A small white hope

Sometime in the late spring of last year, he found us. I'm not sure why my dad was where he was, I'm not sure how the puppy came to be there for my dad to see. But out in the middle of nowhere, they met on a lonely dirt track.

The puppy and the man.

Dad brought the puppy to me. I had been wanting a puppy for sometime, since my beloved basset crossed over to his next life. I'd looked at puppies from litters that family members and friends dogs had had. I'd looked at rescues and pet stores. I looked in the newspaper, I was waiting for my dog to arrive.

When he came into my life, I was where I am right now, in front of my computer. My dad came in the house, which in itself is odd for the middle of the day. He had a small white puff against his forearm. I'd teasingly asked him "what is that?" To which in reply he extended his arm, and I noticed it was a puppy. I'd been worried it was another cat, my dad has been known to take in stray kittens and puppies, and I always tend to be the one in charge of caring for these injured animals and finding them their forever homes. This time was different. This time Dad said to me "Call K about this little guy would you? I found him out in the woods."

But I had no intention of calling K. I took the filthy little ragamuffin into my arms and cuddled him close, as he was shivering and covered in bugs. "Were there any more?" I asked worried, because this pup was very close to the point of no return.

"I looked around all over on both sides of the road, I only found him." Dad made a sandwich and left after that, and I called my sisters to see "what Dad found." We decided to name the puppy Otis B. Driftwood-after our favorite character from a horror movie.

I knew almost immediately this was something special. He was more than a dog, that was for sure. It was my grandfather who decided Otis was part wolf, an assertion he was sure of when he seen the reaction of other animals to the pup. They were wary of him, some were downright terrified of three pounds of piddling puppy.

It seemed Otis had an effect on everyone who met him, when I took him to a neuter clinic put on by Red Lake Rosie's Rescue, the people seemed intent on spoiling him. Otis had a tendency to need to be around someone all the time, a trait I've never seen in a dog, who has some measure of independance-or at least mine do. This was only something I'd seen in herd animals-horses, cattle. Leading me to think he was indeed something a little more than dog.

I'd hoped that by having Otis crated overnight to wait for his neutering, it might break him of his seperation anxiety. I cannot begin to express my dismay when I arrived to pick him up, and he wasn't in his crate, but the volunteers of the clinic had kept him in the kitchens, and made him a special pallet on the floor out of an old blanket and towel.

It seems I was not the only one who couldn't resist his calls for attention and his need to be cuddled. Otis got neutered, he got his puppy shots, and the RLRR folks-even though I assured them I had sufficient supply of dog food-upon hearing the words "dog" and "food" deemed it not good enough and sent me and my now six pound puppy on my way with 30lbs of puppy kibble.

So, even though he got all the attention in the world from the RLRR folks, Otis still needed to spend a night or two in my bed with me, evidance to which has been posted to the left.

I've yet to decide on revenge on my sister for taking that photo, suggestions are welcome.

The only bad thing that happened with Otis being neutered was that he was given a dose of wormer. This shouldn't have been a bad thing, except that when I got him two weeks prior, I'd started him on a course of wormer. He'd been wormed twice in one month.

I was extremely worried about him, and took him back to RLRR a week later to make sure he wouldn't have any ill effects from the wormer overdose. Aside from losing weight from the runny poop, he seemed to be okay. I was told to give him brown rice and fiber rich food for a while to combat the runny poop. He didn't care over much for that and wanted his Boots & Barkley.

Warrior Heart

Thursday March 11, 2010

I woke up early to take CB (short for Charles Bronson) to the spay and neuter clinic being held in Redby.

CB has been my companion and friend for his whole life. He's a dog in a million. Generous and brave, loyal and loving. I don't know what I ever did to deserve him.

Of late, there have been packs of dogs running around by my house, and he was getting territorial and aggressive towards other dogs. I was completely in his corner and I don't want these other dogs in my yard either. Vermin animals, unaltered, untrained with owners who don't care where their animal is.

But I was tired of chasing these dogs off, so I made the choice to have CB neutered, thus changing his life.

CB is close to nine years old. He was never altered because he never leaves the yard. As a young dog he survived anti-freeze poisoning when someone came into my yard while I was at school and deliberately dumped it in his water bowl.

For three hellish days I watches helplessly as he seized and foamed at the mouth. Everytime I would go near him he would warn me off with a growl and snap his teeth at me. This was my child, and he was in pain and would not let me help him. Does that sound dramatic? I could never love another human the way I love my animals, I don't trust humans.

I kept him in a constant supply of fresh cool water, sometimes even putting the hose in his mouth to induce vomiting.

My sister and I knew this poisoning affected his growth, and he's still smaller than his mother or twin brother ever were. But unlike his esteemed parent and sibling (Sophie and Reggie, respectively) he is not nor ever was feral, he was always the most gregarious little imp. CB had one son, aptly named Trouble, because that is what he was...

back to March 11...

I took CB from his area of the yard where he is tethered to sleep overnight, I actually had to drag him out of his dog house as he wasn't really interested in coming out into the chilly foggy rainy morning and put him on a leash and told him we were going for a ride.

He walked calmly over to the drivers side of my truck and waited for me to let him in. I opened the backseat and he hopped right on up, settling in and we were on our way.

Let me tell you something, when you feed your dog leftovers and Alpo, they have some monstrous gas the next day, and it's best to drive with the window down, no matter how chilly it is outside!

I got to Redby with him in the car no problem. However, I arrived about 20 minutes before the doors opened, and CB got bored and found a bag of trash that was somehow missed during the cleaning of the car, and promptly strewn it across the backseat.

We got inside a little after 8am and he got registered, after peeing on my leg three times and marking territory all over the waiting area.

I left him there, feeling horrible as I watched the crate he was placed in being wheeled away, and his brown eyes pleading with me, I could almost hear him asking what he did wrong, why did I give him away?

I stood in the building at a loss for a while, before I realized that I smelled like pee and that got me into motion, and I went home to change my pants and grab another shower.

I played on howrse.com for a while trying to keep myself from going back out to Redby and making a pest of myself...and it worked for a little while, until about 1pm, then I couldn't stand it any longer, the anxiety in my chest was just about breaking, and I got up to leave the house and go rescue my CB.

I was literally on my way when my cell phone rang and they told me CB was ready to come home. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have floored it all the way there.

When I arrived, my poor CB was sitting in his crate, looking beyond depressed, I don't think he noticed me right away, but I walked over to his crate and he perked up, his eyes literally lit up, though he was too weak yet to stand, I knew he wanted to.

I spoke with K. and J. (a volunteer) who advised me that CB was on the thin side, to which I responded that he was much heavier now than he'd ever been in his life. He's always been whip thin, his mother and brother were that way too. The only time CB's mom was fat was when she was pregnant!

I was given Ivermectin for mange, which I will start to administer tomorrow even though I doubt very much he has mange. He's just an outdoor dog who hasn't had a bath since last summer...which isn't unreasonable in the climate we live in. CB's always been very hairy, I've never seen him lose any hair that wasn't just natural shedding...unless there was some clumps pulled by sticks or from rough housing Tatooine.

I walked him around a bit, and he seemed really shaky, and I was concerned, as previously stated, he's been through some stuff. He seemed very interested in the bags of food stacked in one corner, he led me there (I admit I wasn't paying attention to where he was heading) and grabbed hold of one...which was his not-so-subtle way of telling me he was mad about missing his breakfast. A couple more volunteers came over while I was giggling and trying to get him to let go of the bag and helped me steer him outside, where he promptly took the worlds longest pee ever...

I got him home without incident, even though it meant lifting a very stubborn 60 lb dog out of the narrow backseat of my truck, it was evidant he wasn't thrilled coming out of the warm dry cab into the wet, cold mud...he also didn't want Tatooine or Stevie by him at all, so my sister came out with a handful of MILK BONES!! and the dogs went bonkers. Stone was running and jumping like crazy, Tatters and Stevie went over to get some, and I finally convinced CB to come out of the truck.

He walked beside me, pressing against my legs like he was a little unsure and scared, and maybe he was, he was very weak and probably wouldn't have been able to defend himself should Tatters have gotten it in his head to be a jerk. And he walked into the house.

CB is not a house dog, never has been, he hates being inside and has only come inside about three other times in his life. We walked down the stairs and into the utility room where the furnace is. I set up a crate with a plushy warm towel, and gave him a bowl of food. He went to the crate and layed down.

However, it's not as idyllic as it seems. I have six felines living in my house, and they all seemed to see CB as a LARGE THREAT so they were forming a little feline posse and coming towards him with evil intent. To which he felt he had to retaliate...and his voice is a BIG ONE!!

Oddly enough, leading the charge against CB was Sable, our resident elder cat-at 14 she's faced a squadron of dogs who have passed through my life. The great thing about seeing little 8lb Sable face CB was, she did it like a Queen. She has no claws in her front feet (something I am NOT responsible for...just for the record, I don't approve of taking their claws) yet she stood there, in the front ranks...thats my girl.

Even though the warring factions in my basement were both parties I love a lot, it did my heart proud to see the Warrior Heart of my Dog and my Cats. They all know I would go to the wall for them, and they give me just as much.

CB came out of his dog house today, he's running around and even jumped up on me when I brought out his breakfast. He's been getting canned food for the last couple days, giving him a little more calories than everyone else, since he's still recovering. ;)

Thats all for now, until then...

Good Dogs Come...

Empty Sunday

"Bob"

June 30th 2004-December 2, 2009

This post starts with Life Before Bob.
I was eighteen, I walked into a pet store to buy some cat food and look over the pet supplies. I'm an animals woman. Seriously, if blood didn't ick me out, I would go in for animal surgery. Or Equine Medicine.
That day, late May. I was loaded with my payment, blood money from the American Government. There in the kennels FOR SALE was a little black puppy. Had been there for almost a month I was told. She looked depressed.
I asked to hold her, and had no intention of bringing her home. I tend to distrust puppies that come from pet stores. I prefer the mongrels that are in cardboard boxes in front of the supermarket.
This particular little black pup was a mixed breed, Lab and Chesapeak and she loved me a lot when I picked her up. She had curly black hair and the saddest little eyes. I played with her for about 20 minutes then my sister and I went to a different pet store to look for a certain type of food.
I felt so bad leaving the pup. My sister looked at me as I turned my car back down the lane towards the pet shop...and I walked in and said I wanted the pup. I paid $80 for her. As I was picking out a collar and leash, Kenny Chesney's current hit "Young" came on the radio and I knew what her name was. Her name was Chesney.
I had her for her whole life, and would still have her now if not for a cruel twist of fate. Chesney was four years old when she was killed. See, my neighbor had gotten a pup at the same time I got Ches. Ches and this pup disliked each other, and I kept Ches on a dog tie out when she was outside.
Well, she had gotten pregnant and was in labor late at night...when she was killed by my neighbors dog. I was devastated.
It was June 29th 2004...
In that same quirky little fate twist, only about 100 miles from my home...another dog was born.
I've always been active with animals, I would take in any dog that was abandonned by my house...and it happens more often than you can imagine. So I spent a miserable summer mourning my Chesney. And I got a casino job...my first real job that I got without family intervention.
Well, the day before my first payday...I happened to be in the library and I noticed an ad in the classifieds that said "AKC Basset Hounds $100" along with a phone number. I'd always wanted a basset hound...so I called the number. I spoke to a nice woman who told me how to find her and on my payday I went to see her. I had $300 in my pocket from my first paycheck from the graveyard shift hours I'd worked the two weeks prior.
My sisters and I took the drive, my Dad was at home waiting to see what I had decided. I found the place after some trouble, and driving ten miles past...a young girl came out to meet me and called for the puppies.
Their sire and dam came running...talk about adorable! The mother was a big fat blonde and white basset with short-ish ears, she was the long low variety of bas and had a very low woof for a lady dog. The sire was a tri-color, looking like a very minature Black and Tan coonhound, with a white chest. He was sweet, another low woofer slightly tall for the hound group with long long ears. I really liked him. There were two pups left...a female and a male. The female pup really liked me and was climbing all over me with her huge little feet. She was mostly blonde with some dark patches and lots of white. The male stood off to the side completely not interested in me. He was mostly brown with a large black saddle and black and brown freckles all over his legs.
I told the girl I wanted a male. I wasn't completely sure about the male though, because he didn't especially like me. I was going to get the female...until the girl called his name..."Chesney! Come here and say Hi!"
I remember feeling the shock of her words...and I think I said something brilliant like "What did you call him?" And even though I knew what she had said, I hadn't believed my ears...I knew that that dog was coming home with me. So I told her I would take the male.
That was how we got Bob. His registered name was Empty Sunday, a song that I loved at the time. Which was an odd choice, as it was about heartbreak.
I could tell you about Bob, I could share pictures...in fact, I think I will put one here...or I would if I could figure out how to get it where I want it instead of automatically at the top of this post.

Bob passed away just before Christmas. Now I'm waiting for my next dog to find me...because I never really go looking for one...one just seems to find me.