation killing.  Please end 2011 by talking to people who are part of the problem. Please help them understand they can be part of the solution.  They too can be proud of their actions and know they made a difference to dogs and cats.  And it is important to make a difference for dogs and cats.  They matter.  They're important.  They deserve our love, compassion, and help.

I cry as I type these words because I literally am begging anyone and everyone who happens to
read this note to foster and/or spay or neuter one animal in 2012.  And you are correct with your current thought in that I am not a crier.  But it breaks my heart and crushes my spirit to know the unnecessary suffering that man's best friends undergo due to the neglect, laziness, and idiocy of people.

Please do not buy a pet from a back-yard breeder this Christmas.  There are so many good and true purebred animals that need a home.  You will be amazed at how many purebred animals are surrendered to kill animal shelters by people who can no longer afford them or by breeders who couldn't find buyers.

If every viable home in America adopted and/or fostered one animal and it was spayed or neutered in 2012, can you imagine how the number of healthy animals euthanized annually would be affected?  There would not be 3 to 4 million healthy animals dying on our watch.

For all of you who have adopted and who do foster, you are my champions and I am forever indebted to you for making a difference.  You may not know me, but I can assure you that what you have done matters personally to me.  Your efforts mean so much to our companion animals and, therefore, to me.  I sincerely thank you for being part of the solution.

If we all do a little, we surely can do a lot.  Can you do a little?  Please?  I promise it will make a difference.  And if you can't do a little, please don't talk to me about the lot that I do.  Ask me about the weather instead.

Peace.

This week has been one of the worst weird weeks of my life, and I think I’ve made it to the other side.  This morning it didn’t seem like the other side, but for me, hindsight offers a clearer picture than ‘present’ sight.

As I walked our girls around the block, there was a black dog in the alley.  Really?  Yes, really.  I can’t make this stuff up, you know.  It seems like every day there is a story like this one and like Howie’s and like all the other random, whacked-out stories.  But there I go again, digressing from the already-too-long story…

After walking our girls home, I drove to the alley to help the big fluff bucket.  I no longer take my leashed dogs near dogs roaming at large for fear they could get attacked.  Seems to me that I should have known that all along but actually I had to figure it out otherwise.

When I got to the alley, there were two dogs instead of one.  One was a big, long-legged, longer-hair black shepherd and one was a knee-high black-with-white-speckles cattle dog.  The shepherd had bald places on his face and a damaged ear, probably from a fight.  Both had feces smeared on their coats.  They were shy but didn’t bolt.  Thanks to kibble in the car, they came to me.  Well, I had to turn off the Focus Pocus.  Now that she’s an older girl, she tends to make loud noises that are spooky.  These two boys weren’t completely pitiful, just sort of pitiful.  They both looked at me as if to say, “Are you here to help us?  Are you going to do that for us?”

I assured them, “Yes, I’m going to help you.  No more being out here on your own at the mercy of cars, dogs, and people who may not be nice.”  As I’m sending these vibes to my new friends, I think to myself, “Really?  I mean, seriously?  Could I not have a full week to get over Howie?”  The answer was, “You can’t make this stuff up so, yes, really.  Deal with it.”

Do you ever feel like you can feel yourself getting smarter?  I do sometimes.  This morning was one of those times.  My brain got bigger as I squatted there with my newest pups.  Well, that’s my story:  it got a least a tiny bit bigger and a tiny bit smarter for at least a little while.

It was obvious my two new friends weren’t convinced they needed me.  They weren’t going to let me slip a leash over their heads for sure, and they weren’t going to let me pet them either.  After the heartbreak of this week, there was no way I could leave them there considering the shepherd’s face and ears were already jacked up from a fight.  A good saying to remember is, “Luck is when opportunity meets preparation.”  Thankfully, my bedraggled brain kicked into high gear.  Solution?  Get a bag of kibble and walk home [Yes, seriously.  I can’t make this stuff up.] leaving a trail of kibble while calling them.  Sweet!  [I think.]

The Focus Pocus was being abandoned.  “Sorry, old girl, but you’ll have to survive for a little while without me,” I told her as I locked her up and put on the flashers.

With sleep still in my eyes and my hand wishing it was carrying coffee instead of kibble, off I go through the alley, coaxing my new friends to follow me.  The moment went from dread-filled to exciting when I realized they were eager to follow me, devouring the kibble trail behind me.  When I rounded the last corner, I sprinted down the street to get ahead of them so I could close the doggy door and open the back gate.  In under a minute, those tasks were accomplished.  I came out of the gate and there they were, standing on the sidewalk, enjoying the last of the kibble trail.  I continued the kibble trail into the back yard through the gate.  They calmly walked in to get more kibble.  Sweet!  They even let me walk behind them to close the gate.  Super sweet!

Indoors I hustled to get them big bowls of food, clean water, and blankets.  I didn’t get to pet them here either, but they enjoyed their food, they saw me put smaller bowls into the dog houses, and I was now okay to go to work [a smidge late].  I assured our dogs all is well [Do you think dogs can tell when we’re lying?], I locked the front door, and I run back to my car.  Yes, I ran.

See Out-of-Shape Sherri running down the street in her work attire.  Seriously?  Yes, seriously.  Like I said, I can’t make this stuff up.

Lunch came early so I could hurry home and make sure my two newest pups were okay.   We don’t leave dogs unattended in our back yard, which means I was worried about them.  I even called animal control to ask them to have mercy on us if the neighbors called to complain that we were hoarding.  Bless our animal control people.  They are wonderful and, of course, said it was not a problem for me to have them in my back yard temporarily.  They even offered to come get the dogs from me but I asked them not to come since we could find someone to help us get them adopted.

See Hurried Sherri drive the Focus Pocus home during her lunch break.

Wouldn’t you know that there was a yellow dog at 5^th trying to cross Shelby?  I mean, I can’t make this stuff up.  Of course there was a dog about to be creamed by oncoming traffic.  Her attempt to get across the street was successful at first only for her to run back and then do it again.  After three jaunts back and forth across Shelby, the light turned green and I was able to move forward to help.

Expletives escaped my lips as Michael called to see how my day was going.  There’s another dog?  Really?  Of course there is.  I can’t make this stuff up.  I’m blurting out rhetorical questions rather loudly in his ear.  How could this be happening to me?  Another one?  Three in one day?  Four possibly horrible situations in one week?  Seriously?  Who would do this to me?  Michael wished me luck and told me to be careful.

See Freaked-Out Sherri turn around the Focus Pocus to help a yellow fluff bucket.

Now, something I missed when I noticed the stressed out dog trying to cross the street was a man being pushed in a wheelchair.  This is important because the yellow fluff bucket belongs to the man in the wheelchair.  We’ll call him Marshall.  When I started trying to coax yellow fluff bucket to me, both men gave me a look.  I asked if it were their dog.  Marshall said yes.  I asked if he needed a collar and leash for her.  He said no.  She had followed him to the bus stop, he was on his way to school, and she’d be fine getting home after he got on the bus.

See Sad Sherri walk back to her car.

Once upon a time I called my mother when I was sick.  I told her how I hated being such a weakling.  My mother told me I wasn’t weak, that instead I had a delicate nature which made me more fragile than the average person.  My mother told me on a separate occasion that this rescue business was hard on me because I was tender-hearted and things affected me more than the average person.  While I appreciated her candor and our talks, those statements were sort of offensive being that I was such a bad-ass.  I always had been tough as nails.  I prided myself on it.  “How can someone like me be fragile & tender-hearted?”  I thought to myself, “Mom is being sweet and supportive and all, but she is totally wrong.”  Repeat after me:  Mom is always right.

So on this dreary, still-heartbroken day, I gave it another shot with a different approach.  I stopped the Focus Pocus next to Marshall as he sat at the bus stop.  I asked him, “Do you want me to take your dog home for you?”  He looked a bit startled and said, “Would you do that for me?”

Now if you live in our neighborhood, it is hit or miss on how conversations go if you talk to strangers in certain areas.  Sometimes they will try to get money from you.  Sometimes they are friendly and exchange kind words about the weather and/or their day.  And sometimes they are thankful for any help that may be offered to them if/when they’re in need.  And that’s how I met Marshall.

“Of course I’ll take her home.  Let’s get her leashed up and loaded in!”  A sense of relief and accomplishment overcame me.  It took coaxing for Marshall to leash Foxy.  That’s his dog’s name.  She didn’t know how to walk on a leash so no amount of coaxing would get her into the car.  Marshall said she would probably bite me if I picked her up.  Fair enough, but I am the most impatient person you will ever meet.  Foxy and I were about to get close and personal.  I don’t advise others to do this by the way.  Michael has done it, too.  When he found Clemenza at yet another Shelby Avenue bus stop, he said to Clemenza then, “I’m about to pick you up and your face is going to be really close to my face.  This is for the best.  Please don’t bite me.”  I silently said those words to Foxy as I bent down.  I sent positive vibes from every pore in my body.  I picked up Foxy and put her into the Focus Pocus.  She didn’t bite me.

See Sherri sigh a big, huge, gi-normous sigh of relief.

I assured Marshall I would get his dog home.  When I asked if I should knock or put her in a fence, he told me no one would be home and he doesn’t have a fenced yard, just let her out anywhere in the vicinity.

What!?!?!  Hush my mouth and call me silly.  Does he know who he’s talking to?  Can I actually do that?  All I would be doing is leaving her there to be hit by a car or stolen.  As a side note, I had tried to take her home with me two weeks ago on Glenview Drive but she wouldn’t come to me.  He assured me she knew her way around the neighborhood and would be fine.  I whimpered a very small and defeated, “Okay.”  Off I drove with Foxy, waving good-bye to Marshall.

My own personal Jiminy Cricket—who isn’t a very good Jiminy Cricket by the way—was jumping from one shoulder to the other as I drove.  He was running loops around my noodle noggin, home of the now-incredibly-shrinking brain.

I said, “Dropping off a dog as such is no good, no good at all.  Should I take her home with me?”

Jiminy said, “That’s stealing.  You know she’s not your dog.  Besides, Marshall loves his dog in his own way.  She’s being cared for the best he knows how.  So do what you told him you would do with what is rightfully his and go about your business.”

Sherri sighed.  Sherri was ready to cry but she knew Jiminy was right.  Then Sherri opens the Focus Pocus’ window and thumps his righteous self to the curb.

When I arrived at Marshall’s house, I slipped the leash off Foxy’s neck, opened the door, and let her out.  I gave her some more kibble.  I sunk extra low in the Focus Pocus as right then and there my brain short circuited and my heart broke into a million pieces.  Why is life so complicated?  How did I do what I just did?  Where did the Sherri of 2008 go?  All of these unanswerable questions swirled around me like someone was stirring me around in a bowl of alphabet soup.  I had already figuratively thumped Jiminy Cricket out the window.  I was all alone with my Foxy conundrum.  When I surfaced from the hodge-podge, I spoke the most important question:  what can I do to make all this better for Foxy?  Let’s focus on that one question…well, after I take care of the black dogs in my backyard.

It was awful quiet in the backyard which meant my newest babies, the two black dogs from the alley, had climbed our fence and went on their way.  I now wish I would have let animal control pick them up.  At least they would be taken care of in a humane fashion.  Yes, they may be euthanized, but it is better than being mauled by dogs, hit by a car, or picked up by a dog fighter.  We have had dogs in our care that have suffered from all of those scenarios.  So let me repeat, I am a 100% believer that humane euthanasia is a better alternative than being on the streets.  Period.

See Sad Sherri go indoors, throw her hands in the air, and say, “What the **** is going on today?”

The answer?  I wouldn’t have gone home for lunch if the black dogs weren’t in the backyard.  I wouldn’t have gotten Foxy safely home (so to speak) if I wouldn’t have gone home for lunch.  Foxy could have been hit by a car (and still could be) if I wouldn’t have driven her home.  It all happened for Foxy.  I cuddled my dogs for a few minutes and then headed back to the office.

When I passed the bus stop, Marshall was still there.  The bus was behind me so I had just a minute more to talk to him.  I had to find out if Foxy was spayed and get it done for her if not.  So the good news was he’d love to get her spayed.  The bad news was Foxy is pregnant and it’ll have to wait until she delivers the puppies.  I told him vets will spay a dog that is pregnant, but aborting the babies wasn’t an option for him.  I guess it would be okay for them to not have vet care and to live in an uncontained yard where they would be subject to a horrible death.  But it wasn’t okay for them to never be brought into a world that didn’t really want or need them.

And the hits just keep on a’ comin’… But who am I to question his morals?

Does everyone out there know that I am not good at spur-of-the-moment decision making?  I am barely competent when I have plenty of time to think about things.  But when in the heat of a moment, speaking to strangers, or friends for that matter, I suck at decision making.  I almost always make the worst decision.  I think I did okay today despite the knot in my stomach and the piercing headache that had developed.  At least I didn’t puff up, I didn’t get nasty with him because of wanting her to have the puppies, and I didn’t drive off without a resolution.

I asked Marshall if I could help with the puppies.  Again his eyes looked surprised and he asked, “Would you do that?”

“Yes,” I told him.  “I’ll be happy to take the puppies when they are big enough.  And then we’ll get Foxy spayed.”

Marshall asked for my number.  I told him if he didn’t call me, I’d come see him over the weekend so we could talk.  We smiled at each other.  We told each other to have a good afternoon.  I told him to learn a lot at his class, even to learn enough for me, too, because my brain had been fried.  Well, I left off the part about my brain being fried because I did make that part up.  But the rest of it?  It’s all true.  I can’t make this stuff up.  I assure you I’m not that good.

Everything that has gone both good and bad this week seemed to happen in just a few hours.  It’s funny how just a few hours here and there have affected me so deeply, I’ll never forget them, and I feel emotionally drained and damaged because of them.  It seems like it should take more than just a few hours to have such an impact.  But it doesn’t.  It doesn’t take any time at all.

After this week, I’m thinking that life can be broken into segments.  Some segments are good, some segments are bad, and some segments are just plain awful.  If I break today down into such segments, it runs the gamut of emotions.  In just a few hours, I had two new dogs who were in need, then I had them safe, and then they escaped, becoming unsafe again.  Then, in just a few hours, I made two new friends, Marshall and Foxy.  It’s taken a few hours since meeting them, but I have wrapped my brain around the situation.  I know what I can and what I can’t do.  And I hope my new friends and I will work together and make Foxy’s world better and safer.

For now I’m going to focus on those future hours that will improve someone’s life.  And that someone is Foxy.  For now and going forward, Foxy will have kibble brought to her on the way to work and on the way home.  Foxy will get a dog house immediately.  Foxy will get a fence sooner rather than later.  And Foxy will get an appointment at the vet if allowed.  With just a few hours here and a few hours there for Foxy, I will get back on track and she will have a chance at a healthier life.

Peace.

Disclaimer:  This is a rant.  It is not friendly.  I do not apologize for it.  Please do not read if you do not want to subject yourself to my opinions, both depressing and angry.

On Sunday as I drove through a Madison suburb, I noticed 2 large adult black labs playing roughly with a small Chihuahua.  In only a few seconds, I recognized it wasn’t friendly play.  It took only a couple of minutes for me to see, assess, return, and assist.  Despite the short amount of time in which it all took place, the details of this scene are not blurry unfortunately.  Within 20 minutes, my newest baby and I were at the Rivergate Pet Emergency Clinic Sunday.  After 5 hours, the lovely Dr. Jennifer Wilkinson and her staff cleaned and closed as many of his wounds as possible.  I chose from my list of names Howie for my newest baby since he had quite a few ‘ow-ies.’

Today, after being at VCA of Mt. Juliet for a day, Howie needed to be put out of his misery.  This statement means I gave approval for my newest baby to be euthanized.  Dr. Mike called me with the sad news that Howie wasn’t going to live.  His kidneys weren’t functioning; his temperature had dropped from the already-low 95 degrees to 90 degrees; and, while none of the gashes, puncture, or bruises alone were mortal wounds, combined they were deadly.  My Howie needed to be set free of his suffering.

On a happy note, errr, sort of, well, it was happy for someone… the 2 black labs had the time of their lives playing with their live toy Sunday morning, that toy being my newest baby Howie.  Their humans were indoors, ignoring the fact they had two unchallenged, bored dogs who could use a little stimulation and attention.  These dogs had found something to play with and no one was there to stop them.  If it were a children’s book gone awry, the captions would read something like, “Woo-hoo!  We have a toy that makes us think and gives us a chase!  Who needs you people to come out and toss a ball for us?  Not me!  I’d rather have this critter any day over your lazy, uninvolved self, so go on and sit on that sofa eating cheesy puffs.  Go on and forget we exist.  We’ve got a new toy and we don’t need you to entertain me.”

You ever seen your dog with a new toy?  That’s what these two 80-100 pound labs looked like and acted like as they attacked the 5 pound 14 ounce ‘prey’ as he desperately tried to get away from them.  They both were smiling, to put some human emotions into their actions like we so frequently do, pushing Howie down as he tried to run from them.  They took turns grabbing him, giving a shake, then dropping him so the other, who had it’s head down & butt up in the air, waited patiently for his turn to do the same.  They would even let him run from them, letting him get a few feet before they would pounce and push him and send him rolling a couple of feet where he would get up, obviously disoriented, and try again to get away from his attackers.  But, at this point, Howie was only running in circles because he was hurt, he was small, and he was slow.  And the 2 labs were healthy, they were big, and they were fast.  Howie didn’t have a chance.  Howie was allowed to roam unattended, and he landed himself in the yard of 2 bored bigger dogs, and Howie is now dead because of it.  Please try to talk sense into the people who allow their dogs to roam unsupervised.  If you can’t, call animal control and report them as many times as it takes.  Whether for their own dog’s sake or the sake of other animals and individuals in their area, it needs to stop.  And, yes, I know:  the typical alternative will be chained, tethered, and/or caged dogs.  But my soul can’t handle another Howie.  And yours couldn’t either if you were the one who went through it.  You’re probably cringing as you read the above paragraphs.  I know I’ve been cringing and crying since Sunday at 11:43am and it doesn’t feel like it’s going to stop anytime soon unfortunately.

For you who know my background, please humor me while I explain to everyone else.  I grew up in a rural town with my childhood ‘pets’ being more like ‘items’ than family members.  All of them lived outdoors.  They sometimes were allowed to be in our unfinished basement.  We would not spend time playing with them or walking them on a leash or brushing them.  They were either a) chained, b) in a pen, or c) killed horrifically when hit by cars if they weren’t either chained or in a pen.  You may have heard me say that I am making up for sins of my past by doing all I do for the needy companion animals in our community.  The way my animals lived when I was growing up is why I have a difficult time accepting compliments today for the good things I do.   Like everyone, I wish I had a few re-dos for my life.  One would be used to open my eyes at a young age to see how animals can be treated.  I still have nightmares about the lives and deaths we forced our dogs to suffer through.  Dogs like Marci, Sidney, Kari, Roscoe, Pepper, Ginger, Duke, Daisy, Smokey, and Snowball deserved so much better than I gave them.  I don’t think I will ever have the luxury to get over the regret and angst I feel when I think of all of my childhood pets.  Granted, I was one of those clueless kids who never thought outside the bass-ackward box that my hometown was stuck in.  It’s still stuck in that very box for the most part.  This is not to bash rural America, but I want to call out myself as being part of the problem for many years so I don’t seem like a complete hypocrite.  Sorry, I digressed as usual…

I am distraught over my newest baby dying such a painful and horrible death.  I need Howie’s death to have some meaning.  Here is all I can find.

For those people who let their dogs roam at large, left unattended and uncontained in your community, you need to know that dogs can and will follow their instincts.  Dogs have been domesticated, but that domestication did not delete the drive to hunt, to be a predator, and to kill other beings [typically to eat].  Dogs can and will attack and kill especially smaller, weaker beings.  These smaller, weaker beings include but aren’t limited to birds, squirrels, chickens, goats, sheep, rabbits, cats, dogs, and children.  This instinct is NOT a breed thing.  This instinct is NOT reserved for Am Staffs, Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, Bulldogs, or any other breed that gets blamed and publicized regularly whenever they do something dog-like without regard to our human morals and emotional standards.

When I answered questions in the emergency vet waiting room and others since then, the majority included in their reply, “I can’t believe labs would do that.  That is so un-lab like.”  My amateur self explained to these horrified people that it is not a breed thing.  Please don’t go surrender your fabulous lab to the pound.  They didn’t attack Howie because they were labs or because they were anything other than dogs acting like dogs in a pack.  Ever hear of this little idea called survival of the fittest?  Please see exhibit A:  Howie, the mutilated elderly Chihuahua.

Even dogs that have lived together for their entire adopted lives, living in the same household with the same owners who give discipline and care and attention, even they will exhibit this pack mentality when a fight breaks out amongst them.  If you have more than 2 dogs, you may have seen play turn to a fight when dogs are left unchecked.  You may have seen how 2 or more of the dogs will gang up on one dog.  The dog being attacked may be best friends with the attackers, but it doesn’t matter.  They don’t stop fighting, look at each other, and apologize profusely.

“I’m so sorry, Georgie Girl!  I don’t know what became of me,” said Shylee Sweet as she skulks in shame after she bit Georgie Girl.  Nope, that doesn’t happen.  Afterward, our girls go back to being best friends as if nothing had happened, but fights happen among the oldest and best of friends.

When dogs attack, the attacking dog may be a lab, a chow, a pitty, a cattle dog, a shepherd, and, yes, even a Chihuahua.  The attacking dog can be ANY breed.

When a dog is attacked, the attacked dog may be a lab, a chow, a pitty, a cattle dog, a shepherd, and, yes, even a Chihuahua.  The attacked dog can be ANY breed.

The next time Sherri says to you, “You shouldn’t let your dog run around the neighborhood, [so-and-so]” and you say to Sherri, “My dog is big enough to take care of itself.”  Think about Howie.

You don’t care about your own dog, you say?  That’s obvious by you setting up your own dog to be hit by a car, attacked by another animal, or picked up by someone with either good or bad intentions.  And you don’t care about dogs and cats and rabbits and squirrels in your neighborhood?  That’s obvious too, and you can go on with your bad self and your bass-ackward attitude.  But maybe you should think about the noises made by your children or your grandchildren or your neighbors’ children when they laugh or cry.  Those noises little kids make, to a dog, sound like [some of] the noises prey make when they are being attacked, ripped apart, and killed by a predator.  It is not, therefore, odd that small children can be attacked and killed by animals.

To point out the obvious, dogs do not have the brain power and rationalization we have.  Dogs do not have morals and standards that keep them from committing what we know to be crimes against mankind.  It is NOT a breed thing.  Dogs do not step back and think to themselves, “There’s little Jane from next door.  I have to be super careful around her and I definitely can’t attack her. I’ll get in big trouble for that.”  There is no guarantee that, regardless of how much time a dog spends with a specific child or numerous children for that matter, that the dog will ever not attack if the situation were right [which means the situation is completely bad].  This is why trainers and anyone who knows anything about dogs say, “Do not leave small children unattended with dogs.”  It is NOT a breed thing.  This statement applies whether the dog is a lab, a chow, a pitty, a cattle dog, a shepherd, and, yes, even if the dog is a Chihuahua.  This statement applies to EVERY breed.

The next time Sherri says to you, “You shouldn’t let your dog run around the neighborhood,” and you say to Sherri, “My dog is so little.  It’s not big enough to hurt anyone or anything.”  Think about Howie.  He weighed 5 pounds and 14 ounces.  Howie wasn’t big enough to hurt anyone or anything.  Howie was harmless.  He didn’t even bite the vet when being examined.  Yet Howie was brutally and mercilessly mauled and mutilated, and he would have been killed right then and there if not for intervention.  Why?  Because his owners let him roam unattended, uncontained, and now they don’t even know where he is or what happened to him because he wasn’t wearing identification or microchipped.  There are no signs posted.  There are no online posts.  My newest baby Howie was left to fend for himself and they don’t even care enough to look for him now that he’s not come home.  And, yes, we are pretty sure we know which house is his owners.  Shame on them.

So the next time you are faced with dogs being allowed to roam at large, stand up and have a conversation with the owner.  If you cannot do it or they refuse to follow the law, then call your local police department and/or animal control and report them.  Quite frankly, if you see animals running at large or outside uncontained on a regular basis, you should feel obligated to call to animal control.  Some people may not think a thing about the life and pain of a being lesser than themselves.  Some people may not want a fence in their yard because of affordability or property value.  Some people may be allergic to animals and can’t have them indoors.  If that’s the case, then those people shouldn’t have animals.  And if we aren’t going to stand up and tell them so, then we should notify our animal control agents so they can do it.

It is unfair for negligent, short-sighted, high-and-mighty, whatever-the-excuse-is people to put someone else through the trauma of seeing an attack and its outcome.  It is unfair that someone else has to pay hundreds to thousands of dollars in vet bills because he or she is compassionate and feels our companion animals—or any living being—deserves a better death than unnecessary suffering.  I would not wish my experience of this week on anyone, however, I would go through it again if placed in the same situation regardless of the pain and sadness I can’t seem to get rid of.

There are so many weaker individuals and animals in this world, and at some point, each and every one of them needs a hero.  Will it be you?  At some point, we all need a hero to step in and protect us.  I’ll be your hero when you need me.  All I ask is that you be a hero for another when you see your chance to help. 

May God continue to bless us all, and may God give the suffering on this Earth a moment of peace and comfort.

Peace.

Since January 27th, 2011, there has been an 8 year old black fluffy dog at Nashville's Metro Animal Care & Control.  They named him Maxwell.

He looked happy despite the typical human emotion that goes with a dog being taken into animal control.  In his photo on petfinder, while being shot by a fantastic photographer who gives time to help the animals get adopted, Maxwell looks sad.

After being in a kennel for a couple of months, most dogs will get a little bummed.  But Maxwell shall be bummed no more!  Thanks to the Facebook posts asking for someone to help him, Maxwell is being adopted today.  He will be a foster dog in a home full of love with a 4-legged young sister.

If you or someone you know can add another child to your family, please consider Maxwell.  While he may not have a long life ahead of him, this little man deserves some golden years.  Hopefully with time and networking, Maxwell will find his very own furever family sooner rather than later.  Until then, we all are ecstatic that Maxwell's life is no longer in danger.

Thank you for always sharing posts and spreading the word about local dogs in need like Maxwell.  There is power in what you do, and your time is well spent.  Maxwell is living proof of it!