I hope you will join in me in marveling at the irony of seeing this cover arrive in the mail on the very same day I wrote a post about lesbian farm animals:
I'm not saying these two women are necessarily lovers, but they are shopping while scantily clad in nightgowns. I doubt that's what lesbians do on dates, despite the best efforts of the pornography industry to convince us otherwise, but it does give one pause. And to be perfectly clear, I wholeheartedly support the right of women everywhere, gay or straight, to shop while wearing lingerie. That's a trend I think we can all get behind.
Of course it's possible those are sun dresses, but then how do you explain the lack of footwear? No pet owner in their right mind -- especially one with a dog who, from the look on its face, is about two seconds from bringing all new meaning to the phrase "explosive diarrhea" -- is going to scamper around without their shoes on. That's just asking for trouble.
I make no assertions one way or another about the sexual orientation of the dog, but he or she certainly doesn't look happy to be there with the lingerie twins. I would bet it's because of where they're shopping -- if you look closely I think that's a dancing Spock from Star Trek on the tie behind the couple. Clearly, the dog's outraged because everyone knows Spock's shirts were "Cool and Calm Except for McCoy" science blue, not "Shoot Me First" security red.
Naturally I've ordered one for the ranch. I think the donkeys are going to look great in it, even the lesbian ones.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Spock, Lesbians, and You
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Lesbian Summers
It's the first day of Summer, and apparently a young animal's thoughts turn to love ... Sapphic love, that is!
I'm home all day now working on the project so I end up keeping an eye on the animals a lot more often. And apparently, two females who are in heat will often ... er, let's see, how to word this on what is ostensibly a PG-rated blog ... imitate the mating habits more usually seen involving a male and a female.
The donkeys are doing it. The dogs are doing it. And I'm not sure, but I have my suspicions about two of the barn swallows.
I was a bit shocked the first time, but at this point it's sort of become old hat. I know for the dogs it's a dominance thing, but I'm not sure what's going on in the donkeys' minds. Or whatever other part of the anatomy is concerned. The saddest thing is when one of the full-sized jennets "introduces herself" to Charity, the little miniature female. That brings all new meaning to the phrase "She ain't heavy, she's my sister".
I don't have any large metaphysical insights to draw from this. It's just weird. But lesbian donkey sex is certainly not something I ever thought happened back in the full-time computer nerd days.
Well, ok, there was that one ill-advised Google Image search, but you can't prove that without an FBI wiretap!
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Davids and Goliath
This is our dog, Flash:
He weighs 110 pounds, has wolf in his bloodlines within the last few generations, and has been carefully bred as a representative of a new, but distinguished, breed of dogs.
These are the rescue puppies we have on the ranch, Cookie and Oreo:
They weigh maybe 20 pounds put together, apparently have ferrets somewhere in their bloodlines in the last few generations, and are completely random mutts.
Naturally, Flash is afraid of the puppies.
Sometimes it's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.
Or maybe Flash is just too refined to want puppies licking his face all over. We pretend that's the case anyway, as his dignity would be far too wounded by the suggestion that he's a gutless coward.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Annie: The Perfect Day
Annie asked me to post this for her, and I think you'll see why I love her so.
Have you ever had a truly perfect day? I've been lucky to have many, many fine days. I never really gave much thought to what constitutes a perfect day. Until today. I had a truly perfect day.
Radar Swimming
Jeff Soaking
Charity Foundering
Annie & Echo Lounging
In my mind, a perfect day would involve loads of chocolate, fine wine, a great day with horses and dogs and then my hubbie would saunter in and ask which chick flick I wanted to watch together that evening. I would say: that one that requires buckets of tears because it is so touching. He'd say "Alright! Just what I wanted to watch . . . Or we could just watch a few Tivo-ed episodes of Oprah together if you would prefer."
Today though, none of that happened. But it was still perfect. Here's why.
We're in the middle of a drought-ending rain. The joy of seeing our creek jump its banks and flow madly through the property, that is pure joy. The wildflowers are almost obscene in their abundance this year, after hardly anything but ugly, hardy weeds for the past two years. Grass is growing so tall, so thick that our menagerie of horses, donkeys and sheep can't make a dent in it. The county just to our north got almost 8 inches of rain yesterday. That raised our local lake to normal levels. The lake had been so low that boat docks were useless and sat sickeningly flat on dry land, where once they had ebbed and flowed with the currents.
Nature has been stingy in the last few years. It was too hot and too dry. No rain in sight. People around here ran out of hay for their livestock. Wells ran dry. Old-timers said the drought was worse now than the horrific drought throughout the 1950s. No one could recall a time so dry.
But this spring the clouds opened up and the rains came. If you hadn't lived though the drought and hadn't of watched animals -- both wild and domesticated -- suffer for it, you might be cursing the flooding rains we have now. This lesson of nature -- of gratitude -- was my first thump on the head today. It's muddy, the fence lines have been trummeled once again and require fixing from the swollen creek, but the drought is over. Gratitude.
Also today, my favorite jenny donkey came up lame. She's ornery and opinionated and gets what she wants. I like that in a person just as much as I like it in a donkey. She was limping so badly we thought her knee was broken. Generally speaking, when a four legged equine breaks a leg, it means almost certain death. I waited with the jenny, named Charity, while Jeff hiked all the way back home and called the small town horse vet. The good doctor was able to come out this evening. While I waited, Charity was so patient. She just was waiting alongside me. She didn't know the vet was coming, and coming for her. She didn't know that he had life ending drugs with him, in case her injury was that severe. She was just waiting, eating grass, swatting flies, hanging with me patiently. I realized that I could sit there and weep and be miserable for what may have to happen in the next few minutes . . .or I could help her swat the flies and let her graze and live with her -- to the fullest -- in that moment. She was in deep pain, but accepted the situation and didn't struggle and didn't complain. She trusted me to help her. And we did.
We got lucky. Charity got lucky. She had foundered again, an odd hoof condition that causes horrible pain when the bone in the hoof rotates unnaturally. She would get through this, as she had before. The good doctor gave her some pain medicine, but the life ending drugs stayed packed up in his bag. Another day was granted to this sweet donkey. Gratitude.
As the day winds down, and the sheep have stopped baa-ing and are happy in their barn; as the horses are put up in their barn and out of the rain; as the 5 dogs lie happily asleep by our feet; as the once dry creek bed roars to life; as I sit here tonight in awe of nature and her strength, I realize that this is the conclusion of a perfect day.
I have heard of a dear friend who lost a beloved dog today. I have walked that long walk many times and I know it can happen to one of my own dogs any day. I have carried with me -- today and every day -- the sorrow of my birth family's unrest and stonewalled silence. I have learned of people suffering horrible fates to cancers or murders or war on the evening news. I know the world can be a sorry place. A sad place of pain and loss and of death. A place so dry the land cracks for lack of rain.
But today, an ordinary day, I feel the depth of gratitude for just being here. For sharing my life in the country with the man of my dreams. I know almost all of my animals will pass before me, in front of me. I know Charity got lucky and got help because we could afford to help her; and we noticed her pain. I know people I love dearly will be felled by sickness and dis-ease. I know I will go too, one day. But Charity and the rain and the Border Collie's jumping with glee over the creek and my husband leading the vet through the tall grasses and the over the creek to help this little donkey in need . . .all of these things made today a perfect day.
The sorrow for animals or people who are sick or who have passed hit me in the gut today. But the quality of life that we all get to enjoy -- if we choose to live in the moment -- is astounding. I feel blessed to have witnesses it all today -- the pain and sorrow and the joy and the kindness and the love that it all here all the time.
I hope you too have a perfect day. Every day.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Spring Showers and Rainbows
One of those glorious, short May showers just blew through this afternoon, leaving in its wake startling blue skies and a spectacular double rainbow. I took some photos that I think came out great, and wanted to share them with you. This is the kind of view you just can't get anywhere else but the country.
This was taken from our back porch. If you look closely you can see the faint double-rainbow over the main one. Just an amazing sight, especially with our back yard full of Texas wildflowers.
Radar the border collie looks back at the amazing colors in the sky. I bet he thinks the clouds look like sheep.
Jillkey the donkey gets into Spring a little too much -- note the hay garland she's made for herself around her neck.
My own special honey-pot at the end of the rainbow!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Skunked
We were passing by the falls on the last leg of our evening dog walk around the ranch when Annie commented on a bad odor and shot me an accusing look.
"Not me this time," I said. "It kind of smells like skunk, actually."
Neither of us thought much about the odor; when you're surrounded by donkeys, horses, dogs, and a husband all day, you learn to let these things pass (ahem). And it was a beautiful spring day, with clear skies, moderate temperatures, and just enough of a breeze to keep you cool. We'd let the sheep out to graze in the front yard and slipped out the back with the dog pack for a quick tour around the property. Wildlife encounters were the last thing on our minds.
But then, just ahead of us, Annie saw a fluffy tail waving. "I guess Lacy went down into that hole," she said.
I squinted against the setting sun, and finally saw the tail. "She's really down in there," I said. I looked around, and strangely, there was Lacy about twenty yards in the other direction. "Uh, hun, I don't think that's Lacy in the hole ..."
He should stick with horses, they're not as stinky.
Annie was calling the two of them frantically, while I hung back just a bit to see if I could spot them. I thought they were safe on the other side of the creek and would cut through to join us by the falls, but then I saw them running close to where the skunk waited. "Radar, come! Come on, boy, quick, COME!"
But it was no use. Just as he passed that elegant looking tail he stopped and turned to see what it was. I could see the skunk spin around, Radar poke his nose in, and then in a flash he was recoiling away. "He's hit!" I called, feeling like an extra in a WWII movie. Radar was rolling on the ground, rubbing his face in the dirt and sneezing.
Mia, oblivious as always to anything not involving a Snausage, raced on past, looking at Radar inquisitively as if to say, "What's your problem, sheep-boy?"
Sure enough, as Radar ran over to us, dropping every few feet to roll and rub his face, the wave of stench hit us. There are few things as stinky as a skunk-spattered, wet dog, especially ones like Radar who hates baths with a passion.
We let him swim in the creek a bit as the other dogs ran up and smelled him, only to then roll frantically in the grass themselves. His sister Echo kept trying to snap at him; maybe she thought he was the skunk. The smell, the black and white coloring, I can see how she'd be confused.
Once we got home we looked up skunk desmellification on the internet and managed to tackle Radar long enough to wash him down with it. I think it helped a little, but there's still an almost-visible cloud of funk surrounding him.
To make things worse, tomorrow is his first day with Annie at Obedience School. He's going to make quite an impression, I'm sure, but the one I feel really bad for is Annie. She's the one who has to ride with a stinky, smelly, skunky dog in her truck for an hour each way.
Suddenly staying home without a job doesn't seem so bad after all.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Chubby, Dirty, and the Twins
While "Chubby, Dirty, and the Twins" sounds like a brief version of my dating history, in fact it refers to the newest residents at Shiloh Falls -- our four sheep. 
Why do we have sheep, you might ask? Well, you see, the border collies were getting bored and ... yes, we bought pets for our pets. No one ever said we were sane.
We do have somewhat more rational (or less insane, which is sort of the same thing) reasons for getting sheep, of course. First, there's all the money you save on gas for a tractor or lawnmower, and with the price of oil going up I feel pretty good about that.
Then there's all the cotton they give off, which as Annie assured me we can turn into nice clothing.
But the real reason is, sadly, that the border collies were bored. They get such a kick out of "herding" the donkeys and horses from behind the fence that we thought it would be a good idea to train them to herd for real. Unfortunately that's hard to do without actual, you know, sheep. So we got some. The plan now is for Annie to attend a couple of clinics or training classes to get the basics, then to take a try at teaching the borders how they roll on the Scottish highlands. Even now I can imagine my first kilt fitting.
She already knows a couple of things, and has taken the dogs one at a time into the sheep pen on a leash. The best part of teaching (or "starting" if you want the cool "in" term, just in case you ever find yourself in an awkward conversation with a real shepherd, which I know happens to me all the time) a new dog how to herd is that you get to carry a big ol' staff with you the whole time. I used to think this was just so shepherds would look more picturesque, but in reality it's used to whack the dogs in the head if they try to bite.
No, really -- it's a dog-whacking stick. How cool is that?!
Both of the borders did pretty well, after getting over their abject sheep terror once they were on the business side of the fence. The sheep weren't quite so sanguine about the entire experience, but they came through it like the pros they are.
See, it turns out there are different kinds of sheep for herding. When your dogs are just starting, like ours are, you want "knee-knocker" sheep, which means they've been trained to come to a human when dogs chase them. That's important, because if the new pup gets too aggressive and tries to bite (a very bad habit to let a herding dog get into) you have to be able to whack them with the stick, and you can't do that if the sheep are fleeing at a high rate of speed away from you.
Like I said, so far it's going well. The sheep are taking to their new pen, and the dogs are ecstatic to have something they can actually herd. Me? I've gotten Dirty with Chubby and the Twins, and what red-blooded American bubba can't get excited about that?
Friday, April 06, 2007
The No Longer Invisible Dog
Sometimes I see myself in the dogs we foster, and I don't mean that we're both hairy, stinky, and poorly trained. Animals have personalities, and on occasion I see my own basic type reflected in one of the dogs we have in our temporary care.
Mombo is one of those dogs.
When Annie first pulled him out of the shelter and brought him home, his main goal was to be invisible. He stayed in the pantry room where we'd made a bed up for him, and didn't say much of anything. He cowered if you tried to touch him or take him by the collar. That, combined with the sun-bleached condition of his fur, led us to believe he'd been neglected at best, abused at worst. Whatever the case, he responded by trying very hard not to make any waves.
The quiet ones get to me the most. That type always has, ever since I was a kid. I sympathize intuitively with the reserved, shy people who seem to hover on the margins of a group. I can feel their discomfort, their lack of confidence and self-esteem blaring at me with every movement. Mombo was like that, just beaten down by poor health and abuse.
The thing about those kinds of people or animals, though, is that once you finally get through to them and they start to trust you, it's a gift beyond measure. It's special. I don't begrudge those who bestow their affection willy-nilly on everyone and everything they meet, love and happiness beaming forth like the rays of the sun. But I'm not like that, and when I see a kindred spirit I know how much courage and effort it takes to let someone else into their circle of trust.
That's why the first time Mombo put his paw on me after I had petted him, silently saying "Hey, that's pretty nice, you can keep doing it if you want", I felt just wonderful. Mombo will never be one to leap into your lap, tongue and tail wagging to beat all, bestowing kisses with abandon. But he lets you know in small ways that you're all right with him. He might still hover on the edge of a group but you know he's watching out for you anyway behind those silly bangs and the impossible mullet.
I remember the first time I heard a strange sound like a cross between a bark and a washing machine on the fritz when Annie and I were taking the other dogs for a walk. I headed back to the house, expecting that something was about to explode, only to discover that it was Mombo. He of the sore hips and pudgy belly, who had lain quietly for close to a month without making a peep, was letting us know in no uncertain terms that he did NOT want to be left behind.
So we took him with us, both on our walks and in our hearts. When you get a rare gift like the trust of a dog like Mombo, it's not something to be treated lightly.
That's why it was so hard for us to say goodbye to Mombo today as he rode off with his new family.
We were taken a bit by surprise -- Mombo's been with us for three months now, longer than most other foster dogs, and I think in the back of our minds we had sort of assumed no one would ever adopt him. But suddenly this great family's application (a young husband and wife and their toddler) was approved, and they were on the phone determined to come and meet the dog they'd already fallen in love with online. Before we knew it they'd met, agreed that they'd all like each other, and Mombo was in the car heading down the road, Annie and I left a bit bewildered behind.
Now that he's no longer trying to be invisible, it's right and fitting that he's got three people dedicated to loving him full time, but darn it ... I let Mombo into my circle of trust, too, and I'm going to miss him terribly.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Dog Meets Horse
I took this photo shortly after we moved out to the new ranch and the border collies were still very young. I like to imagine that Radar the dog is thinking "Holy crap, you want me to herd THAT?!" Or maybe it's "Holy crap, that's the biggest damn cow I ever saw."
It's always a lot easier to act tough when there's a fence between you and the other guy, but Radar's got the courage to at least give it a go. That's the nice thing about border collies, they don't ever think they're outmatched. I ought to learn something from that, but so far the best lesson I can come up with is "Good fences make good neighbors", and that one's already taken.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
The Dog Festival
Annie and I attended a doggie festival hosted by the rescue group she's a member of, Austin Dog Alliance. It was a great event, very well attended both by humans and canines. I brought along the camera and snapped a few photos that I thought you might enjoy.
This little guy was dressed up for the pet parade costume contest, but he didn't look too thrilled. No one, especially a little fellow, wants to look like a clown, I suppose.
An innovative entrepreneur brought his lawn-mower-powered kiddie train as well, much to the delight of the human puppies in attendance. I loved the bright colors and the thought that you don't have to go to the zoo to get a decent train ride. As a bonus you get a mowed lawn when you're through, too!
Finally I caught this photo of the incredibly cute ADA puppy Tramp. I like the way he's half in shadow and half out, wondering what all the hubub is about, but trusting in his human partner to keep him safe. Tramp was the star of the day, no doubt, and hopefully he'll find a great permanent home soon. Well, not too soon, I don't think his foster mom is ready to give him up just yet!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Mombo!
We added a new foster dog yesterday, Mombo (seen here in all his furry glory). He's a bit older than we thought when Annie pulled him from the shelter, and he's very shy. He got sick while in the shelter for a long while, and had to be in isolation which I am sure is no fun at all. We've got him in the house now and he seems pretty comfy. The other dogs have sniffed him up and down and haven't found anything to worry about, which is always a good sign.
It takes a few days or weeks to get a sense of the personality of each dog, but so far Mombo is pretty laid back. Hopefully as he gets more and more comfortable he'll start to open up to us a bit and we can find a good match for him. I sometimes feel like I'm back in my College Admissions Counselor days, trying to find just the right school for just the right kid.
Only, as far as I can tell Mombo's already a lot smarter than some of the high schoolers I interviewed, like the one who asked if Trinity had "a comso ... cosmata ... hair-fixin' school". Yeesh.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Scout
12/12/06 - edited to add photo.
I got a frantic call from Annie at about 4:30 on Thursday afternoon. I could barely understand what she was saying over the sobs and the tears, but something bad had happened to an animal, and she was on her way to the vet. 
I dropped everything at the office and raced out the door. I called the vet on the way, unsure if Annie had been able to contact them, or if they'd understood what was going on. They sounded confused, but at least they were aware she was on her way.
Several illegally crossed red lights and thirty minutes later, I careened into the parking lot and found Annie huddled with our friend Jayne, crying in a corner. Our Australian shepherd puppy, Scout, had been found lying unconscious, tongue hanging out and eyes rolled back in his head. He'd been a little out of sorts that morning, but nothing too bad seemed to be wrong with him. Annie gave him some Maalox, checked up on him a few times, then went into town to do some shopping around noon. Some time in the next four hours, poor Scout got very, very sick, and she found him almost dead when she got back home.
It's difficult to explain to people without pets what having an animal get sick is like. You feel guilty comparing it to an ill child, but that's what the feeling is closest to. Something you love, a living creature you have ultimate responsibility for, another being whom you've had in your life and given your heart to, is hurting and all you want to do is to make it better. At least with a sick child (older ones, anyway), they can talk and tell you what hurts. Animals don't have that luxury. You have to guess at what they're feeling, and try to infer what the best thing to do is.
Ultimately I sent Annie back to the ranch to take care of the other animals and I stayed at the vet's office. They were closing, so they got Scout's vital signs as healthy as they could, then bundled him up for me to go to the emergency clinic in Round Rock. I cranked up the heat in the truck since his body temperature had been so low, and petted him for the whole thirty minutes. I've rarely made the trip so quickly before, but at the same time it seemed I was driving in some kind of eternal dreamscape ... there was a light fog on the highway, and the moon gave everything an ethereal kind of glow. I kept the radio off, thinking the quiet would be better for Scout. When I'd pet his head, he'd sigh and that was the only way I knew he'd not already passed away, something the vet warned me was a real possibility.
He was a very, very sick little dog.
I finally got to the emergency clinic and got Scout checked in. The new vet, like our own, was not optimistic. She estimated Scout had a very small chance of making it; dogs who get that sick that fast rarely pull through. But I was convinced he had to have a chance to fight, I had a feeling he was going to pull through and be all right. I signed the papers authorizing treatment up to a certain dollar amount, but because no one knew what exactly was wrong with him, there was no good way to plan. The vet was just guessing, and admitted as much.
I got back in the truck and left for home, exhausted and lonely and heart broken for Scout and Annie both.
I walked in the door around ten o'clock, and Annie was crashed on the bed. Not asleep, but in that numb state you achieve when all the tears your body can hold have been shed and your brain is locked into an endless cycle of recrimination and guilt. "Did we do enough?" "What if we hadn't left that afternoon?" "Was it something we did, did we cause this?" "Could I have done more, tried something different, been home earlier?"
I think humans have the necessary delusion that we are somehow in control of nature, that we can dominate it and bend it to our will. We need to believe that we have power over life and death, that somehow everything is in our grasp to change, to affect, to dominate. We think if we had just known more, done more, tried more, disaster and tragedy could have been averted.
But we're just kidding ourselves, and eventually a Hurricane Katrina or an earthquake or a heart attack or a deathly ill, powerless little puppy in your care slaps us back out of our denial.
And to our heartbreak, that's what happened to Scout. By the time I got home, the emergency vet had called to say he'd gotten even worse in just the half hour I'd been driving, and we had to face the agonizing decision to have him put down. I talked to the vet myself, and she said she wanted to do a necropsy (like an autopsy, but for animals) to try and figure out just what had happened to Scout. No one likes a mystery when death is involved, and we were all frustrated that we didn't know what had taken that little puppy's life. I could hear the tears in her voice when she talked to me -- I imagine vets, like doctors, take this kind of thing very personally. Annie and I talked and held each other until we finally fell asleep, exhausted and lost.
The next day I had a lunch date planned with my father-in-law George in town, so I went ahead to work. I probably should have stayed with Annie to keep her company, but I'm a guy, and guys aren't supposed to be affected by this kind of thing.
I held the lie together pretty well until I mistook north for south on the map to get to the restaurant, and spent 45 minutes driving around trying to find George. I got so frustrated at one point I was literally pounding my steering wheel with my fists, raging at my idiocy. I felt powerless and incompetent, knowing George was waiting for me and not being able to fix it. Just like with Scout. Someone I loved needed me, and I was failing them.
It's silly, of course. I can't control death any more than I can my sense of direction. But logic and reason have no place in the land of emotions. I eventually found the restaurant and had a nice lunch with George. The vet called on my way home and told me they still didn't know what exactly had killed Scout, but that it wasn't a blockage (something stuck in his digestive system) or anti-freeze or Parvo (a deadly dog disease). Their best guess is that he either had a hyper-sensitive immune system and ate something that is completely harmless to most other animals except him (and his litter-mates -- they all have gotten sick from eating random crap too) or that he got a Parvo-like, unidentified virus.
In any event, she said, there was absolutely nothing anyone could have done for him. His red blood cells had attacked his organs and veins, resulting in massive internal bruising. Nothing anyone could have done would have saved him once he got sick.
In a way that helps, at least with the guilt. But it won't bring him back, and it doesn't help the feeling -- devoid of all reason or logic -- that we should have done something anyway. He counted on us, and at some level we let him down. That we were powerless to prevent it matters not a whit.
This is what it means to be a human, cursed with the ability to see the future, but powerless to change it. At least Scout, like all animals, lived solely in the present. Guilt is not their nature.
That sin, thankfully, is ours alone to carry.
Rest in peace, Scout. We're sorry we couldn't do more, but we promise -- you will be missed.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Happy Endings
I apologize for the lack of posts this week. Real life has been kicking my butt -- an ongoing HeroMachine custom project that's due in December has been taking most of my free time, but I've also been in talks with two other companies about integrating HeroMachine technology with their games, and Expert Village has been going like gangbusters too.
Of course, we continue the really important work of dog rescue unabated as well. Or at least, Annie does, and sometimes I lift heavy things. We each do what we can.
Tyler, aka "Brownie"
Dallas, aka "Blackie"
Dog rescue sometimes feels like the old story about the kid on the beach, rescuing starfish one at a time. You know you can't rescue them all, but you try to help those you can. It's nice when, from time to time, the starfish (or at least their families) write back to tell you that yes, they made it after all.
Darn nice, actually.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Motivational Posters
I found a really cool web page that lets you build motivational posters -- you know, the kind of thing you see hanging on the walls at work that are supposed to inspire you to forget that you work in a dead-end hellhole contributing nothing to society. Here's what I came up with for animal rescue, using the incredibly cute photo Annie took last weekend of Blackie:
(click for a larger view)
Over the weekend, two of the dogs we're fostering found new homes.
One I didn't mention before, Lefty (hence the names Pancho and Lefty, from the Willie Nelson song), who I thought would be the hardest to place. But a really nice family from Austin just lost their long-term pet terrier to cancer, and Lefty struck a chord with them.
The other was Whitey, one of the three puppies I posted about on Friday. Two young women who attend college around here were looking for a pet, and wanted to rescue one rather than go to a breeder or whatnot. They met Annie at the kennel housing the puppies and dithered about which one to take, as they are all so cute. Finally one of them said "You know, I bet Whitey will the hardest to adopt out, since she's so energetic. So we'll take her." I thought that was the nicest thing; those women had great hearts and a compassionate spirit, and they're truly angels for little Whitey.
We've still got four fosters at the house: Brownie and Blackie (the two other pups in that litter); Jackson (a big ol' black German shepherd who's super sweet); and of course Pancho, the little brown terrier. Hopefully they'll all find great homes soon, but all in all it was still a great weekend for animal rescue.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Rescue Puppies
I don't think I've written about this before, which is surprising given how much of our time is spent on it, but Annie is a big-time dog rescuer. She takes dogs from local shelters who face death, cleans them up, then finds them a new home. Sometimes we "foster" them at our place, while other times we place them in other temporary shelters, but the goal is to get them out of harm's way and into a permanent home as quickly as possible.
For the most part Annie focuses on dogs that the shelter has deemed "unlikely to be adopted" for one reason or another, because those are the animals most at risk of being killed. And the toll is high -- the Austin animal shelter puts down more than 12,000 animals a year. Every dog we bring into foster care and eventually place would almost certainly have been killed otherwise.
Animal rescue sometimes feels like trying to hold back the tide. There are so very many dogs in need, and you can only ever hope to save a small portion of them. It's easy to think you're not making enough of a difference, but I'm pretty sure it makes a huge difference to the actual dogs you save.
We don't take puppies out very often, because puppies are inherently more adoptable than adult dogs -- they're built to be cute, and a random person walking through a shelter is naturally drawn to them. But in the last week we've taken in four pups, which is definitely a record for us. I've posted pictures of them to the right. Three came in one litter, all from the same mom, but as different as can be. With staggering originality we named them Blackie, Whitey, and Brownie. I sense a Pulitzer for "Temporary Animal Naming" in our very near future.
Whitey looks just like the dog in "Little Rascals", right down to the black spot over one eye. She was the only girl of the three, and full of energy and spitfire. Brownie looks for all the world like a Dachshund, with short stumpy legs and the same short brown fur, but you can definitely see his terrier mom's influence in his face. And finally, Blackie is a ball of long fur, shy and reserved, much happier to snuggle up with a human than running around with the dogs.
The other newcomer to the ranch is Pancho, the longer-haired terrier. He's got light brown eyes, which is pretty unusual, and is very small and snuggly. His expressions remind me of a mini poem in a doggerel book we have around here:
I'm as small as the cat.Annie has gotten so good at finding new homes for our foster dogs that we end up not having them around for very long; I'll be surprised if Pancho lasts the day, in fact, he's so cute. You fall in love with them so fast, but you have to keep a little back because you know you're only a temporary waystation in their journey. We've almost lost count of the dogs we've rescued over the years, but -- sadly -- there are all too many still out there waiting for their own angel to come and pull them out of their misery.
What's up with that?!
Friday, June 23, 2006
Double Dose of Bad News
I'm leaving in a few minutes to take our Shiloh Shepherd, Flash, to the vet for surgery. He has a bone spur in his elbow that's making it very painful to walk -- he gimps around the place like a drunken pirate. They can do it via laparoscopy, so hopefully the recovery time won't be too bad.
In much worse news, our good friend Lori, who Annie has known since high school, is having to go in this morning for more tests on a lump in her breast that came back as cancerous after a biopsy.
Sickness and pain are as much a part of life as beauty and joy, but that doesn't make it any eaier to cope with or understand. Lori's a very tough customer, one of the nicest people I know. We all hope that maybe the test was mistaken somehow, or that the tumor (if that's what it is) turns out to be benign, but breast cancer is a very, very scary phrase. We're all hoping and confident that it'll work out all right after it's all said and done, but if you have a spare moment in your day, please think positive, encouraging thoughts about her.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Mia My-o
"That's the biggest damn dog I ever saw ..."
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Whistling Dixie
One day Annie was driving him somewhere while I was at work, and she spotted a German short-haired pointer playing on the shoulder of the road in front of a house.She immediately pulled the truck over and leapt out, calling "Dixie! Come here, Dixie!" Bewildered, John followed and together they managed to get the happily panting dog into the back seat. John noticed a little boy on the porch of the house staring and pointing at them as they roared off, Annie explaining that one of our neighbors had a dog -- Dixie, a German short-haird pointer -- that kept getting lost.
"So we rescued Dixie, she could have been killed!" Annie said happily as they sped off back towards our neighborhood, awash in the glow of having done a good deed and eager to return Dixie to her grateful family.
John was quiet for a moment, studying the dog. A bit hesitantly (because come on, he's a city boy, what does he know from dogs?) he said "Um, Annie? Isn't Dixie a, you know, a girl dog name?"
"Well, yeah," Annie said, brows furrowing in confusion.
"I just ask because, um, that's not a girl dog," John said, pointing to an unmistakably male bit protruding prominently from the rescuee.
As it turned out the dog was not, in fact, either a female or Dixie, and actually lived at the house from which he was "rescued". I couldn't help but imagine the look on the little boy's face, sitting on the porch as the big black truck slammed to a stop and disgorged a frantic blonde, who hustled his beloved pet into the vehicle and roared away. Luckily the dognapping didn't last too long, as we brought Not-Dixie back that same night in red-faced embarrassment.
Yes, sometimes rescuing animals is an ugly, dirty business, but by gum someone has to do it!
Friday, April 14, 2006
Left Behind
Annie has discovered the joys of "Craig's List", a free online bulletin board where you can sell or barter all kinds of things. She writes mini-articles about the dogs at the shelter where she works, trying to get people interested in adopting them. Along the way she sees many posts from people who are moving and claim they can't take their dogs with them. As she says, "Here is what I send to idiots who say it is breaking their hearts to have to take their dog to a shelter but they will tomorrow if someone else doesn't pick up their dog and take responsibility for it:"
It's too bad your dog isn't in charge of your move as he would not leave you behind. Dogs are loyal like that. We can learn a lot from them in the loyalty department.
And sending him to a shelter? Brilliant! Take him to a small town shelter and maybe they will use the gas chamber. It takes awhile to suffocate and the animals always struggle and claw and scratch to get away from the poisonous gas. Big dogs often collapse on smaller dogs and then those little dogs take longer to die.
Or take him to Town Lake or a bigger shelter where he will sit in a loud kennel looking for you to come back and get him for 3 days. Then, since he is a large dog and since large dogs are very rarely adopted, he will go the euthanasia room. Have you ever seen that process? I have. Dogs know something is wrong and they often panic. If they panic too much they will either be physically restrained or drugged before killed.
It's totally up to you to do the right thing for your "beloved" dog. Every city now has housing that allows pets, so saying you can't find housing for you pet is not a truth. It is laziness.
Any wonder I love that woman?
Monday, April 10, 2006
Little Known Dog Training Commands
Annie's very good at training dogs, as she's proving now at the Lago Vista PAWS Shelter. But we do use some ... "unconventional" commands while we're doing day-to-day stuff with our own animals. Here are some of my favorites. For full effect, be sure to shout them at very high volume:
- "Leave your sister alone!"
- "Don't eat that poop!"
- "Don't chase that deer and bite it!"
And my personal favorite:
- "DON'T BE AN ASS-HOLE!!"
Happy birthday, Annie, and thanks for bringing so much joy and love to me and the rest of the animal world for 42 38 27 years!
