Updates

Patrick, the rescued Pit Bull continues to improve. But rescue is never an easy undertaking. Associated Humane Societies continues to post progress reports.

Please remember. If you wish to contribute to animals in need, be sure that you know for a certainty that the organization to which you contribute is directly involved in the rescue and or care of individual animals. Organizations whose primary activity is "advocacy" all too often drain important resources from rescues that desperately need funds for desperate animals.

There is no national umbrella organization for humane societies. Investigate the actual work that an organization does before contributing. It is scandalous that organizations that have had no part in the expensive effort to rescue and rehabilitate Patrick are trying to capitalize on his misery and are deflecting donations from the true rescuers, Associated Humane Societies.

Closer to home--I hope. Early this morning as Bingley, Magic and I were completing our walk, we heard a coyote killing party in the hills just north of our neighborhood. Perhaps this signals their return. Before long, it will be warm enough for snakes. Some predator is going to find all the rabbits now hopping all over our subdivision--and multiplying under our deck. I prefer coyotes, hawks and owls to snakes.

Bella, R.I.P.

I never met Bella, a Shepherd/Sighthound mix who lived with the family of my friend, Emily. But at our weekly book studies, I grew fond of her, listening to Emily speak of her exploits around the family's acreage.

I wanted to honor Bella's memory and asked Emily the details of how Bella came to live with their family. Her words are a clearer, better tribute than I could write:

Bella followed Sam home from the school bus when he was in first grade. The kids had seen her hanging around and she was clearly lost. When I came home from work she was in the house and she never left. Of course, she had no collar, so we put up signs and ran ads in the paper to try to find her owner but there was no response. We assumed that she'd been dumped by some misguided person who thought that would be 'kinder' than placing her in a shelter.

She liked to sit in front of the house, on top of the hill, surveying her territory. That way she could see intruders like coyotes and rabbits at a good distance and tear off after them before we even knew they were there. That is where she'll be buried.

I have another friend who works in rescue who absolutely believes that the right dog finds the right home. How true that was of Bella. She was just the right dog for three boys to grow up with. Just the right dog to hang around--supervise--when Emily tended the horses.

Friends of Portia extends its deepest condolences to Emily, Ron, James, Willy and Sam on the loss of their faithful companion. Rest in Peace at the top of your hill, Bella.

Run, Rabbit, Run

Something is a little amiss in our usual balance of nature here in San Marcos, California. Our most common prey, rabbits, are proliferating unabated and our largest predator, coyotes, are notable for their absence.

For about six months, I have noticed more and more rabbits on our early morning walks. Poor Bingley has too. Every cell in Bingley's body tells him that these long eared, cotton-tailed critters need to be chased. But he has learned over the past three years that I am not going to let go of his leashes, and his strongest instinct will not be gratified.

However, the situation is becoming acute. We now have in residence in our very own garden, not one, but two rabbits: a youngster and an adult. The youngster is particularly brazen--or dumb. Just yesterday afternoon, it hopped right up the length of the flagstone walkway leading from the sidewalk to our front steps. Unhappily, Bingley was looking out the front window observing this travesty, and, I promise you, no amount of cajoling could transfer his concentration from the real rabbit outside to Harvey, the fake rabbit that is usually on the receiving end of his "attention."

I let Bingley out in the back just in time for him to chase the adult rabbit to the fence and watch in frustration as the white tail bounced up the hill out of reach and out of sight.

Then, when John came home from taking Magic and Bingley for their last walk of the evening, he reported that Bingley had flushed an entire family of rabbits from a neighbor's hedge. John was able to hold on to the dogs as five rabbits hopped across the street in front of them, but both dogs were agitated and Bingley was trembling with the need to chase.

I keep waiting for the coyotes to show up. So far, there isn't a sign of them--at least in our neighborhood. No tell-tale piles of fluffy rabbit fur in the undergrowth up the hill. No prickling on the back of the neck with the sense that a large creature is pacing us along the top of the slope that runs parallel with the sidewalk. And certainly no sightings--was that a large, scruffy dog, or...?

About three weeks ago during our morning walk, we heard the blood curdling cries of a coyote kill party. They came from a distance, but they were so loud and prolonged, both Bingley and Magic stopped to listen.

I thought that the coyotes had arrived. But since then--silence. And the rabbits keep on doing what rabbits are famous for doing: multiplying.

Of all the critters that populate our suburban development, rabbits are the cutest. In an ideal world, I wouldn't want any predator to harm them. But experience tells me that it is not a question of whether or not a predator will find them, but which predator will find them. There are two: coyotes and snakes.

Please come back, coyotes.

Dog Stories

Two unrelated dog stories that are probably connected--in some weird way--only in my mind.

Last week, an Intrepid Dog Rescuer who operates in California's Central Valley, was called by a public animal control to assist in rescuing dogs from a hoarding situation. Nothing strange about that. Puppy Mills, Backyard Breeders and Hoarders are rampant in California's Central Valley. But there was a Big Surprise in this story. The hoarding involved Pembroke Welsh Corgis!!! Sixty Pembroke Welsh Corgis, to be precise. Some mental health professionals believe that dog hoarding is related to Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder. Perhaps, in this instance, there is also some element of over identification with Her Majesty, the Queen of England, who is known for her attachment to Pembroke Corgis and has owned quite a few--and has staff to care for them.

From time to time, I have discussed Junk Yard Dogs and have mentioned what I believed to be a potential Junk Yard Dog living near my house. Eighteen months ago, new neighbors moved into a house on our block. It was their first house and both parents worked full time. While they were still unpacking, they acquired two puppies: a Toy Poodle and a Mastiff mix. Both dogs were left alone for long hours. Older neighbors gently encouraged the owners of the canine Odd Couple to refrain from letting their dogs run loose.

I feared for the survival of the Toy Poodle and for the socialization of the Mastiff mix.

Unfortunately, my fears were founded. The Toy Poodle disappeared shortly after I began to encounter a Coyote on my morning walks. The Poodle's family thought the little dog had been stolen.

That left the Mastiff, who grew and grew and grew. It also became quite territorial and barked from behind the side gate at anything or anyone who passed by on the sidewalk. Eventually, he began to rouse himself shortly after 5am to bark vociferously at Bingley and Magic as we began our morning walk. In deference to our sleeping neighbors, I altered our route. But later in the day, when I went for the mail, the Mastiff would bark his displeasure--or perhaps just his boredom. His head came to the top of the gate. I prayed he didn't learn to jump.

Recently, however, there has been silence when I collected my mail. Today I confirmed that the Mastiff is no longer there. My informant did not know the dog's fate.

The sixty Corgis have been rescued by Corgi rescue organizations. I am not optimistic that the Mastiff's fate is as bright as the Corgis'. Whether he was passed off to another family as a "Guard Dog", or he was dropped off at the local public animal shelter, the chances of his receiving the care and training he needs to become a suitable canine companion are slim.

My life will certainly be easier now that the Mastiff is gone. When I take Bingley and Magic out on warm summer days, I won't have to glance up the block anxiously to see if the Mastiff is loose. I can walk by his old house at 5:15 am and not worry about starting a barking spell that will waken my neighbors.

But I am mourning a sad life of a dog who never had a chance because humans whose job it is to protect and care for the dogs in their lives, didn't protect and didn't care.

Chihuahuas

It's strange, isn't it, how something will be outside one's range of awareness and interest, then it quickly comes to one's attention from more than one source?

Confession: I have never found the Chihuahua to be an appealing breed. My stereotype of them has been of a small, yapping dog who is more than likely to defy any attempt at training.

But, slowly, over the past five years or so, I have become more and more aware of their serious plight, of the great suffering of many Chihuahuas and Chihuahua mixes.

At least once a week, I check out the dogs available for adoption at Pet Orphans of Southern California.

It's a sentimental thing with me. Pet Orphans was Daphne's, our first rescue's, Alma Mater. I hold the kind, caring people there in high esteem and I cheer every time one of their rescues finds a forever home.

Pet Orphans takes dogs of all breeds and mixes. But what I began to observe over the past few years was the comparatively high proportion of Chihuahuas and Chihuahua mixes among their dogs available for adoption. It also seemed to me that many of these dogs waited an appreciable length of time before finding homes. I began to realize that Chihuahuas were a breed in considerable distress.

Then, about a year ago, a kind animal lover sent me the picture of a particularly beautiful long haired, blue merle Chihuahua. This lovely, carefully bred creature was in desperate need of a home asap. Another indication of Chihuahua distress.

Then, just this past Sunday, John called my attention to a book mentioned in the San Diego Union Tribune: A Small Furry Prayer: Dog Rescue and the Meaning of Life. The author, Steven Kotler, was signing books at Warwick's in La Jolla last night. There was no way I could go, so I did the next best thing and looked Kotler up on the net. It turns out that he and his wife run a dog rescue in New Mexico: Rancho de Chihuahua. These are people who are serious about doing something for the Chihuahua's plight. I urge you to click around their site and educate yourself about the special needs of these tiny, indomitable dogs.

Then, in case I wasn't getting the message, it was underlined for me last night as I was walking Bingley and Magic just before bedtime. A car was moving slowly down the street. When it came opposite us, the driver stopped and rolled down his window.

"Excuse me, m'am. Have you seen a very small dog?"

My immediate reaction was Thank Heavens I have not seen a loose, very small dog! It's one of my biggest nightmares as I walk two high prey sight hounds.

But I didn't share that reaction. I asked for a description.

Surprise, Surprise. The lost, loose dog was a Chihuahua.

I wanted to weep. I wanted to yell at the man, HOW COULD YOU LET SUCH A TINY, FRAGILE CREATURE OUT OF YOUR SIGHT HERE IN COYOTE COUNTRY?????

But, gentle reader, I restrained myself. I asked how the little dog had gotten loose.

It seems the the man was "dog sitting" three Chihuahuas. He had left them alone in his backyard for a sufficiently lengthy time that they had dug under his fence and wandered off. The other two had been found, but one little girl was still loose. The last sighting had been down the hill along the edge of a busy four lane street.

All paws are crossed this morning, hoping and praying that the little dog was found, that the owner has now learned to screen his "dog sitter" more carefully, and that the "dog sitter" now knows better than to leave a dog unattended in his back yard.

Meanwhile, lovers of this beleaguered breed are doing all they can. A local rescue is: Chihuahua Rescue of San Diego Friends of Portia send you a Big Thank You!

Coyotes

When we first moved into our house eighteen years ago, we were at the northern edge of development in our little city and very much in coyote territory. Shortly after we unpacked, our beautiful silver tabby, Sterling, went missing. I was distraught. And when I began to question people about possible sightings of her, I was assured that "the coyotes got her." I could barely contain my grief and guilt. It turns out that Sterling was angry about our move and was hiding in a nearby storm drain. After most of a week, she sauntered home in the elegant, nonchalant way of cats and deigned to re-enter our home and nibble at a bowl of cat food.

For several years, our nights were filled with the excited cries of hunting coyotes and the anguished cries of their victims. Driving home late at night, it was nothing to see a coyote or several coyotes trotting down the four lane street close to our home. We were aware that we were living in their territory.

When my beloved Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, Champers, became disabled as the result of a dog attack, I had to take him out on the deck to relieve himself and then wash him off. One early morning as I was doing this, I looked up the hill that constitutes most of our back yard, and there was a very sleek looking coyote assessing Champers. I felt no fear. I like to think that my glare was what made the coyote ramble on down the coyote trail at the top of the hill. He clearly had enjoyed easy pickings from among small domestic animals in our neighborhood who were left outdoors unsupervised.

After that, I became less aware of coyote activity.

When I began walking Daphne, our first rescued dog, I saw plenty of neighborhood cats. Daphne did too. So I assumed that coyote days had passed. Even during Zephyr's time with us, the cats were still in evidence. She had her--literal--bete noir, a neighbor's black cat who waited until Zephyr and I made our way toward her house, and then the cat would walk very slowly across the street. Zephyr was perpetually frustrated with my refusal to drop her leash and let her show the cat who was boss.

I assumed that the stable cat population was an indication that coyotes had retreated. Which made sense, because our subdivision had been built out up the slopes of the surrounding hills.

Then, about two years ago, as I was walking Portia and Bingley in the early morning, both dogs went on alert, and there, directly across the street from us was a coyote. For a heart stopping moment one large coyote assessed my two ex-racing Greyhounds. Neither coyote nor Greyhounds uttered a sound. But the Greyhounds won. I swear, the coyote shrugged ever so slightly and turned down a well-worn coyote trail away from us.

What was stunning was the fact that both dogs were calmer in the face of a coyote than they were when we encountered a loose dog.

It wasn't long after wards that signs appeared asking help in finding missing cats and dogs. Zephyr's old nemesis, whom Portia and Bingley also wanted to chase, disappeared.

Coyotes had returned.

I cannot count how many coyote sighting and encounters John, the dogs and I have had the past few months--not just on morning walks, but also just beyond our back fence in broad daylight.

A few days ago two little boys came to my door hoping that I had seen their orange cat. I had seen the cat frequently--weeks and weeks ago. But not recently. This is no neighborhood for indoor/outdoor cats, I fear.

A lady who recently moved in across the street has acquired a cute black cat. I let her know about our coyote sightings. But she seems to think her cat is safe. I see it balancing on the edge of my north fence. Sometimes it invades our back garden, sending Bingley and Magic into paroxysms of barking. I shush them and let the cat go about its business. I figure it won't be around much longer to upset my dogs.

Poor cat.