Denied Adoption, I Took a Dark Path

Kiki: Grunge era fashion victim
with stray dog in Puerto Rico.

Even in the 90's, tough adoption standards made me skirt ethics.

I must confess that when I tried to adopt my first 2 dogs from Arizona shelters I was soundly rejected both times.  Granted, I was in my early twenties and had dyed my hair black at the time, so it’s possible the staff thought I had priorities other than being a dog baby mom, but I was happily involved with an animal rights organization, worked in a doggy daycare/boarding facility and had grown up not only with dogs, but with an amazing variety of animals, some of which were brought to us by neighbors because they were sick, lost or injured.  I considered myself rather a catch when it came to animal companionship.  And yet here I was being told an apartment was inappropriate for the dog.  So my chosen baby was returned to her 4x4 prison cell until someone with a palatial mansion happened by and wanted her.  It made me terribly sad and made little sense.

Pop and the pooch.  A teensy bit of mis-
representation with the best of intentions.

So I sent my Marine father in to adopt her.  He was a very noble, law abiding guy, but like John Wayne, happily broke rules that were unjust or just plain silly.  He walked out of the shelter carrying my Joey like a baby.  Drill sergeants look so cute with puppies.

Turns out a dog will do alright in an apartment if you walk them, make sure all their needs are met, and love, love, love them.

Then came Elli.  I went to a different shelter to adopt her.  By now I had moved into a house with a fenced yard.  The shelter where Elli resided would be happy to know this, but since I was kind of a doggy kidnapper on the lam, I did not report that I had changed from an apartment and could now better accommodate a dog, nor did I indicate that I had ever set foot in a shelter for any reason ever.  I presented as a fresh faced ingénue about to embark on her first adventure into dog adoption because I was utterly paranoid. What if they found out about me and confiscated Joey!?  I lied about having another dog because I could feel the heat, if you know what I mean, but my confidence that I was no longer in an apartment emboldened me.  When I told them proudly about my beautiful grassy yard, they asked how tall the fence was.  At the time this threw me for a bit of a loop.  Was it a trick? I hesitated then told them it was about 4 feet.  Surely this was an acceptable height. 

Joey and Elli.  They are no longer with me,
but I will love them forever.

I was rejected yet again.  I don’t think they had an actual buzzer or that “Wah, waaaaah” sound to accompany my humiliation, but I didn’t let it deter me.  I looked into Elli’s eyes and silently promised her that while I was going to walk away, a quiet man with a crew cut was coming back for her very, very soon.

The funny part is, when my dear dad went to adopt Elli, a boxer mix puppy with tiny little feet, they were filming a promotional video for the shelter.  They filmed the whole adoption process with my dad, the dog rescue equivalent of the guy under-aged kids pay to go into a convenience store to buy them beer.  He carried little Elli out much like he had carried Joey, her little paws clutching his strong neck.  Well now they could absolutely and without question ID our illicit adoption scam ring.  I remember when he brought her to my house I was waiting anxiously on the porch.  He walked up to me and handed over the warm little bundle.  I thanked him profusely and we

Elli: Little dog, big attitude.

laughed a bit, as criminals tend to do when they get away with it.  As he walked away, back to his International Scout (an SUV before SUVs) she watched him go with a sad expression.

My dad didn’t live too much longer after that.  She turned out to be a tough guy just like him.

Turns out that in reality, my fence was a perfectly fine height.  Luckily the two puppies got along splendidly – which was truly a relief because that part of the plan was left entirely to fate, my biggest potential error in the whole adoption.

Joey and Elli in their couch potato golden years.

Joey and Elli lived 14 more years each, passing away within less than a year of one another.  The silence of a home once occupied by dogs that is suddenly bereft of their joyful noise is deafening.

They were my buddies and I know I made mistakes with them along the way...starting with their improper adoption, but they had a lot of love, a lot of fun, and a little gas sometimes.  I hope I am lucky enough to always have a couple of dogs kicking me in the abdomen while I'm sleeping.  I think if I have to go into assisted living I will just ask to be boarded at a dog kennel.

There are times when the standards are so high for adopting animals that very good people are weeded out.  It's a loss for the animal, the potential adopter, as well as the shelter.  So many of them are underfunded and full to capacity.  The staff in many of these places are volunteers or employees who are probably overworked and underpaid, but are called to save animals and do it with passion. Should they relax their standards?  I don't think so - not at all.  I will gladly abide home visits and lengthy applications because I know that this process makes it more likely that animals are going to people who will treat them properly - hopefully like family.  Urine samples?  Yes.  Need some blood?  Fine.

Joey's toddler years.  Playing with an orange.

I have read of people outraged that they were rejected, who then turned to a breeder or
pet shop to purchase a dog or other animal.  It is in every way a tragedy.  It saddens me deeply and it's a flaw in our system, but I truly cannot think of a better way to screen adopters.  I wish there was a scanner that could be swept over a person to instantly reveal their character in a tidy printout. Are there overzealous rescuers who are jaded enough that they make it impossible for loving adopters to walk away with an animal in need? Of course, but we can't risk the alternative of handing over animals with little more than the a hope they'll be safe.

-Kiki Nusbaumer

In a nursing home or underneath the porch, In the US we dispose of the elderly

Here in the United States we don’t do as well by our elderly as China, Japan, Korea, France or the Mediterranean and Latin cultures.  We are a youth centered society, relegating our elderly to a lonely, isolated existence or hiding them away in nursing homes.  They get little respect and little support.  Rather than placing them on a pedestal or considering them the core of the family unit, we as Americans often consider them a burden.

Thor and his dad.
Thor was 11 when
he was adopted.

We do, however, treat our companion animals quite well.  Well many of them.  The rest we euthanize because there are just so many in the system they don’t fit in the shelters.  These unfortunates are not adopted.  They are put down by the millions.  As Marleen Oetz from LNF Dog Rescue says, “Half of them don’t make it out alive.”

We really like puppies and kittens.

Today I read about some elderly dogs.  They are treated much the same way as elderly Americans.

Chelo at Muttville Senior Dog Rescue
(Photo by Muttville). www.muttville.org

Chelo

In an article in Dog Heirs online, Chelo, a senior Pomeranian, was surrendered by his “family.”  The reason: Too old.  The article goes on to say he lived outside 24 hours a day, underneath the porch, utterly alone day in and day out.  And the capper is that they shamelessly informed the shelter staff at Muttville Senior Dog Rescue in San Francisco, CA, where they dumped the dog, that they “got a newer dog to replace,” like he’s a light bulb or something.  They actually wrote on the surrender paperwork, probably read it back to themselves (yes they can read and write) but felt no guilt or shame, no desire to pretend to be decent humans by lying and saying something- ANYTHING- besides “Too old. Got a newer dog to replace.”  I think our shelter system should have a black list shared among them and when creatures like this come in to dispose of the inconvenient little life they had a whim for and then lost interest, they get on the list and they no longer have access to living beings as property ever again.  I can think of an appropriate name for the list.

Chelo has since been adopted and has now begun his happy life with a loving family.

Baus at www.socalbulldogrescue.org (Photo
by Southern California Bulldog Rescue)

Baus

I also read on the Deaf Dogs Rock Facebook page about Baus.  He’s a ten and a half year old bulldog.  He was surrendered to Southern California Bulldog Rescue because he was “Old and smells.”  His neglect was so thorough that he has cherry eye in both eyes and other eye maladies which have brought him to near blindness, severe dental issues, and ear infections that have rendered him deaf.  He smells because he has been allowed to fall apart piece by piece.  His new caregiver says, “He wants nothing yet gives everything he has to you. I love kissing his face. And his smelly breath from his rotten teeth is just the cologne of a tender old man to me.”

Baus is currently in foster care and is available for adoption.  And he will be adopted, I have no doubt.  Under the post one person commented, “Can’t wait ‘til his ex owners get old and smell.”  And they will, I have no doubt.

A violent end

According to Dr. Jared Diamond, UCLA professor of geography and physiology, traditional Nomadic tribes sometimes had to abandon their elderly on treacherous journeys.  Aché Indians who were plagued with famine assigned young men to essentially assassinate the elderly with an axe, spear or the practice of burying them alive.  No doubt this was a situation in which sacrificing the one for the many was a necessary evil, but burying them alive?  One can’t help but think the youngsters who used this technique for culling the group shouldn’t be given responsibility for a pet. 

Human vs Canine

As I have grown older (I am not yet at an age where the tribe would leave me alone on a desert trail to fend for myself or stick me in a nursing home), my philosophy and attitude toward dogs has evolved in such a way that it may be subject to ridicule by some pragmatics in our society.  When my dog passed away I kept the extent of my grief largely

Ruby, forever young, died suddenly
from liver failure at 8 years old.

to myself, aware that some of my friends and even family would think to themselves, it’s not a child after all.  It’s just a dog.  No, she was not quite a child.  It’s difficult to define how I relate to my companion dogs.  I don’t try much to compare dogs with human children.  Not really less than or more than.  Equal to?  In some ways that feels like comparing apples to oranges.  Yes human children probably pee in the living room quite often, but do they steal your underwear and eat the crotch out of it?  Probably not.  Can your human children join sports teams?  Yes.  But can they catch a tennis ball in their mouth?  Not likely.  And kids always laugh when they pass gas.  My dogs don’t even care.

At the end of the day there are two sides to the story of the abandoned elderly dog.  There are those who cause suffering and those who rescue.  I think Anne Frank said it best:

“In spite of everything I still believe people are really good at heart.”

But maybe dogs are just a tiny bit better.

-Kiki Nusbaumer

http://theweek.com/articles/462230/how-elderly-are-treated-around-world

http://www.dogheirs.com/tamara/posts/5250-update-on-neglected-senior-dog-deemed-too-old-by-former-owners-looking-for-a-new-home

http://newsroom.ucla.edu/stories/jared-diamond-on-aging-150571

www.facebook.com/deafdogsrock

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ach%C3%A9_people

Amy McCracken and Cheesburger, Another Double Rescue

We were given permission to reprint this story by Amy McCracken, Executive Director at Richmond Animal League (www.ral.org):

(Alyssa was a 14 year old girl who had Cystic Fibrosis and was a beloved friend of Amy McCracken, the Executive Director of Richmond Animal League)

Watching Alyssa die was the hardest thing I have ever done. Despite her incredible bravery and the crazy goodness of her family, it was, in a word, hellish. Floppy (stuffed animal) was under her shoulder the entire time.  Her doll, Sallerina, close by. So many of my friends had become totally invested in her life, and losing her after all she had been through was devastating.

All other staff were at training
that day at Richmond Animal League.

August 2, 2013

I went back to work.  For the first time since coming to work for Richmond Animal League, I was alone at the shelter.  We had an off-site training that everyone was attending and there was not one of our 300 volunteers lurking about.  I was very, very grateful to be there alone.  As amazing and loving as everyone had been to me, I did not want to see or talk to anyone.  I was just sitting at my desk staring at my computer when I realized that the dogs were going nuts. I have no idea how long they were carrying on. I just knew that something wasn’t right.  I went to the door closest to my office and looked in the long skinny glass window to the kennel.  There was a huge white dog standing at the door.  Just standing there.  And the kenneled dogs were so mad.  Huge White Dog wasn’t barking at all. He was just standing there at the door.  I could not see that he was wearing a collar because he is so fluffy.  I was scared of him.  I went over to the clinic and asked a coworker to help me put a loose dog back.  She came over and saw him and said, “Oh, that’s Cheeseburger!  He came in yesterday morning while you were at Alyssa’s funeral.  He’s harmless.” She put him back and locked his kennel.

I sent an email to the staff to please double check that all animals are secure before leaving the kennel.

Five minutes later the dogs were going crazy again.

Again, Cheeseburger was out and standing at the door. Again, I put him back. 

Five minutes later the dogs were going crazy. I have no idea how he unlocked his steel kennel door time and time again.  But he did.

I finally asked him if he had to go outside for a minute.  I put a leash on him and he pulled me right into my office and sat down.  Under my chair.  And then stared at me as if to say, “Don’t mind me.  Get back to work.”

And he stayed there the rest of the day.

Burg was left alone in the house when
the homeowners were evicted.

When my co-worker and our kennel director, Pam, came back I asked where Burg came from.  He had been pulled from Richmond Animal Care and Control (RACC)—that was all she knew.  I called RACC.  They said that Burg and another dog had been left behind in a home after his owners were evicted.  It was a long time before anyone knew that the dogs were there, and they were in rough shape by the time a neighbor complained and animal control discovered them. Burg had come to RAL while I was at Little A's funeral.

I told Cheeseburger that he could stay in my office for the day, but that he was not my kind of dog.

I told Alyssa’s mom and dad about him.  At first they thought maybe Burg was from Alyssa. It didn't take long to know it.

That night, I brought him home just for the night. We talked.  I explained to him that even though he seemed to come in at just the right time, and that maybe Little A did bring him to get me through the weekend, he was not my kind of dog.  He understood.

August 3, 2013

I took him to the neighborhood farmer’s market to find a good home for him.  That’s when I realized that little kids love Burg.  So much.  I wished I had a video camera on my head so that I could have recorded excited little faces charging toward Burg shouting, “So fluffy!  So fluffy!  So flufffffffffffffffffffffffy!”

Fluffy!

I told everyone.  Look at this dog!  He is the perfect dog!  He’s quiet!  He’s gentle!  He’s a thinker!  He loves children.  He doesn’t bark.  He walks great on the leash, and will sleep anywhere.  The shelter opens at noon today!  He’s available! Come by!  He could be all yours today!

After the farmer’s market we went to visit Alyssa (Alyssa’s grave – photos unavailable), and to thank her for not letting either of us be alone for the weekend.

I called the shelter and asked them to call me if anyone had come looking for Burg—and that I would bring him right over if they had.  But no one had, and we ended up back home again.  (He really is smart—even if he doesn’t know what side of the door the knob is on).

Burg was as sad as I was.   I tried to make him feel better.  I even found and printed out this picture from the Internet Machine and tried to rewrite his life story for him.  Tried to pretend that no one ever left him behind.

“Look at you!” I told him.  “Look how cute you were when you were a puppy," I lied to him.  I loved you then and I love you now!  Even though you are not my kind of dog.” 

I’m not sure he bought it, but I think he loved me for the effort. 

The next week he spent his days in my office and his nights at my house.  We talked a lot about Alyssa. 

August 10, 2013

It was Saturday again, and I took Burg back to the farmer’s market.  Everyone was very happy to see him, but sad that he had not been adopted.  I talked him up again.  “He is completely housetrained!  He sleeps until 10:00 a.m. on the weekends and Wednesdays!  He loves to go for a ride in the car!  He eats, but he is not concerned with what you are having.  He is not a licker.  He is a very good listener.  He’s a little sad, but coming around.  He is very independent, but just when you think he might not love you at all, he walks over and sits on your foot.  We open at noon today!  We are located right behind the Martin’s near Chesterfield Towne Center!  Come over!”

Amy and Burg, making it official.

And Burg came over and sat right on my foot.

And I drove to the Richmond Animal League and adopted him.

And good Lord in heaven above was Little A about on the edge of her seat waiting for me to realize that she'd sent Burg, and that we were destined to carry on without her, no matter how impossible it seemed.

So much has happened with Burgie since then. He has amazing friends who have helped him heal in all ways. I'm still convinced Burg misses someone. In fact, I think he misses a whole family. He listens to traffic and I wonder if he is waiting for someone to finally come home. He will sit and watch an entire Little League game, and he pays attention to doors opening wherever we are. I can't think about all of that. I just know how incredibly lucky I am that Burg spends time in my living room, and at the shelter with me, and I will never, ever, take him back to the farmer's market and try to find him a home that I think might be better than ours. Thanks for saving me, Burg.

Author: Amy McCracken, Executive Director, Richmond Animal League

Higher Beings

A little coffee with your healthy dose of dog hugs?

By now most of us are aware that petting a dog or cat is scientifically proven to reduce stress and depression in humans. Along with the more obvious benefits such as companionship, unconditional love, increased opportunity for exercise and socialization, interacting with an animal causes the body to release a stress-reducing hormone called oxytocin into the bloodstream and reduce the production of cortisol, which is a stress-causing hormone.  Non-human animals are good for us.

Then there’s the story of the rescued dog, Mac, whose disability left him unable to climb stairs. When a fire broke out in his family’s home he somehow dragged himself up a flight to wake them, saving them all (by Caroline Golon, halopets.com).     

The headlines are full of similar stories.  In the Huffington Post the headline reads, “Rescue Puppy Saves Owner’s Life by Alerting Her to Gas Leak” (Melissa McGlensey).  In a violent incident of road rage in Georgia, a dog leapt in front of gunfire to save his family, losing his own life (Michael Pearson, CNN).  They save our lives.

In a small town in Delaware there is a young boy who was adopted from an orphanage in Bosnia.  He has Spina Bifida and uses a wheelchair.  He visits the hospital frequently.  These things set him apart from his peers and he feels lonely.  In the same town a black dog that lost the use of his hind legs languished in foster care for nearly a year.  Loved and cared for by his foster/rescuers at LNF Dog Rescue, they were stunned that the gentle dog was passed over again and again by potential adopters.   When the boy’s family heard about the dog who uses a wheelchair they immediately adopted him.  Now the boy and the dog are like brothers, no longer lonely, no longer the outsider, leaving their wheelchairs to swim together in the family’s therapeutic pool like happy fish.  They rescue one another every day.

Family Photo.

An integral part of the human condition is the fact that many of us feel rescued by our rescues.  Our loneliness is mitigated by their presence, our grief is truncated by their affection and our lives are changed indelibly because they are a part of it.  Indeed this is the case with all companion animals if the human among them is on par with this phase of the evolutionary process.  That is, sharing the viewpoint that the other beings with whom we share this planet are not our property, but our responsibility at the very least, and our family for the great majority of Homo sapiens. 

What of those who declare they are “just dogs” or “just animals”? As if to say “just human” would be an outrage because we have somehow outclassed the “just” prefix.  This gives us permission to classify some as slightly below or perhaps deeply below “our kind”.  It has a stench much like the Bible interpreters who justify the dismissal of women and gay people as lesser, with the imagined backing of certain passages they opportunistically read literally, when the evidence is piled high against such a simplistic approach.

Here is an anonymous post reacting to the question, “Are humans animals?”  Just for fun. (I have corrected some of his more glaring errors, the silly monkey):

“READ YOUR BIBLE. If you have the nerve to count yourself as a position as low as an animal then just go around and call yourself that. ‘Cause I will not call myself a living beast eating my feces, sniffing things, licking my stuff (I think you might do this if you could – the author), living in the wild, be a pet, and pick up my turd and throw it at someone.” (I know where I’d throw my turd - the author) 

My apologies to other Bible readers who are deeply mortified by this individual.

This seems like an excellent place to talk about the SAE fraternity for just a moment, because I don’t think I can get through the day without weighing in on this (my apologies to the decent frats and sororities who are truly community minded and not raving sexists and racists. Seriously though, the bar is pretty low for you guys). The little ditty the SAE men drunkenly bleated as they rode along on their bus made reference to black people “hanging from trees.”  When we measure the intelligence of humans to prove we are inordinately more clever than dogs, let’s not use a frat boy as the standard for measurement.  Like fraternities, dogs historically ran in packs.  Sometimes they ate each other’s poo to clean up after their young and to protect their sick or dying whose leavings might attract predators, and just to keep the den tidy.  Yet this group has enormous appeal when held up against these “Greek” petri dishes of over-privileged white people, festering in their own stupidity and spreading their shallow diseases to one another under the translucent guise of their organization’s philanthropic activity.  It’s quite a different kind of poo-eating from these highly evolved humans.  Dogs don’t seem to get hung up on the sorts of biases and grudges we do, and often if a dog behaves poorly there is a human behind it.  Just a human.  Maybe it’s time to take a good long look at ourselves before we paint ourselves as worthy of “dominion” over the other beings in our midst.  The hubris is galling.

“Genesis was originally written in Hebrew, and since every translation involves interpretation, we do well to ask about that English word, ‘dominion.’ (Some translations read ‘rule over,’ instead.) In biblical Hebrew, the word indeed supposes a hierarchy -- someone in a position of power exercises this quality over inferiors. So ‘rule over’ or ‘have dominion’ is actually quite accurate. However, its interpretation as the right to exploit and despoil is not.” - Kristin M. Swenson, Ph.D.

And what shall be done with Rebecca Miller and Janice Freeman who would abuse and/or murder well over 100 dogs, tossing their bodies into garbage cans like so much forgotten rubbish? (http://www.nbc12.com/story/28263279/more-than-130-dogs-found-in-choctaw-co-puppy-mill) In the case of these Alabama puppy mill demons, these psychopaths, I say without caveats that they are murderers and should be dealt with as such.

And then there's Natwan Callaway and Bobby Hollinger, who tied a dog intended for

Tampa Police Sgt Rich Mills Rescued this helpless
dog who had been shot and was tied to the railroad
tracks.(Tampa Police Department's photo)

fighting to the railroad track and then shot her several times because she was too kind-natured to engage in their chosen sport. What of these youngsters, just 17 and bloodthirsty, with all the charming indicators that they'll certainly cut a human into tiny pieces as they blossom into glorious adulthood; tiny little red flags poking out of their every filthy little orifice.  The dog survived, rescued by police sgt Rich Mills. Lock them up and toss away the key.

The naysayers will cry, “But where do you draw the line?  If you step on a bug do you go to jail?”  I say those details can work themselves out, but let’s start with the dog killers.  Meanwhile, how about we step on fewer bugs?  How about at the very least we don’t elevate animal abusers and murderers as they continue with their lives, as we do with Michael Vick, who left so much horror and damage and so many dead bodies in his wake as he trotted onto the football field, glorified and wealthy beyond most of our wildest dreams.  Excuse me one moment, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

"Take only memories. Leave only footprints." - Chief Seattle

The above quote asks that we be stewards of the earth; noble custodians over all that we see.  It is an impossible order to fill.  Our presence alone is apocalyptic for many species and aspects of the environment.  We can at least mitigate the damage by using compassion in our approach.  We can do our best to do no harm. Why not start with a two pronged approach, treating our own species with dignity and respect.  Concurrently, as we work to master just behaving decently toward one another, we can begin to view man's very best friend as a viable being with sentience, capable of great emotion, profound loyalty and experiencing pain and pleasure much like we do.

-Kiki Nusbaumer

http://www.webmd.com/depression/features/pets-depression

http://halopets.com/freekibble/donation116.html

http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/30/us/dog-saves-family/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/28/dog-rescue-gas-leak_n_5036727.html

http://dogtime.com/adopt-a-less-adoptable-pet-week-2013.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/03/toledo-hero-dog-pit-bull-tiger-todd-kibbey_n_6095966.html

http://www.nbc12.com/story/28263279/more-than-130-dogs-found-in-choctaw-co-puppy-mill

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/12/dog-tied-to-railroad-tracks_n_6853468.html?utm_hp_ref=dogs

A Beagle Named Cash by Brianna Merrill

Blaze and Cash

It’s a cold day outside, and the sunlight shining through the window is welcomed warmth. It’s just before noon and I am only now lying down in my bed, I’m exhausted. It was a long night at the hospital and an even longer and draining past 4 days.  I rotate onto my shoulder so I can see my 10 year old son clearly. He’s lying on a make-shift bed on the floor of my bedroom because he can’t be alone, not right now; we have to watch him all the time. He’s in pain, like usual, and he’s weak but he’s home and that’s where he likes to be, he hates hospitals and Dr’s offices and I don’t blame him, he’s been there way too many times in his life. The events of the past few days begin flooding my mind and I have to look away so he doesn’t see my tears, the knowledge of the high maintenance care my son is going to need from me these next  few months is overwhelming, physically, mentally and emotionally.

The humble beagle is known for its gentle spirit.
Cash's nurturing nature and empathy have healing properties.

Just as I think I may lose control and sob I see Cash, our 9 year old beagle waiting in the doorway. This is the one room in the house he’s not permitted to enter freely and he knows it, but he also has a sixth sense and knows when he’s needed.  I nod my head and wave my hand beckoning him in and he immediately comes to my bedside.  He tilts his head up and lays it against my mattress; he’s not quite tall enough so all that’s visible to me is the tip of his nose. I throw my hand over the side of the bed and rub his head a few times to let him know I’m okay.  As soon as he gets my reassuring pats he turns his attention to my son, he knows this is who really needs him and he also knows this is where I want him to focus his attention.  My son sleepily lifts his arm and Cash positions himself beneath it and then lies down beside him.  My 10 year old begins methodically stroking Cash’s fur and I can see the physical change happen. My son’s shoulders relax, the tightness and scrunching of his face releases and he begins to breathe deeply, he’s able to block out the pain and instead is feeling peaceful and I am grateful. 

Easing the pain.

It’s hard for me to imagine life without Cash’s calming presence in my home. We’ve only had him for 11 months but the way he fits into our family makes it feel like we have been lifelong friends.  I remember I had my doubts when we visited Richmond Animal League almost a year ago. Our neighborhood friend had just adopted a sweet and beautiful beagle from  RAL and it only took a few visits with my kids at the bus stop for them to be smitten. It also reminded me just how sweet natured this particular breed was. Unlike my children I grew up with dogs, usually two sometimes three. They were always adopted or a rescue my parents had helped with so I knew that if we ever got a dog we would adopt, but so far our life just didn’t seem to have room for anything more. My husband and I have five children ages 5 to 11 so to say we are plenty busy is an understatement. My two oldest had been asking for a dog since they could say the word but it was just too overwhelming to think of taking on more responsibility in those early years of raising our family. Even now with them barley reaching an age of genuine responsibility and accountability I kept asking myself if I truly wanted the burden of a family dog. But I could not ignore the nagging feeling that it was time to consider adopting a dog and our interactions with the friendly little beagle down the street only confirmed it.

We went to RAL and upon arrival my only request was that we not be shown any puppies. 

Amy McCRacken and Cricket (From the
RAL Website). Amy is the Executive Director
of RAL and knows firsthand about being
rescued by a rescue dog.

I knew the cuteness factor would cloud the kid’s judgment and who are we kidding, mine as well.  I also requested to first see their beagles. We were shown a few and even took one very anxious hound mix for a short walk. Then we were brought to see one beagle named Johnny Cash. The volunteer opened up his kennel and pulled him out declaring that he was one of her favorites. All I saw was the tag on his door declaring him to be nine years old, positive for heart worm and currently undergoing treatment for pneumonia. On top of that if I were to rank him on the cute scale he was less than a 5 for sure. Not that being cute was a major factor in our decision but when a dog looks as homely as he did at that time all I see is dollar signs in terms of healthcare and I had the list of ailments as evidence. But with some gentle persuasion the volunteer brought him and us out to the yard. It may not have been love at first sight with Cash but it was certainly love at first touch. He was an old and tender soul and he instinctively knew exactly how to interact with my kids. His temperament was amazing and by the time we were done it was hard to say goodbye.

www.ral.org

We went home with plans to think it over and have a family council to determine if we all understood what would be required of everyone. When it came time to decide which dog we wanted to adopt it was a unanimous vote for the homely and medically complicated dog. Johnny Cash had stolen our hearts and felt like the perfect fit which seemed odd given all the issues and what it was going to take to overcome them. I had wanted to avoid excess chaos, didn’t I?  Against any worries I was developing we put in our papers to adopt Mr. Cash, but over the next four weeks he would need to remain at RAL and finish his pneumonia treatment and then begin his heart worm treatment. We were starting our journey down the adoption trail on fairly rocky terrain as there was no guarantee Johhny Cash would survive the treatments due to his age and possible complications from his recent battle with pneumonia. During his heart worm treatment I would visit the shelter as many days as possible just to hold and comfort him and whisper that we would not leave him there much longer. It became torture to visit and hold his frail little body just to put him back in the kennel with only a promise of returning the next day.  But it was during these consecutive one on one visits I made to RAL when I began to see more of what made him so special. Before we ever brought him home I was looking into therapy dog programs and the requirements to certify him. There was a quiet energy he carried and compassion seemed to be his middle name. I knew he could do great things for not only our family but others as well.

Now here we are almost 11 months later and he has far exceeded my earliest expectations.  He has proven himself to be a devoted and tender companion for each person in the family, especially my oldest son who battles an incurable disease. There is little therapy and relief for his unique illness and before Cash came into our lives I often just had to hold my son and tell him things would be okay and the pain would go away, knowing my words were of little help. Now Cash holds him close to his body with matched breathing and helps him forget the pain until it passes. He does the same for some of the elderly we visit in assisted living facilities. He gently places his paws in their laps and raises his nose to theirs and in those moments he brings a temporary relief from the emotional pain and loneliness many of the resident’s experience. Many tears of joy have been shed as we make our scheduled visits always ending with promises to return because of the palpable love and tenderness he brings with him.

This last fall I thought we’d have to break those promises when Cash was bitten by a

A copperhead snake.

copperhead snake. We had been enjoying the last few hours of the day playing with the kids outside when Cash and I retired to the hammock, a favorite spot of ours when the weather permits.  As dusk approached I began mustering the strength to get up and call it a day when Cash raised his head from off my chest and with a growl leaped from the hammock. He has never growled, he doesn’t even bark so I knew something was wrong. As soon as I turned my head and body over to see what caused such an unusual reaction I saw Cash struck in the face by a large copperhead just 2 feet from my own head. The following moments were sheer panic. My husband drove us to the nearest emergency vet while I held him and just cried, terrified he wouldn’t make it as his breathing became more labored and he struggled to get air through his grotesquely swollen snout and throat. By the time we got there only 15 minutes from the time he was bitten his entire body was swollen beyond recognition and he was gasping for breath. I felt so guilty, I knew he was protecting me in that moment he jumped down off the hammock and seeing his swollen body I knew it could have so easily been mine. I whispered again for him to hold on, he had so much more to offer, so much more to do, more people who needed him and most of all we needed him. He had proven to be a fighter once before and I begged him to do it again. Well he didn’t disappoint and pulled through just like we prayed he would. Only three weeks later he was back to doing what he does best, helping people. With him fully recovered we went on a camping trip with friends where he managed to help a young boy overcome his extreme fear of dogs. Our friend who could hardly look at a dog without screaming in fear ended the 2 day trip, walking, feeding, petting and hugging Cash with a vow and a new found excitement  to do it all again next  year.  Cash was his new “best friend”.

Cash, right where he belongs.

They’re asleep now, Cash and my son, and as I look over the two of them I am so grateful not only for our sweet dog’s larger acts of devotion and sacrifice but all of the small ones he manages to accomplish every day.  The laughter he brings when the kids command him to “be cute” and he drops his face to the floor while wagging his butt in the air. Or the squeals of excitement when he finds the kids hiding spot during their unique version of hide and seek which is formatted to include Cash. Some days he’s the exact remedy I need to help get all five kids in the car to go to school. Usually someone has complaints about not wanting to go but as soon as I open the front door Cash rushes out to the car, excited and anxious to go for a ride. Tears and “I don’t want to’s” are immediately forgotten as everyone wants the coveted seat beside Cash. Even in the winter months when it’s cold and he rolls down the car window to stick his head out, we can’t help but laugh through our chattering teeth at him as my five year old exclaims “silly Cash!” It’s when he knows I’m over whelmed or annoyed and instead of leaving me alone or avoiding me he bugs me all the more until I pause and return the affection he is giving me. He puts his face next to mine, looks me directly in the eye and just like that, my crazed pace slows and he reminds me to take it easy and stop and smell the roses, or sometimes stop and smell every single mailbox along our walking route and then my daughters words “silly Cash” echo through my mind. During the day when the house is quiet and the kids are in school he is my shadow and even when he is in mid slumber if I leave the room he immediately wakes and follows without any command or noise from me. Yes it’s the little moments when he truly shines, little moments like now as he cuddles up against my sick boy. It’s a cold day outside but it’s warm here beside Cash, it’s warm here because of him.

Seeking the Perfect Diet for Your Dog

Here at the offices of Who Rescued Who?® we are beginning the confusing, hazardous, fraught-with-danger journey of trying to develop a dog food.  Our focus is on rescue dogs and their special nutritional needs.  All dogs are different, some with allergies and sensitivities, but our experience with dogs rescued from homelessness presents us with something more than just a big windmill at which to shake our lance.  Malnutrition from abuse, neglect or homelessness is our white whale.  All the while we search desperately for a 12 step group to help us with these overburdened and mixed literary allusions.

Lady Stetson was a mess when Diamonds In the Ruff
rescued her (photo by Stephanie Capps).

My personal experience adopting two pit mixes with skin conditions inspires me.  The stress of homelessness and even the shelter, as loving and warm as it may be, is often an insurmountable barrier to alleviating irritating skin problems.  These maladies magically disappeared once my dogs were in their forever home, finally secure and relaxed.  But what of the pup who languishes in the shelter for months or years?  Can a dog food help?  

I remember sitting at a table in Tucson, AZ some years ago and my lovely host telling me, as our pups frolicked in her desert-landscaped backyard, that the food I was feeding my darling adopted children was made with the rubber from car tires.  Like my diet at the time, which consisted of a great deal of

Tires taste bad and are not nutritious.

generic cheese puffs and cola, I had been purchasing inexpensive food for Joey and Elli because I was A) Broke and 2) Young, lacking knowledge, and trusting in dog food manufacturers.  It was the kibble equivalent of cheese puffs, I decided, and cheese puffs are of dubious origins and seem to skirt the lines of being actually edible.  I was clearly too young to have hairy children.

Her words resonated with me and I immediately switched their food to a more expensive brand that made a lot of claims that were hard to resist.  I noticed an improvement in the sheen of their fur fairly quickly and stuck with that brand for many years. 

My dogs lived until they were 14 years old, which seems to be the average; much too short but full of joy.  On the other hand, my family had a standard poodle in the seventies that ate the cheapest brand dog food available and supplemented it on her own with garbage, poo and yard trimmings she’d find when she escaped from our yard.  She’d feign deafness and run several yards ahead of us screaming kids in frantic pursuit as she ran along plucking little goodies from the neighbors’ yards and garbage cans and rolling in the leavings of other animals until her poodle curls glistened with an olfactory buffet of unspeakable horror, until we finally caught up with her.  She lived until the ripe (I use that term intentionally) old age of 18.  

Today as I peruse the internet I am more confused than ever.  The websites contradict one another.  Two articles were particularly striking and seemed reasonable:  The Dog Food Project (www.betterdogcare.com), written by Sabine Contreras, a canine care and nutrition consultant, and the Wysong website (www.wysong.net), written by R. Wysong, DVM.  Dr. Wysong is selling pet products and thus is motivated to steer you toward his own philosophies, but as I read through the article The Pet Food Ingredient Game, the information seems sensible.  The two authors disagree in their philosophies regarding non-human grade ingredients such as roadkill and 4D ingredients (just learned this nugget: 4D meaning dead, dying, downed or diseased).  It may seem like a trivial concern, and selfish, but my mind went straight to the fact that I have a super kissy pit bull and I just don’t want those things in her mouth.

Puerto Rican strays on the beach.  Some were so
malnourished it was hard to determine their breed.

Dr. Wysong reminds us of our dogs’ roots; running wild, hunting and scavenging, ingesting “prey, carrion and incidental fresh plant materials and even some fur and feathers.”  Meat that is not human grade, according to Wysong, is not necessarily lacking in nutrition.  It may be gross, but it’s healthy.  He reasonably states that a variety of fresh, whole natural foods for a carnivore is ideal, as well as fresh air, clean water, exercise and a whole lotta love.  Sound advice.

Contreras points out that dogs don’t live that way anymore and that in the wild they had the option of eating a whole chunk of carrion; nutritious bits and not-so-good bits like feet (or cheese powder) and that the key is investigating whether the ingredient called chicken has nutritional value or is just a ground-up beak.  She states that dogs live longer and suffer from fewer health problems in their domesticated environments in which we do the hunting and gathering at the pet store.

Turbo thinks a whole lotta love is the best ingredient.

Ultimately their points of view aligned.  Rationality and reason must steer us as we choose a dog food for our companions.  Variety seems to be key, supplementing kibble with fresh, natural, truly human grade ingredients (not to be confused with Soylent Green) can make up for any nutrients your base food may lack.  Be wary of trendy, hyped ingredients and fads.  Research.  When in doubt, call the manufacturer.

Kiki Nusbaumer

Who Rescued Who?®

Adopting and Living With a Deaf Dog

I arrive home from work, unlock the front door with my jangling keys, set them on the table and pull the door shut with a squeak and a thud. Molly, my 8 year old shepherd mix, is already there, wagging her tail in a hearty greeting. I pat her head and cup her chin for a moment. I look over at the couch and there is Mazzy, still asleep, one ear standing aloft like a pink and white sail, the other flopped lazily over. I walk over to her, boots thudding against the hard wood. I bend and kiss her softly on her puppy cheek and she finally wiggles awake, uncurling and stretching toward me, her whole body succumbing to the excited wagging of her long tail. There are differing opinions on the subject, but for me, this is the best way to wake a deaf dog.

Eye contact: The deaf dog reads your body language like a book.

Mazzy is a one year old, nearly all white, petite pit bull mix. She has a large black spot of fur over her right eye. She is awkward and enthusiastic, falling up stairs and sliding on wood flooring while her legs splay out in all directions. She is uncoordinated and determined as any puppy, but she can't hear.

Deaf Dogs Rock

The tragedy of a dog who is deaf is that if they wander off, they are unable to hear shouts from their people and may become lost. A deaf dog wandering the streets cannot hear oncoming traffic or other dangers. Even more tragic is the rate of rejection these dogs face when their people discover they are deaf and do not feel capable of raising the dog, or worse, do not want the "inconvenience" of a deaf dog. Breeders may euthanize them. At shelters they are passed over by potential adopters who think they need some special skill to raise a deaf dog.

According to Christina Lee, founder and President of Deaf Dogs Rock, a nonprofit that finds homes for deaf dogs by way of an expansive and highly educational website, this concern is unfounded. "Many of the shelters I worked with in the past put 'experienced deaf dog ownership only'  to be considered for a good adoption match. Nothing could be further from the truth. Both hearing and deaf dogs are trained exactly the same way, with the exception that a deaf dog should be trained on a leash and the handler needs to have visual cues and markers instead of verbal."

Mazzy was rescued as a stray and the task of getting her adopted out was undertaken by Deaf Dogs Rock. The goal of Deaf Dogs Rock is not only to find homes for these pups, but through articles, videos and links to resources they are taking the mystery out of raising them. Deaf dogs are just as trainable as hearing dogs.

Nitro. Photo by Christina Lee (in her original post of this
photo she points out Nitro's "Big Dog shadow")

Christina's inspiration for starting this much needed organization was Nitro, a hearing impaired boxer she and her husband Chris adopted. Nitro had been abandoned and had little hope for survival had he not been found by an animal control officer in Salem, VA. When the couple adopted the needy pooch, it was not without a great deal of fear.

"Nitro's inspiration came from my fear of failing him. My worst fear was that I was not qualified to own or train a deaf puppy," recalls Christina.

Her husband assured her that once the dog was signed up for training classes, everything would be fine. It was more than fine, and Nitro excelled at a rapid pace and matured into an ambassador for deaf dogs, passing his AKC Canine Good Citizen test at ten months old and the Delta Therapy Pet Partners training at one year. He is living proof of the potential possessed by all dogs if they are just given a chance.

Congenital deafness is linked to a defective gene that determines fur color. Any white fur on

Ruby is a deaf bull terrier mix.  Her deafness does
not hinder her from purloining good vegetarian BBQ.

a dog could be accompanied by deafness in one or both ears. It is a permanent condition that has been reported in at least 85 breeds of dog. The bull terrier is one of several breeds that is considered most likely to carry this gene. Sometimes people are unaware a dog, or even their own dog, cannot hear. By using their other senses, dogs do quite well. In addition, sometimes the deaf dog feels vibrations and reacts. Even a strong sneeze or cough can cause a dog that is 100% deaf to snap its head in the direction from which it feels the sound emanates.

Angels of Assisi

Bobbie Wiggins, Dog Trainer/Evaluator at Angels of Assisi, a rescue organization in Roanoke, Virginia, took Mazzy under her wing when she was brought in off the streets. She began to train Mazzy during her stay at the rescue facility to increase her chances at adoption. She says of her experience with Mazzy and others like her, "I think that working with deaf dogs has made me a better trainer, given me a greater understanding of dogs and how they communicate. I would not be the trainer I am today without my work with them."

Little Dog, Big Support

Angels of Assisi Rescue, where Mazzy was being housed, was participating in the Rachael Ray Challenge over the summer. The challenge: adopt out double the homeless dogs they had the prior summer, or reach a specific goal. Angels of Assisi won $30,000. The story would be covered by CBS affiliate WDBJ 7 in Roanoke, VA. Bobbie Wiggins trotted Mazzy out for her big television debut. Nadine Maeser was the on-air reporter covering the story, her boyfriend, John Thomas, an engineer for the station, was also at the shoot. They both felt an instant connection with the lanky little pit mix.

"It was literally love at first sight. I know that sounds silly, but we made a special connection to her when we saw her and when Bobbi told us her story the feelings got stronger," Nadine said. "Bobbie told us she was in need of a foster home. She had been at Angels of Assisi rescue for a few weeks after being found on the street in a neighboring county."

The couple applied to be her foster family and a week later took her home.

"I believe the best word to describe her is appreciative. We were not going to allow her on the couch, but she got up once and simply sat down and was well behaved. She also would occasionally sit on a green dog bed we have. Her face, when she sat on that, was priceless. She looked almost amazed at how soft and comfy it was. It was like she had never experienced that before. She also always loved to have something on her back. I think it made her feel safe. Whether it be a pillow or a blanket, she had something next to her. She really was a doll."

It was difficult for Nadine and John to hand over the leash of their little charge to her forever family.

"Mazzy opened our eyes to so many things and shed light on a serious problem that needs serious help. I like to think I am now an advocate for deaf dogs."

You can follow Nadine on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/NadineMaeserWdbj7. The couple are currently fostering another dog in need of a forever home and get regular updates on Mazzy's progress.

Who Rescued Who?

A master frolicker, Mazzy takes visual cues from her
hearing pals and never misses the UPS guy.

When I tell people Mazzy is deaf I know what they are often thinking: how generous you are to have adopted a dog with special needs! They ask how different it is to train her versus her hearing siblings. They wonder if it's hard. Indeed I worry more about Mazzy than her hearing peers. She is not allowed off leash like her hearing sister. She has a tag on her collar that says, "I am deaf," and I check in on her frequently when she is out in the fenced yard. She uses American Sign Language. She can fall asleep right next to a working vacuum or power tool. I can sneak out of the room when she has her eyes closed, but she eventually gets revenge by eating my shoe. That's about where the differences end. She loves walks, her sister and treats. She can't catch a tennis ball unless you basically throw it directly into her mouth like she's a carnival game. She snores. She lets me spoon her on cold nights. She is always in the mood to give me kisses and makes sure I don't get lonely when I am home writing. She helps me discover new trails at the park and keeps me exercising. She lets me think I have rescued her, but a wise man once said...and then had it made into a magnet: "Who rescued who?"