Ellie Mae, ready for her closeup

Meet Miss Ellie Mae. She is as sweet and funny as she is beautiful.

(Ignore the woman behind her, who hadn't planned on being included, but the puppy wouldn't stand still. )

These pics were taken by the extremely talented Bill Owen, who donated his services to benefit Homeward Trails rescue.

(I'll post a Bella one too, when I receive them.)

(I made the second one black & white just now, because I'm artsy like that.)

Snapshots

Last week, Bella had her yearly vet appointment. One of the millions of wonderful things I love about having a mixed-breed dog is that we haven't had to go to the vet otherwise AT ALL except for one time when Bella had some gross thing on her foot (soaked it, gave her antibiotics, done) and the other time when a dog bit her (vet cleaned it, gave her antibiotics, gave her pain pills, she slept. The vet got more than she planned for--you're welcome, vet--when my then-boyfried met me at the clinic and we got into a heated discussion about...stuff. It was very dramatic, and yet the vet still charged us full price.)

Anyhoo, Bella got the vaccine she was due and the doctor pronounced her


PERFECT


which I had known before I opened up my wallet and emptied it on their counter. But it's still nice to hear.

At the counter when I was emptying out my wallet, I saw a sign announcing a Washington Humane Society fundraiser at which pets (dogs. Cats don't take that crap) could pose with Santa.

I had already paid $$$ for the doctor, the vaccination, the half year's supply of flea & tick and heartworm, and the Zipcar rental (animals can come if you put them in a carrier, which everyone hates, the dog because it's like being in a cage in a moving vehicle and I'd vomit too, and the driver because her/his beloved pet is crying. It's also stupid, if I may veer even farther off topic for a moment, because if the idea is that a crated animal will disseminate fewer allergens--which is Zipcar's stance--then I say perhaps you should look at my jacket. Bella doesn't sit in the driver's seat, but her hair does) but I couldn't resist (and didn't even try).

All went less smoothly today when Bella, Ellie Mae (who came to us yesterday and is here through Christmas) and I shlepped out to Gaithersburg (apparently, it's in Maryland) for a pet portrait shoot with all the money going to the rescue group.

We were scheduled at 2:30, but the sessions were running an hour late. Annoying, yes, but not a death knell to the plan for those with cars that don't turn into pumpkins, but I had a Zipcar and I couldn't extend my reservation, as another patron was waiting to use my car. So my shoot was 5 minutes for each dog and poor Bella the canine thermometer of Mom's feelings looks so stressed out :(. I didn't even have time to see Ellie Mae's photos, but she wasn't excited about the bright lights. Most of Bella's pics are in profile, because she's staring hard at the photog's umbrella. (She believes in putting objects she's afraid of on notice that she's on to them, so they are less likely to attack her. Years ago, a stereo speaker in my apartment fell to the floor, scaring my skittish girl. For weeks after, she gave the speaker a wide berth when she walked by, and fixed it with her stare as she went.)

I saw some of the photographer's other work and he's really talented, so despite the fact that I limited him to a mere fifteen or twenty shots, I'm excited to see what he sends me--and very grateful to him & to Santa for donating their time.

The first rule of blogging about fostering

Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club.
-Fight Club

It doesn't make sense. It isn't even good grammar. What the hell does it mean to disappear somebody?
-Catch-22

Sorry I've been gone so long. While blogging about fostering is a fantastic idea--if I do say so myself--I'm finding it tough to do both. Fostering Jack meant petting him endlessly, which state made it hard to type. Then the shelter really wanted us to take Cinnamon too, and a foster couple was found who expressly wanted to take in a senior. So Jack was passed off to them and Cinnamon came in and kicked my ass. Bella's too. She was wonderful but indefatiguable (Bella and I: fatiguable) and I had zero time to type. I'll tell you more about her sometime...

When she found her forever home, I went on vacation. I'll tell you about that too...

Then I came home, rested and ready to rest some more. I wanted to hang out, calmly, with Bella, and to work on my apartment, which lay somewhere under a thick layer of bones and dog toys.

So I told the rescue group I needed a break. That lasted two weeks.

Then Christmas came and fosters wanted to go home to their families and I got the call. Which is why Ellie Mae is chewing my slipper with a vengeance, and dancing with it, in the center of my living room. Now she's trying to lift her dinner bowl off the floor--no, it's back to the slipper dance--wait, she's managed to flip the bowl up, hitting herself in the head. She's taking this as a sign it's time to fling the duck toy around the room. Now the porcupine. Now the lion's head. And back to the slipper.

Yeah, a break.

see more dog and puppy pictures

Foster failure part ii

I nearly became a foster failure with Mikey.

Mikey (foster #4) had a hard time for awhile there. When his owner died, he went to the shelter and fell into a deep depression. Homeward Trails rescued him and soon after he contracted pneumonia and nearly died. But HT's director and founder Sue Bell nursed him back to health, after which I took him in. We think he was about 9 or 10 when I got him.

At first, he was really sad and just wanted to lie on his Mikeybed (every dog who comes to my house has a bed whose name is preceded by his own. Same with 'food,' 'house,' etc.) But I soon found that a belly rub was much appreciated, and we spent the evenings as belly rubber and belly rubbee, with my girl Bella happily chomping bones beside us. As he grew more accustomed to us, he opened up, and became a very expressive, happy boy. Slow, short walks became longer, more frequent ones as he regained his strength. Eventually, as soon as we left the house, he would pull toward the woods, eager to run along the trails with Bella.

He was very vocal on the trails, woofing his excitement. Sometimes he'd run ahead and then return, barking at me insistently. "Really?" I'd say, "You saw trees? Rocks? What else?!"

Here he is in full happy barky mode:

I fell hard in love with Mikey and I started thinking about keeping him. I just wasn't sure I was ready to give up fostering. While I was considering, I took Mikey to his first adoption event and a woman walking by fell in love at first sight.

Letting him go broke my heart, but knowing how much his family loves him helps, as does the fact that they let me take him out for adventures. And his family in turn fell in love with Bella and have kindly watched her when I travel; I happily do the same for them.

In fact, Mikey's family is away this weekend, so guess who is sleeping on my living room floor, post-barky woods romp, right this minute?!

What is a 'foster failure?' part i

You may have heard the term 'foster failure,' and, like me, thought it meant a foster couldn't hack the fostering life and had to give the dog back.

Au contraire.

Foster failures are those folks who fell so hard in love with a foster that they adopted him. Yes, it happens all the time. No, it shouldn't scare you away from fostering. Alot of people who foster do so to get to spend some time with a few dogs while helping out rescues and shelters, and fully expect that one of their canine guests will stay forever. Others fall in love over time, realizing how well a certain dog fits in their life. A third set believe a dog will have a rough time getting adopted due to age or ability (or lack) or issues and decide to keep their foster. Many people fall into all three categories.

'Failure' is a pretty harsh word, but I have yet to meet a FF who feels as if he or she failed.

Teri shares a wonderful story about her FF, Walter, on the "Happy Tails" portion of the Homeward Trails rescue site. (Note to readers: If you're ever feeling blue about all the homeless cats & dogs out there --or, actually, about anything at all--reading the "Happy Tails," "Happy Endings," "Alumni Updates, " "Our Alumni" (etc.) portion of a shelter or rescue website will brighten your whole week.)

Are you a Foster Failure? Email me your story to share!

Jack the jack

Bought some dog food yesterday; not Bella's usual, but the owners offered me a 30-lb bag for 20 percent off. In the evening, in the driving rain, I met Jack the Jack Russell in a Safeway parking lot; a kind WV volunteer had driven five hours to DC to deliver him to me.

Jack was freaked out, but calmed down when I let him lie on my lap for the ride home. In the apartment, the sweetie had to sniff everything, of course, but he also felt the need to lift his leg on some things too. I managed to stop him just before he peed, lifting him up only to watch a stream of urine arc through the air and land on a shirt of mine in the basket against the wall. Nice.

Tonight was quite something and I'm about to drop, so I'm getting this down fast. Not enough sleep, as I crated Jack so he wouldn't pee freely, and he was not pleased. Loudly not pleased. Opened the door tonight to the acrid smell of poop.

Rushed the dogs out to let them do their business, and it was Bella who had the diarrhea. I had forgotten to mix the new food in with the old. Came home and checked the bathroom and, sure enough, she'd pooped all over the floor.

As I walked back and forth between garbage and mess, Shadow, aka Jack, followed close at my heels. When I came back out in the living room, something was all over the floor. Pee? Not sure. Cleaned it up. Between all the cleaning, scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed my hands. Turned my back to scoop out some kibble and one of them peed (spit up?) in the same spot I'd just been scrubbing.

Once everything was clean and I had washed my hands for long enough that I could consider eating, I enjoyed some tomatoes with feta, after which Jack achieved his aim of being constantly petted. Leaning down low to pat his little head, I couldn't balance a newspaper on my lap, so I was forced to watch that show on MTV about the New Jersey 'guidos' who tan and pull each others' hair.

I left out that Jack has a rash of some sort and the poor boy is itching like crazy. I wrestled him for five full minutes to get some Benedryl down his throat. He kept spitting it out. At one point, I thought he had swallowed it, but he waited til I set him on the ground and, yet again, he spit it out. Had to laugh.

But got him to swallow and now, about 40 minutes later, he's resting--without my hand on him--on the floor. Oh wait, he's up. And back itching. Poor boy.

Poor me :).