Georgia On My Mind

Georgia, my 'Grand Dog', is a six or seven year old Yellow Lab. We don't know her precise age because her first family dumped her at the local humane society where she stayed in a cage for quite a while until my daughter rescued her five years ago. Yesterday we received the news that every pet owner dreads. Georgia has cancer. Today she is having an ultra-sound to pin-point the location. The only hope is that the cancer is in the spleen, which can be removed. If not.... Please pray that the veterinarian will make an accurate diagnosis, that Georgia will receive the best treatment with as little pain as possible. And pray for my daughter and three grandsons who love Georgia and are facing the possibility of a great deal of emotional pain. UPDATE: The diagnosis is pulmonary hypertension and the prognosis is not hopeful. Please pray for Georgia and her family.

Rescue Saints

As I have often said, dog rescue is not for the faint of heart. It is frequently heartbreaking. Too many dogs are being bred on purpose and too many dogs breed "accidentally" because their owners will not spay or neuter them. The only people who should even be thinking about breeding dogs are people who are devoted to a specific breed and who are active in the show world. That is a very limited number of people. These are interesting times for Greyhound rescue. Interesting in the sense of "May you live in interesting times." Tracks are closing down. The Greyhound racing industry is hitting hard financial times, and thousands of dogs are in need of rescue. The sad fact is, many thousands will not be rescued in time, but will be destroyed. Greyhound Adoption Center is unique among rescues in that it has kennel facilities for up to fifty dogs. And recently, the kennel has been operating at close to capacity. As racing kennels and breeding farms are being emptied, we are seeing some old dogs who had the bad luck to be chosen for breeding when their careers as racers were over. Eight and nine year old brood bitches and breeding studs are not at the top of the "adoptable" list. So when one of them finds a home, it is a cause for great joy. Yesterday, that happened. Some people are rescue saints. About four years ago Greyhound Adoption Center had a hard to place dog, a handsome dog with "issues". Then a couple, knowing his history, took him home, loved him, and gave him a wonderful life. Last week, while he was running around the backyard, one of his legs shattered. The nightmare of any Greyhound lover. It was bone cancer, and the dog had to be euthanized immediately to put him out of horrific pain. The couple was devastated with grief. But they knew that there would be another hard to place dog at GAC. So yesterday they went to the kennel and made friends with an eight year old who had been used as a brood. She also had a broken ankle that had not been attended to and so it healed incorrectly. She's a dark brindle with tuxedo markings and her face is beginning to turn grey. Against all odds, she has a wonderful new home and will live out her years as a treasured companion. The grief of losing a dog is unspeakable. People have to come to terms with that loss on their own timetable. But some people are able to reach out to another needy dog as a way to cope with their loss. Bless them.

9/11 Plus 11

An alternate title for this post would be: How A Street-Wise, Mixed-Breed, Rescued Dog With Issues Helped Me Make It Through 9/11

The dog in question was Daphne, our first rescue. I always called her a Wheaten-Whippet, but she very well might have been a Wheaten-Greyhound. She was a Disney Dog, adorably scruffy, perfect for movies and advertisements. Perhaps she had been bred with that goal in mind. She was, after all, found wandering the streets of L.A. as a year old pup. Her adorable looks had been both her curse and salvation. Her looks proclaimed her Very Adoptable, so she was selected for rescue from L.A.Animal Control by the kind people of Pet Orphans of Southern California, located in Van Nuys. However, puppy time on the mean streets of L.A. had taught Daphne some pretty mean street ways, and her first two placements--who were really expecting a Disney Dog--fell through. When I saw her wonderful face, just pleading for John and me to drive up to Van Nuys and bring her home, she had been at the Pet Orphan's kennel for 2 years. She had not been happy to be kenneled. As the nice people at Pet Orphans explained, Daphne had issues. Talk about jumping in at the deep end of rescue! We brought Daphne home on a hot April Sunday in 2001. We had a steep learning curve. Daphne would fight another dog to the death for a tiny crumb of food. Lesson: Do NOT have another dog around in the presence of Daphne and food. Daphne was certain that noisy trucks and motorcycles were going to kill her, and so she would fight back with all her might. Lesson: Always take an ample supply of treats to stuff in her mouth during walks in case a truck or motorcycle was encountered. Daphne did not stop for screens if she saw something to chase outside. Lesson: Turn on the air conditioner. But Daphne also brought a joie de vivre with her that was contagious. Every morning, she woke me up, tail wagging, twisting side to side, saying, "It's a glorious day, Judith, and if you don't get up Right Now, you might miss one second of it and you won't want to risk that!" She also loved and really treasured her toys and tennis balls. Each morning, she would remove them one by one from their basket and during the day, she guarded them with love. On 9/11, John had left for work and I had gone back to sleep. Daphne was still asleep when the phone rang shortly after 6am, PDT. It was our daughter, who lives in Mountain Time. She was crying and close to hysterics. Which was only realistic for the mother of two little boys who was five months along with her third. "Mother! The twin towers have been hit! The Pentagon has been hit! Turn on the T.V.!" I really couldn't absorb what she was telling me. So I said, "I'm going to walk the dog first, and then I'll turn on the T.V." And that's what I did. As if I could somehow put off fate as long as I walked Daphne. But of course, we finally came home and I turned on the T.V. to witness the horror unfolding. I sat down and began to cry as I watched. In a little while, I felt a soft nudge against my leg. It was Daphne. She had brought me her favorite toy, a pink dolphin she had "chosen" on a trip to a pet supply store. "Here, Judith. Here is Dolphin. I've licked him as best I can and he always makes me feel better. I think he'll make you feel better, too." And on through the day, Daphne continued to comfort me with her toys. And when her toys were exhausted, she brought her tennis balls, one at a time. In times of trauma and fear, it is the little kindnesses that get us through. And for me, having a dog around at such a time is one of life's great comforts. Thank you, darling Daphne.

Happy Birthday, Bingley!

Today, Bingley is nine years old. He has lived with us for four and a half years, so pretty soon, he will have lived with us longer than he lived in any of his other living arrangements--mostly racing kennels.

There was never a sweeter dog. Bingley had to travel from Florida to Arizona and then to California to meet us. And if it hadn't been for Greyhound Adoption Center, we shudder to think of what might happened to our lad. Here's hoping you live to be a very old dog, Bingley!

Room At The Kennel--just

Last Saturday, twenty-two Greyhounds were given over to the care and protection of Greyhound Adoption Center. These are lucky dogs. They represent a tiny fraction of the thousands of Greyhounds who were bred--and are still being bred on a large scale--to provide grist for the gambling mill of dog racing. As Greyhound racing becomes less profitable and less socially acceptable, tracks are closing, which is a good thing. But for every closed track, there are hundreds of Greyhounds who are suddenly without a home. As I type, many of these elegant creatures are being destroyed. Greyhound Adoption Center is an exceptional rescue because it has kennel facilities with a capacity for many more dogs than rescues that depend entirely on foster homes. But the cost and the logistics of caring for almost fifty Greyhounds--the number of current residents of GAC--is formidable. And like all 501C3's of modest means, Greyhound Adoption Center is feeling the crunch of a slow economy. But, in spite of all the difficulties, there are people who not only care, but people who go out to Dehesa--where the kennel is located--and spend long hours on a hot Saturday afternoon and evening, bathing, dipping and comforting twenty-two Greyhounds: ten boys, twelve girls, of all colors, ages and physical conditions, who have endured a twenty-five hour journey to arrive at a strange new place. With clean coats, fleas and ticks removed, all twenty-two dogs are now settled in their own spaces with blankets and towels to soften their kennel floors, nutritious food in their tummies, and stuffed animals for companionship and amusement. Somewhere out there, we hope that there are twenty-two new homes, in addition to the thirty or so new homes for older GAC residents. It will take time. Dog rescue is not for the faint of heart. Nor for the impatient.

Life

Today is my birthday. And just not any old birthday. Important birthdays are those that end in 5 and 0. But the MOST important birthdays end in 0. And so today, I am not just beginning a new year; I'm beginning a new decade. If you read the story about my first dog, a shared birthday gift for my sister and me who we named Penny, you won't have to be a math whiz to figure out which decade I'm entering. Or, if you have any knowledge of children's fashions, you will know when the picture of that little girl posing with her mother and brand new puppy was taken. Today, the recessional hymn was Now Thank We All Our God. It's a wonderful hymn to sing on one's birthday. My favorite line is, "Who from our mother's arms, has led us on our way, with countless gifts of love that still are ours today." One of the most memorable gifts of love that I received is literally in my mother's arms in the picture on the right of the screen: my first dog, the first in a line of ten that have comforted, amused, challenged and taught me. So on this birthday, I want to express my gratitude for all the canine companions of my life. Penny: a small, red female Cocker Spaniel, who wanted to please above everything. Midnight: a large, black male Cocker Spaniel, who knew how to make you laugh when he was naughty. Mame: a black, female Toy Poodle, who embodied the spirit of a Russian Grande Duchess. Champers: a male Soft Coated Wheaten, the model of what the breed was meant to be: merry, courageous, my Good Soldier. Britches: a female Soft Coated Wheaten, practically perfect confirmation, a canine ditzy blonde, but no dummy. Daphne: a female Wheaten/Whippet?/Greyhound? mix. Our first rescue, who changed our understanding of humans' responsibility for dogs and introduced us to the joys of sight hounds. Zephyr: a large female Greyhound--dark brindle with tuxedo markings. Tears are filling my eyes. Zephyr was incomparable. A Queen. A Diva. We were privileged to have had her with us, even for a brief time, and to have earned her trust. Portia: a female Greyhound of such beauty that she thought when people met her and said "She's beautiful", they were just saying hello. The naughtiest dog inside the house. The best behaved dog outside the house. A true Princess. Bingley: a red, male Greyhound. The sweetest tempered, highest prey dog of my life. He's growing older now and fading to tan. But his eyes are still warm brown. I treasure every moment with him. Magic: a dark brindle female Greyhound/Scottish Deerhound mix. I thought she was working on her inner princess, but I do believe we might have another Grande Duchess. She adopts YOU, not the other way around. Clever and patient. Always teaching Bingley new lessons. And yes, we have had one cat: Sterling. She was the Transitional Object (a little psychoanalytic shop talk here) after my mother and Mame died within a short time of each other. The. Most. Beautiful. Grey Tabby ever to have drawn breath. She is resting under a Sterling Silver rose in my friend's garden.

Caution

We're having our first serious heat spell here in San Diego County and I've been remembering a very hot night six years ago. I was walking Zephyr not too far from our house when she was attacked by a loose dog--the same dog who attacked John and Bingley and killed Portia less than three years later. Zephyr was badly chewed from her lower back, to her hindquarters and down her tail. Since our vet's office was closed, I headed for the 24 hour emergency vet's. They were swamped. We waited and waited and waited, Zephyr dripping blood all the while. Why was such a badly injured dog treated last? It was because, ahead of Zephyr was a line of dogs with heat exhaustion. Their irresponsible owners had decided to take their dogs for a jog in hot weather. Even after the sun had gone down, it was way too hot for a dog to be running. Although Zephyr was seriously enough injured to require four drains and more stitches than I could count, she was in less critical condition than the dogs with heat exhaustion. So. Remember. Think. Do NOT take your dog for runs--or even more than potty-break walks in the heat. Don't run your dog on hot cement--or even worse, hot asphalt. Don't put your dog in a hot car while you are waiting for the air conditioning to kick in. I trust I do not have to remind you to NEVER leave your dog in a car. Cracked windows do not help. I don't believe in "outside" dogs. But if you insist on leaving your dog outside, be sure to provide plenty of shade and a source of fresh water. Do not shave a long haired dog. Their coat provides protection from heat as well as cold. Some short-haired--and certainly hairless breeds can sunburn. Take precautions. Older or ailing dogs are particularly vulnerable. Since learning of Bingley's heart condition, we are leaving the air conditioning on a lower setting for him when we leave the house. As I type, we are experiencing an "energy flex", which is code for not very effective air conditioning. Bingley and Magic are resting in the coolest places they can find, and I'll keep an eye on their water dishes. I don't know why these are called the Dog Days of Summer. They really aren't very easy days for dogs.