Letters From the Homefront

Learning not to fight the universe’s vast ocean waves and succumbing to the current to see what grand shores I would rest upon is not an easy task for me. I fought hard when David said he wouldn’t take Missy. Even Belinda fought back, resisting the need to change our plans. But in the end, it was what was needed. The current took us, we let go, and Missy ended up on a grand island shore.

We never would have even thought to look for other options—the option for Missy to stay right where she was and have the training come to her. And I certainly never would have come upon the site that led us to the person who was supposed to care for Missy all along: the fabulous Miss Sarah Parker.

Sarah met me at 5:30AM Monday morning. I hadn’t slept really, just napped here and there between tasks of cleaning up, prepping the house for her, and packing up my belongings. Missy was happy to have company—even at this ungodly hour of the morning. Pre-coffee for both Sarah and me, we muddled through the logistics, and just as we finished up, my cab rolled up to the curb.

It could be from lack of sleep, but truly it was my gut instinct that was at peace in that moment. I hugged and kissed Missy good-bye without even a tear. She was in the best hands possible, and maybe, just maybe, she would be in her forever home before I saw her again. I closed the door to the cab and waved to the dimly lit shadows in my front window: Sarah waving as she crouched down behind Missy, wrapped her arms around Missy, and the two watched me drive away in the pre-dawn hour.

Half an hour later as I retrieved my phone out of the x-ray machine at the airport, I saw I had a text. “She isn’t into napping. She misses you already!”

I hoped she wouldn’t sit there all day. I wanted her to cuddle up with sleepy Sarah and snooze until dawn. Sarah later reported that she finally dragged Missy away from the window, but Missy only lasted a few minutes before returning to sentinel. An hour later, missy gave up, opting for the more comfortable position of awaiting my return on the couch.

While I jetted across the nation, Missy and Sarah settled in together. I imagine it was a bit of a change for Missy, but not nearly the trauma it would have been to go to David’s house. Missy still had her home (my home) as stability.

Sarah had told me her intent of trying to get Missy to walk with a gentle leader, which I was fine with. It’s a good tool, but not something I could get the hang of. I suggested she wait until Missy trusted her and they created a bond first since I had never put anything on Missy’s face before. But I trusted Sarah's judgement: if Missy was ready, she was ready.

By evening on the first day, Sarah emailed me this pic of Missy on the gentle leader, like a pro!

It’s not my favorite training tool, as it makes me feels like I'm leading a horse around, not a dog, but for Sarah, it’s helping Missy correct her reactions to stimulus on the street faster (and more effectively) than the Martingale collar ever did. She never noticed the choking aspect of the collar and would keep her tantrums up when she saw a dog/squirrel/cat/moving being. But with the head collar, her visual and mental focus quickly can be turned away from the stimulus.

That’s not to say it is not without its hazards. As I explained to Sarah, you have to be really observant with Missy; you have to see, react, and respond to every possible trigger before she notices it. Sarah has gotten road rash only once due to a cat, but Missy didn’t get away. So the proverb is, “Missy keeps you on your toes or face first on the pavement.”

Day three began “Heel.” In less than a week, she is maintaining Heel even out on the streets. It was a long process, but just today, Sarah announced that Missy passed a cat and remained in the Heel position!

Inside, Sarah is teaching Missy how to control her barking when it comes to outside forces. If Missy barks at the window, Sarah will ask her if she needs to “check it,” and then once shown, she tells her, “Okay, thank you.” “Enough!” is the new most-spoken word in and out of the house, as it is used for Missy's verbal squirrel attacks, and other barking fiascos that warrant no checking but merely human logic.

Today brought another phenomenal text announcement: "Yesterday AM she also managed to sit and stare the squirrel in the face through the window. I was doing Yoga and managed to get her to calm down on the floor with me. Slowly but surely... :)"

Maybe I should have tried Yoga for Missy.

In all this though, I believe that Sarah has indeed become enamored of the street girl. It is this investment, this caring, that I don’t believe she would have ever received at David’s, or even the other train and boarding places I desperately tried to enroll her in. Waking, eating, sleeping, living with a soul you are training to have manners, teaching to do things, to communicate, and seeing the results not just once a day, but every minute of the day: that’s how true dog training works.

When you own a dog, you can take a dog to classes, but the work isn’t just one hour a week—it’s every minute of every day, creating a bond and a relationship. Sarah has done that. She isn’t Missy’s owner; she’s an at-home teacher who gets to the results of her training all the time.

Sarah hasn’t had many guests over, but when her friend Matt and her went to the movies the other night, she asked him to come inside the house to give Missy a chance to learn “Go to you Mat” and “Stay” while people entered the house. Her focus mat has moved inside now, and Sarah is using it as a place for Missy to be near the fireplace so she can still see outside, but isn’t allowed to move.

(That's a zebra toy Sarah had in her car and needed to get rid of... It is now missing its ears and a bit of mane, but has yet to be disemboweled.)

It took three tries of Sarah telling her to Wait, opening the door, her getting up, Sarah closing the door, and starting over before she stayed long enough on the mat to try again. She couldn’t wait any longer on the third try and rushed at him, but Matt had already been told not to give her attention until she stopped jumping on him. She calmed down fairly quickly and they went for a walk.

Back at the house, Missy claimed Matt as her boyfriend (Sarah’s words, not mine.) She sat on his feet while they stood in the kitchen and looked up at him all googly-eyed. She was so taken by him, she even tried to hump him... three times. (Poor girl just doesn’t know how to express herself.)

In the living room, Sarah no longer existed for Missy. The woman she had just spent a week with, the one who has bought her toys, given her enormous amounts of sausage and praise—she meant nothing to her; all that Missy cared about was the cute boy at the other end of the couch.

I do wonder if Sarah has even begun on her new novel. I know how time slips away when you’re with a canine. And Sarah is still maintaining her dog-walking gigs five days a week from noon to 4PM.

Missy has learned to sleep at the end of the bed (Sarah can’t have a dog all up in her face when she’s sleeping,) and she’s learning that when Sarah is on the floor in the morning, that she is doing Yoga and is not on the floor to play with her.

Sarah has also gotten in “Drop It” lessons, using treats to begin with, but now without. Missy seems to like the fetch idea now that she’s caught on that if she drops it, Sarah will throw it again.

I’m grateful for Sarah. She cares for Missy, is invested in Missy, and is teaching her so much. And she “gets” Missy. She has said a number of times that Missy is incredibly smart—and how sometimes it would easier if Missy wasn’t so bright. Missy knows when there isn’t a treat for a reward and won’t always pony up the necessary response without the reward. And she also recognizes what I said long ago: that Missy seems to really enjoy the challenge of figuring out what you want her do to. I wouldn’t say it’s eager to please; it’s eager to please herself. She’s proud when she’s done something well. You can see it.

I picture her being a police dog. She’s intelligent enough, but the reason I say that is because she has this independent sense of self. The girl isn’t going to blindly obey; she takes her own perspective and her own opinion as a deciding factor. I think that quality makes a great partner.

Of course, the Police Academy is big dreaming. Right now, she needs a home. Sarah gave Missy a bath (and kudos to her for trying to record the event!) and is prepared to start making the treacherous steps forward to canine interaction.



And this is her in the backyard afterward (it’s also proof of why I need to fix the fence—the tie-line is a danger):

   
If you can, pause at 00:20. Missy's revving-up moment is priceless.

So, to my friends, I am indebted to you. Your money is going to someone who not only trains Missy daily, but truly cares for Missy, and spends time with her not just training, but living with her, taking her for walks, playing with her, snuggling with her.

It wasn’t the option I thought would happen. I never suspected this would be the outcome when I said, “Why doesn’t she just stay here?” back in January. I suspected 2-4 weeks, and she’d be in her forever home and I’d be working again.

But once on the path, there’s no going back. Like Belinda who couldn’t go back, but could only pay the vet bill for Missy’s boarding in November when she learned Missy hadn’t gone to that rescue. Now I’ve dipped my toe in, and been swept up. There’s no going back. I couldn’t have taken her to a kennel. I just couldn’t. If  had, then my hands would be washed of it, it would be all on Belinda, and Missy would waste away at boarding indefinitely. I couldn’t do that.

The fact is that although I say “this is the outcome,” this isn’t the outcome, the end; we’re still on the journey. Missy isn’t even done with Week 2 of training and she’s well on her way to being desensitized to animals and going to adoption fairs. Sarah aims for Missy to be ready for adoption fairs by the end of April. I, of course, am aiming for end of March. When I hear how far Missy has come just in a week, I know she can be a polite canine in public in only couple of weeks. I don’t expect her to be perfect; but I know she will rise to whatever challenge is presented to her—even if for her own pride.

I thank you, my friends, who have financially and morally supported Missy and me. I thank the universe for relentlessly pulling us away from our original plan and plunking us down on an entirely different path. I am hoping, for Missy and for my sake, that Missy has a home by May 1st. This is the need I am sending out to the universe. If my job is extended (which I hope and need it to be), I cannot keep paying Sarah. And Missy needs to go directly from Sarah’s loving care right into her forever family’s home, with no stop-overs.

Missy, I’m doing the best I can; now you do your best: go out there and strut yourself and flirt with the boys and find your person!

 http://www.adoptapet.com/pet/8500428-los-angeles-california-american-pit-bull-terrier-mix

"...And to My Dog, I Leave the House."

Friday morning was supposed to be the beginning of a final 48 hours with my troubled, infuriating, and beloved charge. I had left a message for David on Thursday telling him that we had raised enough for two weeks’ of training, but was aiming for 30 days if we could get it by the time her two weeks were up. I inquired as to what I should bring with her (toys, leash, etc), and if we could drop her off on Sunday rather than Saturday. I wanted as much time with her as possible, and an extra day would mean the clock wouldn’t start ticking on her new foster search for 24 more hours.

At 10 AM on Friday, David called me back. He apologized for not getting back to me the day before; it had been a busy week.

“That’s fine. So, is Sunday okay, or do I need to leave her on Saturday?”

“Well, see that’s the thing. Now I’m booked until April.”

“What?!”

“It’s first come first serve,” he said while earlier he had said, “It’s not about the money.”

“I told you I was raising the money for her and we would do this. That was three days ago.”

“Well, things change. That’s great that you raised the money,” he said a flat, not impressed way.

I broke. It had been an already stressful week, and the seams of my emotional fabric were frayed.

“Really? It’s not about the money? You knew she had nowhere to go. You knew I was raising the money. So now there’s just no room for her?”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do," he stated matter-a-factly.

“You could have called!!! I have a thousand dollars of my friends’ money specifically for her to go to you, and now you can’t do it! What do I tell them? That I lied?!”

Now my stress wasn’t just where would Missy go, but what about all the money that I had raised. My friends generously contributed for the betterment of the dog, not for her to be boarded.

“Well, here’s an option,” David began.” “There’s a boarding facility right across from me...” He constantly talks down to me as if I know nothing; he has no idea how linked into the rescue community I am.

“I know,” I said. “It’s a kennel.”

“Well, his rate is $20 a day, and I can talk to the owner—“

“I believe the rescue rate is $16—“ I had already inquired about this.

“—well, I’d have to talk to him. But Missy can stay there and then I’ll train her every day. I can walk across the street and get her and bring her over and work with her.”

“My friends are paying for her to be in a HOME, not in a kennel!”

“Well I just told you, that’s not an option, so I’m giving you this solution.”

“And how much is that going to cost?”

“Well we can talk about that. We’re talking about that right now.”

Good God, I wanted to punch this man. I had always found him to be a pompous ass, but because he was a good trainer and handled Missy well, I put up with his arrogance and inability to communicate nicely with humans. I accept that this is a frequent personality flaw with people who work with animals. But now he had crossed the line. He had fucked me over big time, and now I had to explain that to my friends who put money in the pot to pay for him.

“If it was $75/day, why not half for $37.50?” He proposed.

“How long are you going to work with her?” I asked.

“Probably half an hour. Look, if she stayed with me, I don’t train with them for more than 30 minutes a day.”

Interestingly, boarding in a kennel at his facility is $50; the train and board in his house is $75; his personal one hour training sessions are $175.... this man’s pricing model was a joke.

“So you think I should pay for $20 for boarding [I wasn’t going to argue that point with him at the moment], plus $37.50 for you which is $57.50 total a day for her to be in a concrete cell?!”

He explained that because the kennel isn’t booked up, the manager has plenty of time to spend with the dogs and she would be cared for.

Bullshit. I wasn’t taking Missy to a kennel. And, since David just fucked me over leaving Missy with nowhere to go and me having to come with how to make this right with my friends, I wasn’t going to pay him one damn penny.

If nothing else, he should have called me when he had become “booked,” since he said he purposely keeps March light with few dogs and he would be happy to help me out.

I emailed, texted, and called Belinda in a panic. Missy had NOWHERE TO GO and I was leaving in two days, one of which few boarding places are open.

Belinda was infuriated. He called him in an effort to tell him that he had to push someone else to April. That he knew our situation. That he knew I was raising the money. That this was her only option.

He didn’t give a shit. When Belinda brought up that Missy couldn’t go to a kennel due to her issues of trust and her inability to handle new situations well, he didn’t give a shit. “Dogs don’t care if they’re in a home environment or if they’re in a kennel,” he stated to both me and Belinda. In fact, he was a bit condescending about my concern for Missy when he spoke with Belinda.

I don’t want this man even within a city block of Missy. He has NO comprehension of canine emotions and instinct and intellect if he truly believes that a dog doesn’t care if she is secure in a home with a person or alone in a concrete, chain-link box for 23.5 hours a day. He isn’t just an ass; he's a moron.

By noon, the anger had fizzled and been replaced by crisis management. Missy had already had to deal with me sobbing so hard, she probably thought she or I were dying. Missy had licked my face, given me a toy, tried everything in her power to make my happy. Now it was time to let go of the negativity about the situation and move on to solving where this girl was going. Missy would NOT—and I mean NEVER—be trained by David again. But if I didn’t find a suitable place for her by the end of the day, she would end up in a kennel--a perfectly fine kennel mind you, but a kennel nonetheless—the one place I promised myself and Missy that she would never go.

Scouring online, I found another board and train place just north of Burbank. I called Paradise Ranch, explained my issue, and they kindly set up a 3pm appointment after hours for me so that they could assess if they could take Missy in. It would be $107/night for training and boarding, but since they did cage-free group activities, maybe she needed just boarding at $45/night. And this boarding was indoors, in a home-like setting with real beds and people and dogs.

I imagine that what I went through is similar to urban mothers who bring their child into an interview for the top notch kindergarten class in that part of the city. It defines their future. Everything rides on how that kid does alone without mom there to help him. It was the same thing for Missy.

I sat in the lobby filling out her application, and watching her and the trainers on a big screen TV. The surveillance camera looked out over the yard. Missy stood with a male trainer and on the other side of the fence, although I couldn’t see it, they were testing her. I looked up just in time to see a person with a backpack walk by on the other side of the fence from Missy and Missy lunge forward, struggling against her leash and the trainer to get to the man.

She hadn’t done that in over a month... maybe even six weeks. It was like watching the nameless dog I had taken in two months ago, not the evolved Missy who had just been with me five minutes ago. I knew she would lunge at the dog, but I don’t think they even gave her a chance to calm down and try to meet through the barrier. The trainer hung onto her tightly, and Missy thrashed about, even more upset about being restrained. Firstly, I would have given her some sort of direction such as to sit and calm down, or given her the chance to go to the barrier since both parties would be safe, but it didn’t appear that the trainer would. They were testing what Missy would do, given her own devices and decisions. And her decisions were bad ones.

The two trainers, Elias and Cora, came in to discuss how my kid’s interview went. They were very nice, and broke the news to me kindly: Missy had failed.

They had one suite which was not around other dogs, but it was booked. And even then, they’d be hesitant to take her. They couldn’t train her on socialization. The dogs needed to already have that in order to be admitted.

It was this reason that I had originally booked David to train her: so that she would be accepted by more places, once she got over her “not knowing how to talk to dogs” problem. They gave me a couple of leads of people to call, but it was already 4pm on a Friday afternoon. The other place I had inquired about taking her when I initially called David required a half-day assessment and $400 just for that. It was like paying a mechanic to diagnosis your car; I find it immoral.

I called Belinda, and she said, “Okay, well then, we need to start thinking outside the box. I’ll keep working on ideas and you do the same. I am so sorry!”

She knew this was emotionally devastating to me. I just don’t do rescue enough to accept that kenneling is a sad but necessary evil. It saves a physical life, but can drain a soulful life in the process. Missy had never had a person before, not even a home probably. Now that she had had that with me, I couldn’t just bring her to a cage. I knew that it would devastate her, just as much as it would kill me.

So, home I went with my rejected kid who couldn’t get into the best school in the district, to think outside the box. I hadn’t eaten. I probably hadn’t even gone to the bathroom. Crisis mode for me means no physical survival activities are necessary.

I Googled my way into the depths of the internet. Someone in the vast world wide web had to be the answer, the miracle. Maybe David’s assholic move was the pre-miracle, the thing that was necessary to find what Missy really needed and where the next fork in the road was.

I can’t tell you how I happened upon it. It might have been a search for “pet sitter,” but alas came te site that would bring me much needed hope: www.rover.com.

It was set up like www.airbnb.com, which is a site for people renting out their homes to vacationers and short-term stay people. At rover.com, you could find pet sitters that will take your dog in while you're on vacation, or ones who would come to your house.

Well this certainly was outside the box.

I mean, we had thought about paid fosters, but we were looking for the least expensive option if Missy couldn’t be trained. And training really is what she needed.

By the time Belinda came over about 9:00 PM, I had one found person that I thought would be perfect... but she was expensive. It was too good to be true really. I mean, aside from the price.

"Sarah P." was listed as a writer with plenty of time during the day to spend with your dog. She had experience as an apprentice dog trainer, she lived in Glendale, she would stay in your house and take care of house-sitting duties as well... and according to her profile, she was available.

“Call her,” Belinda said. “Call her right now.”

I had to email first, so I set up a profile and emailed her. I had put in the dates of March 10th through May 17th. Granted jobs change, things change, it could be much sooner, or it could be later, but that seemed like a damn close guess for now. And anyway, if Missy got adopted beforehand, we wouldn’t need her services.

Within minutes, I got a reply with her phone number. Her rate was $50/night according to the website, which when considering David was $75/night, and boarding at a kennel was $20 a night, that seemed reasonable. She couldn’t go to cage-free places, so the $50-$60 a night range wasn’t even an option. I was about to call when Belinda and I looked at the left hand side of the screen that gave the total: $50 x 69 nights = $3450.

What?!?!

Little bit of sticker shock. Funny how numbers, the most logical thing on earth, can create such emotion depending on how they’re arranged.

Sarah P. was currently hanging out with a blue pittie she was pet sitting, so I could call her even though it was 10:15 at night. In speaking with her, it really did seem like she was the miracle we had been waiting for. She hadn’t done so long of a gig before. She saw that we needed someone immediately but when she saw the dates, she was like, “Well, geez, I gotta take that!” As any freelancer knows, especially if you’re used to weekend work only, you don’t turn down a ten week job.

Sarah is a writer, and I had mentioned in her email that this was an inspiring place. I loved that she would be around all day, except when she was out walking other dogs—long term clients, five days a week. She was currently querying a book, and was about to start a new one on Monday. Being in a new space, a whole house with a new dog she could train—it was all too perfect for her too.

(It is quite possible that the first book written on these premises to be published may not be mine.)

She had a class to attend on Saturday from 11-5:30 (how to socialize dogs and play groups!), so she said she’d stop in before class. Belinda agreed, and we set up for a 10am meeting Saturday morning.

I still wanted to pursue other avenues, just in case this wasn’t a match (although, let’s face it, neither Belinda nor I could conceive it being otherwise.) In the numbers game, I explained to her that my friends’ money shouldn’t be put toward boarding Missy or just a pet sitter. It should be for training. Of the $50/night, I felt $10 should be mine out of pocket. I didn’t need a full time house sitter, but since she would be making sure the house didn’t fall down (or at least call me immediately if perchance it did), I should pitch in something of my own. Belinda would have been stuck with $20/night had Missy gone to a kennel. That left $30/night remaining that could be taken from the $1000 we had raised.

But should the $1000 be used for this? I was torn. Obviously we needed it. I couldn’t spend every penny of per diem on location to house Missy; I go on location for the added money because it carries me through when I’m unemployed. I needed my per diem. I could sacrifice $10 a day, but no more.

“Well the money could be used for professional training sessions if Sarah is willing to attend. Sounds like she might be. And if she’s a trainer, then Missy is getting training. Look, people donate for the dog, not for the specific cause.”

“But I told them $75 per day, so people contributed days. I don’t want it to be a lie. But now I don’t want her going to David’s even if and when there is room. I’m done with him.”

“Look, things change,” Belinda said. “Your friends are incredibly generous. I wrote all of them a thank you note and all of them responded with how much they wanted to help Missy. This helps Missy. She gets to stay here. She’ll get ten times as much care as she would with David. And some training. Look, do you know what it’s like to raise money for a dog on death row, you get almost all the money, and then the dog gets euthanizd anyway? I’ve contacted the donors and told them and offered to give them the money back and every single one of them will say, ‘No, keep it. Save another.’”

People like to help. I get that. But my word is my honor. If I say I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it. Granted, it wasn’t me but David who fucked up the plan, but as Belinda pointed out: it wasn’t the right plan. She and I fought for it, but the universe clearly had a better solution. Sarah P. was the right path to take... and maybe, just maybe, this gig was the path she needed to take in her life.

Belinda left at 11:15. Both of us were starving and she being a vegan and me leaving in only a few days,meant there were no options for her to eat in my house and few left for me too. I stayed up another three hours searching other profiles on rover.com just in case Sarah wasn’t the answer. Because if she wasn’t, the only alternative for Missy was a concrete cell, and I just couldn’t accept that.

Go with your gut. Always. We want things to work out a certain way, but sometimes what we think we want, isn’t right. I had met with a potential free foster for Missy on Thursday, but she just wasn’t right for her—I felt it in my gut. If I had let Missy go with her, bad things would ensue.

I wanted Sarah to be the right one. I wanted this work. I needed it to work. But above all, my gut instinct had to direct me to accept her. Saturday morning, I found myself telling her about how things worked in the house as we did the tour, rather than just giving a tour. I found myself telling her what I did with Missy, rather than asking what she would do. Missy already adored her: this woman came with a fanny pack full of scrumptious goodness; how could Missy not look up at her lovingly and do whatever she asked? When Missy jumped on her, Sarah turned away, exactly what you’re supposed to do to tell the dog that’s not acceptable. From the first step into the house, Sarah had the job.

Belinda came (bearing a coffee and croissant for me – if I haven’t mentioned it before, Belinda is utterly awesome!) after Sarah had arrived, so she and I hadn’t had time to discuss money or a how to interview her. Belinda spent some time playing tug with Missy while Sarah and I walked around the house and talked. After all, this wasn’t just going to be a caretaker and trainer for Missy; this woman would be watching over of the single most expensive investment of my life: my house.

(Interesting to note: when writing up my instructions on how to care for my precious charges, my house notes tally three pages; Missy runs six pages single-spaced.)

If Belinda and I were infinitely wealthy, Sarah would have moved in that moment. But Belinda hasn’t won a game show yet, and I haven’t sold the rights to my first book... so, we’re a little protective of our money. Sarah offered first: Three grand for the whole shebang. That was $450 savings, which was enormous, but still more than Belinda or I had in our back pocket. It wasn’t that we didn’t think she was worth it; she totally was. She wasn’t just a housesitter or pet sitter... she was a full out replacement me.

She had to get to class, so we told her we’d talk and call or text her in an hour or so. Belinda and I sat down, and we began playing with those logical symbols we call numbers, and tried to keep our emotion out of it. Of the thousand raised, almost every dollar was from my friends. Belinda’s friends hadn’t contributed yet. Even though she and I both hit all our networks with the site, my friends came through first--probably because I had never asked for money before. Time, moral support, a good thought here and there, sure, but never actual mullah.

The fact was, Sarah was worth it. David would have given her a crate in a house and 30 minutes a day of training. She would have been around other dogs, but it would have been stressful for her to make the transition. I didn’t realize how stressful until I saw her on video at Paradise Ranch. This allowed Missy the consistency of staying in the same place, it gave me someone to be using the house and keeping it occupied, and Missy would get training... Sarah wasn’t certified yet, but she had knowledge and wanted to use it. But above and beyond all that, I believe that Sarah will truly care for Missy. She will invest in her emotionally and intellectually. Missy will get to snooze on the couch in the morning, sleep nights on the bed, wander the house, sunbathe on the deck, and just be—that thing dogs do so well. She’ll just have a different caregiver... a better one in fact: Stephanie 2.0, the novelist and dog trainer/pet sitter, not Stephanie Beta, not-yet-published writer and dog emergency foster/transporter.

At some point during this whole crisis, Belinda asked me, “Have you read The Untethered Soul?”

“No, but I’m guessing you’re telling me I should untether my soul and be open to possibility,” I said as I rubbed my head, trying to ignore my empty stomach and hopeless heart.

She was right though: I had to let go, succumb to the ocean waves, let the universe carry me to those distant island shores.

“David did the biggest favor for us. Missy wasn’t meant to go to him. She needs to be here.”

Belinda is right. My gut is right. I’m hoping Belinda can raise the remaining funds. In the meantime, we have enough to get started, and if Missy does get adopted before the 10 weeks is up, we’ve all agreed to one week’s severance pay for Sarah so she doesn’t lose money by refusing other jobs.

I leave in twelve hours. Sarah will be here, probably in her pajamas and a baseball cap, as the cab rolls up to take me to the airport at 6:20 AM. I’ll say my goodbye to Missy and pass the leash, and the life, over to Sarah.

I don’t know how the little lady will handle it. I’m hoping she’ll easily transfer the trust and the bond over to Sarah. This is new for me; having to walk away before I’ve found the entrance to the path she should be on. Or maybe I should just accept that this, here, and now with Sarah, is precisely where I was supposed to take Missy all along.

Giving Thanks to the Village

Throughout my journeys in dog rescue, I have been struck with awe at the kindness and generosity of strangers. Tonight, it is the kindness and generosity of my friends and colleagues that brings me to tears. My heart is overflowing with gratitude.

Let’s be honest: asking for help doesn’t come easy to me. I have been disgusted with myself these past couple of months with how often I have had to ask for help. And I have been equally grateful to others who have provided that help. I had to admit that I couldn’t train Missy on my own; in response to that, I was given two training sessions to learn how to teach Missy the basics. When I stupidly mis-clipped her leash to her collar and Missy trotted off across the PetSmart parking lot, my yell for assistance was answered by an employee on his break. And when Missy was attacked at the end of the block, my cry for help was answered by neighbors, strangers, and a fire truck full of firefighters.

Even the small complaints of “I don’t know what to do,” (which is really, “Please help me” in disguise) were answered by friends like Amy who came by to meet Missy and teach her (and me) a few things, and Katya and Mike who safely discovered how Missy was around other dogs and gave me pointers on how to continue training her, and Christy who is forever answering my stupid emails and voicemails asking for advice.

With less than a week left and no new foster or forever home in sight, I was a mess. I was hopeless and helpless. The confidence I had for Marty when I said to Amanda, “Marty will be in a home in two weeks,” simply wasn’t there for Missy. I wasn’t expecting a miracle. I had been hoping for one, but the flame of hope was dying out.

And then a miracle did happen.

That miracle is the amazing and kind and generous cast of this insane production called my life. Friends I’ve known since I was four year old, and friends I have only known four years... they’ve come together in my time of need.

My Plan B for Missy, should a foster not be found, was to go to David’s in-home training program. Essentially, I’d be headed to my distant location job, and my foster kid would be packed up and sent to boarding school. She wouldn’t be in a concrete cell with cinder block walls and a chain link door; she’d be in a crate in David’s house to sleep and during the day, she’d learn to be with other dogs and get training with David.

Because of the generosity of Missy’s silent financier, I didn’t think it would be a problem. Granted $75 a day is a lot, but $20 a day to be boarded in a kennel with no stimulation or comfort indefinitely seemed like a greater waste of money to me (not that I had either $75 or $20 a day to spend; it was a theoretical opinion.) Belinda sent a request to Missy’s financial supporter for two weeks’ worth of training, knowing that 30 days worth was a large chunk of change, especially when she already spent $400 on lessons.

When she didn’t hear back, I went into panic mode.

I couldn’t drop Missy off at a kennel on Saturday. I couldn’t. I can’t. I won’t. In my mind, I angrily put aside my much-needed fence and now my much-needed deck (I learned today it is being ravished by termites; it’s only a matter of time before it’s gone and they move onto the structure of the house.) I would have to pay for Missy’s training. 

I then learned Chipin.com, rescue’s most trusted resource for fundraising, was closing its doors on March 7^th. I scoured the internet trying to find a replacement site that I could raise the money on. The universe sent me a lifeline. I left Christy an advice-seeking voicemail last night about sites to use, and this morning Christy received a fundraising effort from youcare.com—a site she hadn’t heard of. I sent the info to Belinda and within in an hour, Belinda set up a fundraising page for Missy’s training.

Even though our ultimate goal is $2250, Belinda set her goal low: $1000. That would be almost enough to get two weeks. I knew I’d be contributing whatever we couldn’t raise, but if we could raise the $1000, that’d be only $150 I’d need to put in. The dream of my fence was beginning to reappear.

If Missy’s silent sponsor did respond to Belinda’s request, then Missy would get a full 30 days. If I could get 100 people to donate just $20, we’d have enough even without Missy’s sponsor. I could do that. I began to have confidence—the kind of confidence I had for finding Marty a home, I now had for raising $2000 in two days.

The flame of hope brightened and strengthened.

To my grateful bewilderment, in only four hours from the site going live, a third of the $1000 goal was already raised. I told Belinda how incredibly overwhelmed I was with my friends’ generosity.

“Are you crying?” she asked, surprised.

“No... Well, yes. I just can’t believe how much they gave!”

As I write this, only twelve hours from when it all began, with only a dozen contributors, we are just $65 short of our goal. Actually, Belinda is expecting a $50 check from one of her supporters, and a friend of mine said she’d contribute in the morning. So really, we did raise $1000 in less than a day.

This morning, before I began the Missy fundraising effort, I read a blog that Katya wrote about a dog she tried to help, but couldn’t: (http://katyalidsky.tumblr.com/post/44738607494/chesters-music.) My eyes welled up with tears; I was so sad for her. I wrote to her that she shouldn’t feel like she failed this dog. And here’s why: 

As we walk along our path in life, we encounter many souls. We stop for some, some join us for a time, sometimes we even veer off our own path to help another find their true path. But we can’t help them all. We can’t carry every one that needs help; our hands get full. But that is not our failure. We can only hope that there is someone behind us on the path that will pick up those we can’t carry. 

Tonight I am thankful for all those souls on my path that walk not behind me, but beside me. The cast of characters in my life’s journey are helping me carry this one, helping me help Missy. They helped by providing moral support, by sending out messages of her journey, and today they gave from their wallets. Some may not have even a dime to spare, but they gave anyway.

My Christmas and birthday gifts consist of PetSmart and PetCo cards and dog blankets and dog toys. My friends and family know that the greatest gift I can receive is one that I can pass on to those I want to help. The gift people gave today--the gift of schooling to Missy, is two-fold. It is for her, certainly. But it is also for me.

Just because I write certain things to other people, doesn’t mean I apply the same words to myself. I feel like a failed Missy. On a grand scale, I hope to leave this earth a better place than the way I found it. When it comes to each dog, I need to leave them in a better place than where I found them (or rather, they found me.) Taking Missy to a kennel would have ripped my heart out. And I’m quite certain I would not have been able to contain my pain in front of her. Taking her to David’s, although it will be hard, will not be the same sense of failure, betrayal, and abandonment.

I truly believe – I need to believe – that this training will give Missy the leg up on a forever home, and if not that, at least a foster home where she can be happy with other canine friends. I knew what she needed, and I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t do it alone.

This gift my friends gave me isn’t just of money. It’s time. For the past few days, I have been spending my days either prepping for my job or trying to find somewhere for Missy to go. And, when not actively doing that, simply being depressed and sad about the situation. Missy has spent the past few days alone on the couch, giving off an air of depression, probably picking up on my stressful and distressing vibes.

But now, thanks to this support, I can relax for a moment. I can do what I want to and need to be doing right now: spending every last second I have with Missy simply with Missy. Not searching for money and a foster. Not being upset and distraught. But doing what every dog does so well, that thing that I need to keep relearning to do: to just be. 

Here is the link to Missy’s fundraising campaign:

http://www.youcaring.com/other/Missy-Rescued-Staffie-needs-Boarding-Training-/45670 

You can still give even though we’ve reached our goal. Every dollar will go toward her training, and the more we get, the more training she will receive. 

Missy thanks you, Belinda thanks you, and I thank you. From the bottom of our hearts. I am forever grateful and thankful. Missy will get training, I will get peace of mind, and for the next two days, I will get to just be with this beautiful golden girl, knowing that because of all of you, I do indeed get to leave her in a better place than where she found me.