In the summer of 2007, I drove from California to Massachusetts and back again, giving a lift to hitchhiking canines out of high kill shelters and into rescues, fosters and forever home. That story, Precious Cargo: The Journey Home, is currently being carefully groomed to perfection in order to be ready for adoption.
This chronicle is an ever-growing collection of tales and adventures about those homeless canines I have encountered since then and have had the honor of sharing the road, my home, and my heart with for an hour, a day, or a week on their own Journey Home.
When Deej was at my apartment for his brief layover, I felt a pang of guilt. I felt like I was somehow cheating on Tia. In my mind, I saw her sad face questioning me, "How come he gets to be with you, but you didn't let me stay?"
Tia really had an effect on me. She's had an effect on every person whose life she has touched on her meandering journey to her forever home. She's the reason you get a dog. Harry was too. Meeting either of these two vastly different canines, and no matter what your previous feelings were, all of sudden a little idea sprouts in your brain, "Maybe I need to get a dog."
So I guess I should just accept that Tia worked her charm on me; not about getting any dog, but getting her specifically. The only way I'm going to get over her, and accept where we left at the crossroads, is to keep travelling down my road, and picking up other dogs who need a lift.
Patti was kind enough to oblige me another travelling partner. This time, rather than dropping a dog off at an airport, I had to pick one up. Patti ask that I snap a few photos for Pilot N Paws. Of course. I still contend that any picture is made infinitely better by putting a Cessna in it.
Bill, the pilot who had flown from Riverside, CA to Henderson, NV and back that day said that Harley was a bundle of energy ready to explore. The moment he saw the plane, he hopped right in. "Where to now?" the freckled canine seemed to ask.
And I found out on my way to the truck, Harley felt the same way about grounded vehicles. Hop right in and, "Where to now?"
Harley did settle into the trip, but for a few moments I wondered how he was possibly letting any of this experience settle in. He wanted to be everywhere at once. His nose to the ground, his head whipping around to catch every sound vibration, and his paws in constant motion, moving forward into the adventure without a single hesitation.
At the apartment, he couldn't quite figure out which toy to play with. How about all of them all at the same time?! That seemed the best option open to him. Yet all this while, the poor boy was having an anxiety attack, panting heavily, and was a little dazed in the eyes. He wasn't most comfortable with this new turn of events, but there was no turning back so he leapt forth into the great unknown, anxiety and all.
When Patti arrived after work to pick up Harley, she had with her a tiny little Brit puppy named Quinn, who was the exact opposite of Harley. Patti said when at home, Quinn ran around and played and barked and was the best little girl ever. But in the world outside the safety of Patti's house, she was timid, fearful, trying to meld into the seat. She didn't want to chance getting to know me. She wasn't aggressive or vicious; she was just uninterested in what the world had to offer. I suppose her past experiences proved the world wasn't a very friendly place. She had been abused, neglected, suffered through ailments and diseases, been poked and prodded in an effort to heal her wounds and cure her illnesses. It's no wonder that she really wasn't gung-ho about finding out what else the world had in store for her.
Harley was crated in the backseat to not upset Quinn, and maybe to cage in some of that boundless excitement so Patti could drive safely. Patti is a calm, cool, collective person. I was surprised to find that Brittanys, are in essence, that very opposite energy. I asked what drew her to this breed.
"Because I can train them," she said. "If they're going to be all rambunctious, that's fine as long as I can train them, and Brittanys are really smart."
I watched Patti drive away and I imagined her being the eye of the storm, the center of calm for these excited creatures who wanted to make sure they got to experience every moment in life they could as soon as it was presented to them. And if opportunity didn't arise, these ambitious canines would search it out, nose to the ground, until they found it.
It might be a little anxiety-filled at first, as Harley expressed, but you can't get to know the world until you put yourself in it. There's a big world out there, and so much going on we can't stop just because we're a little afraid. We need to dive in and just say Yes to whatever lay ahead.
I think Harley was an excellent rebound dog for me. It's that sort of fearlessness--or rather motion in spite of the fear--that allows the universe to keep throwing adventures your way. The imaginary Tia in my mind will eventually stop beaming guilt at me every time another canine curls up on the couch with me. But the only way that's going to happen is to keep doing what I'm doing: help as many dogs as I can. Tia wasn't meant to be my dog, I'm convinced of it. But I feel the need to convince her. Since I won't get the chance, the only thing I can do is keep my passenger seat empty and ready for whoever needs it most, one dog at a time.
And of course, let the universe know that I'm open to whatever road lay ahead. Just show me a sign, and I'll say Yes.
If you, or someone you know, is up for letting an ambitious young spaniel with super silky fur lead you through life (he'll make sure it's an adventure!), check out Harley's info:
While I was getting over my loss of Tia, and busy driving a dog around I suspected might be faking blindness, Tia was touring Northern California, Oregon, and even Washington. Lucky for her, she charms her way into every single person's heart and home. Being stuck in a kennel wasn't going to happen for Tia. Much like how I found myself saying, "No, no, don't put her in boarding; I'll take her," so did every person along the way who met Tia.
I'm a little jealous. Tia has now been further north on the western seaboard than I have. I didn't realize she had already left Sacramento when the deal was called off, so she got to go on an extended road trip. Once back in Sacramento, she headed to a pilot's home. Cindy, who I had met during the Italian Greyhound transport, was the one scheduled to fly Tia to Jason, another Pilots-N-Paws pilot I had met on another Patti transport, who would fly her all the way to me in Burbank. Cindy was supposed to put Tia in boarding until she could arrange the flight, but after meeting her, decided she'd rather have the girl in her home.
I was sent a video Cindy took of Tia running around in the dog park like a loon, tongue out, racing around, bouncing into dogs, having the time of her life. As Cindy calls out "Tia! Tia! Tia!" Tia comes running across the park at full speed and just as she goes out of the camera's sight, you can hear Cindy go, "Ooomph," and the screen goes black.
Yup, Tia still hasn't learn to stop of her own volition; gotta use a human as a bumper.
Knowing that Tia was having a good time and was well loved made her absence sit better with me. However, I was worried that the longer it took Tia to return, the more likely her potential adopters would bow out. A woman named Lauren had submitted an application the day Tia left. She said she watched Tia's video every day, pining away for her. I sent her more pictures in the hopes of keeping her interest. I didn't want to lose her. She lived in a townhouse with her boyfriend and worked at a business that allowed dogs in the offices and even had a dog park out back! Tia would be the social lady (well, she's not a lady, but whatever) she was born to be.
In return for me driving Deej, Patti did the homecheck for Tia. She lives nearby, and surprisingly, Lauren was totally okay with someone checking out her home to make sure it was safe and secure, even before meeting Tia. I had a feeling Season Two with Tia would be mighty brief. But getting a forever home is all I ever wanted for Tia.
I wondered if Tia would remember me. I mean, this was one traveling canine who had met a lot of people in the recent weeks and stayed with many folks. It's like those Mastercard commercials where the dog is on the road:
But even at the end of the third commercial, Badger remembers his family. And that's what I was to Tia: her family, her person.
I watched from just outside the terminal as Jason lifted Tia from behind his seat and placed her on the wing of his plane. She hadn't caught my eye yet, and was just going along on this adventure. When Jason started walking toward me, I waved, and I saw the spark of recognition in Tia's eyes. As she came closer I knelt down to greet her and Jason said, "Oh, you know her?"
"Yeah, I was her foster mom for six weeks," I said as I took the leash from him.
On the ground, Tia wiggled and waggled and burrowed herself into my side, trying to be on top of me and all around me all at once. I was overjoyed, just as she was, clearly.
As we walked back inside the terminal, a guy said to me, "Man, that dog was so happy to see you. We were all watching from the windows."
I must have been smiling ear to ear. I was all full of joy and pride. Tia was happy to see me. If she had thought I abandoned her, she certainly didn't now. She still loved me.
I tried to capture a picture of Jason and Tia together, but Tia was still in spaz mode, trying to scratch her back on the grass. Not terribly graceful.
Even trying to get a picture of her and me ended up not capturing her face or mine.
Tia was overjoyed, but completely exhausted. She was even prepared to drive if I didn't get a move on. She wanted to go home.
Once in her own seat, she fell fast asleep. It had been a tiring day for her.
I didn't now if they fed her or not, so she might have been hungry too. I watched her consume a large twig while I was chatting with Jason at the airport.
Back at home, she really was at home.
I was reminded of Murphy, who after his brief almost-forever home last year he came back with me that night and collapsed on my lap on the couch: "Thank heavens. What a trying day. I'm so glad I'm back."
I think Tia enjoyed her adventures, but she also seemed so content, peaceful, and happy to just be back to something familiar, with me, on the couch.
And I was happy too. I didn't know how to tell her we might only have four hours together. I told Lauren I would meet her with Tia at 8:00 at her house. And I knew, I just knew, Tia probably wouldn't be returning with me that night.
I packed up what remained of her food from before and gathered her paperwork. Maripat had emailed Lauren the adoption contract in case they decided to pull the trigger that night. Everyone had fallen in love with her along the way; I couldn't imagine this couple wouldn't fall for her. I just had to see if Tia fell for them.
I explained to Tia on our ride that this was it: that she had to tell me if she liked these folks or not, since they really wanted her. But it was her decision. The dog always chooses the human; you have no say in the matter.
I left the food in the truck, and only brought Tia in to meet them. Lauren and Kevin, her boyfriend, were really sweet. The townhouse was spacious, uncluttered, and very clean. I could see why Patti gave it overwhelming thumbs up. In fact Patti said she'd like to give them one of her adoptable dogs, but they only wanted Tia.
I'm sure Tia thought these were just some of my friends for her to meet. She was polite and sat on Kevin's lap (she's totally a boy's dog). She gave him kisses, and was polite to Lauren too. Tia took a tour, as did I and eventually in the upstairs portion as Lauren, Kevin, and I spoke, Tia appeared bored. First she headed downstairs and I told her it was awfully rude, given that we were here for her sake not mine. When she came back, she collapsed on the floor to take a nap.
I do think she was exhausted from travel. And perhaps some indigestion. The first time I took her out to go to the bathroom, I noticed that her poop was really hard and dark. I planned on asking Cindy what she had been feeding her since with me, it was always way too soft. Whatever fiber Cindy was giving her must be good for her.
But the next time Tia pooped, I noticed an odd color: bright green. Did Tia become a vegetarian? I walked over to the cracked-open turd, picked it up, and really looked at it. Nope, that's not plant; that's a tennis ball. Or Kong squeaky toy. Yup, there's the rubber part, the green fuzz, oh yes, and the stick I saw her eat at the airport. As I stood there holding the turd a few inches away from my face, trying to decipher its contents, I filed the experience in my mind as a "why I'm still single" moment.
With Tia peacefully sleeping on the floor and having gone over everything about Tia that I could think of, finally Kevin said from the beanbag chair, "So, what do we do now? I mean how do we get to keep her?"
Lauren let out a relieved sigh. "I've been waiting for that."
Here's how it worked: Lauren would find all these dogs online and forward them on to Kevin with, "How about this one?" or "What about this one?" After many an email, when he saw Tia he finally said, "Okay, let's meet this one." Lauren had already fallen in love with Tia before meeting her, just as I had. She just needed Kevin to be just as much in love. And he clearly was.
I think this picture is symbolic of how Tia will be treating him--just walking all over him, and he's enjoying every second of it.
She really is a boy's dog. Even though it was Lauren who found her, I think she's going to be Kevin's dog. At one point while on the couch with Tia on his lap and Lauren next to him, he proudly said to Tia, "Awww, now I have my girls."
Lauren and I walked out to my truck to get the dogfood and give Tia a chance to pee if she needed to. I asked Lauren if she wanted to wait a day to have Tia. I could certainly have her one night and that would give them time to get a dog bed, food bowls, etc. Lauren thought that was a good idea. So, as soon as we got back inside, Lauren made the suggestion:
"So Stephanie had an idea We can wait until tomorrow night to get Tia. That way we have dog food bowls, and a leash and collar, and bed and everything and have the whole weekend to start with her."
Kevin's face dropped. He looked over at what looked like cat bowls on a shelf. "We can use those for now." He made his case quite clear, if his sad expression didn't adequately state it. "No, Tia's not leaving. I want her to stay."
And that was it. Once the contract was signed and the money sent to Maripat, that was the end of the story for Tia and me. Again, Tia didn't know. It was a much happier occasion for me, of course. Much better than putting her in a van and driving away. Yet when that happened, she didn't seem the least bit upset. But this time she was, and her face made my heart break.
I gave her a hug and a kiss and smiled at her. "You're home, Tia. You didn't get just a boy. You got a boy AND a girl. How awesome is that? I'm so happy for you. I'll miss you. I love you. But you stay here, okay? You have a good life here."
I stood up from the couch and Tia tried to follow. Kevin held her collar to keep her from following me.
"But.... But..." Tia's face said. "I just got you back. Don't leave me again."
I kept smiling, hoping she would understand, hoping she would get that I wasn't abandoning her. This time I was truly completing the mission: bringing her home.
"You can visit her anytime and check in whenever," Kevin offered.
I will indeed check in. But I don't know how Tia would handle me stopping in. I think that would be confusing for her--until she really has a chance to bond with her family.
Never seeing her again was always going to happen. As much as seeing her sad face hurt me, I drove away knowing it was the right place for her to be. I didn't even get one more night with her, but that probably would have made it harder.
Every dog stays in my heart forever, and every dog is special to me. But Tia was like Harry; a little more special than the others. I can't explain why or how. I can feel bad that she thought I was her person. But really, when I'm completely honest about it, I feel lucky and am so proud that a dog as great as Tia chose me. She's a special dog, and a well-travelled one now too. She got to share her love and herself with so many people and dogs, and I know she'll continue to do so where she is for the rest of her life.
Lauren emailed me and said Tia did wonderfully the first day on the job. She's already made some new dog friends, and is content to be with Lauren at her desk. It's the life Tia deserves, and I feel so blessed to have been such a big part of her journey getting there.
I'm always up for new experiences. I have drawn the line, however - since Stella - that I will not take on a dog with ailments that require my ability to tend to them or they might die. However, a canine with a disability--why not? Since Tia's flight was cancelled due to the possibility of inclement weather, I said Yes to Patti when she asked if I could overnight a blind Boxer and drive him to LAX the next morning.
"He doesn't look blind," I said to Patti as I watched Dupi stand up in the backseat and try to make his way over Patti's center console, into the driver's seat and out into the parking lot.
"Oh, no, he's blind. He walks into things," Patti assured me.
That's the thing: how can you tell if a dog is blind? I mean, with people, there are the tell-tale signs: they wear dark sunglasses, use a walking cane, or even, appropriately, have a seeing-eye dog. A blind dog does not have any of these things. In fact, my pea-sized human brain kept forgetting he was blind due to his lack of obvious signs. He strode with such confidence down the sidewalk, using a high step and graceful trot, that I kept forgetting until he would walk directly into a tree.
I'm the worst seeing-eye person ever.
I didn't know that his blindness was caused by cataracts until the next day. Meaning, that at one point, Dupi (or Deej, as I called him because Dupi is a horrible name, if it's a name at all) did have sight at one point. So I spent the entire evening just thinking about what it must be like to be completely blind--and a dog.
As human beings with language, we can express our thoughts and experiences to others. We can describe what something looks like to another person who can't see it. They can describe to us how they experience the world.
But does a puppy born blind ever think the world is visual at all? Does a deaf dog believe he's missing out on auditory experience, or does he just accept that one feels vibrations only? Do the dogs communicate amongst themselves and let each other know how they experience the world?
There have been cases where sighted dogs assist blind dogs. A couple of years ago, I had an opportunity to meet one such pair: Chance and Blue. In fact, Chance was both blind and deaf. Blue was his eyes and ears. They were found on the street together, two homeless pit bulls weaving in and out of traffic. No one knew Chance lacked both sight and hearing until they got to the shelter.
When I watched them interact together, I noticed how Chance had this other sort of perception--he could feel Blue. If Blue got too far away, Chance would let out a whine, and Blue would return and body-bump him. "I'm right here," he seemed to say. Then Chance would lose all his tension again and be happy to trot around the open space.
I do wonder if we, as humans, are all disabled in some way. We claim there are only five senses, but how do we know? You have to discover something to know you lack it. What if there's a whole other sense of perception that none of us have? Or maybe a few people have it, but they don't say anything for fear of being outcast.
It's been said that when you lose one sense, your other senses make up for it. But that doesn't explain Deej's unnerving confidence in the face of a world of darkness. I have less confidence stumbling around my bedroom in the dark of night than he has in an unknown neighborhood. Maybe there really are more than five senses... but the dogs can't communicate what those other ones are.
Adaptation is more of an art than a sense I suppose, but Deej definitely has that. His ability to make it around in the world is impressive. I was hoping his previous owners had taught him some sort of directions, although I wasn't sure which words he knew. At the dog park with Tia, for instance, a woman with a blind dog would simply call out, "Watch!" to the dog if he was about to walk into something. He would immediately stop walking and turn in another direction.
So for Deej, I tried, "Right," "Left," "Forward," to direct him but mostly I found myself saying the word, "Sorry," as I couldn't communicate the dangers that were around him.
He was a pretty sweet and chill boy for going through all he had and was about to start another whole adventure in the morning. He's a purebred with a docked tail, so although I don't know if he was an owner-surrender or stray, I can state with some confidence that he had an owner at one point. He skin showed some scarring from sitting too long on hard surfaces. He had been in a shelter--a scary place for those that can see what's going on; only hearing the noises, I can't imagine how terrifying that must be. Then once he got rescued, he was neutered. Upon picking him up, the rescuer discovered he was bleeding--yup, botched neuter job. So the poor guy had to be opened back up again. Once should be enough for any animal.
He had spent the past few weeks at a vet's recovering from the two surgeries, and finally he was on his way to his foster dad and champion--in Illinois.
The internet makes it a lot easier for animals to be networked, and had it not been for the internet, Deej, formally Dupi, would most likely be dead right now. A kind gentleman who loves Boxers, and has three of his own, saw the plea for Dupi online, and donated money to get Deej pulled, get him his surgery, board him, then fly him all the way to Chicago. He had a potential adopter, but if that fell through, Deej would stay with him until another adopter was found.
I had never had an experience with Pet Airways, which is who Deej would be flying the friendly skies with, so I was happy to get a chance to check it out. I was shocked to see that Deej's plane ticket was a whopping $750. This man must really want Deej here, because even a purebred Boxer puppy doesn't cost that much.
I had heard Pet Airways was a great way to get your beloved pet across the country. I was confused when Patti asked me to take Deej because someone needed to watch him before his flight. Didn't they do that at the airline? I mean, for $750 they better be hand-feeding him and picking up his shit before it hits the ground. Especially because it wasn't a direct flight to Chicago. Patti explained that they would watch him, but in case there was a long line, I'd have to stay with him until he could be checked in.
Every great idea has its flaws. This airline is great as none of the animals are in cargo. The planes are devoid of passenger seats and in their place are rigs to hold animal crates. An airline attendant walks the cabin every fifteen minutes, checking on the passengers. This is fantastic!
However, they're not using Boeing 757's. They're using tiny planes that don't have the fuel capacity or elevation ability to make too long of a flight. Also, they might as well serve as many as possible. So Deej, here, would be sky-bound at 10:30 AM from Los Angeles, and then proceed to touch down in Phoenix, Denver, and somewhere in Iowa, all before landing at Midway Airport, and ready to be picked up by his foster dad sometime between 3:40AM and 6:40AM Chicago time.
I thought getting to Massachusetts from California was a pain in the ass. That's nothing in comparison to Deej's itinerary.
I admit I had gotten used to Tia. I was used to our ease in travel. I hadn't transported a new dog in quite some time. I thought Deej would be fine to ride in the seat, as in Patti's car he had made himself at home in the backseat. But I don't have a backseat.
The poor boy is a bit lanky, and curled up didn't seem so comfortable. Not that he ever looked truly happy with the droopy face.
So he tried this:
Now can you understand why I kept forgetting he was blind? I'm sure everyone else on the 110 thought he was just watching the traffic out the front windshield.
You forget how much we use our eyes and body language to communicate. Trying to drive, I'm pointing at the seat, telling Deej to sit down, and I realize he has no idea that I'm pointing at anything. He might not even realize that I'm a tad busy at the moment.
Again, I must commend his ability to adapt and not fight new experiences. He didn't freak out; he didn't cry or bark, and get all worked up. He just went along for the ride.
Maybe that's the lesson I needed to learn on this one: to just relax and go along for the ride. Or, that I really shouldn't offer my services to blind dogs either--for their sake, not mine.
...I also wanted to see how my heart would handle the task of caring for a canine with all my being and then letting him go a couple of days later. I didn’t believe my heart was strong enough to foster a dog for many months, but this would only be for a few nights. Since this was precisely what I’d be doing on the road, I wanted to test this out before finding myself an emotional basketcase in the middle of Kansas...
That's a little excerpt from the half-a-decade-long project that is Precious Cargo, the book. I was working on this section a couple of weeks ago as Tia lay on the floor beneath me, snoring away the afternoon. I wrote those words in 2007, and I realized even now, I still believed my heart was not strong enough to foster for many months. My two week limit wasn't just a rule for the apartment building; it was a rule for keeping my emotions in check. Not that time has anything to do with connection. I loved Tia even before I met her. But something tells me that letting her go after a few days would have been a whole lot easier than it is now.
I'm always on the other side: the transporter who picks up the puppy from the foster with little-to-no notice, and drives off. I've always been conscious of how much dedication it takes to be a foster, and how much I respect them for opening their homes and hearts to these beautiful souls for an indefinite amount of time and then letting them go without a fight. I've seen fosters cry at letting go of their loved ones; but I've also felt the joy of seeing Harry in his new home, and not feeling even the tiniest bit of sadness, despite how much I was in love with the little guy.
As it sunk it that Tia would be leaving me in only a few days to live with Kelly, I became worried on how I was handling it. I didn't even want to tell her; I couldn't form the words outloud. But then, out of the blue, on Tuesday night, I no longer had that particular problem.
"I just found out there's a transport heading north tomorrow that we might be able to get Tia on, but I wanted to check with you first since it involves getting her to the vet in the morning for her health certificate and then meeting the transporter in Lancaster," Kathleen said.
I asked more details about the transport. It was actually leaving from Bakersfield, but Kathleen thought she could help me out by getting a short leg of the trip covered. However, Bakersfield is almost just as far as Lancaster, and it's a much prettier drive, so I said I was up for the Bakersfield leg. It was finally what was supposed to happen a month earlier: I was going to overnight Tia until the transport to Oregon could be arranged.
However, she wasn't going to Oregon. Maripat had lined up a foster in Washington state, someone who had taken in other ones she had rescued from Camarillo. Tia would hitch the ride from Bakersfield and have a two day layover in Sacramento with the transporter, Lee. Then he would carry on up through Washington to Canada. He does this run once or twice a month. I had heard the man's name before, so I had no worries about whether or not he was legit. Also, I kept thinking how I'm usually in his shoes, not mine. I told Kathleen I was a go if everything else was confirmed, and sure enough within a few hours, it was 100% go. I was having my last night with Tia and didn't know it until the night was over.
It was an unusual feeling for me. I almost didn't even recognize it. Joy of seeing a dog off to his or her new life is always enough to offset any sadness I felt about seeing them go. But there was no joy this time. There was nothing to offset it. This little girl had burrowed her way into my heart and life, and I was having a hard time seeing it all come to an end--despite me fighting to get her to a new foster or forever home as quickly as possible for the past six weeks. Now that I got what was needed, I was upset about it.
I tried to say the words outloud, but I couldn't. I didn't want to upset Tia by crying. She had tuned into me, as all dogs do to their people, and I was clearly her person. Which made it all the sadder for me. A week earlier as we hiked the dark mountain trail to try to catch a glimpse of the "supermoon," she occasionally stopped and pressed her nose into my leg: "You okay? You're not going to die on me are you?"
"No, I'm fine," I replied to her, sucking in air loudly trying to ignore my body that was screaming that it was quite out of shape and might just call it quits out of spite.
As I lay in bed Tuesday night, I couldn't stop myself from crying. Tia turned to me, and in the light of the TV on the other side of the room, I saw her face, head tilted, "What's wrong? Why are you sad?"
I couldn't say the words. For goodness sake, this wasn't Stella. Tia would live on tomorrow. I would live on too. We just wouldn't live on together anymore.
"You know what makes me feel better?" I saw Tia's mind at work, as she slinked across the bed to me and draped her body across my waist. "Whenever you rub my back right at the base of my tail, I feel so good. That makes you feel good too, right? Here you go." And she turned her head to me, and glanced over at her tail.
I laughed. "No, Tia, that just makes YOU feel better. Not me." But I rubbed her back anyway.
The next morning, I got an early appointment at the vet's, and tried my best to be happy that Tia was finally on the next phase of her life. However, I was also worried. She wasn't going from my home to her forever home. She would go from my home to Lee's home for a few days, then onto the foster's, and then, maybe one day, finally a forever home. Would she think I didn't love her? Would she think I abandoned her?
At the vet's I couldn't get a hold of Maripat so I had to pay the bill up front and Maripat would reimburse me later. However, due to me not wanting to deal with my emotions of losing Tia, I decided to rudely be angry at not being able to reach Maripat, at money, and focused all of my energy on getting upset about the bill rather than just dealing with how much I would miss this little girl.
Meanwhile, Tia had no idea that she was spending her final moments with me.
And again, I reminded myself, Holy shit, she's not dead; she's just going to Washington. But, the result is still the same: I'll never see her again. Ever.
I tried not to cry on the drive to Bakersfield. I didn't want her to feel my sadness and get anxious. As it was, she had started her anxiety panting on the way back from the vet's, where she was given an exam as well as a vaccine. I had to be confident; I had to be happy for her so she would be okay.
Kathleen called to tell me that Lee was running half an hour late, and I said that was fine, as I was five minutes away. "So these are your final moments with Tia. I'm sure you're thinking about that," Kathleen said.
Aw, crap: the tears again. "Yup, trying not to think about that. Thanks, Kathleen," I said, trying to laugh away the tears.
"I just want to acknowledge that that's where you are, and I know this must be hard for you. You love her a lot. You wouldn't take care her the way you do if you didn't."
Oh come on, Kathleen, knock it off. I'm trying to make it without getting upset.
"Thank you," I replied. "Thanks for letting me know about Lee. I'll call you after I see her off."
I quickly got off the phone and tried to regain my composure. I arrived at the Kern County shelter, our rendezvous spot, and not seeing anywhere to hang out, I asked Miss Garmin (my GPS) to locate a nearby park.
Bakersfield is not a vacation destination. In fact, some might argue that being dead might be better than being in Bakersfield. The first park had a group of creepy middle-aged men hanging out at a picnic table and the second park was deserted and covered in graffiti. This was not a great place to be. Eventually I headed back to the shelter, opened up the tailgate, and Tia and I sat in the blazing sun, watching people come in and out of the shelter while we waited for Tia's ride.
Tia had no idea what the future would hold. She had no idea that she would never see me again after this moment in the parking lot. I wondered how many other dogs had their final moments with their people here in this parking lot. Tia was lucky. She was hitching a ride to safety. But the dogs two cars over... a man brought out the animal control officers and together they put the slipleads on the dogs and brought them inside. An old woman in the truck didn't even get out. Those dogs: did they know this was it? Their final moments with their people; their final moments of freedom; most likely the final days of their lives?
Tia was safe. As I looked into her amber eyes watching the scene next to us, I couldn't imagine the world without this soul. I couldn't fathom her being taken into the back room and that light, that fire in her eyes, being snuffed out. Maripat, Kathleen, me, the rescues: we were the reason why Tia wasn't taken to the back room. She was beside me now because of the work and time they and I had invested.
Tia wasn't my dog. I might have been her person, but she wasn’t my dog. Right now, she was everyone's dog. I tried to convince myself that by letting her go, I was allowing the rest of the world to experience this fabulous soul. By letting her go, I was sharing her with the world. I felt blessed to have had my time with her; now it was time for others to love her too.
Lee pulled up and we flagged each other down. It was a simple passenger van without the seats, ready with airline crates for the ten little dogs he was picking up along the way. There was one wire crate, like one you see in a house, with a bed in it, right behind his seat.
"You can pick up the rest and she can go in last," I said to him, hoping I could have just even a few more minutes with Tia.
"Nah, she's easy. Let's get her in," he said.
I walked Tia over and she put her feet up on the side of the van. She was ready to explore. I had to get the harness off her first, but then she just went right into the crate, collar and leash still attached. No hesitation at all.
"Wait. Wait," I said to her. "A hug goodbye?"
I leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. I could sense that Lee wanted to be on his way to his next stop, but I lingered. I was being that high maintenance foster mom, instead of the efficient transporter. I asked when he planned on getting to Sacramento.
"When I get there," was his reply.
"Tonight?" I asked.
"Oh hell, yeah. I plan on sleeping in my own bed tonight."
I waved good bye, and that was it. Tia was gone.
I needed silence for a time on the road. No radio, just the open road and my thoughts and feelings. I didn't like this. 2007 or 2011: my heart just isn't strong enough to do this. I can't do this again. Short term fine, but this long with a dog: I just can't.
Forty-five minutes later a thought crossed my mind: what if that wasn't Lee? It's not like we asked for each other's identification. What if I just handed her off to anyone?
I know that's illogical, but still, I figured I should call Kathleen and let her know I handed Tia off to Lee as a sort of verification that it was him. Kathleen asked how I was doing.
"I just need some more alone time. And luckily I have two whole hours of that on the road right now!"
"If you hadn't said you'd take her, we wouldn't have been able to pull her. You realize it's because you that she's alive, right? You are allowed to grieve. You love her. It's okay that you'll miss her."
Again, Kathleen, really?
"But it's selfish," I said, trying to hold in the tears.
"How is it selfish?"
"Because she's going on to better things. I have no right to be sad."
"Of course you do! I don't know any foster who has had a dog longer than a week that doesn't cry when they see them go," Kathleen said.
"I wonder if she thinks I abandoned her," I admitted my other reason for crying.
"Pit bulls are resilient. She'll make new friends."
I knew she would. She had already professed her love for Lee before she got into the van. I knew she would have fun on her adventure. But I never got the sense that she thought I was just a transient in her life.
Some dogs seem to know that I'm just there for a short time. They get it; they know I'm not their person. But Tia seemed to think I was hers.
Or maybe she's like that with all people. It's like what Stephanie said about me with Stella: "I see the way you look at her."
I look at all dogs that way, I told her. I love them all. Maybe Tia looks at all people that way. I certainly hope so.
It's been two days, and I still miss the little girl. I don't miss going for boring walks three times a day; but I do miss her attempting to snuggle with me while I type on the computer, and I miss her snoring and sleep-barking. I miss her expressive face. I miss her.
I had asked Kathleen to keep me updated on news of Tia's travels. This afternoon I got a voicemail: "Tia's safe, but there's been a change of plans."
Tia is currently in Sacramento and doing just fine, but rather than catch her connecting ride to Washington she's going to turn around and head south. The foster in Washington had an emergency, and can no longer have Tia. Ironically, the day Tia left, Maripat got an adoption application from someone here in Los Angeles.
And so, it appears the universe hasn't cancelled the Tia plotline for me. She's staying with a temp foster in Sacramento until she can catch a ride south, and although Kathleen said she'll be headed to boarding, I of course offered to take her in: as long as there's a definite end date.
Yeah right. Looks like Season Two with Tia is just around the corner.
At times, Life seems to be a series of chaotic events not really pertaining to one another, and we wonder how the hell we ended up where we are today. Other times, though, I get the feeling that angels are actually writers, sitting around a conference table, coming up with new plot twists and character developments for the people and beings in their sitcom. (At least my life is a sitcom; there's very little drama and I like it that way).
Six weeks ago I was supposed to foster a little black pit bull named Lilly who needed out of the shelter. However, due to events I had nothing to do with, I was asked to foster this little brindle and white pittie named Fiona. Before I knew Fiona was to become my roommate for a spell, I had seen her picture and thought, "Huh. I want that dog."
It was just a brief thought. Nothing unusual. But one of those writers in the sky must of heard it, jotted it down, and henceforth created a spec script of what happens next.
Two weeks. That was all it was supposed to be. This was a sitcom, not a mini-series. But I guess Fiona (who I renamed Tia) was just too grand of a character to let go of. Her guest appearances were so loved and adored that the studio decided to give her a contract. Oh, sure, they say they tried to write her out of the story, but it just wouldn't happen.
To recap: At the end of her two week run, Kelly, a foster in Ventura would take her if I could take the dog she had, but Tia couldn't leave immediately because she just had had surgery and couldn't be around other dogs for ten days. I also couldn't take another dog as the point was for me to not be fostering at all. So the negotiations were called off, and I said I'd keep Tia another ten days and then she could go to Kelly.
After those ten days were up, another foster became available, and was going to tag in, but then decided otherwise at the last minute. A possibility of her being adopted was out there for a brief moment, but that too, fell through. Initially she was going to go to a rescue in Oregon, and I had taken her in because she was waiting for a transport. But it didn't appear to me that a transport was in the near future, as we all thought such a sweet girl would get a home quickly. Well, no one informed the writer in the sky that we'd appreciate seeing that episode.
Two weeks ago I was offered a one day job, and not being able to find a temp foster for her around town, and her not having a vaccine she needed to be put into Los Angeles doggie daycare, Kathleen was going to have Kelly foster; and keep her for good, making the official transition. However, another plot twist: Kelly threw her back out and needed time to recuperate. The only place they could get to take Tia was in Ventura (sixty miles away), but they weren't just kennels. They allowed the dogs in the play yards for a few hours every day. I liked the concept, and I needed to work and take a day trip out of town anyway. So, I agreed, and Tia went on her own vacation for five days.
During the day, I didn't feel bad leaving Tia there since she would be with other dogs. I had experimented with taking her to the dog park a couple of times, and she had a blast. Why she allowed another dog to continually put her head in his mouth, I'll never know, but she did enjoy the company of the boys who doted on her and played with her.
At the boarding place, I even left her bed, a toy, and her food, so she didn't feel completely abandoned by me. She certainly didn't feel abandonded from what I saw; she didn't even have the courtesy to say good-bye. She simply allowed herself to be led out the backdoor to meet a bunch of other dogs in the play yard. I wondered when it was that she finally turned around and went, "Wait. Where did she go?"
I did feel bad at night, knowing that although she had her bed, it still was a kennel, in the dark, behind bars and on a concrete floor.
When I picked her back up last Friday, I could tell she hadn't had the worst time ever. I didn't get from her, "Thank goodness you're here! This place is awful!"
Instead, her frantic licking, jumping on me, accidentally punching me with her paws and knocking me in the gut with her head all in an attempt to express just how excited she was to see me again, I felt like she was saying, "Oh my God! You're back! You gotta come meet my new friends! This is so awesome! I get to have all this fun and now YOU'RE here too!!!"
In gathering her belongings, it was discovered that the toy I had left her with was now MIA.
"A lot of the dogs are thieves," the kennel worker told me.
However, seeing tiny pieces of it all over her bed, I suspected it wasn't stolen by a dog, but probably taken away by a kennel worker who didn't want her swallowing it.
I had wondered if she would remember me; clearly she did. I also wondered if she would remember the apartment, and how to be housebroken. Indeed she did remember the apartment. And in fact, the moment we walked in, she bounded over to the bowls of toys I have in the living room and began nosing through them. "Yay! My toys are still here! I'm so happy!"
Perhaps another dog did indeed steal her toy.
We settled back into our routine. After a month, it really is routine. However, she had clearly picked up some bad habits from the kids at camp. "Drop it" seems to have been checked out her library of understanding some time ago, but now when I went for her toy, she snapped at me--exactly what she would do to a dog. Re-training her to realize I am a human, and not a dog, was going to take time.
Monday morning Kathleen called to tell me that Kelly was feeling better and I was free to bring Tia there whenever Kelly was available. I was happy that Tia could go to a foster home with other dogs; she really does love the company of canines. It was a long drive back to Ventura, but I'd do that, knowing Tia was in good hands and would be happy. We were all set to go; Friday at noon, Tia was going to officially become Kelly's foster dog.
Ah, but wait, the tale can't end there. I have this dog for six weeks, and then she just goes to another foster? Come on, there's no story in that.
"And that's what you've missed on Glee." (My life is definitely not a musical. But that does bring you up to date and ready for this week's episode.)
