Having a dog means you are required to go out into the world and interact with it. No less than three or four times a day you need get your ass off the couch, walk outside, and deal with whatever is out there. Very often it is other people and other dogs. And sometimes, situations that need to be dealt with.
Late last night, when it was time for Tia's final pee break before bed, I put her leash on her and looked over at my cell phone plugged into the wall charging, and thought, "I'm going to need that."
However, I don't listen to myself well, so I walked outside without it. At the end of the driveway was a tiny Pomeranian/Chihuahua mix named Layla with her owner who didn't feel that she needed to be on the leash, whom we had met once before. His dog is clearly more obedient that Tia, so once he told her to back off from Tia who was lunging on the collar trying to play with her, he mentioned that up the road I should be careful because there was a squirrel.
Huh?
"Yeah, there's this squirrel on the sidewalk, just lying there. It even let me pet it. I don't have a phone on me; I was going to call animal control when I get back to my apartment."
See, I really should listen to myself more often.
"I'll go get mine and call," I said to him, trying to drag Tia back to me.
"Okay." Then, in purely un-dogowner like manner, he asked, "Hey what's your name?"
Now, here's the thing about people out walking their dogs: you never get each others' names. Your dogs are more intimate with each other than most people are after years of knowing one another, but as humans, we don't even get each other's name as our dogs below us topple and stick each others' appendages in their mouths.
I answered, and asked his. "Barret?" I asked, not sure I heard him right.
"No. Bear. As in Smokey the..."
He certainly didn't seem like a bear. Smokey, yes, but not Bear. He was over six feet tall, rather thin, smoking a cigarette, and appeared to have smoked another variety of plant rather recently.
When I made it back out with the phone, I walked toward the corner where he said the squirrel was located, and sure enough, there it was. If it was a person, I would have suspected it had fallen off the roof and threw his back out. He was lying on his stomach. Four feet under him, breathing heavily. Even Tia gave him a break in the beginning.
The day before Tia and I had run into a bat-shit crazy squirrel. I wasn't quite sure if the squirrel had rabies, had babies in the tree, or was just plain nuts. (Interesting how one can confuse deadly disease, mental instability, and just being female as an excuse for craziness). It barked and hissed and came forward at her while up a tree. It should have just stayed up in the tree, but felt the need to come down and hiss at her. I've see squirrels come down close to taunt, but it's always in good fun. Let's face it: the squirrel knows the dog is never going to catch him, so it should be fun. This squirrel was not having fun.
I wondered if indeed this was the same squirrel, or worse yet, this fallen squirrel had been attacked by the crazy one. I called the Burbank police since I for some reason, didn't have animal control's number in my phone. I asked if animal control was duty, and the dispatcher said No, they'd send a police unit out.
Really? A report of a downed squirrel warrants a police officer in Burbank, California. Huh. I feel pretty safe in this town.
Bear waited with me for a spell, and helped me determine which cardinal direction the corner was on as the dispatcher asked. When the cops were on their way, he said he had to leave. He returned shortly, stating that it was because he had the dog off leash and didn't want to get a ticket, but I suspect it might have been because he was high as a kite.
Tia and I waited and within minutes, the cruiser showed up. I was surprised by how quickly they came. Then my second surprise: a second cruiser!
"Wow. A squirrel in distress requires two squad cars?" I asked with a smile.
The second officer replied, "No, he's my dinner partner, and I can't go without him so I figured I'd see if I could help."
The first officer was on the phone, getting a hold of animal control, and I apologized and told him I had asked for that.
"They send us first, to see if the animal is still alive. If it is, then we call animal control, and they meet us at the shelter."
His dinner partner walked down the street and acquired an empty box (a helpful homeless man digging through the trash found one for him), but let the on duty officer be the one to get the injured squirrel into the box.
The entire time, Tia tried to remain patient, but let's face it, this was quite an opportunity. In her yelps and whines, I heard, "Oh, come on! Let me get him! In all the history of dogdom, one of us could finally catch one of them!"
"Yes, Tia, but it's injured. It wouldn't be fair."
She whined again. "But I would go down in history as the dog that finally caught a squirrel! I would be a legend!" she cried.
"You already are, my dear, you already are," I told her with a smile.
Neither officer had tape to keep the box closed, but the squirrel went willingly in. As Tia and I continued on our walk, I saw the officer place the box in his trunk. Admittedly, if he had put it in the front seat, a scene from National Lampoon would have ensued, so I couldn't really blame him.
I called the Burbank Animal Control this afternoon just to confirm what I already suspected: the little squirrel had to be euthanized. We haven't run into the crazy squirrel again, so I imagine that might have been it. I don't like having to euthanize any animal, but I think it's a whole lot better ending to a life than being torn apart by dogs or even raccoons, which is what would have happened had Bear not tried to save the squirrel.
I'd like to give my thanks to the Burbank PD for responding so quickly to an animal in need. If that's how quickly and how kindly they treat a wild animal in need, just imagine the service you get when you're human!
As for Smokey the Bear, he vacated once the police officers arrived, but I've seen him in the neighborhood since and he continues to let little Layla run free. Honestly, had the squirrel been up and moving about, it could have eaten her. That boy needs to put that dog on a leash.
As for Tia, she's still bitter that I didn't let her go down as the legendary canine that finally captured a squirrel. All in due time, my dear, all in due time.
Precious Cargo: The Journey Continues
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Collatteral Damage
I've decided to stop telling people how fantastic Tia is. It seems that every time I do, she does something to prove me wrong.
Since we've come to the conclusion of week 3 of Tia's stay here at Casa de Canine, I thought we finally got ourselves into a groove with a schedule. Granted it started later than I wanted to each day, but it was a schedule: first walk between 7:30 and 9:00am, shower, breakfast, next walk between 1 and 3, evening walk between 5 and 6, then supper, then a final nighttime pee break between 10:30 and 11:30pm.
I could even leave for an hour or hour and half to go grocery shopping. I at times would find Tia exactly where I left her, but other than that, all was well. It had gotten to a point where I wasn't devoting my entire day to Tia, but rather I was getting work done again and having a relatively normal life. But perhaps that's where Tia didn't like the way the relationship was going.
In every relationship, one settles in, and doesn't devote so much time to one another. They start not going out into the world so often, instead choosing to watch TV in their PJ's. There's no more romantic dinners, just microwaved platters eaten alone. They start farting in front of one another. Stop shaving. Start wearing the worn underwear again. Stop trying to make the other one smile. Since I settled into a routine, Tia has abandoned her care of whether or not she does as I please. In fact, one might say, it could be a bit spiteful.
This past week, I did as I had done before: I told Tia to back away from the door, and stay and that I'd be right back. She sits so nicely, I wonder if indeed she does sit right there while I'm gone. An hour later, I returned to see my Lady stuffed animal on the floor, it's battery box yanked out. It wasn't destroyed; just investigated. It was, however, within nose-reach of the door, so perhaps in her boredom of sitting right there, she grabbed it to have a look.
Sunday morning I had a baby shower to attend, so I left Tia for the longest period of time I have left her: two and a half hours. I had put the TV on for her, she had plenty of toys, and since it was only 11am, I suspected (and hoped) she'd be having her mid-morning nap during this time. I was wrong.
I returned to find items I didn't even know I had, destroyed. I wish I had a camera recording her at the time of the destruction, since it wasn't like she went all out on the couch pillows, or gnawing on a table leg. It was the delicate items, the things that her large pittie jaws would have a difficult time picking up, that were now in numerous pieces on the floor.
I had a ziplock bag (yes, HAD, at this point) with a concert ticket and some earplugs in it, a memento from long ago. That bag is mostly in Tia's digestive track, I imagine. The earplugs were torn in two, and the ticket was slobbered on, but whole. The book of matches that were behind that (I forgot those were there, and don't recollect why they were there), was torn to shreds, and I wondered what the physical ramifications were of a dog eating matches. A figurine was on the ground as well, broken in two. One audio tape, not in a case, was investigated, and the magnetic tape delicately pulled out of the plastic case. All these items were within nose-reach of the door, on the bottom shelf by my stereo.
Finally, the corner of the bookshelf itself: perhaps Tia found the corner too sharp for she rounded it off with her giant jaws.
She could have toppled the stereo, eaten the stereo wires, torn to shreds one of the three stuffed animals on the floor, chewed on the coffeetable, ripped the couch pillows to pieces. But instead, she chose what was within reach of where she sat and nibbled on it all. Too lazy to get up, but determined enough to pick such interesting items.
This morning, when I returned from an hour long errand, again in that very same spot, there was this:
A small keepsake I had forgotten was on that bottom shelf. Oh a philosophical level, I don't know what implications are involved when you destroy a totem pole. On a practical level, I can tell you this item once had two wings... and Tia's going to discover it was whole lot more pleasant getting those wings into her body than it's going to be getting them out. Meanwhile, not a single one of her toys was in a different location from when I left.
I do wonder if she understands the words I speak. Not to her, but to others, when I say that I want to find her a home, and that she's up for adoption. Maybe she wants to self-sabotage, make it seem like it was her fault that I'm getting rid of her. The trouble seemed to begin the day I took her to meet her potential new foster mom. It went well, and I was supposed to bring her today.
However, that fell through at the last minute. So the "bad dog" gets to stay with me.
We spent yesterday afternoon at an adoption fair in Sherman Oaks. Poor Tia wanted to play with every single dog there. I had to keep her away from others not because she's a vicious killer, but because she's a non-stop player. She just can't take a break. So instead, she sat in the middle of the fair, whining and crying about not being able to play with the dogs that walked by.
It was a bust. Only one family was interested, but the Mom had veto power. However, half an hour later, as Tia and I were lounging out in another area of the park with a friend, we had our first real interest. A guy who was playing catch with his son kept looking over at Tia, perhaps trying to read her bandana that demanded, "ADOPT ME." Finally, just as we were about to get up and leave, my friend said to him, "She's up for adoption. If you're interested."
He came right over and promptly fell in love. His wife and other son seemed into Tia as well. They were kind people. He had recently lost his pit bull to cancer, and he said he still had the Harley Davidson collar, and all the toys. He was still grieving, but Tia was so pretty, and so wonderful, maybe he could do it.
I gave them my info, gave them an application, and told them to go home and fill out the application, and get it back to me. They lived in Simi Valley, a good distance away, so I'm hoping to get the application back soon, and arrange a homecheck. Tia looked like she belonged with that family.
But I can't get my hopes up. We have two other interested parties via the internet, but with no official application, it's only a longshot. The reason people like to adopt from rescues, and not from the shelter, is because when a dog is being fostered, we get to know them better. We get to know if they're housetrained, what sort of toys they like, if they're good with other animals. I want to be able to continue saying Tia is as fantastic as the day I got her, but she's changing over time. I do wonder if hormones have anything to do with it: a large hormone-producing organ was recently removed from her body.
Or perhaps, she knows that I am indeed just a pitstop on her journey. She doesn't snuggle as closely anymore, choosing to have her own space in the bed. She doesn't wait just outside the bathroom door anymore. And she doesn't need to watch me prepare every meal in the kitchen. Perhaps she knows that this little adventure is indeed short-lived and she doesn't want to remember the good times. She's making the break before the break happens.
I do believe that Tia is a Good Dog, although not My Dog. I don't think there is a My Dog. But there are a lot of Good Dogs out there. I just want Tia to find the home every Good Dog deserves. The sooner she does, the sooner I can open my home again to other Good Dogs on their journeys if they need it. I'm not kicking the girl out; but I do wish she would stop creating such collateral damage. It's not like a bad break-up for goodness sake. I'm just the transitional person, and Tia is ready to meet "the One."
Since we've come to the conclusion of week 3 of Tia's stay here at Casa de Canine, I thought we finally got ourselves into a groove with a schedule. Granted it started later than I wanted to each day, but it was a schedule: first walk between 7:30 and 9:00am, shower, breakfast, next walk between 1 and 3, evening walk between 5 and 6, then supper, then a final nighttime pee break between 10:30 and 11:30pm.
I could even leave for an hour or hour and half to go grocery shopping. I at times would find Tia exactly where I left her, but other than that, all was well. It had gotten to a point where I wasn't devoting my entire day to Tia, but rather I was getting work done again and having a relatively normal life. But perhaps that's where Tia didn't like the way the relationship was going.
In every relationship, one settles in, and doesn't devote so much time to one another. They start not going out into the world so often, instead choosing to watch TV in their PJ's. There's no more romantic dinners, just microwaved platters eaten alone. They start farting in front of one another. Stop shaving. Start wearing the worn underwear again. Stop trying to make the other one smile. Since I settled into a routine, Tia has abandoned her care of whether or not she does as I please. In fact, one might say, it could be a bit spiteful.
This past week, I did as I had done before: I told Tia to back away from the door, and stay and that I'd be right back. She sits so nicely, I wonder if indeed she does sit right there while I'm gone. An hour later, I returned to see my Lady stuffed animal on the floor, it's battery box yanked out. It wasn't destroyed; just investigated. It was, however, within nose-reach of the door, so perhaps in her boredom of sitting right there, she grabbed it to have a look.
Sunday morning I had a baby shower to attend, so I left Tia for the longest period of time I have left her: two and a half hours. I had put the TV on for her, she had plenty of toys, and since it was only 11am, I suspected (and hoped) she'd be having her mid-morning nap during this time. I was wrong.
I returned to find items I didn't even know I had, destroyed. I wish I had a camera recording her at the time of the destruction, since it wasn't like she went all out on the couch pillows, or gnawing on a table leg. It was the delicate items, the things that her large pittie jaws would have a difficult time picking up, that were now in numerous pieces on the floor.
I had a ziplock bag (yes, HAD, at this point) with a concert ticket and some earplugs in it, a memento from long ago. That bag is mostly in Tia's digestive track, I imagine. The earplugs were torn in two, and the ticket was slobbered on, but whole. The book of matches that were behind that (I forgot those were there, and don't recollect why they were there), was torn to shreds, and I wondered what the physical ramifications were of a dog eating matches. A figurine was on the ground as well, broken in two. One audio tape, not in a case, was investigated, and the magnetic tape delicately pulled out of the plastic case. All these items were within nose-reach of the door, on the bottom shelf by my stereo.
Finally, the corner of the bookshelf itself: perhaps Tia found the corner too sharp for she rounded it off with her giant jaws.
She could have toppled the stereo, eaten the stereo wires, torn to shreds one of the three stuffed animals on the floor, chewed on the coffeetable, ripped the couch pillows to pieces. But instead, she chose what was within reach of where she sat and nibbled on it all. Too lazy to get up, but determined enough to pick such interesting items.
This morning, when I returned from an hour long errand, again in that very same spot, there was this:
A small keepsake I had forgotten was on that bottom shelf. Oh a philosophical level, I don't know what implications are involved when you destroy a totem pole. On a practical level, I can tell you this item once had two wings... and Tia's going to discover it was whole lot more pleasant getting those wings into her body than it's going to be getting them out. Meanwhile, not a single one of her toys was in a different location from when I left.
I do wonder if she understands the words I speak. Not to her, but to others, when I say that I want to find her a home, and that she's up for adoption. Maybe she wants to self-sabotage, make it seem like it was her fault that I'm getting rid of her. The trouble seemed to begin the day I took her to meet her potential new foster mom. It went well, and I was supposed to bring her today.
However, that fell through at the last minute. So the "bad dog" gets to stay with me.
We spent yesterday afternoon at an adoption fair in Sherman Oaks. Poor Tia wanted to play with every single dog there. I had to keep her away from others not because she's a vicious killer, but because she's a non-stop player. She just can't take a break. So instead, she sat in the middle of the fair, whining and crying about not being able to play with the dogs that walked by.
It was a bust. Only one family was interested, but the Mom had veto power. However, half an hour later, as Tia and I were lounging out in another area of the park with a friend, we had our first real interest. A guy who was playing catch with his son kept looking over at Tia, perhaps trying to read her bandana that demanded, "ADOPT ME." Finally, just as we were about to get up and leave, my friend said to him, "She's up for adoption. If you're interested."
He came right over and promptly fell in love. His wife and other son seemed into Tia as well. They were kind people. He had recently lost his pit bull to cancer, and he said he still had the Harley Davidson collar, and all the toys. He was still grieving, but Tia was so pretty, and so wonderful, maybe he could do it.
I gave them my info, gave them an application, and told them to go home and fill out the application, and get it back to me. They lived in Simi Valley, a good distance away, so I'm hoping to get the application back soon, and arrange a homecheck. Tia looked like she belonged with that family.
But I can't get my hopes up. We have two other interested parties via the internet, but with no official application, it's only a longshot. The reason people like to adopt from rescues, and not from the shelter, is because when a dog is being fostered, we get to know them better. We get to know if they're housetrained, what sort of toys they like, if they're good with other animals. I want to be able to continue saying Tia is as fantastic as the day I got her, but she's changing over time. I do wonder if hormones have anything to do with it: a large hormone-producing organ was recently removed from her body.
Or perhaps, she knows that I am indeed just a pitstop on her journey. She doesn't snuggle as closely anymore, choosing to have her own space in the bed. She doesn't wait just outside the bathroom door anymore. And she doesn't need to watch me prepare every meal in the kitchen. Perhaps she knows that this little adventure is indeed short-lived and she doesn't want to remember the good times. She's making the break before the break happens.
I do believe that Tia is a Good Dog, although not My Dog. I don't think there is a My Dog. But there are a lot of Good Dogs out there. I just want Tia to find the home every Good Dog deserves. The sooner she does, the sooner I can open my home again to other Good Dogs on their journeys if they need it. I'm not kicking the girl out; but I do wish she would stop creating such collateral damage. It's not like a bad break-up for goodness sake. I'm just the transitional person, and Tia is ready to meet "the One."
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Warning: Tear Jerker
Tia's just fine, and there will be some more tales for me to tell, but someone posted a link to this blog on one of the Yahoo groups tonight, and in honor of Stella I had to re-post it here.
Ashley Owen Hill, I've never met you, but you are my hero. I hope one day my heart can be as strong as yours.
http://luckydogrescueblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/before-you-go-to-heaven.html
Ashley Owen Hill, I've never met you, but you are my hero. I hope one day my heart can be as strong as yours.
http://luckydogrescueblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/before-you-go-to-heaven.html
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Raising Your Dog
I love dogs for a lot of reasons, and often I wish people were more like them. For instance, when we meet someone, very often we question, "What do you do for a living?" or "Are you married?" "Do you believe in God?" (that last one might take some getting to know someone before asking). But the point is, dogs don't ask these questions. When they meet another creature on this planet, they don't care what they do for money, what sexual orientation they are, and whether or not they believe in a higher power. They ask one simple question: "Will you play with me?"
In the past few years, I've come to using that phraseology with humans. It is, after all, at times, really all I'm looking for in another human being: just someone to come out and play with me. How humans became so complicated when we all really did start out with knocking on our neighbor's front door and asking if they could come out and play, I have no idea.
Tia is still in the stage of knocking on our neighbor's door. Not only does she not care what you do for a living, but she also doesn't even care what species you are. I watched in delight as Tia tried to get the neighbor's cat to play with her. It was utterly adorable, and it wasn't until I turned to leave that I noticed a man on a motorcycle across the street watching us.
"Oh, I had no idea anyone was watching," I said, slightly embarrassed since I had been speaking with Tia as if she was my child during the entire interaction.
"That is the nicest dog," he said. "I was just texting my fiancé that I just saw this whole thing."
I really did believe that Tia was like a child, and had that innocence to not care what species another being was, and only cared if they would play.
Until I found the line she would not cross.
And that line is a pony.
I live on the edge of the equestrian district, so I occasionally see horses trotting up the street, but this was the first time I saw a pony in a front yard. The pony was nice enough and came out from by the bushes to see Tia. Tia, unlike her incident with the cat, showed hesitation. In fact, if she was a child, I think she would pinched her nose and said, "Pee-Yew!" She turned away from the strange creature that certainly didn't smell like a dog, but was the size of a rather large one.
The next time we passed by this gregarious creature, I made Tia stop in front. She was ignoring its existence, trying to look every which way but at it.
"Tia, be polite Say hello to the pony."
She looked up at me, rocked her ears back, with a "(sigh) Okay, if I have to," sighed again, walked up to the fence, faced the pony, wagged her tail every so slightly once, twice, three times, and then quickly turned away.
I was glad to know that I was not the only one who treated their pets like children. I finally got Tia an appointment to be spayed. I had not known that the clinic was only open Tuesday through Thursday, so I was a little late getting it done. The clinic worked as such: drop off between 8 and 8:30 in the morning, and pick up between 2 and 2:30 in the afternoon. Like getting an oil change for your car.
I dropped off Tia, and when I returned, I saw a few of the same people I had seen in the morning, along with a few others who had gotten there either before or after me. As I stood there in the room with all these strangers, a little dog in the back howled non-stop. One of the women said, "I think that one's mine. It sounds like her howl for me."
The pet parents made idle chit chat, and when the doctor came out to give us all the spiel on post-op care, it seemed like we were in an office of Planned Parenthood; all of us parents who were so relieved that our teenage children would now never be in danger of being knocked up--or doing the knocking up.
Tia was the first one out, as no one seemed to want to be the first, and I had a long drive back to Burbank (I had to drive the thirty miles to Ventura County to get it done for free). Tia came out, and everyone oo-ed and aww-ed. She had done well, the doc said, and gave me some pain pills that I could give her that night.
Tia seemed physically okay, as she stretched her long back legs against the floor, but I could hear her soft whines. Despite the clinic being open for operation three days a week, they do check messages of non-emergency types the rest of the days, so if there was any problems, I could call in.
Tia whined all the way to the truck, and when I placed her in her seat I thought she would stay. She had stopped playing musical chairs with me every time I got in some time ago. But it wasn't the seat she wanted today; she wanted my lap.
She crawled over, whining, and I knew I couldn't make her sit on her side. She just had an organ removed. The fact that she was even awake stunned me. Lilly was the only one I had almost gotten spayed while in my care. Almost, being the important word. She was more out of it than Tia was now, and Lilly hadn't even undergone the surgery, just the anesthesia.
I felt so bad for Tia. When we walked into the apartment, she couldn't even make it to the couch or her bed. This is as far as we went.
She cried and whined, and I wished I could make all the pain go away. The vet said they gave all the dogs a 24-hour pain shot, but clearly it wasn't working. I called and asked if I had to wait till bedtime, and they said, No, if she was in pain, go ahead. Not that Tia was into taking pills, but I eventually got it down her throat, and she seemed a little better.
However, she didn't want me to leave the room. When I went into the bathroom, she not only waited by the door, per usual, but she whined for me to return. She couldn't follow me quickly anymore, so when I left the room, she'd cry for me until I came back.
The pain pill seemed to knock her out some, and I hoped she wasn't having bad dreams about it all. I had planned on going out that night to a work function, but my friend couldn't dogsit. I was glad he couldn't, since by 7:00, I knew I couldn't leave this little girl. She rested her head on my lap, and wouldn't let me out of her sight, even with her eyes closed. There was no way I could go out. And I was okay with that.
The two-week commitment I had given Maripat ended Friday, but I knew by getting Tia spayed on Thursday, that she'd be with me a bit longer. She can't be around other dogs while her stitches heal, and she really is okay here. I can't go out for a full evening, but at least I can go grocery shopping or run quick errands. Which is probably why I hadn't noticed that two weeks had already passed.
Checking in with Maripat, there was no word on when a transport to Oregon might happen. I had hoped it would be in the two weeks I was committed to having her. No new potential adopters have been found, and I'm not quite sure how long Tia will be with me.
"Tia's going to be your first long term foster, huh?" a friend said to me.
I can't long term foster, I replied. I can't have her indefinitely. She needs a home or transport soon. I did get a call from Maripat asking if I could do a dog-switch today. She had a foster who had other dogs, and had just taken a dog out of the shelter and it turns out the shelter dog, named Joy, wasn't getting along with the other dogs. Joy was in heat, so they suspected that might be why, and needed to get her out of there for a couple of weeks. However, the kennel was booked for four days. So, might I take Joy and give this foster Tia?
Ummmm....
I told Maripat that Tia couldn't be with other dogs either, so it made no sense for her to go to a foster to be crated, compared to the dog already there that needed to be crated. I felt an incredible protectiveness about Tia; I wasn't just going to trade her for another dog. The foster sounded fabulous if Tia was going to stay in town as she'd have other dogs to play with, but right now she can't be there.
So, in the end, I felt a little guilty not taking Joy, but would have felt even guiltier switching her with Tia. I listen to my gut, and my gut said, No; Keep Tia. So I am. For now. But she's not a long-term foster.... although, she has made herself at home here.
In the past few years, I've come to using that phraseology with humans. It is, after all, at times, really all I'm looking for in another human being: just someone to come out and play with me. How humans became so complicated when we all really did start out with knocking on our neighbor's front door and asking if they could come out and play, I have no idea.
Tia is still in the stage of knocking on our neighbor's door. Not only does she not care what you do for a living, but she also doesn't even care what species you are. I watched in delight as Tia tried to get the neighbor's cat to play with her. It was utterly adorable, and it wasn't until I turned to leave that I noticed a man on a motorcycle across the street watching us.
"Oh, I had no idea anyone was watching," I said, slightly embarrassed since I had been speaking with Tia as if she was my child during the entire interaction.
"That is the nicest dog," he said. "I was just texting my fiancé that I just saw this whole thing."
I really did believe that Tia was like a child, and had that innocence to not care what species another being was, and only cared if they would play.
Until I found the line she would not cross.
And that line is a pony.
I live on the edge of the equestrian district, so I occasionally see horses trotting up the street, but this was the first time I saw a pony in a front yard. The pony was nice enough and came out from by the bushes to see Tia. Tia, unlike her incident with the cat, showed hesitation. In fact, if she was a child, I think she would pinched her nose and said, "Pee-Yew!" She turned away from the strange creature that certainly didn't smell like a dog, but was the size of a rather large one.
The next time we passed by this gregarious creature, I made Tia stop in front. She was ignoring its existence, trying to look every which way but at it.
"Tia, be polite Say hello to the pony."
She looked up at me, rocked her ears back, with a "(sigh) Okay, if I have to," sighed again, walked up to the fence, faced the pony, wagged her tail every so slightly once, twice, three times, and then quickly turned away.
I was glad to know that I was not the only one who treated their pets like children. I finally got Tia an appointment to be spayed. I had not known that the clinic was only open Tuesday through Thursday, so I was a little late getting it done. The clinic worked as such: drop off between 8 and 8:30 in the morning, and pick up between 2 and 2:30 in the afternoon. Like getting an oil change for your car.
I dropped off Tia, and when I returned, I saw a few of the same people I had seen in the morning, along with a few others who had gotten there either before or after me. As I stood there in the room with all these strangers, a little dog in the back howled non-stop. One of the women said, "I think that one's mine. It sounds like her howl for me."
The pet parents made idle chit chat, and when the doctor came out to give us all the spiel on post-op care, it seemed like we were in an office of Planned Parenthood; all of us parents who were so relieved that our teenage children would now never be in danger of being knocked up--or doing the knocking up.
Tia was the first one out, as no one seemed to want to be the first, and I had a long drive back to Burbank (I had to drive the thirty miles to Ventura County to get it done for free). Tia came out, and everyone oo-ed and aww-ed. She had done well, the doc said, and gave me some pain pills that I could give her that night.
Tia seemed physically okay, as she stretched her long back legs against the floor, but I could hear her soft whines. Despite the clinic being open for operation three days a week, they do check messages of non-emergency types the rest of the days, so if there was any problems, I could call in.
Tia whined all the way to the truck, and when I placed her in her seat I thought she would stay. She had stopped playing musical chairs with me every time I got in some time ago. But it wasn't the seat she wanted today; she wanted my lap.
She crawled over, whining, and I knew I couldn't make her sit on her side. She just had an organ removed. The fact that she was even awake stunned me. Lilly was the only one I had almost gotten spayed while in my care. Almost, being the important word. She was more out of it than Tia was now, and Lilly hadn't even undergone the surgery, just the anesthesia.
I felt so bad for Tia. When we walked into the apartment, she couldn't even make it to the couch or her bed. This is as far as we went.
She cried and whined, and I wished I could make all the pain go away. The vet said they gave all the dogs a 24-hour pain shot, but clearly it wasn't working. I called and asked if I had to wait till bedtime, and they said, No, if she was in pain, go ahead. Not that Tia was into taking pills, but I eventually got it down her throat, and she seemed a little better.
However, she didn't want me to leave the room. When I went into the bathroom, she not only waited by the door, per usual, but she whined for me to return. She couldn't follow me quickly anymore, so when I left the room, she'd cry for me until I came back.
The pain pill seemed to knock her out some, and I hoped she wasn't having bad dreams about it all. I had planned on going out that night to a work function, but my friend couldn't dogsit. I was glad he couldn't, since by 7:00, I knew I couldn't leave this little girl. She rested her head on my lap, and wouldn't let me out of her sight, even with her eyes closed. There was no way I could go out. And I was okay with that.
The two-week commitment I had given Maripat ended Friday, but I knew by getting Tia spayed on Thursday, that she'd be with me a bit longer. She can't be around other dogs while her stitches heal, and she really is okay here. I can't go out for a full evening, but at least I can go grocery shopping or run quick errands. Which is probably why I hadn't noticed that two weeks had already passed.
Checking in with Maripat, there was no word on when a transport to Oregon might happen. I had hoped it would be in the two weeks I was committed to having her. No new potential adopters have been found, and I'm not quite sure how long Tia will be with me.
"Tia's going to be your first long term foster, huh?" a friend said to me.
I can't long term foster, I replied. I can't have her indefinitely. She needs a home or transport soon. I did get a call from Maripat asking if I could do a dog-switch today. She had a foster who had other dogs, and had just taken a dog out of the shelter and it turns out the shelter dog, named Joy, wasn't getting along with the other dogs. Joy was in heat, so they suspected that might be why, and needed to get her out of there for a couple of weeks. However, the kennel was booked for four days. So, might I take Joy and give this foster Tia?
Ummmm....
I told Maripat that Tia couldn't be with other dogs either, so it made no sense for her to go to a foster to be crated, compared to the dog already there that needed to be crated. I felt an incredible protectiveness about Tia; I wasn't just going to trade her for another dog. The foster sounded fabulous if Tia was going to stay in town as she'd have other dogs to play with, but right now she can't be there.
So, in the end, I felt a little guilty not taking Joy, but would have felt even guiltier switching her with Tia. I listen to my gut, and my gut said, No; Keep Tia. So I am. For now. But she's not a long-term foster.... although, she has made herself at home here.
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