Memorializing Mutts This Holiday Weekend

Remember that last fall holiday weekend, Labor Day, when our trip to the cottage was almost deterred by B finding a dog, Gus to be exact? I was thinking about that this weekend, another long one, but minus the trip to the cottage. I realized I had not told you about B's latest find.

A couple of months ago, I got the call. You know the one. "I found a dog." This time it was early morning and I was at the office. I immediately started searching the ads for missing dogs matching the description B gave me without any luck.

The dog got the usual - grooming and a vet check. B said the pup was roughed up. He looked like a pit bull and his ears were tore up, there were scars on his face, he was super skinny and there was some issue going on with his tail. Then B said he thought of his friend's family whose dog had recently passed. He was going to have her bring her kids to meet the dog. Everyone at the vet raved about the pup and how sweet he was. I swear, only the sweet ones find B! 

By the time I got off work, the dog now known as Dempsey was happily ensconced in his new home. I admittedly was a bit nervous about the unknown dog and how he would react to the environment. Seems he fit right in. His new home is full of people. There are people and kids coming and going left and right. All of them stopped to love him and tell him how gorgeous he was. I visited him and found out for myself just how beautiful, sweet and happy he was, despite all that he might have gone through. 

The first few weeks were rough. Dempsey has powerful jaws and did not like his crate too much so he just helped himself out of it. They never did get one that could hold him. Luckily, the only thing he did outside of the crate was use the bathroom. Disgusting? Yes. Fixable? Definitely. At least he didn't chew things. 

I am happy to say, it has been a few months now and B reports that Dempsey has gained much needed weight, is housebroken, does well on a leash and his tail seems to be doing better (he was chewing on it instead of the furniture I think). The family loves him and I am sure he shows them he loves them right back. We will count that as another successful rescue by B. Way to go, B!

Hopefully B will get us updated pictures soon!

It Wouldn't Be A Vacation If There Wasn't A Dog to Save

We were getting ready for our family vacation at the cottage at the lake.  Jersey was looking forward to it as we all know she loves the lake. Nevada wasn't sure what a lake was, but if Jersey likes it, she was all in.

We were supposed to go at the Fourth of July, but I had a trial that did not settle until the last minute. One vacation ruined.  This was the last time before fall sets in that we, meaning Jersey (and possibly Nevada), could get some swimming in.  So I took Thursday off to do last minute things like laundry, fix my tire, sleep in.  We were set to leave at 3:30.

Then B called me at 9.  He found a dog.  He told me I needed to find a home for it because he was a very sweet, lovable dog that he refused to take to the shelter. Sound familiar? That is how we described Nevada.

Anyway, since Nevada, I have been trolling around rescue sites and knew very well that I would never surrender a dog to the local pound, as it would probably not make it out alive unless adopted.  So I started networking and networking.

B sent me this picture:

Aren't I a pretty boy? Or should it be handsome?

How could I not want to save that face?  He looked a bit like Jersey. Then there was this picture:

And a good boy!

What a sweetie! So I started putting those two pictures on Facebook everywhere. Even my friends were reposting it.

Then B sent this one:

And a silly boy!

Blurry, but look at that sideways tongue.  How about this one:

And a goofy boy!

Yes he is upside down on someone's foot.

Most no kill shelters and rescues were full.  One awesome rescue stepped up and tried to find a babysitter for at least the time we were gone if we would foster him when we got back. They offered to pay for food, vetting, and anything else we would need including training.  

The problem was finding a babysitter.

We called in reinforcements - my brother. You may remember him from staying with Nevada for a week right after we got her because we were going to Europe. Why do these things always happen at the most inopportune times?

B took the dog for a groom and then brought him home before taking him to the vet for a check up.  First, he was LARGE.  80 lbs it turns out.  Double the size of our dogs.  In fact, our immediate neighbor came out and exclaimed, "Your dog got BIG." Um, she had just seen Jersey the day before. Those are some fast acting steroids.

Second, he was just as sweet in person:

I just want to be petted.

I named him Davison after the street that he was found by. Then during the 40 minutes I spent with him outside which mainly consisted of him flopping down on the ground next to me, rolling over, and staring into my eyes as I scratched his ears and rubbed his belly, I named him Romeo.

We introduced him to Jersey and Nevada.  Nevada decided to show her affection in a naughty way. *Ahem* oral slut *Ahem*.  Romeo wasn't neutered and he thought he would repay her with some affection of his own. Then we separated them. However, he did not mind any dogs, big or small, or even our cats that he accidentally met.

Just as my brother was on his way over, we heard from a neighbor who read about Romeo on Facebook and offered to watch him. By the time she came over to meet him, the "watching" was turning into "perhaps keeping him."  Turns out they were looking for a friend for their dog and Romeo was the right age and size.  She left with him, but not before I took this picture:

And sit pretty.

I am happy to report that Romeo, now named Gus, did great that night in his new home. The neighbors took him to be neutered and it was determined that he had heartworms. They are paying for that treatment and the vet expects him to make a full recovery.

Davison/Romeo/Gus stole everyone's hearts and B and I were so happy he found a home. We checked on him via Facebook all weekend. He even stole my brother's heart who insists that Gus will "always be Jake" to him.

Happy Tails, Gus!  

*B affectionately called this my first rescue. I think our execution needs a little help. My parents are just glad we didn't decide to add him to our brood.

Wordless Wednesday: Everyone Needs a Shoulder to Lean On

It's Not My Fault That Your Hair Is Buggy.

It all started with a dream I had last week.  A bad dream. A creepy dream. One that stayed with me for so long the next day, I told everyone, including B, about it while repeatedly shaking and saying something along the lines of "BLAHHAYYYY". Whatever that means.  The dream in question? It went a little something like this:

I notice that flies keep getting stuck in my hair and the buzzing is driving me crazy. My Dad tells me maybe I should start brushing it. I tell him I just brushed it that morning and could he please just help me get them out. Then my hand goes by my ear and I feel a tickle. I pull a fly out of the inside of my ear, and then another. They are coming from my ears. My Dad and brother refuse to go to the hospital with me, both saying they have to work. I scream THERE ARE FLIES LIVING IN MY EARS!! They are not affected.

Fast forward to today. B and I are outside with the dogs when he nonchalantly says as walking away, "There's a bug in your hair." When I responded predictably with outright horror and a shriek "ARE YOU SERIOUS? WHERE? GET IT OUT! OUT!," he just shrugged and said "somewhere."  He would not even respond to my pleas to get it out.  Can you believe this? What is wrong with the men in my life and in my dreams? Where are the gentlemen that would help a woman get a bug out of her hair? Not in my life apparently. You know what B said in response to all of this?  I will give you one hint, it is the title of this post.

Speaking of this post, I know B will probably say that he cannot believe I "wasted" a post on a dream and a stupid bug in my hair when I could be telling you and showing you about our awesome vacation.  True.  You know what my response to that is? We took too many damn pictures. Seriously. Who takes almost 2000 pictures?  I need time to figure out what to present to you so that you will not think that we have lost our damn minds.  

So stay tuned.

From Jersey to Nevada and No Points In Between: The Tale of the Woeful Dog That Stole Our Hearts

It happened last Wednesday as I was sitting in my office.  Taking a glance at Facebook, I saw a post from a girl I went to high school with.  She posted a picture of a dog that she found on her porch when she opened her door.

The first thing that struck me was how much it looked like Jersey. The second thing was that it had a rope around its neck that looks like it was chewed.  The third, and saddest, thing was that I could see all of its ribs.  My heart broke and then grew three times its size like in The Grinch.

My friend's friends all discouraged her from finding the owner since the pup was so neglected and encouraged her to keep it since it made its way to her home. She said it was very loving and playful. Also, it never left her porch even when she had to leave to pick up her kids.  She also found that it was immediately protectful of her house.

However, she could not keep it.

I quickly emailed the picture to B and he told me that we could take it before it would go back to its owner.  His heart had grown as well.

In the end, no one claimed the dog, no service would come get the dog, and I got an urgent message from my friend asking me to come get it. And so I did.  I drove to a rather rough part of the city to pick up a dog I knew nothing about.  She was laying on the porch when I got there.

She immediately jumped up, wagged her tail and ran over to me.  We coaxed her in the car and off we went.

Driving home was a trip.  This was not a trained dog and she tried to climb behind me, on me, in front of me, and spent a hell of a long time licking my face.

Once we got home, I made her a bed in the garage as we needed to get her to the vet before she could come into the house.  She was so loving and playful and grateful. I fed her a bit and you could tell she was starving which hurt my heart even more.  B texted me often with updates as he was working that night.  He requested I send him a picture to see what she really looked like, but it was hard since she was constantly climbing on me. Finally, exhausted she laid down for a moment and I captured one:

She immediately became protective of our house barking when strange voices were around, but generally quiet after that. When B came home that night, she ran up to him, tail wagging and full of kisses.

The next day she went to the vet and got a clean bill of health and some shots.  She is about 6-8 months old and about 10 lbs underweight.  She weighed in at a light 32.5 lbs. The vet thought she was a shepherd boxer mix, but who knows.  After that trip, B introduced her to Jersey and that was two of the happiest dogs I have ever seen.

She has since made her way into the house and is making herself right at home.

Although she has not been trained, she is very loving and learns rather quickly.  Mostly.  B and I have had to put on our puppy training hats.  It seems like such a long time ago I had to make sure to let a puppy out every couple of hours to prevent accidents.  However, she sleeps through the night with no accidents and mostly leaves the cats alone.  She is a keeper.

In keeping with tradition, we named her after the street on which she was found, Nevada. Technically it was not the exact street, but one right close by.  The thought was we could call her Neve for short, but it turns out we typically use her full name. I think she is starting to figure it out.

As of yesterday, she was up to 37 pounds and her coat is looking better. She has a lot of energy for a dog that was so lacking and we think she is a great addition to our family.

Welcome home, Nevada.

Guess who turned 1 on 10/10/10? Or is it 7? Who Knows, But There Was Cake.

When B informed me the other day that he figured out when Jersey's birthday was* and that it was coming up the next weekend, I sprang into action.  By that I mean I stumbled upon a rawhide birthday cake and decided we would do birthday pictures and have a little party.  B decided I was nuts and refused to partake. Party pooper!

So first I bought the cake:

Then I told Jersey she had to pose pretty for her first birthday picture:

For comparison, this is her last year:

Then I told Jersey there was CAKE, but she had to pose with it first.  So she did like a good dog**:

Then the cake was all hers:

Yes, I think that is a ghost.  Someone has to watch over these animals.

But that was not all of the birthday festivities. Jersey had a friend over, Molly. They played and fought and ran around a lot.  If these are blurry, it is because they are ACTION SHOTS PEOPLE:

Oh, it's on:

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl! We have loved every minute of your first year.

*Or the vet told him. Whatever.

**She is no longer a puppy, but a DOG! She even has to eat dog food instead of puppy food. My heart is crushed.