A Few Days Off

July 19, 2011 

Sorry that we've been absent, but Allie has a puncture wound on her shoulder, so we are taking time to make sure it doesn't get infected. The weather here has also been murderous; I can't remember how many days of triple digit weather we've had, but it's as bad as last year, maybe even worse.

So stay cool, and I'll get us caught up this weekend. Thanks!

Adoption Day!

July 13, 2011

Today, I sign the papers that make Allie part of our family. Welcome home, Sweet Petite! 

Popcorn!

July 11, 2011

Allie is still eating in her crate, and spending most of her time it it. She can see the family as we work and play, so it's a good way for her to have her "take part" in family life without the worries of her running to hide or get stepped on.

But it's been hot and the older Divas have been fighting fleas like crazy. Dulcie, especially. Her thick coat makes it hard for me to comb for fleas, and the flea repellent doesn't seem to be working. Of course, our neighborhood is filled with feral cats, so it's to be expected that flea management will be difficult, if not impossible.  My next door neighbors feed them, trap them in a humane trap, and have them fixed so that the population stays under control. Sort of. 

In other words, everyone is cranky. I make popcorn and settle in to watch a movie. It's tradition that I make enough salt free popcorn to share with the Divas. They have a great time playing "find the popcorn" on the floor. I toss handfuls of it on the floor, and miss the cue that Dulcie is not in sharing mode. The next thing I know, Rimba and she are in a snarling swirl of a fight about a foot from Allie's crate. 

Of course, it sounds worse than it is, and a 30 second tussle seems to last forever. But in this household, I've stopped the rare fights with the simple command, "ENOUGH!"  (I've been told I have the voice of a drill sergeant when I need it.) Dulcie knows she's in trouble, so she slinks off to a corner while I examine the trembling Rimba. Her ear leather is punctured, so I swab medicate it before turning to Dulcie, who is injury free. 

I forget to check in with Allie, but the repercussions are clear a few days later. I'm holding her while watching a movie and eating popcorn. I drop a large piece and it lands on Allie. She shoots out of my arms and off the back of the love seat before I can respond. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. 

 

A Tiny Peek at Puppy Mills

July 11, 2012

Today my friend Melanie and I were talking about dog rescue and puppy mills, and how knowing how a dog was treated before s/he came to you can help you. It makes figuring out how to handle problems much easier.

When Melanie got her first Skye terrier (and first dog) Monty as a rescue, he had several quirks. For instance, the first time she tried to feed him from bowls, he backed away from them in fear. He finally ate, but it wasn't until she was using the garden hose to water and he came running up to get a drink that she figured out how to get him  to drink from a bowl. She would run water into the bowl with the hose, and he would slurp it up greedily from the stream. It took her a month to teach him how to drink from his dish.

At the end of the first year, someone finally told her why Monty didn't know about dishes. Seems like the kennel he came from fed their dogs twice a day by slinging dog food on the floor of the pens, and watered twice a day by holding a hose out for the dogs. I imagine they might have been doing dual duty: water the dogs, rinse out the waste. 

Can you imagine it? Only getting water twice a day? And having to drink it on the fly?

Since she didn't have much knowledge about dogs in general, and rescues in particular, a lot of Melanie's time was spent researching both the breed and general dog training. She told me she still doesn't know how she and Monty got through that first year together. This made me feel better, because yesterday I was so discouraged about Allie that I wondered if she would be better off with someone else. I'd had short bursts of time when I felt like this, but this turned into a whole day.  

Finally, I turned to YouTube. I decided that if it was true, that if Allie had come from a puppy mill, I should know more about them than what people had told me. I spent a couple of hours watching videos of dog rescues and puppy mills. It was both disheartening and illuminating. 

The one that helped me start thinking about Allie's behavior was this video on what a dog rescuer actually sees. It's easier to watch than most puppy mill videos, because although it is a large facility, it is at least moderately clean, the dogs have feeders and a fresh water supply. Most of the dogs look healthy and relatively clean, though crowded into tiny pens. It's still painful to watch.

What it doesn't show is how incredibly noisy these places can be. Imagine walking into your local shelter and having hundreds of dogs barking for your attention. It probably never stops in the puppy mills, either. It's amazing more dogs don't go crazy from that alone. 

Melanie said that when she was doing rescue work, the smell was unbearable. Since she worked rescue many years ago, there weren't any air filtration masks like the ones people are wearing in the video. I'll save you her graphic explanation of what the odor was like; I'd like you to keep reading the blog. 

But the thing that amazed me and moved me to tears was how most of these dogs were still able to wag their tails and trust the humans that came to get them. After all, the humans who had been taking care of them were reason enough to want to bite anyone! 

I began to realize that Allie's hiding behavior was based mostly in fear at the beginning. It hurt my heart that she didn't at least want to hang out with the other Divas. But now, I could see how much of it may be related to the fact that she could finally be in a quiet, calm environment with room to be by herself. That it was her choice to be with other dogs, that she wasn't locked in with them.

In one of the videos, one of the little dogs broke my heart: he was chewing madly on the hog panel that shut him away from the grass and the wildflowers. All I could think about was Allie's worn teeth. How long did she want out? 

She doesn't like being outside. Guess that could be pretty scary, after you've lived under a roof all your life. 

She won't take a treat, even off the floor when I toss it to her. Her jaws still clamp shut when I do massage on her mouth. Perhaps the only time her mouth was touched was to give her icky medicine, or that gritting her teeth was the only way she could stand the pain she was in. 

I'm still working on why she's so terrified with cellophane or any bag/item that goes "crinkle." She will leave the one safe place she knows (my lap) to get away from it. 

We definitely know that her house training problems come from the fact that puppy mill dogs have to live in their own filth. Frankly, I'm realizing that adopting the attitude, "What's a little pee among friends?" is the route to take. Because Allie's doing a terrific job for a dog with her past.

All Tangled Up

July 9, 2011

One Facebook post for today: 

"In her last life, Allie was apparently either a carousel animal or held a position on the "tie 'em to the stake" team. We're both a little dizzy from her leash antics."

Allie is not quite sure what to do on the leash, so she runs circles around me, tangling up my legs. Then she wants to be behind me, making it nearly impossible to figure out how to get back to normal again.  But she will come up to me, put her paws on my thigh, and ask to be picked up. I pick her up every time, hoping to encourage her to come to me often. 

Later that day, while I am watching "Bones" episodes, Allie wags her tail once and comes to the couch to be petted twice. She also looks happier. It feels miraculous--and tentative. But she's making the effort. 

A Catalog of Fears

July 8, 2011

Allie has now been living with us for 6 days. In that time, I've found that she has quite a few fears. Neighbor Larry only has to be in his back yard to send her right back into the house at break time. Ceiling fans are not to be trusted. She won't eat or drink if she thinks I will see her. 

Even though she's still dragging a leash, I have to let her circle the dining room table 3 or 4 times every time I want to catch her. She's so fearful that she doesn't seem to think, but merely repeats patterns almost obsessively. 

But for now, I just try to be patient. I tell myself it's good exercise for her to run around the table, that it's making her joints more elastic and stronger. She seems to be doing well with housebreaking, though a roll of paper towels has taken up permanent residence on the dining room buffett. 

I decide it's time to put Allie in the huge penthouse crate. She might have some accidents in it, but I think it will help her adjust to bigger spaces. And maybe prevent some of the nighttime barking that occurs when she misses Dulcie and Allie. 

Tonight, after she's been safely tucked into her crate and I'm settled down to read, I hear a strange sound. When I look up, Allie is actually playing with her bedtime biscuit! I'm thrilled, as it is another positive sign she's feeling more at home.

Allie Carte

July 7, 2011

Now that I've made the decision to adopt Allie, I start working on getting her used to her new family. One of the way she is dealing with her fear is by hiding in places where I can't see her, and she can't see us. How will she ever learn house manners if she can't see her mentor, Dulcie?

Her crate is in the bedroom, so she's with us at night. During the day, I try to keep her near me by tying her leash to my waist. After she chews through one leash in seconds, and starts on the second, I figure I need to back up and find something less threatening to start with.

At first, I think about a playpen, but I realize she would probably be able to get out of it. The point is to have her within my sight without making her feel trapped or unduly exposed. She can't be in her crate forever, no matter how much she wants to be. It's up to me to figure something out that works for all of us. 

It needs to be portable, so I can take it from room to room easily. Lightweight and sturdy. She shouldn't be able to climb out of it, but it needs to be easy for me to put her into it and take her out. After considering several different things, I finally figure it out. The Allie Carte is born!

Allie (in her body wrap) relaxes in her custom Carte.

Yes, it's a shopping cart. I placed a pillow and a folded towel in it for her comfort. I tossed my house wrap over it to make it feel more like a den to her.

If you look closely, you can see that Allie is wearing a body wrap to help her relax. 

This body wrap, which I learned from Tellington-Jone's book "Getting in T-Touch With Your Dog," had proven invaluable when Allie was out of her crate and could not stop running frantically from room to room. Within minutes of wrapping her in the elastic bandages, she was asleep by Dulcie's side. On the floor, in the open, fast asleep. In under 5 minutes. (Yes, do take a moment to order the book. It's that helpful. We'll still be here when you get done.) 

It was the first time I had seen Allie asleep since I brought her home. I began to suspect that she was sleep deprived. After all, a shelter is not the quietest place to rest in, and there's been so much to learn about her new home. 

Allie gets parked wherever I'm working. In the office, where I learn she doesn't care much for Jimmy Buffett. I humor her, figuring that there's plenty other music in our CD library for us to listen to while I'm fighting the paperwork beast. In the living room where she finds out how much I hate dusting. Everywhere we go, Dulcie settles in near to Allie. I'm hoping it will be only be a short while that she'll need the Carte before she feels more at home.