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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