Eight Lives to Live

They had about 15 hours left to live. Fat, fuzzy, smoosh-faced and adorable though they were, the fact remained that if they didn't have a rescue commitment by morning,  they would be euthanized along with their mother. 

We were in no position to help. Our foster homes are full, the Lost Dog Ranch is near capacity and we have previously-arranged transports coming in the next few days. We held our breath and hoped someone else would answer the plea. 

Of course they didn't.  Everyone is in the same position- too many dogs in need, too few resources. And of course we said yes. We wondered where in the world we were going to put them, how we would manage it, and whether anyone would help, but we said yes. We crossed our fingers and toes really hard and hoped against all hope that someone in the Lost Dog Volunteer family would come through and offer the family a place to stay.

Of course they did. At the 11th hour, with the transport van nearly at its destination and backup plans in formulation, someone came through. Thanks to the amazing power of volunteers who care, those 7 puppies and their mother are being off-loaded from a transport van as I type into the waiting arms of an experienced, loving foster family and a neighborhood of eager supporters. What's more, that happy scene is the culmination of efforts on the part of a rural shelter volunteer who didn't give up, another local rescue group (HART) who runs a weekly, lifesaving transport from this shelter, and the Lost Dog & Cat Rescue Foundation. So many links in the chain to save such tiny lives. 

The story of these puppies is, sadly, not so unusual. They were surrendered by an owner to a shelter in a rural area. The un-spayed mother had an unwanted pregnancy and when the puppies started becoming mobile, the whole family was evicted. Being owner surrenders, they were first on the list for euthanasia for the vet's weekly rounds this morning.  

Because of the power of volunteers, however, this story has a different ending and this little family has a chance at life.  Although this dramatic need was created totally at the hands of negligent humans, it is hard not to feel a little bit better about the human race when you think of the big-hearted efforts of selfless humans combining to make a happy ending. 

This lucky momma dog will sleep well tonight. 

Both Sides of the Tracks

Is there anything more mysterious, romantic or soulful than a train track fading into the distance? Full of promise and possibility and a 1940's movie kind of sadness, railroads pique our curiosity, stir our emotions and take hold of our imaginations. Think sleeper car, rhythmic chugging noises and breathtaking views.

Or think broken down and abandoned trailers, miles of empty fields and dirty, desperate puppies looking for their next meal.

The abandoned trailer where the 7 dogs were living by the tracks. 

Unfortunately, it was a series of the latter images that butted their way into my life this week- nothing mysterious or romantic, just sadly desperate. 

The email went out to many rescue groups begging for help. A kindhearted animal lover in Boone County had discovered a group of dogs and puppies living as strays on the side of a local railroad track. She had begun feeding them, keeping them from starving while trying to figure out a permanent solution for their plight. The only shelter within miles would euthanize the dogs via gas chamber upon their arrival, so that was no option at all.

One of the meals that kept them alive. 

One day when she arrived to feed the group, one was missing. A person who lived nearby told the woman that this particular dog had been shot by a local preacher because she wandered into his yard. He told her none of the dogs were safe and that they needed to be removed as soon as possible. Fortunately, the girl with the bullet wound wandered out of the woods at that time and, while injured, appeared to be making it.

That's when LDCRF got the email and a desperate plea from a fellow rescuer whose group wasn't able to help. She would do anything to get them to safety, she said, including drive them herself.

So, that's how we all ended up in the parking lot of Blue Ridge Veterinary Associates on a hot Sunday afternoon. The dogs (seven in total) arrived in a crowded Honda Element, tired and wary and really confused by their eventful day.

LDCRF was able to help thanks to the generosity of the Pepsi Griffen & Sprite's Legacy Gift-a special fund designated for those dogs who need the most help and resources. Committing sight unseen to seven stray dogs is a risky proposition for a rescue. Who knows what medical calamaties may await and what expenses will mount? Who knows if the dogs will be ready for homes or need a long period of socializing first? Really, who knows what will happen and what it will cost? Having Pepsi, Griffen & Sprite's Legacy Gift meant that even though we had all of those questions in our minds, we could say YES in time to save these seven. So far, things are looking pretty good.  Pacifica, the victim of the gunshot is a lucky girl. There are no broken bones and antibiotics have infection under control. While she will live with some metal fragments in her leg, she is slated for a full recovery without surgery.

Though loaded with parasites and fleas, the other dogs are mostly free from any serious medical conditions. On lovely young girl, Panama, had a hard time during her spay surgery and almost didn't come back. Thanks to the quick action of the vet team, however, she was revived and continues to improve. She will need a couple of months of physical therapy which she is getting in a special foster home and then she should be able to find her forever family.

So these seven are safe and sound and extraordinarily lucky to have been the beneficiary of human kindness across two states.

But I will go to bed tonight thinking of the others out there... the ones whom humanity has abandoned and for whom no help has come. And if my life's journey places me in a railroad car, I'm pretty sure my nose will be pressed to the window in search of abandoned and helpless animals who need a miracle.

Manic Milk Monkeys

It's official. They are not puppies. They are instead Manic Milk Monkeys on a Mission. It's all about the milk and nothing but the milk. After more than two weeks of bottle feeding these orphaned pups, we have come to realize that we have created monsters. They can now see (eyes wide open!) and hear, and that means they are aware that the source of the milk has entered the room. And so they cry. And they run around on wobbly legs, and fall down and roll on the floor in the agony of anticipation. I close my eyes, and I can swear they are screaming "bottle, bottle, bottle!"

When one of us sits on the floor and pulls the first lucky puppy into a lap for his turn at the bottle, the others attack. They climb up pants legs and get stuck. They pull themselves into the human lap and try to dislodge the currently nursing puppy. They attempt to climb up the shirt of the human and push their noses into shirt sleeves.

The assault is relentless until each puppy has his or her turn at the milk bar and every belly is so full it appears dangerously close to popping. And then, finally, there is quiet. The only sound is the contented little grunts they make as  as they settle into their clean, dry blankets and sink deep into the land of milk coma.  And that's when they suck you back into believing they are adorable little helpless puppies, even though you know better. They are so cute and so sweet when sleeping that you buy into the puppy myth, even though you know for a fact that they are Manic Milk Monkeys on a Mission and the next outbreak is a mere 3 hours away.

Scrappy String Bean demonstrates the Milk Coma.

Full bellies and warm blankets equals sheer bliss.

Even in his sleep, he nurses an imaginary bottle.

Old Friends and Bottle Babies

Today began with the sad news of the passing of an LDCRF alum and really special former foster dog of ours named Ashby. She had a long life and was superbly lucky to be adopted into a tender and loving home at the age of 12. She had a beautiful soul and she will be missed.

So, my heart was heavy when I got "the call." An animal control officer in Spotsylvania County had just picked up eight puppies, so young their eyes were still closed and with no mother to feed them. My first thought was, "Oh no, not bottle babies! I don't have the time. The energy. The heart." My next thought was, "But who else can do it? What will happen to them if I don't help?"

The first bottle feeding for the puppies. 

So they are here. Of course they are here. I have the great privilege of having the flexibility, experience and support to tackle this project and to help these little ones on their journey, thus it is my responsibility to do so.

Funny thing is, as soon as I picked the first one up out of the cardboard box, it went from "should do" to "want to" in a flash. My heart lightened, my mood shifted and I felt grateful. There is so much to do to keep this rescue running- so many chores, emails, admin tasks, phone calls, vet appointments. It is easy to sometimes forget the simple joy of saving lives. Today, however, I got an awesome reminder of what's important in the form of eight little furry bodies looking for milk. I might forget a little in the sleep-deprived days to come, but I don't think so. Puppy breath awaits!

Puppies in a box at the shelter.

Godspeed to beautiful Ashby in her next life, and welcome to the world of safety little orphans! It has been quite a day.

The orphan puppies were discovered by a citizen last night in the Fredericksburg area and picked up today by animal control. Animal Control Officers continue to try and catch the mother, but they have been working on catching her for two years now with no luck. She is apparently quite smart, quite fast and quite strong.  They have known her to have several litters of puppies so far and the cycle will continue until she is caught and spayed. Fortunately, her newest babies are not out in the cold snow tonight. 

Nyla's Story

Shelter day is never very much fun. It consists of walking back in front of kennels full of desperate dogs, taking each and every one out for a walk, trying objectively to weigh each one’s adoptability and eventually making difficult choices about which dogs we can help.

The day I met Nyla, her bark was the very first thing that caught my attention when I walked through the kennel doors. It sounded ferocious. When I looked to see who was making that noise, I saw a 70 pound beast jumping and lunging at her kennel door.  I decided to steer clear and started my evaluations on the other side of the kennels.

Nyla never stopped barking, never eased up on the frontal assault to her kennel door. I wondered why she wasn’t housed back in the quarantine room. It seemed dangerous to have her in with all of the adoptable dogs. “No way this one is adoptable,” I thought.

I dismissed the notion of walking Nyla without a thought. I wrote a big “NO” next to her name on the list.

Eventually, I had to walk the dogs in the kennels surrounding her, however, and something shifted.  When Nyla saw me coming in her direction with the leash, she took a moment’s pause in her barking each and every time. Her eyes honed in on that leash like two lasers and for a millisecond she was quiet. When I passed, she resumed the attack dog routine and I shook my head.

But I began stopping for an extra few seconds each time. Just to see. Each time she stared so hard at that leash, I thought it might catch fire. And each time I walked away she resumed her threatening behavior. Except I started to see it differently. Maybe it wasn’t so threatening. Maybe it was more desperate than anything else. I looked at her kennel paper. She was an owner surrender and she had already been in the shelter more than a few weeks. Being an “owner surrender” means she might have been snatched up off of a comfy couch without warning and dropped unceremoniously here in a concrete kennel with no access to outside and no human contact apart from cleaning and feeding. Being an “owner surrender” means a housetrained dog is forced to soil his or her tiny living area on a daily basis because no one comes with a leash.

The leash. “She wants to go for a walk,” I thought. “She just wants out.” But the cautious part of my brain warned that it would be crazy to open the door and enter a small space with a very large, angry dog.  A very bad idea, indeed.

I did it anyway. I entered ever so cautiously, just an arm at first and then a leg, hand on the door at all times, never taking my eye off of the dangerous animal before me. I had no idea what Nyla would do and I kept thinking “this is crazy.”

The ferocious beast responded by sitting down and wagging her tail. I put the leash around her neck to make a no-slip collar and we walked out of the kennel together.

Well, truthfully, Nyla joyfully drug me the entire length of the hallway and burst through the doors like she was shot out of a cannon. Once outside, she tried to run in circles and go in every direction at once. I put her in an outdoor pen and she ran and ran and ran in the tiny space.

Clearly, Nyla’s “no” needed to bceome a “yes” and this girl needed out of the shelter! That was a no-brainer, but this tale wasn’t easily transformed into a happy ending,  Nyla was large. And loud. There was no space for her at the Lost dog Ranch and more kennel time was not going to do her any good anyway. She needed to get into a foster home where she could be reminded how to be a family dog and someone with a good eye could observe her and make sure there were no real aggression issues.

I knew who I wanted right away. Caitlyn was a relatively new foster, but one with tons of energy and an appreciation for big, energetic dogs. Her Duke is young and playful and appreciates rowdy playmates, so I figured if Nyla could get along with other dogs, this would be ideal. Texting and photo sharing began right there in the play yard at the shelter- Operation Nyla’s Freedom was underway!

Caitlyn came through and the rest is sort of history. Well, it is at least someone else’s tale of transformation. It took some time to get Nyla out of the shelter and into Caitlyn’s capable hands, but as I had suspected, Caitllyn loved Nyla on sight and Nyla loved every minute of her time with Caitlyn and Duke. It was unexpectedly short, however. Nyla was such a well-behaved and beautiful dog that she found her forever family in no time.

As of this writing, Christmas 2010, Nyla is back on the couch where she belongs, at the center of a loving family. I’m fairly positive they have never heard that ferocious bark and I pray that Nyla will never, ever again be so desperate that she has to communicate with such sound and fury.

Transformations

As we close out 2010, the theme Lost Dog & Cat Rescue Foundation has chosen to highlight is Transformations. The awesome video put together by Collen Learch showcases the amazing transformation from homeless and hopeless to adopted and adored. If you haven't yet watched, now is a good time. Guaranteed to make you smile! Click here to view the video.

All of this talk of transformation has gotten me to thinking about the transformations I am privileged to observe on a daily basis. As a matter of fact, there is a pretty incredibly one unfolding right here in my office...

Sadie came to us skinny, terrified and dirty. Not that unusual, but she also had nine brand new puppies in tow. She was so scared, she had to be carried everywhere and when she was placed outside or on the floor, she just curled up in a ball. Sadie took really good care of her babies, but each and every one of them was claimed by canine herpes- a disease she probably contracted at the shelter and passed to them at birth. That meant that on top of being skinny, scared and in bad physical shape, Sadie was also flooded with hormones she couldn't release and grieving for her puppies.

Sadie stayed on a dog bed in the corner of my office closet for a long time. Each and every trip outside was an ordeal and as soon as she got back in she'd curl right back up into that ball. She wouldn't even eat for the longest time unless she was fed one hand full at a time and with no noise or distraction nearby. If we approached to pet her, she hid her face. 

Slowly, however, things changed. Sadie started wagging her tail the tiniest bit when I entered the room and then more and more enthusiastically. Next, Sadie started to creep out of her bed towards me when I had my back turned. Granted, she would run right back to safety if I looked at her, but it was a start!

Our biggest breakthrough came one day when I went outside with the other dogs and left the front door open. After standing in the yard a few minutes I looked up to see Sadie standing next to me!! I wanted to jump with joy, hug her tight and do a dance. Instead, I looked away and very quietly said, "gooood girl."

Since then, Sadie has made enormous strides. She licks my hands, she jumps on me when I have my back turned, she goes in and out of the house on her own to conduct potty business and she races down the driveway when I return. Most importantly, she is learning to play. As I type she and Freida the cattle dog (a whole other transformation story) are play bowing, play biting, and dancing around the office floor. The sound of their tapping nails is music to my ears.

Talia's Tale: Broken Heart in the Most Literal Sense

This might be the only photo that exists of Talia, the one we took for the website when things were brighter and we hoped to find her a loving home. If there are other photos, they would have been taken later and they wouldn't wouldn't show the bright-eyed Talia we would like to remember.

Talia was a teeny tiny beagle with great big eyes and a habit of crouching in terror when any human approached. If you used a soft voice, however, she would wag her tail while crouching and eventually put her chin in kind hands and crawl into a waiting lap. This is what we wanted for her future- kind words every day and a lap anytime she wanted it.

There really wasn't a future at all for Talia, however. She came to us in February and I bid her goodbye last night- a very short stay in the land of comfort and love.

When I started this blog, my intent was to share some success stories and a little bit of the joy that rescued animals bring to my daily existence. The heartbreak, I believe, is best left to other venues and is certainly not to be dwelt upon.

Talia, however, and the others like her, deserves her moment.

Unlike so many abandoned and neglected beagles, Talia got a golden opportunity. She got rescued. In one fell swoop, her bleak little life became one of possibility- a new home, a soft bed, plenty of food and companionship were all to be hers. She was totally poised to be the star of someone's life.

Except for the matter of her heart.

Talia came to us heartworm positive like so many rural dogs. Like we do for all the rest, we had her treated- an expensive and painful procedure. Unlike the others, however, Talia didn't recover very well. In fact, she began a serious decline with fainting spells and a belly that began to fill with fluid.

Talia visited a veterinary cardiologist (this for the beagle who had probably never visited a vet in her lifetime). Ultrasound tests gave us very bad news- the right side of Talia's heart was simply not working properly and was impressively enlarged. It was just not able to do its job and thus the fluid was backing up and dispersing in her abdomen. We began a regimen of medications, but nothing helped. The fluid was relentless and eventually interfered with her breathing, though not with her love of chicken nuggets and cheese burgers.

The part of this that sits with me beyond the sadness of losing such a sweet and innocent life is that it was 100% preventable. The massive damage to Talia's heart was due totally to the heartworm infestation. There was no congenital defect, no reason her heart should not have happily pumped for the next 8 years or so. Had Talia been given monthly heartworm preventatives or been treated promptly for the heartworm disease, I would be writing about how happy she was in her new home instead of writing her obituary.

And, so, I am mad. I am mad that Talia is gone, mad that humans don't take responsibility, mad that my best efforts and the resources of a wonderful organization were not enough. Talia won the doggie lottery only to have it taken away before she could cash the check, and that's just not right.

Talia, I know, fared better than many. She got a few months of the good life and her death was humane and peaceful. Soon, I will move my focus to being grateful I could provide these things for her and I will move on to help the next one. But for this little moment in time, well... this is Talia's moment.