Seven Degrees

I'd have to say the canine world has less than seven degrees of separation.

Recent travels took me to Dallas. I'd asked coworkers if they had ever met someone they knew in an airport while traveling. No one I asked had. Now, I can't technically say I have, but I met someone who know's someone I haven't met!

You may be surprised to read that I struck up conversation with a couple sisters in the airport in Dallas. I'm a friendly sort, perhaps it's my midwestern upbringing. Maybe it's because I'm a chatty Cathy. Or, it could be several years of having a work station right next to a public bathroom taught me to talk to just about anyone.

So in this conversation one of the ladies mentions she's from Spencer, IA. Small world. I "know" two people in Spencer, IA. One is a nephew, and one is a crazy dog lady. Pretty funny, me knowing a crazy dog lady. Except I don't really "know" her. But we trade some emails and have moved some dogs together. That qualifies us as next of kin.

The gal from Spencer, doesn't really know my Spencer friend either. But she works with another crazy dog lady who volunteers with my "friend". May I just say - small world!

I think this qualifies as meeting someone I know in an out-of-town airport. It's close enough. It's funny where a little conversation and a total love of dogs will take you. Yesterday it took me to a city I've never been to with friends I have yet to meet. Cool, huh?

You Never Call Me

I overheard a man on his cell phone today make the comment ".....you never call me". I have no idea who he was talking to. But it made me think. It was such a humbling comment to make. He could have been 16, he could have been 96 and still it was the voice of a little boy speaking. It was the sort of comment you would expect from a woman pining for someone. It was both sad, and reassuring to hear a man longing in this way too. It makes me realize the incredible value of feeling heard. Mind you, that is different than being heard. We need both.

I think of all the times I've called the dogs. Sometimes they respond, sometimes they don't. Sometimes it's on their timetable not mine. A few times they have bowled me over they came so fast.

I'm certain any parent who's child has left home says this statement at one time or another. Frankly, I say this to the NE Lottery all the time. You never call me! Oh, I guess if I bought a ticket my chances would be marginally better. Doctor's never ever call soon enough with results. Odds are if we get called to the office, either the Principal is calling our parents, or our boss has a butt load of work with our name on it.

And lastly, every animal in every shelter in the world (and them some) says this with their eyes. You never call me, you never call me.....isn't it time?

Their Loss, My Gain

We have three pointers in residence. Mick was part of a litter a farmer couldn't find a home for. Hank was picked up as a stray, possibly because he has cancer. Sophie was also a stray, with a terrible fear of men. Perhaps Hank and Sophie washed out as hunters. They became throw away dogs, but thankfully they fell into my net.

Thankfully, Hank is thriving in our care, despite his prognosis. For an "unadoptable" dog you couldn't ask for more. Today I took him on a pet therapy visit. As the site leader for this visit, I took him as part of his screening process. I knew his strong suits - he's a people lover, big time. And, I know his weakness, he gets a little grumbly around strange dogs. So we went on a day when only one other dog was there. We introduced them outside, let them get some smells in, corrected the little grumblings and kept them at a safe distance. When I think of all the new experiences thrown at Hank in one day it's impressive. First parking garage, elevator, hospital equipment, lots of people touching him, strange smells, funny sounds. I'm proud to say his tail wagged the whole time. In fact, his name could have been Mr. Hanky Wiggle Butt.

Lest my praise of Mr. HankyWB go to my head, I need to mention Ms. Sophie. If someone dumped her because she doesn't hunt, I have news for them. She gave the most stunning point this afternoon. Followed by a stealthy stalk, point, stalk, point, stalk... It was breathtaking. I strained to see what she was pointing at. I searched and found no prey. But I watched in awe knowing her instincts and vision were superior to mine. At last, she came nose to nose with her prey. I can safely say it was not what I expected. She was pointing at..... Are you sitting down? She was pointing at flies on a pile of her poo.

So there you have it. The sheer ridiculous and the sublime. The talent of two throw-away dogs. One who needs healing and gave to others who are healing. And one who is hunting for her forever home. They make me both proud.

How long?

One question we get as a foster home is "how long do you have the foster dog in your care"? That's a very good question. Anything over 5 minutes and I have a bond with that dog. So after that point it doesn't really matter. And, yet it does.

Due to circumstances beyond our control we haven't placed a foster in over two years. That is not to say we haven't been fostering. We have. Pete was the last one placed in a forever home. Ideally, that is what our goal is. Sometimes being the foster dog's last "home" is the best possible scenario.

With Sidney we were his last home before he crossed the bridge. With Hank, he was deemed "not placeable" because of his health issues. Funny thing is he's still going strong and we wouldn't part with him for love nor money.

That leaves Ms. Sophie. She's been with us for almost 6 months. Truthfully, she's needed all that time with us. It's still not enough time for her to heal from whatever horrors she knew in life before. Still, she's made huge progress.

In some ways it feels like we haven't been successful in the fostering arena lately. While I celebrate other fosters finding their homes, I feel sad ours hasn't found that special place. I have to take comfort that in the mean time (and we all spend time "in the meantime") that we give our fosters the best possible home they could hope to find.

So how long do we have our fosters?? Not nearly long enough, and just as long as it takes. And, it's all good.

The Garden Gate

I've had a garden all my life. Sometimes it thrived, sometimes it didn't. Sometimes it feared for it's life because a certain weed whacker didn't give a rats patoot what was weeds and what was supposed to be there.

A lot of my garden is outside the invisible fence. Which keeps the dogs out of the garden, but the rabbits still have a hey day! They know how far the dogs can go. Rabbits are tricky little critters with the tendency to propagate.

Last year we had a fenced vegetable bed to keep Hank from eating the heirloom tomato's. The fence kept Hank out, but not Mick. Mick either went under or over fence as his mood moved him. Plus, I had to go over to get in. Mick is considerably more agile than I am.

This year Reno expanded the garden. After seeing how big 'maters grow in NE, he realized our bed wasn't big enough. Much like when he moved here and realized a queen sized bed just wouldn't cut it given the canine population around here. Which sometimes fluctuates like the rabbits do.

Now we have two tiers to the bed (vegetable that is), it's fenced and a gate is being installed. I have more than enough room for the plants we have, in fact, I can add more. To most people it just a garden with a fence. For me it's a labor of love and I'm quite honored.

Sometimes fencing keeps things out. But other times, fencing holds a whole bunch of love in. Plus, I can open the gate and step inside to feel the love.

HomeSick

You know your homesick when you look at photo's stored on your phone for pleasure because that's as close to a dog fix as you are likely to get.

I'm here in Portland on business. I read somewhere they have more dogs here per ca pita than any other state. Yet, in three days I've only seen two dogs. One was in a bead shop named Beads and Bullies. That gives you a hint on their choice of dog. I love all dogs, but frankly seeing a fat dog that wheezes didn't really make my day. I felt like I should apologize to it for making it get up to come over to me. He didn't enjoy it, and neither did I. Some people lure their dogs with treats. This lady lured it with a back scratcher. Alrighty then.

The other dog we saw was driving by in a car. Well, the dog wasn't driving, it was in the passenger seat with it's head out of the window. It was a small dog (a lap yapper) but seriously, it could have been on the Muppet Show. So close and yet so far.

I call home for regular pup-dates. The boys are good, Sophie won't come out of her crate. I call again in the evening. The boys are good, Sophie won't come out of her crate. Hank and Mick may not have noticed I'm gone, but apparently the Queen of Timidity has.

I miss the spontaneity, the fur flying joy of canine life. I miss the nudges for attention, the happy tails wagging. The "oh, life is good, life is good, life is good, watch me poop, who has the liver treats, I'm such a good boy, pet me, pet me, pet me" circle of life.

Thankfully, I go home tomorrow and can get my fix. Hot diggity Dog!