Canadian Canine

What I do for dogs is so little, it really doesn't register on the radar at all.  There are people who dedicate their entire lives to helping animals, sacrifice money, time, safety, relationships, all to help animals in need. I have great respect for those people.  I'm only a part-timer in this realm, and today I got to meet a few who dedicate a bit more to the cause.

I was supposed to meet up with Jami and Katya, two other volunteers along with a few little dogs from the shelter at a vet's office in Los Angeles.  There, Skippy and the others would get their health certificates needed to travel, and then Jami would transport them to LAX where they get on a flight for Vancouver.

Jami was already there when I arrived, but Katya was still at the shelter waiting in line to get the dogs.  Skippy hung out with me in the truck on the street, hoping that by the time Katya arrived a parking spot in the vet's lot would open up.  In the half hour wait, it did.  Parked closer to Jami, we got out and headed inside to at least wait to see the vet since we were already past our scheduled appointment.

I ended up taking Skippy in while Jami went back out to the parking lot to help Katya with the three dogs she was bringing in.  When I returned to the exam room with Skippy after getting him weighed, Jami, Katya, and three tiny dogs were in there.  The vet looked a little surprised since the only one on her paper to get a cert was Skippy.  Katya explained them all quickly:

The one in her arms looked to me to be a purebred black and tan miniature pincher.  A neighbor of hers found him; or actually the dog found her.  She opened her door and found him on her stoop.  They put up flyers, sent out emails, tried to find who this boy belonged to, but no one came forward.  So, after the legal week-long wait, he was headed to Vancouver to be re-homed. 

On a leash was a tiny all black...well, dog.  I have no idea what sort of dog he was.  Pointy ears, probably Chihuahua something, named Romeo.  He was from the shelter and just needed a health certificate.

And finally there was a tan pug/Chihuahua mix who was not terribly happy (or maybe his face just looks like that).  The vet asked for his name to create a chart and Katya quickly said,  "Um, let's call him Mr. Darcy.  I like that.  It's fitting."

"Okay, Darcy," the vet tech responded.

"Mister Darcy," Katya corrected.  "Can we make it Mr. Darcy?  I like literary references."

Mr. Darcy was indeed a bit belligerent and mean, but not without cause.  He had been attacked and was brought into the shelter with bite marks on him.  Naturally, he isn't the most trusting animal on the planet.

Meanwhile, Skippy was still getting over the trauma of having a thermometer shoved up his ass, which he did not take to kindly, and was whining to me, pleading to get out of the room.  I asked him to calm down for a bit, and although he never fully relaxed, I think we did pretty well for four (five when another vet tech came in) humans, and four dogs of varying sizes and personality in a hundred square foot room with the door closed.

All dogs checked out, Jami waited for the bills and health certificates to be written up, and Katya and I headed back outside to the cars with the four dogs to build the crates.  Skippy's was the only one already built in the back of Jami's car.  But the other three tiny ones needed to be assembled, the dogs needed to be in them, and Jami still had to get to LAX all in less than two hours.

It was down-pouring outside.  Skippy let me know how much he hated rain earlier in the morning, so I knew he wasn't going to be happy.  Romeo was so tiny that he was completely soaked after only seven raindrops hit him.  Katya carried her black and tan miniature pincher in her arms and let Mr. Darcy lead the way.  He had gotten out of the collar and having tried to bite already, a leash had to be transformed into a slip-lead so he wouldn't get away.

Skippy was all too happy to be back inside my truck, but perplexed when I walked away with Romeo, leaving him to sit alone.  Katya put her stray in Jami's car, and that left Mr. Darcy and Romeo.  We found a little inlet on the side of the building adjacent to the vet's office.  It was an entrance way to a non-named business.  A security guard didn't seem to want us there, and Katya broke out her fluent Spanish and explained that we just needed a place to quickly put together three crates and then we'd be on our way.  He let us stay.

I held Mr. Dracy's slip lead so he wouldn't get away along with Romeo's leash while Katya started to frantically build a crate.  She looked up and around and said, "What is this place?"

"Um..." was all I said since the security guard was within earshot, and simply pointed to the wooden box on the wall labeled "CONDOMS", and an enormous detailed sign about the dangers of unprotected sex with strangers.  And then we heard the music from around the corner and she just sighed with, "Great."

Once the first crate was built, we put Mr. Darcy in it so I was free to also build a crate.  We apologized to every man that walked by that was surprised to see two women crouched down on the floor building dog creates in the entrance to his club.  Katya had already had a not-so-great day at the shelter and appeared to be emotionally spent.  When Jami returned and found us there, Katya said, "And now I'm building dog crates in the entrance to a gay sex club.  Could this day get any worse?"

I shrugged.  I didn't see a problem with it.  I mean, as a single woman in this area of town, I'm guessing the safest place to be is the entrance to a gay sex club.  Certainly no one there wants anything to do with us, least of all to harm us in some way.  "Okay, it is kind of funny," Katya finally admitted.

The rain let up and the sun shone for a brief time, so we exited the alcove.  Jami needed to take Romeo back in because of a typo on one of his papers that could lead to him not making it to Canada.  Katya and I arranged the crates and dogs, and everything was set when Jami returned.

Skippy would travel shotgun with Jami in the car since it was easier to get him in the crate once they arrived, rather than putting him in it and then having to heave it back into and then out of the back of her car. 

The time had come.  I brought Skippy over to Jami's car.  He willingly hopped in, the seat being far lower to the ground than my truck.  I gave him a hug good-bye, and I was going to be perfectly fine until I heard Katya say, "It's always hard to say good-bye."  Damn it!  I sniffed back in the tears I felt about to break through and smiled at Skippy.  I kissed him on the head, told him how much fun I had with him, and then closed the door.

As I watched Jami drive away with Skippy sitting so calmly in the passenger seat, I was at peace with it.  He didn't have adopters lined up anymore, but he did have a foster home.  By midnight he would be in a country I've never been to, hopefully all snuggled up with his new foster mom.

Katya said, "You'll always be one his moms."

Really?!?!  This woman really knew how to get my water-works going.  I was having a hard enough time keeping it together; the sentiments, although true and heart-warming, were not really necessary.

I will always be one of his moms, she is correct.  And I didn't feel like I was betraying him by sending him on his way.  I couldn't do anything more for him.  He was on his way to Canada, to another person who will help him on the next leg of his quest.  My mission was complete, although Skip's journey wasn't over quite yet.  He still was on his way home, but my portion of his journey was over.  And this time, I was okay with that.

Because that's what fosters do.  That's what transporters do.  We're just a piece of the puzzle, contributing our little part to the big picture.  Skippy could have been in boarding all week, but instead I chose to let him stay with me.  It saved the rescue a few bucks, gave me some entertainment and purpose, and hopefully it made this portion of Skippy's journey just a little better.

Thank you, Skip, for a very fun week.  I wish you the best, and hope you didn't freak out too much on the flight.  And to all those in Vancouver, a wacky American dog just arrived that is looking for his life-long partner and family.  He might have a high-pitched play bark, but he's a pretty good pup.  He's charming, he's smart, and he's got a million dollar smile.

I'll post his ad once it gets up (and who knows, maybe he won't even need one; maybe someone at the airport will fall in love with him on the spot).  But in the mean time, contact the rescue if you're interested:

http://www.penniesfordogs.org/

Good luck, Skip. (And don’t let any Canadian canines hump your head.  If they're as nice as all the people in Canada are reported to be, I'm sure they won't even try).

Diary of a Wimpy Dog

You know that kid that was always getting shoved into lockers at school?  Well that kid had a mom, and now I know how she feels.

It's not easy to make friends, even if you're a scruffy dog.  I admit the atmosphere in the "under two feet tall" section of the dog park felt more inviting than the big dog area, but I think it was because it had a more social feel.  In the big dog area, individuals showed up with two or three big dogs and played with them off leash.  In the little dog area, individuals met up with other individuals with dogs, and they sat and chatted while their dogs played with each other.

Skippy and I were newcomers, and I didn't know how we'd be accepted.  Skippy took it slow as he had in the other park.  He studied every scent, but never looked intimidated by the other dogs.  No other dog approached him, nor did he approach them.  He was getting the lay of the land, as was I.

Once all the scents had been decoded, Skippy greeted all the humans in the park, and they pet him and commented on his fabulous smile.  He wagged his tail, and made sure every person had formally introduced to him.  When he started his second round on the same people, I finally said to him, "Okay, come on Skip.  You've met all the humans.  Now go make friends of your own kind."

I was surprised that he took up the request immediately.  He walked up to a dog, sniffed him, and the dog barked back at him.  Rejection number one.  He tried another, giving a gentle play bow, putting a paw in the air, and was met again with hostility.  I have to hand it to him.  It isn't easy.  I mean it's like asking me to walk into a room full of strangers and just start making small talk with them.  I have no idea how to go about doing that; and now I was expecting Skippy to do the canine equivalent.

He just kept choosing the wrong dogs.  His manners were fine, his communication clear, but these dogs were just not interested in playing with the tall scruffy mutt.  One dog got vicious at him snarling, and I had to pull Skippy away.  Another he thought he was playing with, but the other dog looked like Skippy did yesterday: running from fear, not fun.  But he kept at it.  My dorky little boy kept up his confidence and tried to make friends despite the rejection.  He definately did better than I would have.  I would have given up and gone home after that many rejections.

We kept returning to a group of three ladies and five little Chihuahua mixes (almost all small dogs in Los Angeles have some Chihuahua in their bloodline).  Skip sniffed one of them and she turned and snarled at him.  Her guardian explained the little dog liked to play, but just didn't want anyone sniffing her butt.  Skippy insisted on playing, bowing down again and again. When the little dog snarled again, the other four barked at Skip.

 "Watch out kid, she's got a posse," I warned him, but Skippy was having fun now.  And honestly, the ladies were wicked nice too.  I got the feeling they were three retired ladies who met at the dog park in the afternoon to let their dogs play.  They were regulars and knew the names of all the dogs in the park.  And they were having fun watching Skippy try to play with their dogs.

Skippy got in on the barking too, and as he barked I saw spit fly from his mouth.  I tried not to hang my head in shame and pity.  Yup, my kid was the awkward one, the unpopular one, the one that spits when he talks.  I'm horrified when I accidentally spit when talking, especially in front of new people.  Now my foster dog does the same.  Poor Skip.  He's a good kid and pretty awesome once you get to know him, but until then he's just the weird kid you don't want your own kids playing with.

But the ladies didn't notice or didn't care.  They were very nice to Skippy, and took joy in watching him try to play with their dogs.  They could read his body language and knew he meant no harm to their little ones.  Course, I did note that although Skippy was eight times their size, he was outnumbered.  If something went down, he'd have to fight off six little dogs.  Yet he didn't feel threatened, and neither did the ladies feel their dogs were in any danger.  Even when I got worried about Skippy sniffing a Chi who tucked her tail under and looked terrified, they said it was no big deal since they could tell Skippy wouldn't hurt her.

I was glad Skippy could finally have some fun.  The awkward kid was making a comeback.  It wasn't easy in the beginning.  I walked by a young woman after one of the dogs got angry and tried to take Skippy down, and she frowned in sympathy to me and said, "Aw, none of the other dogs want to play with him.  They're all being mean.  Poor guy."

But in the end, the ladies who accepted me and let me chat with them had the dogs who allowed Skippy to play with them.  We were newcomers, and had been accepted by regulars.  It was a good afternoon.

It all came to a close when a little black scruffy dog entered the park.  One of the ladies said, "Watch out for that one.  She's just vicious.  Keep Skip away from her and you'll be fine."

Sure enough, not even three minutes into the park, the little black dog threw down a delicate brown Chihuahua, who shrieked with urgency.  Her owner picked her up immediately and she looked unharmed but she kept shrieking, that high-pitched shrill scream.  Skip initially ran from it when he heard the fight break out, but once the shrieking dog was within the safety of her guardian's arms, he, along with just about every single dog in the park, ran over and surrounded him, as if they were all concerned for the dog.  I watched to see if any of the dogs would retaliate and go after the scruffy black mean thing, but they didn't.  From what the ladies told me, it would have been due justice.

The Chi stopped screeching after a time, and when he placed her down, she was fine.  I was worried she broke a bone.  Those dogs are so delicate.  But the fun time was broken, and Skip wanted to call it a day.  He sauntered over to the exit and sniffed the gate.

I hoped he had gotten his dog play time out.  It was so wonderful to see him smile and play and interact with others.   When we got back, I took him for quick walk to make sure he didn't have to pee.  Thirty seconds into our walk, he spied a little dog crossing the street, and immediately let out his play bark and rose on his hind legs.  The little dog was standing with his guardian who was talking to someone in a car.  The little dog saw Skip and barked back, wagging his tail.  I approached and the two noses touched.

"I thought they both might be quiet if they just meet," I said to the human attached to the dog's leash.  He agreed, and my theory was proven.

Skippy said hello and wanted to play.  I think the other dog might have, but with leashes attached, it's a bit difficult.  So we pulled them away, and I realized that no matter how much one plays, there's always room for more.

When I inside I received an email from Alexis saying believe it or not, Skippy's adopters backed out.  However, they backed out after his flight was booked.  So, little Skippy is going to Canada, but not to his forever home.  He'll go to a foster, but it's a little annoying he couldn't have just found a home here.  The ladies at the park adored him and said if he hadn't had adopters they might be interested.  One woman even said, "Oh, good, Canada is nice.  Everyone in Canada is nice; I can't say the same of this country.  I've been there twice, and everyone is great."

I'm sure he'll get a home there (although I can't say "everyone is nice there" is an actual fact), but it's unfortunate that he has to go through being flown there only to still be in search of home.  I also got the news that he will be leaving on a flight tomorrow night, rather than Sunday.  I'm to meet up at the vet's office with his transporters at 2pm.

I'll be sad to see him go, but I'm glad he's one step closer to home.   I start a job on Monday, so Skip will be the last to have a long-term rental here at Casa de Canine for the season.  For the next few months I'll still transport whenever I can, but the B & B portion of my adventures will only be open for the weekends.  With all the dogs at the shelter needing out, I have no doubt those weekends will get booked quickly.