Blog

he will walk away from the bowl to investigate that thought

As I approached the front of the supermarket, I saw about six or seven people standing in a circle. Uh oh, I thought, and sure enough: There was a couple there with three pit-mix puppies. The pups looked like they were about 8 weeks old; they had the pudgy, unformed bodies and the stoic/exhausted expressions of very young pups.

First, of course: Otto my wonder dog. I could not be more thankful for this dog, I really couldn't. It's incredible to me that I've been lucky enough to have two "heart dogs" in my adult lifetime. Otto and his predecessor (Rupert the Border Collie, who passed away at the age of 14 in late 2003) could not be more different in appearance and temperament, but both of them have been so generously present for me. Both dogs have seen me through some tough times for me and my family, and I'm grateful for their constant companionship, soulful comfort when needed, and readiness for fun and adventure all the rest of the time. Border Collie owners are accustomed to their dogs watching them constantly, and so I accepted the ever-present scrutiny from Rupert, but I have to admit that it is a little unnerving to have a dog with no BC traits whatsoever being so sensitive to so much as a hitch in my breath or my tone of voice as I talk on the phone; Otto detects any emotional instability at all and offers himself to me immediately. "Here I am, pet me, it's going to be okay," he seems to say. And so far, with his help, it has been. Thank you, Otto.

Why do people expect dogs to be calm and quiet when they are left outside for hours and hours, with minimal protection from the weather - or at least, a lot less than they get indoors - and nothing in particular to do? It has to be one of my top three dog-owner pet peeves. For me, there is just nothing as aggravating as listening to a dog barking incessantly. I both feel for the dog and feel murderous at the same time. Who do I want to murder? Alternately, the dog, the owner, and myself!

I've mentioned a bunch of times that I have helped find homes for a number of foster dogs, and helped friends who were looking for a certain type of dog to find one who fits into their family perfectly. As far as I know, all the dogs I've placed into homes continue to live happily in those homes - with one exception.

I could not WAIT for them to go to their forever homes, and the last one went home on Saturday... and now I miss them unbearably - their relentless exploring and fooling around, tireless curiosity, darling miniature barks and howls and growls, and cheerful learning during our many-times-a-day-for-just-one-minute training sessions. It didn't help that I let the last puppy sleep with me in my bed, the last two nights I had him.

the deworming helped

and put the plate next to the tub of icky food. I went in the house to get a camera

Do you know this expression, "foster failure"? It's meant as a humorous term, meaning someone who was fostering a dog - one who was being prepared for adoption by a shelter or rescue group - but who fell in love with the dog and decided to adopt the dog herself. And no, I'm not yet a foster failure, though many of my friends think it's about to happen, because I've been fostering a litter of the most adorable puppies for almost a month. I tell them all, "Blech! I hate puppies! Who in their right mind would want a puppy?" - another joke.

so I could keep the pups straight. The collars were also a useful tool for the shelter vet tech

I feel HORRIBLE. I hurt a puppy – on accident, true. But still. I honestly feel sick. The six puppies I'm fostering (until they are old enough and healthy enough to be brought back to the shelter to be put up for adoption) were running around my backyard; I had just cleaned out their pen, and was bringing a freshly cleaned and filled pan of water to the pen. I looked around, making sure my path to the pen was clear of puppies; they tend to run toward human feet. I was about six steps from the pen when my shoe made contact with a puppy. I heard a puppy shriek as I leaped/dodged as best as I could, flinging the water and the pan clear, but when I turned around, the puppy I had made contact with was still shrieking and was holding up one hind leg. My heart sunk.

I've been fostering a litter of six puppies, who are probably only about five weeks old. And I think I have lost my mind. I'm tired, my sleep schedule is all off, I haven't walked myself or my own dogs for a week, I've been eating at weird times (and not with my husband), and I feel alternately so full of love for and weepy about these little guys (they are all boys!) . . . and it's only been a week. Talk about that new-mom feeling!