The Skyline Kids: I am sad to report that the little grey one wasn’t developing correctly. It was suspected to be a congenital disorder, and so Amber made the tough decision to let her go to the other side. The remaining two tabbies who she christened Sky and Linus, are still in her capable and loving care, growing up in a house of kitties.
Here’s a purr to prove it:
As for the lost Sammy, his original owners never came a’looking, which proves they weren’t really worthy of such a grand dog anyway. Luck would have it that Siobhan’s networking paid off and through a friend of a friend of a friend, Sammy has a new home with a brother and two loving dads.
Being lost can be a terrible thing, but more often than not, it’s the best thing to ever happen to you as it gives you the chance to find a better path.
As for my current charge, it was a terrible sickness that gave her a new path and saved her life. Quincy, a six month old canine of undeterminable heritage, was serving her sentence for being sans human at the Baldwin Park shelter. Best Friends LA hosts a Super Adoption once a season, bringing all the county and city shelters together along with some rescues at a mobile adoption. Quincy was brought there in the hopes of finding a home, but when a volunteer saw her collapsed in her kennel, she was immediately brought to the nearest vet clinic.
Eight hundred dollars later, Quincy was released with the diagnosis of kennel cough that had evolved into pneumonia. Had she been sent back to Baldwin, her fate was almost certain: death. Christy, my foster coordinator for many a charge, took on Quincy and vowed to get her well and find her a new home.
Quincy was released from the hospital on Tuesday and went to stay with a trainer, Peggy. Peggy has other dogs, so Quincy had to be segregated in the apartment not only to not infect the others but just like people, getting riled up and excited doesn’t help us get better. Quincy needed a quiet, secluded place to relax and heal. And where else could she find such a place but in my humble abode?
I had to work for the remainder of the week, so I said I’d take her on Saturday and keep her for two weeks while she rested and recuperated. Then she can go to a foster home with other dogs, or hopefully, her forever home.
When I met Quincy at the West Hollywood Adoption Faire on Saturday, she had come long way from the passed out pup at the previous adoption. She was happy and vibrant, and Peggy had already taught her a number of things in the four days she had her.
Quincy can Sit, Lay Down, Shake (or Paw), and almost has Roll Over accomplished. She even will stop and sit if she pulls hard on the leash and I stop.
All this sounds amazing, but my first thought was: Crap. I’m going to break her.
“You better not,” Christy warned. “It's hard enough to get a dog adopted; don't go making her spoiled too.”
I let my fosters sit on the couch, sleep on my bed, and get rowdy. Granted they need to have manners in public, but they have a lot of leeway when it comes to house rules. After all, they’ve been locked up; this is their reprieve. But this is a six month old impressionable young pup who already has a good foundation. She’s wickedly smart and takes correction well. Christy even gave me a crate in which I was told I should crate train her. I’m way better at being the fun Auntie than I am at being the Mom.
I tried. I did. But after the fifteenth time of coming back into a room to drag Quincy off the couch, I got a little sick of it. I’ve explained that it’s invitation only: she’s only allowed on the couch if I invite her up and I’m there. That’s cut back on the coup d'couch when I’m away, and she seems to understand the concept, sitting and waiting for permission to be allowed up.
Generally she prefers her own space anyway; content to lie on the floor right next to the couch or on her bed. I attempted the crate the first night. However, she’s a big girl and we both tossed and turned and didn’t get much shut-eye until 4:30AM when I released her from her claustrophobic room. Her rattling around inside the cage kept me awake and she was overheated, stinky, and couldn’t coordinate her body to fit in such a small space.
After taking her outside for a quick pee break, I put the crate away and put down a dogbed next my bed. She walked over and splayed her giant self across it, her head hanging off one side and her tail off the other, and promptly fell asleep—as did I.
Quincy is a smart one. People say that as if it’s a badge of honor when really, let’s face it, it’s a warning. Sure, she’s not the best at tracking a tennis ball (she’s gotten clocked in the face by it on more than one occasion and looks about perplexed), but she definitely yearns to know what makes me tick—so that she might use this information for future manipulation.
Just this morning she awoke with a tail wag and sat up to greet me at my bed. I pet her and she gently placed a paw on the bedspread.
“No, stay down,” I said nicely.
“Aw, come on. You get to sleep up here,” she seemed to say, glancing back at her now inadequate sleeping conditions given the expanse of space I had.
“That’s because I’m the human. You have your own be bed. Be happy.”
She threw her head back as she bounced down to ground level, as if she accepted the argument. But I have a sneaking suspicion this was just Round One.
In all honesty it feels unnatural not to have her on my bed. But I must be a responsible foster mom and not give her amenities that she may not have her in her future home. And furthermore, I’m pretty sure we’d make terrible bedfellows. I, snoring loudly, and she, with her legs thrashing about, dream-woofing and sleep-barking as I’ve seen her do in the living room: neither of us would get any sleep.
Just now as I was writing this, she scared the crap out of me with two loud forceful barks as if attacking. She had been sound asleep on her bed across the living room, when she suddenly sprung herself up and into consciousness (and stopped my beating heart) with her own bark. Must have been a nutty dream. She looked suspiciously at the corner between the piano and the couch (oddly, right where other dogs appear to have “seen” something.)
“Dude, you’re creeping me out,” I said trying to get her to look at me instead of that corner. “You okay?”
She seemed shaken still, but in only a moment she lay back down, leaving me to wonder if it was a dream, a hallucination, or a visitation within her dream. Or, if this was just her laying the groundwork to get something out of me later...
Smart or not, her misfortune to have life-threatening pneumonia is exactly what saved her life, and is what has led her here. Her journey has just begun, and I look forward to seeing where she takes me as I accompany her on this portion of her journey home.
Here is her adopt-a-pet ad with contact info and stats:
Despite what the ad says, I personally don’t think she’s a Border Collie or a Pit Bull. She’s got webbed toes, a long tail with a white tip as hunting dogs are known to have, and although she might have a wide face reminiscent of a pit bull, she’s got the triangle ears and slightly sloppy jowls of a retriever. In the end, breed doesn’t matter. She’s smart, she’s cute, and she’s loveable which can only add up to one thing: Trouble. And who doesn’t love Trouble?
