MAXWELL, JAMIE, AND THE BOXER-AHOLICS

If you think you are one, then you probably are a Boxer-aholic and as far as I know there is no cure or 12-step program for you to get help. You will know them when you see them. They have boxer magnets plastered all over their cars while boxer doormats welcome you into their homes. And, inside the actual home, there is every kind of boxer paraphernalia known to man from sofa throws to rugs to statues and knick knacks. So far I have fostered 3 fabulous boxers for Planned Pethood, Big John, Freddie, and Maxwell (no lady boxers yet). And, you know, I think I may have been bitten by the boxer bug myself. I have always, always been a lab person through and through but…

I was initiated into this cult by my nephew John and his boxer Buster who was a very handsome, sweet-tempered, and loving boy. Sadly, he developed brain cancer and Johnny lost him at only six years old and it broke everyone’s heart along the way. John and his wife, Amanda, have four of the cutest little boys. But when it came time for a lasting tribute, it is not the wife or kids he tattooed forever. You guessed it, it is the boxer immortalized on his body. They have moved on, recently adding a little girl boxer, Dixie, to the family. She made them all proud by graduating as valedictorian in her puppy obedience class.

My own first boxer was a majestic, regal DRD (Death Row Dog) foster who we named Big John (yes, in honor of my boxer-aholic nephew). The BIG part just came with the territory. He was a beast. He introduced me to the unique world of the boxer-aholics. He was a magnet for them at the park, they were drawn to him from the farthest corners, even on the street. They actually speak their own language, a boxer dialect including words like fawn and brindle… And the stories, OMG, the stories just never end. Many of the members cannot understand that anyone would even consider a dog of another breed. No way, dude! My big handsome guy had a wonderful home lined up when the unthinkable happened. He was diagnosed with lymphoma. He spent the next 8 months being spoiled and adored by us until his time was up. I loved him so much, I adopted him posthumously, something I had never done before or since.

My foster dog Freddie the boxer has been celebrated in his own blog. The title is “Freddie’s Saga”. It was posted on 8/30/13 and you can read it at plannedpethood.blogspot.com. I recently got some awful news from his boxer-aholic family, Cheryll and Curt Wegner, who adopted Freddie. After two blissful years, I’m certain the BEST years of his too-short life, Fred tragically succumbed to congestive heart failure. The two C’s have been able to ease their pain of his loss a little after they adopted Planned Pethood boxer, Rudy. Thanks for all the love to Freddie. He was the best!

My most recent boxer foster is the magnificent senior Maxwell. Things looked very grim for the big dude when PPI pulled him from the pound. He was a skeleton with skin on it. I was shocked when I picked him up. I was both horrified and scared. I insisted he visit the vet immediately because I thought he was dying. But, unbelievably, there were no major medical issues. The stress of those months in the pound was literally killing him. Boxers suffer mightily out of their routines and home environment. I was actually embarrassed to walk him because I was afraid people would think I was starving him. Max, who turned out to be a big old Mama’s boy, bounced back with gusto and became the star of the show. He demanded his turn for his “senior walk” with the strangest combination of boxer speak and nudging that could not be ignored. It looked for a while like Maxwell would spend the rest of his life as a member of his foster family, partially because people don’t readily adopt seniors and because he is all charm and was more than welcome to stay.

I told everyone who would listen that Max was not going anywhere unless the application for him was perfect. Then, as in each of these cases, that special boxer-aholic appeared on the horizon. I had actually made a list of all of Max’s negatives which in included: arthritis, he was hard of hearing, he could be bossy at the park, he inevitably had to pee in the middle of the night, and the gas, OMG the right out loud gas. Come to think of it, that would sure have discouraged me. I knew Max had hit the jackpot when none of this dissuaded Jamie who had compiled the perfect app for the big guy. He had boxers his whole life, and, boy could he speak boxer! He had recently lost his own senior boxer and it left a hole in the family that included two other dogs, boxers of course, and his roommate Gavin. Jamie even cooks special meals for one of them due to a digestive disorder. But expect nothing less from a true boxer-aholic, right?

Well, before you know it, Jamie, Gavin, Lucy, and Jasper were on their way to Toledo to meet the big dude. By now, he had gained 13 lbs. and looked stunning. I was proud to show off Maxwell on a walk, enjoying the compliments. Our biggest fear was that Max, who could be a little temperamental, may not be crazy about Lucy who was the alpha of their pack and visa versa. But there was no need to worry, the introductions went off without a hitch. After the paperwork was completed, Jamie hopped in the back of the SUV with the dogs with Gavin at the wheel for the ride back to the Cleveland area. I stood watching them go with tears in my eyes but I knew in my heart, Max was off to the best days of his life with 2 chronic boxer-aholic dads in boxer heaven on earth.

Jamie updates me on Maxwell’s progress periodically. And as great as he was doing when he left, he is thriving over there in Boxer Heaven. He has a luxurious dog bed in front of the fireplace. He has a toy box full of his favorite play things. He plays soccer in the yard and engages in play with his younger siblings. Jamie’s work schedule means rising at 4:00 a.m. Remember those fixed boxer routines? Max’s brain says it is wake up time at 4:00 on Sat. and Sun. too. There will be no ignoring him either. Oops, sorry dude. Jamie has a summer home on a lake and I can picture Max lounging out on the back deck with an umbrella in his water bowl in a few months.

So all things considered, I guess there are worse things to be addicted to than boxers. You never know, one of these days, I may even turn myself. In the meantime, there may be a meeting coming to a place near you where you will hear, “I am John, Cheryll, Curt, Jamie, Gavin, and Judy and I am a boxer-aholic…"

Finding Marcy

It was love at first sight when Macey, a 2 year old shih tzu, first met her adoptive family. Jim, Polly, and their dog, Miley, came to meet Macey at an adoption event at Petco in Toledo. Macey’s kisses flowed freely to Jim and Polly, and Macey and Miley seemed to get along well. At that point, Jim and Polly knew that they wanted Macey to join their family.

The following week, their wish came true. They made it official and Macey came home to start her new life in Erie, Michigan. She went from being a homeless dog to being a member of the family, enjoying her new life, especially her doggie sister, Miley. The two played and played as if they had known each other for years.
Five days after being adopted, the unthinkable happened. Macey and Miley were let outside for potty time, and Macey took off. Her family lost sight of her just as she was running across the street towards a wooded area. They spent the next several hours searching the woods, calling for Macey. She was nowhere to be found.
 
Polly contacted Planned Pethood to share the news of Macey’s disappearance. Within minutes, Macey’s picture was posted on PPI’s Facebook page, and Polly registered Macey’s brand new microchip and alerted the Monroe County Animal Shelter. At the time, outside temperatures hovered around twenty degrees.

The following day, reality hit. Macey was gone. She was only wearing her new pink collar and a Planned Pethood ID tag. PPI volunteers drove out to the area of Macey’s home. All they could see were wooded areas and bare fields. There were also many houses that included barns and other types of out buildings. It was hoped that Macey had found shelter. Volunteers began to talk to neighbors. Neighbors agreed to watch for Macey, and many of them spoke of the coyote population in the area, concerned for Macey’s safety.

Meanwhile, Macey’s family continued to search, printing and distributing flyers to households on nearby country roads. By this point, Macey’s picture graced every lost pet website in the area. Hundreds of community members shared her picture on Facebook, while on the edge of their seats for little Macey.
By 4:30 p.m., an organized search was started. Six Planned Pethood volunteers showed up, ready to comb the woods by Macey’s house. Macey’s little paw prints could be seen going towards the woods, but the paw prints suddenly stopped. Spread out in a line, volunteers made their way through the snow, branches, and pickers. There was no sign of Macey. Her owner had also just completed another search of the area with no luck. The search continued until dark.

Day 2 turned into day 3, and there was still no sign of Macey. There was nothing. Nobody had seen her, and hope was beginning to fade. Between the frigid temps and the coyotes, the situation was looking very grave. By evening, temps had fallen ever lower.

Day 4 started out with temperatures struggling to make it above 0 degrees. It was freezing. At just 10 lbs., Macey surely could not survive for long. At 9:30 a.m., Polly called one of the Planned Pethood volunteers. Polly exclaimed, “Macey has been spotted on Samaria Road!” Polly and the volunteer both left work and raced to the scene, where they found a couple of neighbors searching a property, which included a home and several greenhouses. The people who had spotted Macey had been driving by, and remembered seeing the flyer about the missing dog. They pointed in the direction in which Macey was running. After searching the property, which included wood piles, a creek, and evergreen trees, Beth and Polly took the search to the neighboring farm. They spotted hundreds of doggie paw prints in the snow, each another sign that Macey was indeed alive.
While searching the farm, the home owner came outside and reported seeing Macey running towards the field behind the property. She called out, but Macey kept running, heading south towards Erie Road. Polly and her adult son began searching in the direction in which Macey was reportedly headed. While searching, they did not find Macey, but they did spot a coyote.

Another PPI volunteer arrived at the farm, toting a trap, with the hopes that Macey would be attracted to the warmth and food that was placed inside. The trap was set, and the waiting game began again. With temps dangerously slow, the trap would need to be checked often.
Meanwhile, PPI’s FIXX line received several calls regarding sightings of Macey, all stating that she was heading south. One caller noted that she had called Macey, but again, Macey was running scared. The sighting updates were posted on Facebook, and animal lovers from the area began to drive out to the area to help search. So many people spent the morning and afternoon searching, all concerned for little Macey.
The trap was checked every hour or so during the afternoon, each time reported as being empty. Macey’s safe haven continued to wait for her return, and with every check of the trap, the situation was starting to look hopeless again.

At around 5:00 p.m. on day 4, Polly received a call. A gentleman was on the other end of the line, stating that he had Macey! He also called Planned Pethood’s FIXX line to report the good news. He had been outside talking to a friend that had just stopped by his house. He saw a little dog run behind a building on his property. He ran inside to get dog food and treats. He took the food behind the building and saw Macey by a wood pile. She was scared, exhausted, and shivering. He was able to grab her after offering her food. He retrieved a box and blankets and put Macey inside while he called Polly and Planned Pethood.

Polly called her husband, Jim, and he was on his way home from work. He stopped at the home and picked Macey up. While Jim was talking to Macey’s rescuer, Macey heard Jim’s voice and instantly perked up. Macey was soon on her way home with her dad.

Polly and Jim report that Macey did lose a few pounds during her time away. However, she is doing remarkably well. She has been resting a lot and eating a lot. In the warmth of her home, she follows Jim around constantly. Polly stated, “We are very happy and blessed to have Macey back. Thank you for all your prayers”.
Jim and Polly wish to thank everyone who helped with the search efforts. Planned Pethood would also like to thank their dedicated volunteers for caring enough to help find Macey. In addition, the volunteers wish to thank all of the community members who got involved to help bring Macey home. We just love happy endings!

BEAUTIFUL BOTH INSIDE AND OUT

BEAUTIFUL BOTH INSIDE AND OUT

Is there such a thing as the perfect dog? I am here to tell you that there is because I fostered her. Her Planned Pethood name was Levine but she was to become Emmy Lou in her forever home. She had been unceremoniously dumped into one of the most dangerous pounds in the area and was scheduled for euthanasia. The time clock of her life was ticking down to zero. She was a stunningly beautiful and gentle yellow lab who was more than likely used as a breeder dog. But when she turned 8 or so, she was no longer of any use to those types of monsters.

She was starved, trembling, and infested with a nasty case of worms. How about that for the mother of your new puppy? Despite the probable nightmare of her former life, she was a mellow, endearing lady full of love and affection. She never needed a crate and got along with the other dogs and cats, both resident and foster, the second she walked through the door. She was also afflicted with the curse of most labs, a painful case of arthritis. But it never, ever affected her demeanor. I wish I could be one-tenth as positive as this sweetheart of a lab was 24/7.

Emmy was not destined to be with me for too long because the cavalry in the guise of Kelly, Pat, Lindsey, and Tori was on their way to town to rescue her. Their wonderful application had arrived explaining how they enjoyed senior dogs, especially labs (were they somehow reading my mind?). Their family already included one, Bailey, the black lab. And, as great as they were on paper, they were just as amazing in person. As they were getting to know Levine a little, Kelly took her out for a little spin. So I asked Tori what she intended to name her new sibling. She confessed she was totally relieved that I did not name her and that they thought Levine sounded like a bathroom spray. We both giggled at that.

Who better to describe Emmy’s life other than Kelly Clark and her daughter Tori? So in their own words…
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Family Stories

Hey Judy! Better late then never, with our Emmy Lou stories. Why don't we start from the beginning. The night we met you to get Emmy, after we loaded her into the car our first stop was Wendy's drive through. This was when we discovered that she loved junior bacon cheeseburgers and fries... From that point forward anytime we got fast food we would make sure our furry family member got some too. FYI- about a year later, Dr. Chip, our vet, told us enough was enough and she was put on a doggy-diet! So we would treat Emmy to the occasional Tim Hortons turkey and egg white biscuit.

As you know, Emmy had a big sister named Bailey. We had Bailey her entire life, and we were a little nervous how the two would get along. It turns out, we had NOTHING to worry about. As soon as we got home, Emmy walked over to Bailey and lied down next to her. We started taking them on walks together. The thing is, Bailey was blind. Now how Emmy knew that was beyond us, but on the very first walk Bailey stood still at the end of the driveway, Emmy walked up next to her then stopped about a heads length in front of her. She got so close that their sides were touching. Bailey leaned in to Emmys side and they began the walk. From then on, we referred to Emmy as Bailey's seeing eye dog. They never needed leashes because Emmy always looked out for Bailey.

Besides walking together, Emmy and Bailey often held hands, or paws. We have many pictures of it. Whether outside on the patio, or inside in the living room, they would always lay next to each other or nose to nose.

Every summer we go to North Carolina and rent a house in the OBX. Two summers ago, Emmy was able to go with us. So we probably shouldn't tell you this, but it's too good of a story not to. We always rent a pet-friendly house, except that year. We must've over looked it. Since we were convinced Emmy was human, we didn't think it mattered, and we took her anyway! On the first day there, as we were getting ready to head to the beach, someone knocked on the door. We knew we had been busted. While someone went downstairs to open the door, me and mom rushed Emmy into the bathroom, shut the door and turned the shower on to hide her. Turns out it was a false alarm, just someone dropping off towels. This situation repeated multiple times over the course of the week!

Funny thing about Emmy, although she was a lab, she didn't like the water. Didn't matter if it was the groomer, our bathtub, the pond behind our house that Bailey loved, or even a pool, Emmy wanted no part of it. We learned this firsthand in North Carolina. She loved hanging out by the pool with us, but it got extremely hot, so we worried about her. We had a huge "L" shaped pool, with a step-in, shallow end about 6-12 inches deep. We picked Emmy up, and set her in that water. She froze. Literally. Didn't move an inch. We didn't know what to make of her! We poured cool water on her and she relaxed a bit. So Pat carried her into the deep end, to let her swim (they're swimming dogs, labs you know) and the craziest thing happened. She sank. She didn't move her arms, tail, paws, nothing. Just started to sink! Fortunately, Pat never left her side, and scooped her right up. Back to the shallow end she went! From that day forward, Emmy was banned from any water over her head.

Our next vacation adventure was taking her to the beach. Again, Emmy proved to be a unique lab. The sand and the water were a no go for her. She plopped down on the first sand bar she found, in typical Emmy fashion, she started attracting attention. Everyone stopped by to love on her, and to have their picture taken with her. We joked that she looked like a baby crocodile because of how she laid. Her front paws were folded outwards, just like a croc, and she had her "Emmy grin" ear to ear. It was one of our best vacations ever. And by the way, we cleaned up the house and dog poop, without leaving a trace.

Emmy went to Cincinnati with us, at least 100 times to visit family. Everyone loved her! My aunt and uncle have a small koi fish pond in their back yard. Problem is, when it snows, you don't know it's there... Last winter, while Emmy was visiting, she was let outside to go to the bathroom, and you can guess what happened. She walked right onto it, and fell through. Luckily, my uncle saw her and rescued her. They bundled her up, dried her off, and of course gave her a lot of treats. On a side note, Bailey got into that same exact pond, but on purpose. Killed a few fish, then jumped into the pool, turning it green, and tearing the liner. We still haven't lived that one down!

Although there are many more stories, these are a few of our favorites. We miss Emmy Lou terribly and wish to have had her throughout her whole life. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect dog.

-The Family
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Wow, Emmy just stepped into the role of seeing-eye dog for Bailey instinctively (my favorite image). I knew that girl was special! Em was very ill toward the end of her life. But she could not have been surrounded by a more caring and loving family. They went the extra mile, trying to keep her patched together. She broke their hearts when she left them. But she left an indelible mark on everyone she ever met. Both she and Bailey are now relieved of their pain and disabilities. And, I am happy to report there is a new love in the family’s life. They recently adopted Jack from PPI, a stunning yellow lab with definite star power. Jack lost his leg somewhere along the line but it doesn’t bother him or his new peeps, not one bit!

I would like to add another dog to this lab tribute. Recently, a five year old yellow lab named Sam was heading to us from pound. Sadly, the big handsome dude went into cardiac arrest and had to be put down before he could arrive. We are sending our love and respect and we will not forget you Sammy boy.


By Judy S

AYE, AYE, CAPTAIN!

It looked like a nice, peaceful stretch ahead. My foster dog Eddie, who was some sort of hunting breed, had been adopted to a loving home. A two year old? What had I been thinking? Hide all the remotes. But then the “try to ignore this” email hit my inbox from Planned Pethood’s Intake Coordinator, Lindsay (she is famous for these). There was a chocolate lab at a dangerous rural kill pound who was scheduled to be euthanized in two days. And, believe me, it is definitely not an idle threat at this place. So much for my mini-sabbatical with my own pack and only one foster, Maxwell the boxer. I guess peace and quiet is not in the cards for me.

After I said yes, I immediately began to brainstorm some fun male latino names for this brown dog like Miquel, Alphonso, or Julio. Come to find out though, I would not be able to name him because someone donated a substantial sum for his admission to the program. Planned Pethood is currently in dire financial straits so if corporations can name stadiums, why can’t donors name dogs? But even with all things considered, Captain Doug is still a pretty awful name but the dude was stuck with it. My apologies to the real Capt. Doug whoever he is.

When I went to pick him up at a vet’s office, they asked me if we would please wait outside after they brought him out. Once outside, on one of those thousand degree summer days, when the employee finally came out, she told me he had a discharge from his private parts and they would not complete any of our package because of it. She threw some antibiotics at us and turned and walked away without even a goodbye. I thought the whole incident odd but shrugged it off. But when we got home…

I always considered a discharge something gunky and disgusting. This was not the case with Doug, he was dripping BLOOD from his penis. When I took him to our PPI provider, I told him my house looked like a Jackson Pollack spatter painting. He was diagnosed with an enlarged prostate which was scraping against his urethra, causing it to bleed. The cure was simply to neuter the big guy BUT that could not take place until at least a week or two of antibiotics. People, PLEASE get your dogs and cats spayed and neutered! In the meantime, you guessed it, I had blood spattered everywhere. It is a good thing I wasn’t a murder suspect or I might have ended up in the Big House.

As annoying, messy, and inconvenient Doug’s bleeding was, there was a far worse side effect of his condition. The poor guy could not hold it and when he had to pee, he just peed regardless of where he was. And this dude let loose with a friggin’ lake.  Needless to say, the day of his surgery was a happy day for me, celebration worthy even. Or so I thought. The ugly truth was it would take 4 to 6 weeks for the prostate to return to normal and the testosterone to dissipate meaning blood and pee for that duration. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! We even tried some kind of diaper contraption lent to me by my neighbor and puppy foster extraordinaire, Heather. And if it hadn’t been me as the victim, it would have been hilarious when pee went squirting right through it all over the place.

The Cap’s personality is sweet and kind as can be but it is my theory that he never lived in a house before. I don’t think he was abused but probably neglected and left to run for the first 8 years of his life. For the first several days, he paced and panted, paced and panted, paced and panted 24/7. He HATED his crate, drooling a puddle when we were away. He was afraid of the tile floors, he flinched when the microwave dinged, and was a giant ball of anxiety and confusion. Add the peeing and bleeding and the poor dude was what added up to a hot mess.

Eventually, the bleeding stopped and he finally ceased peeing in the house but it did take the entire 6 week period. Somehow I did not lose my mind entirely. But Doug was so needy, he wanted to be right on top of me every minute of the day and night. I know, I know, he’s a lab, what do you expect? Well, I have had lab companions my entire adult life and I have never seen anything like it. Returning him and have the program put him in boarding crossed my mind on more than one occasion over the course of his time with us. But then a miracle occurred.

The application came from out of state. A family had seen the Captain on Petfinder. OMG, it was a perfect app. The family sadly had to put down their senior dog at 15 after a wonderful long life. And their other dog, a chocolate lab, missed his companion. So I called and they were even better in person. They told me they had never had a puppy and had ALWAYS rescued. I believe in full transparency and poured out Doug’s whole story, the good, the bad, and the ugly but they were not dissuaded. Now I was sure they were perfect. When they came to Toledo to meet him, they brought their own lab who looked like Doug’s twin. It was amazing, like they were brothers separated at birth. It was the buzz among everyone at the adoption event. People just stared in disbelief.

Doug’s start with the Detwilers was a little rocky. He had a few accidents and his anxiety returned once again. But, with love and patience, after about a week, he settled in. And the rest is history. He has mom and dad, Gail and Steve, 3 great kids he adores, and a new BFF named Buddy. And, adding icing to the cake, with his new family came a new name. Goodbye Captain, hello Petey. And folks, as far as my world goes, this is a Christmas miracle a few weeks early. Merry Christmas to you all too from Judy, Ida, Stan, kitties Ellie, Bernie, Mamie, Yolo, and temps Max, Bessie and Qismat.

by Judy S.

YOLO FINDS A FOREVER HOME

Yep, I admit it, I am a foster failure. Not just once, mind you but many times over. But this time I did it in grand style with Yolo. We lose many wonderful foster parents at Planned Pethood because they adopt their fosters, have a full house, then drop out. To date, I have two dogs, Stanley and Ida, both of whom were pulled from the pound with heartworm which ensured a long stay in foster care. They never left. My cat, Mamie, is also a foster failure. She was on the edge of unadoptable with a nasty case of ringworm and wild behavior. You can take the girl out of the hood but you can’t take the hood out of the girl. She stayed. Now Yolo has followed in their footsteps.

Yolo (You Only Live Once), dubbed by my niece Morgan, could not have a more appropriate name. This handsome two year old black dude has been through lots of trials and tribulations in his short life. He came to his foster home at only 4 weeks old. He came from a horrific hoarding situation. An elderly woman housed over 70 cats and kittens. There were actually dead kittens lying in the home and she wasn’t even aware of it. Yolo came to Planned Pethood sick and puny with 5 of his sibs. One poor tiny dude, Yancey, did not make it. But Yolo and the others recovered and things looked very rosy for them. But…

He developed a chronic ear infection shortly after his arrival. Then came a series of vet visits and a variety of treatments continued for well over the next year and a half. He had thick black gunk that smelled in his ears for months at a time. The first vet wanted to remove his ear canals. The second vet switched him to prescription food thinking he had food allergies which meant ALL the cats in the household had to switch too. They hated the new food and all the permanents lost weight but Yolo’s infection persisted. But the THIRD vet discovered he had huge polyps in his ears that were causing the chronic problem. Throughout this process, Yolo endured having his ears treated nearly every day of his life but he remained a cheerful (unless you are a vet), highly entertaining little brother. But then, oh no poor Yolo, the infection reoccurred AGAIN in one ear. Back he went to vet #3 to discover one polyp had grown back in a matter of months. But he was repaired, hopefully permanently. Shout out to Doctor Bart!

Yolo is happy as a lark and loves his foster family: Stanley and Ida (resident shepherd and lab), 3 cats, and foster dog after foster dog after foster dog. He sleeps with his foster mom and Ida every night. He wants to help you type while using the computer. He loves to investigate places he should not be, thinking his name is dammit Yolo now that he can hear.

All the resident cats in Yolo’s home are older than him so he must resort to entertaining himself. One of his favorite extreme sports is to run full speed ahead and leap onto the top of the cat tree, making it sway dangerously toward the ground. He has recently tried to play with his own image in the mirror by furiously pawing at what he must think is another cat. Our theory is he develops his solitary cat games because no other cats will give him the time of day.

My final push to adopt Yolo came when he was marked down. Actually, ‘free’ is my favorite four letter word but ‘sale’ is right up there as well. All of Planned Pethood’s black dogs and cats and senior animals were discounted. Black animals are adopted the least, euthanized the most, and linger in shelters more than any others. So now he is member of the permanents and I have fastened my seatbelt for what may lie ahead. If you ever stop by, I can guarantee his black furry butt will plop right into your lap to say hello.

by Judy S. 
 

BIG MAC a/k/a MAC ‘N CHEESE

I got the call from Planned Pethood. Would I foster a seven year old yellow lab who was being returned? PPI always takes adopted dogs back, no questions asked. They want them to be SAFE. This return was exactly in my wheelhouse. I love labs and have always had my own lab companion and I enjoy older dogs. What could go wrong? They failed to mention the new dude weighed a whopping 138 lbs., and by the time I discovered this seemingly unimportant fact, it was too late to back out. To put this in perspective, this is the first foster dog who weighed more than me and my house is a tiny cracker box. If this beast needed a crate (actually unnecessary), where the hell would I put it?  My initial reaction when I met the big guy was holy sh..!

Probably on more than one occasion, my house has been called the Fat Farm. I love chubby dogs. It is a challenge for both them and me. Mac certainly fit the bill and I became his personal Richard Simmons. Diet and exercise was the order of the day for my new huge friend. It was Biggest Loser/Dog Edition. Green beans, green beans, green beans were on the menu daily. It took a while, but when he was finally adopted, he was a fatty no longer, he weighed a svelte 117 lbs. and looked stunning. People stopped us wherever we went, wanting to know what breed Mac was, they even stopped their cars to ask. I would always respond yellow lab and something big.

The big guy and I were together for six months, and truth be told, he would still be here if I didn’t already have two dogs. He is so chill, he goes with the flow no matter what situation is handed to him. His adoptions kept falling through for crazy reasons. One very nice couple fell in love with the Macster at an adoption event. They told me they had a golden retriever named Amber who could be ouchy with other dogs. So off Mac and I went on the home visit. Out walks a black shepherd mix who definitely had no use for Mac. I asked, where is Amber? That WAS Amber. Back to square one.

But you know things happen for a reason. Mac enjoyed the company of not only other dogs, but of the cats and kittens I foster as well. So it was a grand outing for him to go with me to the cat adoption events. He would hold court while being adored by Pet Smart customers. It was there his future forever mom fell in love with him. Cat fosters extraordinaire, Ron and Julie Brown, are two of the kindest and most compassionate people I have ever met. They heal sick kitties, they tend and shelter unadoptable kitties, they even bottle feed tiny abandoned kittens every two hours (sometimes with heartbreaking results). Julie took me under her wing when I began fostering kittens and showed me the ropes. I couldn’t have had a better teacher. She patiently explained the process to me. Well, I never in a million years figured them for dog people. But happily, I was wrong.

I thought it was a little strange that Julie acted concerned whenever it appeared that Mac would be adopted. In reality, she wanted to adopt him herself. Come to find out, Ron and Julie were dog people in a BIG way. Mac would become the second SMALLEST dog they ever owned. But there was a huge obstacle to overcome. Ron had fallen during the polar vortex and was badly injured. He had already had one grueling surgery and was scheduled for a second. They decided to throw caution to the wind and invited Mac for a “trial” stay. He never left. I knew he was a permanent member of the family when I heard about the litter of 5 week old kittens climbing him and playing on him like a jungle gym. He had become the nanny!

Mac bunked up with family members during Ron’s second surgery. I have to share 11 year old Isabelle’s email:

“Mac was so excited to see me. We became friends by me walking him everyday and me sleeping with him and how I played with him everyday he is sooooo cute.”

“Everyday I gave him his favorite snack a hot dog” (my favorite part). “I walked him everyday (at least 3 laps). Every night he snuggles up on my bed. I walk him around my house to go potty. I think I really bonded with Big Mac. I think I did a big favor of babysitting Big Mac J.”

Poor Isabelle shed tears when it came time for Mac to go home so, of course, that made Julie cry too. But this story has a silver lining. Isabelle and her family are now fostering senior mastiff Gus for Planned Pethood. Gus took right over where Mac left off in Isabelle’s heart.

And, for all the twists and turns of his story, the right dog ended up in the right home at the right time. It is Mac’s mission in life to brighten up peoples’ (and I guess cats too) lives. For all of us whose lives he has touched, we are fortunate.

A FAREWELL TO JOAN, THE CAT AMBASSADOR

Sometimes I hesitate to tell strangers how many pets I have in my home. If you have a large pack, uninitiated people equate you with a crazy hoarder which is nonsense. Some people can only handle providing love and companionship to one cat or dog at a time. But, in my world, there is always one more refugee who needs a forever home. This was especially true before my relationship with Planned Pethood and its adoption network. It seems like I just completed my tribute to my cat Norman. And, now I have lost Joan so soon after. Each and every one of my animal kids is special and it breaks my heart when I have to say good bye.

Joan has appeared in my previous blogs but she is about to star in this one. I got a call from one of my students as we were preparing to return for another school year fourteen years ago. Ashley was in a panic about a litter of neglected kittens. She came from a tough neighborhood and a woman on her block allowed her cat to have kittens but would not permit them in the house. To the day she died, Joan had zero interest in going outside, period. Ashley knew the kittens would die in the elements that coming winter. You know the drill. I told her to gather them up and bring them to school. The next day she arrived with a laundry basket containing 5 kittens. Thankfully, we had an understanding and cat-loving principal. We were fortunate to find great, safe and caring, adult homes for all the kittens except one…

All kittens are cute and this litter of tiny grey tigers was nothing short of adorable.  Joanie, however, was kind of generic, no accents or interesting markings. But I devised a plan for her. My semi-significant other, Bob, had a cat named Betty. I am a firm believer in the ark philosophy that every home should contain TWO of everything. And, somehow I convinced Bob that he and Joan were destined to be together. That is how she got her name. I am a huge fan of Bette Davis so the name of her archenemy, Joan Crawford, was the logical choice. Bob resisted this initially since he was a single 40 something man with 2 cats named Bette and Joan but he eventually relented. But things didn’t exactly go as planned. You can take the girl out of the hood but can’t take the hood out of the girl. Joan was waaaaaaay too much for both Bob and Betty to handle so off she goes…

Joan the wild child had one final stop. She had plenty of playmates and activity at my house but more importantly, she found her new mom, Lucy. Lucille was a gentle, amazing yellow lab who was rescued from some pretty awful conditions herself. She adopted Joan as her child. She nurtured her by snuggling and cleaning her. She tolerated any play behavior the maniacal little sprite could invent. They became inseparable.  It was touching to witness such an incredible, unshakable bond.

After we lost Lucy, Joan became the cat ambassador to each and every PPI foster dog we have hosted. She always was more comfortable around dogs than the other cats in our home. When she would snuggle up, the dogs would look at her, like, really? None of them fazed her. What a great way to blend a new dog into our world, not to mention making the dog a more well-rounded companion. And I can’t remember any of them expressing hostility or fear toward her.

Joan was very personable around humans too, never shy or antisocial. Whenever company arrived, she would unceremoniously plop in their laps. She remained high energy through her middle age years. Her favorite playmate was my sister’s boyfriend, Mark. They would play and wrestle and Mark always came out on the losing end of the bargain, a little worse for wear and a little nicked up. Joanie made a beeline as soon as she saw him for a little gladiator action.

Joanie developed hyperthyroidism when she became a senior which is not unusual in older cats. We applied her meds by rubbing a special cream on her ears twice a day which did the trick. She had just had blood work and a check up before I went on a short vacation. She checked out A-o.k. But while I was gone, Bob called and said she was vomiting. When I got home, she refused to eat. That is when I knew things were going haywire. Joan always lined up first for the opening of a can of cat food. In the meantime, I found a tooth she had lost. So I figured she had an infection from that, and our vet Dr. Bart, would give her some fluids and meds and send us on our way. It was sadly much more serious than that. Doc said the problem was neurological, probably a brain tumor and the best solution was to put her down. I was blind-sided, stunned really. I knew it was best but still so difficult, another heartache. The only thing that brought a smile was the picture of Joanie and Lucy reunited, their bond which had been temporarily broken, now cemented forever.

--Judy S

HOUSES OF HORROR

They live their whole lives in disgusting, cramped cages. They have no opportunity to run, play, or interact with humans or their own species. They don’t get to see the sunshine or feel the grass beneath their paws. Much of the time these canines are forced to live in their own urine and excrement. Over the years, as a Planned Pethood foster parent, I have seen my share of puppy mill dogs. The scumbags running these houses of horror do not have any remorse for the torture they are putting the dogs through. They only care about the bottom line, money, money, money. There has to be a special place in hell for these evil people where they live the nightmare existence of these innocent creatures.

My sweet chocolate lab Imelda was a stunningly gorgeous puppy mill dog. She landed in the pound because she either could not or would not breed anymore at age four. She was unceremoniously dumped to this dangerous kill shelter so they could euthanize her. She was of no use to them anymore. Keeping any dog in isolation conditions is cruel but it is especially inhumane for a lab because they so crave and enjoy human contact. This poor girl was so needy that she never, ever left my side. She was the ultimate 24/7 Velcro dog. She sooooo boosted the self esteem of everyone she came in contact with. I wish I had a dime for all the times people said to me, “she really loves me”. I never had the heart to tell them she treated everyone like that. Except puppies, Imelda abhorred them. I am pretty sure that is what landed her in the pound. God only knows how many litters she had, on arrival her tummy was grotesquely stretched out, even at her young age. Mel was stuck like glue to me for the short time she had left in her life. She passed away from lung cancer at only six. But in those months, she made up for all that time in a cage by spreading lab love everywhere she went.

Meldie’s transition was easy compared to Samantha the pug. She was part of a breeding pair who were again thrown into the pound to be euthanized. If you have had any contact with pugs, you know they are happy, funny, affectionate little clowns. Not Samantha, she was terrified of everything, especially human contact. Stairs, the ding of the microwave, and all the normal household sights and sounds frightened her. Thankfully, my nieces Samantha (her namesake) and Morgan, were visiting when little Sammy came to us. Kid energy was the ONLY thing she could relate to at first. I am sure it was the first human contact this poor breeding machine experienced. But she and her partner Charlie were adopted by pug whisperer, Gloria Wu. The last time I saw Sammy was at the high school where Gloria and I worked. She was the belle of the ball, brightening up everybody’s day. It was an unbelievable transformation. Gloria, who was never even permitted to have a dog as a kid, has become Planned Pethood’s “go to” foster when we have pugs enter the program. PPI alumni Samantha, Charlie, and now Nicholas reside in pug heaven on earth with Gloria.

I get to know a lot of people from walking my dogs and fosters in the neighborhood. This includes Rich who lives on our route to the park. He lived happily with a resident English setter named Tucker but got wind of a puppy mill female who was going to be euthanized. You know that drill by now. He had the toughest time socializing Crickett and he was never completely successful. His description of her haunts me. He said this lovely girl acted like she was autistic. He was just not able to break through to her. She had erected a wall that excluded human and even canine companionship. At least she was able to live out the rest of her life in a normal home setting with love and her own bed and yard even if it was not reciprocated.

Hopefully this blog puts a face on actual puppy mill dogs. So, what needs to be done to put an end to this outrage? First and foremost, never, ever patronize the dog warehouses they call pet stores, who buy from puppy mills. If you want a purebred dog, you can get them from rescues. Planned Pethood takes them in on a regular basis. There are also hundreds of breed specific rescues throughout the country. The second part of the solution is tough regulations in each state. Ohio just passed a weak reform law. But the standards need to be much more restrictive and they need to be enforced without exception. For goodness sakes, there are laws about when you must take out the trash or shovel the snow. These are lives we are dealing with. These breeders are doing long term damage to the dogs. Overbreeding and inbreeding are resulting in a myriad of health problems. My poor lab, Rudy, had to be euthanized due to crippling arthritis, an issue many purebred labs have. The time is now. Let’s band together and put these unscrupulous losers out of business for good!

by Judy S.

THE UNSPEAKABLE TOPIC

As I was walking at the park with the dogs today, it happened. Splat, I stepped into a big old pile of poop, right there on the walking track. Some rude, inconsiderate idiot did not have the common courtesy to clean up after their dog. The responsible party was so dismissive of other walkers and joggers that they did not even bother to guide their dog to the grass. What a great way to ruin a beautiful bonding experience between human and dog. Feces is not exactly a topic readily discussed in polite conversation. For those of you who are a bit squeamish, you may want to skip this blog, but it is a personal pet peeve that drives me nuts. The jokes, all those awful bodily function jokes, are out there. South Park even has a character who is a piece of poo. But up front and personal, it is no laughing matter.

My dogs, Ida and Stanley, and my Planned Pethood foster dogs and I walk every day, rain or shine, cold or hot. Walking helps establish yourself as the pack leader. It is the first thing I do with every new foster. We usually head to a neighborhood park dedicated to kids’ baseball and football practice. It is a crime when people don’t clean up after their dogs, really I think it is an actual crime. It is not uncommon for the poor kids to end up running into a nasty pile or two. It is bad enough for them to have to deal with the hazards of dodging the goose crap. Many times I have politely offered a bag to these deadbeats. But instead of USING it, they become upset and defensive. They offer all kinds of excuses why it really doesn’t matter if they take the responsibility to clean up. I am sure these people do not consider nor care about the resulting health hazards involved for both humans and canines.

On several occasions, I have seen a man come to the park with his dog in an SUV. Not only does he not pick up after his dog, he never even gets out of the vehicle. He opens the door and the large dog hops out unleashed and unsupervised. Plus the dog is threatening and probably dangerous. This information comes from the owner himself who warns any other dogs away when they head his way. Talk about lazy AND ignorant. This looks like an unfortunate incident waiting to happen.

One day I was walking my senior lab Rudy when he rolled in a mammoth pile of sh*t. One whole side was a thick coat of it. I am positive he thought his smell was irresistible (and it probably was to another dog) so rolling in it was a no-brainer. It didn’t do any good to get angry with him. But I had to gag, on the verge of vomiting on what seemed like a very long walk home. He had to be bathed three times before he was fit for human companionship.

I even have a neighbor who does not clean up the crap in her yard. It smells like a defective sewer in the summer. And, after this winter, that situation is not going to be pretty. I filled many, many bags after the snow melted in my yard. In many cases, it is the people like her who neglect their pets in other ways as well. They don’t vaccinate them or make sure the dogs are on heart worm protection. They don’t spay/neuter. They allow their dogs to roam the neighborhood, unconcerned about the potential dire consequences. It takes a great deal of time, energy, and yes, money to be a responsible pet owner.

Hopefully, at this point, you are not thinking, geez, Judy is like the cranky old dude in the neighborhood who keeps the kids’ ball that comes in her yard. Nothing could be further from the truth. And, don’t get me wrong, I have forgotten the poop bags on occasion. But I always either try to borrow one or try to pinpoint exactly the scene of the crime, so I can get it the next day. And, hey you can get a 100 bag pack at the dollar store. Many of my friends save their bags for me for the cause. And if I can pick up while walking three large dogs, I know you can clean up too. I just ask you to walk a mile in my shoes. Literally, walk a mile in my gross, disgusting, poop covered shoes. Don’t be the one to ruin a beautiful walk, allow families to enjoy their surroundings in the great outdoors. Pick up after your dogs, people!

-submitted by Judy S.  

SEPARATION ANXIETY: A DOG OWNER’S WORST NIGHTMARE

He is such a wonderful dog when I am with him, handsome and affectionate, but… To date, my Planned Pethood foster dog J.B. has quite the impressive resume of destruction. The extensive list includes a busted screen and a broken window. He has torn down blinds and curtains as well. He literally destroyed two metal crates too and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Arrogantly, I used to scoff at people who put their dogs on drugs to help them cope with separation anxiety. But not anymore.  Hands down, it is the toughest challenge I have had to face as a foster.

But let’s start at the beginning. J.B. was scheduled to be euthanized the same afternoon I picked him up from a rural pound. They said he was a neutered nine year old chow/cattle dog mix. My preference is to foster seniors. Turned out, he was neither nine nor neutered. My first indication of trouble came quickly. The morning after his first night with us, he greeted me at my bedroom door, having extracted himself somehow from his crate. Thankfully, he has enjoyed the company of the cats from day one. I should have realized it was time to fasten my seatbelt.

I had to head off to a cat adoption event and I got that he was not crazy about a crate so I decided to confine him to a bedroom. I got a call at the event from my neighbor, fellow PPI foster, Heather. She said, “hey your foster dog is on your porch”. WHAT????? I asked her to hook him onto a tie out in the backyard and I would be right home. The screen in the window was flapping in the breeze when I arrived. The next sign of trouble would be minutes away. While letting the dogs in from a potty break, I practiced my pack leader skills with the resident dogs preceding the new guy. So in goes Ida, in goes Stanley, and you guessed it, over the fence goes J. As I was running down my street chasing him, I was telling myself, I am way too old for this crap. We did recover him quickly with help from my neighbors.

In the meantime, J.B. visited the vet and was diagnosed with heartworm. So now I had a crazed cattle dog who would not be able to exercise to release any anxiety for weeks. Nor could he be neutered. Great. And to round out the bad news, no way was he nine. I asked the vet what kind of nine year old jumps the fence. He said, nine? He is maybe four. Poor J was probably tied out his whole life. His ears are literally missing chunks from where the flies ate them. My semi-significant other, Bob, tried to reassure him. He told him, chicks dig scars. His recovery from heartworm was awful for him, the pack, and me with all that bad energy pent up.

At one point I came home to find blood everywhere. It looked like what I imagine a murder scene would look like. It was on the couch, on the walls, and on both my own dog Stan and J. I put J into the bathtub to try to figure out where the blood was coming from. He turned the water red. I grabbed both dogs and rushed them to the vet. It turned out to be a false alarm of sorts. Neither dog was injured. Stanley’s tooth was cracked and it had broken off at the root, hence the blood.

At that point, J.B. was relegated to an airline crate where he could not harm himself nor could he do any more destruction. But it did not address the root of his problem, the separation anxiety. This poor dude looks like a parkinson’s victim, shaking like a leaf, when he knows I am getting ready to leave. And, believe me, he knows. He has a look of sheer terror in his eyes. Your heart would go out to him if he wasn’t so irritating, barking his head off.

We have tried soooooo many strategies. We worked with a trainer and established behavior modification routines. She actually gave us homework exercises which we religiously adhere to. He has taken a half a dozen different drugs in a variety of combinations, to no avail. We walk three miles per day regardless of weather, most days with J carrying a loaded backpack. The thunder shirt I bought him lasted three days before he shredded it. The citronella bark collar actually worked for about a day and a half. Then I think he began to ENJOY that bug sprayish whiff emanating from the collar. And there was more and more and more…

We have made very little progress in easing J’s separation anxiety but he has made major strides in other ways. He did not know how to play when he came to us. His idea of play was to physically attack the dog who had the ball. Using some snack bag water bombs helped cure that. And, now he is quite an accomplished ball player, actually as part of a team. He used to charge other dogs on the walk as well. Four to six weeks after he was neutered (good bye testosterone, yes!!), he has become very accommodating when meeting new dogs.

Let’s just say J.B. is a work in progress. A friend at the park said it took his dog two years to begin to respond to correction of his separation anxiety. Oh NO!!! In the meantime, J is stuck to me like super glue 24/7, so afraid I may leave him. One of the vet techs suggested he is like the boyfriend you dumped in high school who can’t get over it and still wants to be with you.  He is gentle, affectionate, and loving. He is a favorite at adoption events (until I mention his SA, then the people almost run from us). Stay tuned for a blog update for our troubled dude. Planned Pethood does not put time limits on a dog’s adoption. BTW, we wondered what J.B. stood for. The neighborhood kids suggested Justin Bieber but we are not going there. Two people stepped up to offer their names, my nephew John Broadway, and cat foster extraordinaire, Julie Brown. Thanks!!

by Judy S.