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.

Teeth, and Knees, and Car Rides--Oh, my!

Hoping everyone had a safe Fourth of July! The older Divas are okay for the most part with just about anything, and Allie did well, considering. She had an acupressure session to relieve fear and anxiety around 7, so the rest of the evening went well for her. Talk about a relaxed dog! 

Today, we're glad the rain has arrived, bringing much needed coolness and the water the crops need so badly. 

And now, back to Allie's story. . .

July 6,  2011

Yesterday, I called and set up an appointment with our vets, the Painters (otherwise known as Dr. Mickey and Dr. Mary Sue). The shelter vet didn't have time to check Allie out before I came to pick her up, so I want to find out if she suffers any of the aliments common to her breed. I've already decided that if her teeth aren't broken and her knees aren't too bad, I'm going to go ahead and adopt Allie. 

The decision to adopt Allie is not an easy one. I already have 2 senior dogs, one with a heart murmur. But there's always room for one more. Besides that, Allie's wiggled her way into my heart, and I also feel that I can offer her a quiet home with lots of extra care. I'm also worried that in her state, she wouldn't do well at all with another huge change, like moving to another city or state.  

Today I load both Allie and Dulcie into the car. Dulcie is going to go along as moral support for Allie during the ride. Once in the vet's office, I'm not so sure about how helpful Dulcie will be, but you never know. 

Dulcie was about 12 weeks old when I took her for her first visit with Dr. Mickey. It went well until it was shot time. Dr. Mickey is of the school that the owner stands well away from their dog while the staff administers shots, etc. so the dog doesn't think Mama has anything to do with the poking and prodding. 

The last of the shots was particularly painful for Dulcie, and as soon as she was released she shot across the exam table and into my arms to hide her face in my neck. "It's okay, sweetie." I said. "Look, Dr. Mickey has a treat for you!"  She turned her head to glare at Dr. Mickey, then whipped it back into the safety of my neck. It was such a toddler move that we all ended up laughing, but while Dulcie has been compliant on vet visits, to this day she will not willingly go to say hello to Dr. Mickey.

Dulcie is excited to be going on a trip. She's bouncing all over the front seat, while Allie has ducked into the floorboard, panting and wide-eyed with terror. (Yes. I know. Not the safest way to travel. Allie now has a crate in the car for her twice weekly trips to the nursing center, and I've dug Dulcie's seat belt harness out to be used on trips.) She crouches there until we get to the vet clinic. When I pick her up, her heart is pounding so hard I'm wondering if she's having a coronary. I wrap her in her towel and rock her in my arms as we wait for the vet. 

I'd found that Allie did better if wrapped in a t-shirt or tea towel when I held her. Swaying also seemed to help, so we spent part of each day doing the "Swaddle and Sway."  Again, later I will find that I've intuitively done the right thing to stimulate the vestibular/vagus nerve connection to help Allie learn how to relax. It didn't hurt me any, either, so we usually enjoyed our S&S sessions right before bedtime. 

Slowly, her heart rate slows down, but she still stares off into the distance. She makes no attempt to check out her surroundings, refusing even to acknowledge our favorite vet tech Mary's attempt to say hello.  I'm hoping that Allie will at least be calmer during the exam, having Dulcie in the room. Turns out I didn't need to worry--Allie was fine when we finally got in the exam room.  Dulcie, on the other hand, was a wreck. She preferred to wait for us under the chair. 

Allie weighed in at 12 pounds, which is 2 lbs more than the maximum weight for a male. (Another reason she was mistaken for a male. She's huge compared to most other female Papillons.) However, she wasn't overweight for her height, which was good.

The news about her teeth was bittersweet. The canines, which I feared were broken and could possibly have exposed nerves, were simply worn down by chewing. Chewing metal. For most of her estimated 3-4 years. Which suggested that Allie had been a puppy mill dog all her life. Although Dr. Mickey could see no signs of her having had puppies or a spay scar, we think she may have ended up in the shelter because she didn't produce any litters. No pay, no stay. (Never, ever buy a dog from a pet store. Find a reputable breeder. . .oh, wait, that post is coming soon!)  

I was always careful to pick Allie up by supporting her chest and rear, but I still heard and felt her knees snap.  This condition, known as patellar luxation, is a problem with many toy breeds. Dr. Mickey felt that Allie was in stage three of four, meaning that her knees were popping out easily and she probably had some arthritis and pain with them. We discussed what would happen when she moved into stage four. She would probably still be able to stand and take a few steps, but not go for walks. 

Surgery was one option, but not the only one.  Dr. Mickey pointed out that if she could be kept comfortable with medications, it would surely be no problem for me to tote 10-12 pounds of dog out to the yard to do her business. Or I could resort to pee pads. I decided I could handle that when and if the time came. In my research, I'd found many examples of puppy mill/crated dogs who'd come to their adoptive homes nearly crippled and very ill. But this hardy little breed thrived on their caretakers' love and attention and in many cases, recovered very well. I vowed that Allie would be one of them. (Note: She is, I'm happy to report. It's rare for a joint to pop these days and she gallops around the yard with Dulcie all the time.)

Dr. Mickey is amazed at how well she is behaving, though he tells her she is the "most serious little dog" he'd ever met. And she is, gazing regally at a spot over his shoulder with her kohl lined eyes. No happy panting either, though her lips and mouth are less rigid than when I started massaging her lips and gums a few days ago. 

After Allie's exam is over and her health pronounced to be generally good, Dr. Mickey hands me Allie and coaxes Dulcie from under the chair. Our little family heads to the car, ready to get home, call the shelter, and tell them to take Allie off the "available animals" list. She's found her forever home.

Independence Day!

July 4, 2011

Today Dulcie gets the hair on her feet trimmed as Allie watches. I'm hoping that she'll figure out what I expect from her when it's her turn on the table. Either she gets the idea, or she's been on a grooming table before because she lets me clip her nails and trim her hair where needed. Then it's off for her first bath. 

I pick out the sweetest smelling of the dog shampoo. Allie still smells like a garbage heap. I'm hoping that since I have more time to scrub her than the shelter did, she'll emerge from her bath infused with a more bearable scent. 

She seems a little panicked at first about the bath, but soon settles down. She looks so vulnerable with her hair clinging to her ribs, suds dripping into the dirty water at her feet. I rinse and rinse until the water is clear, then quickly wrap her in a beach towel to dry her. She seems to love being enclosed in the warmth of the towel as I rub her hair slowly and gently. She finally smells like a clean dog, and the white of her coat is losing the yellow urine stains.

A few hours later, I find out exactly how soft her hair can be when clean and brushed to a shine. It's still rough in places from poor diet and lack of sunshine, but it's like silk. Dulcie's coat is like satin, and Shani's was like plush velvet. Rimba? She's linen. 

The day is quiet; most of the neighborhood is out of town or at the park. We spend it napping and listening to music. The Divas take reluctant short trips out into the still searing heat to practice squatting in tandem. Dulcie and Rimba lie on the floor, limp dust mops in the heat and humidity.

I've finally figured out how to get Allie out of the crate without bumping her head on the door frame. I hook my left index finger in her collar, then slide my right hand under her chest and lift her, swinging her under my left arm. It's like lifting a plaster statue with marble eyes. She's still rigid and staring, but willing to trust me. With her body clasped close to me, my hand under her ribcage and cupping her chest, I feel her relax for a second or two. This becomes the "Allie-as-Football Hold," serving to calm and protect her. Later, I will find I've begun to hold her in the best position to stimulate her key relaxation acupoints. 

More T-Touch is used, on Allie's mouth and her tail. Both of these areas deal with fear. I'm also looking for more information on the acupressure. I get out the lavender essential oil and apply a bit to the tips of her ears to help ease her anxiety. While she seems to like the extra touch, her legs snap back faster than new rubber bands when I gently try to stretch them.  I decide that I'll work on them after she's been allowed to run in the yard for a few days to work out the major kinks. 

I've been invited to a friend's house to watch their fireworks display. I'm reluctant to leave Allie, but I know she'll need to get used to being left sooner or later. To help mask any firework sounds, I leave her crate in the room with the A/C unit and turn on the harp music for her. When I return, she is still calm even though the next door neighbors have been shooting fireworks right outside. I'm grateful that she is doing so well.

July 3, 2011

Although Allie was exhausted, I'm pretty sure she didn't sleep her first night here. I'm certain that she didn't blink for at least 8 hours. She wouldn't make eye contact with me, turning her head away even when I held her. She lay motionless in her crate, as flat and compact as she could get, even tucking her front paws under her chest. This is commonly known as "pancaking," the body posture of terrified dogs everywhere. The message couldn't be any clearer: "If I am very small and completely quiet, I will be invisible. Invisible to the predators in this world." 

She couldn't be coaxed to the front of her slightly too large crate, so I tied a small box in the back space to keep her toward the front. My short arms could only reach so far, and she wasn't helping. I'm afraid she got a few head bonks before I figured out how to best get her unwilling, stiff body out of the crate. (Go ahead. Try getting a wee dog frozen in a sitting position out of a restricted space. Not so easy, is it?) 

Once out, I put her on an old leash and carried her out the door to the back deck. Until I knew I could trust her, she was destined to drag this old leash. The ratty blue leash would serve two purposes: a) to help catch her again; and b) to be able to find her when she scooted under something. The latter she did with astonishing frequency. I never knew I had so many hidey holes in my house until The Dust Bunny came to live with us. 

Allie was also reluctant to remain in the yard if any of the male neighbors were in their back yards. She would head for the door, fear making her fly over the steps to the back door. Poor Larry, who adores animals of any kind, was introduced to a shaking Allie from ten feet away. 

I knew my biggest challenge would be housebreaking Allie. Papillons are notoriously hard to house train. But I had a secret weapon: Dulcie. Dulcie with her sweet temper and gentleness had Allie wrapped adoringly around her paw from the beginning. When placed on the ground, Allie would rush to Dulcie's side and stick with her. Soon, the yard resembled the practice field for the Canine Olympic event of "Synchronized Squatting." Mostly they would be side by side, but once I looked out the window to see them butt to butt. (Where is that stupid camera when you need it?)

They say a puppy learns from an older dog, making training much less stressful for everyone involved. It certainly was true of Allie and Dulcie. Allie learned to come when Dulcie did, even though I still had to step on the leash to get her. I quickly learned that Allie was more relaxed with Dulcie in the room. 

The same was not true of Rimba. By the end of the first day, Allie was snapping and snarling when Rimba got too close to her crate--and therefore, her food. Although Rimba couldn't get at the food, nor did she want it, Allie thought she had to guard her food from Rimba, but not Dulcie. Outside of her crate, Allie got along fine with both dogs. 

Rimba is old. And deaf. I have to raise my voice to get her to do anything if she can't see my hand signals. My theory is that Allie heard me raise and deepen my voice to Rimba and thought Rimba was a BadDog. Why else would I be yelling at her? 

My next goal was to get Allie to open her mouth. At the shelter, they had told me that her teeth were clenched and her lips so stiff they gave up trying to look at her teeth. Using T-Touch on her mouth and face throughout the day, I finally got Allie's lips to come up off her teeth. What I found was worrying.

All of Allie's canines looked like they had been broken off. Her breath could knock a zombie back ten paces, even though her teeth didn't look decayed too badly. Her gums were red, instead of healthy pink. Although I knew she was not happy to have her mouth handled, she never tried to bite or nip me. But she sure could whip that head around like a hydra! 

Another concern were Allie's kneecaps and shoulder joints, which would snap and pop when I picked her up. Even though it didn't seem to hurt her, I knew it was a sign that her joints were not in the best shape. Her left front paw felt hot and swollen, and she didn't want me handling it at all. When she ran, she wobbled.

Her spine had molded itself into a curve to accommodate the way she had been crouching in her crate. I could feel the tiny spinous process of each vertebrae as they twisted down her back. Her tail was tucked so firmly on her belly that I despaired of ever seeing its graceful curve floating in the air. Her ribs were covered with muscles beaded with tension, and she was far too thin. But she clung to me as if I were her only hope in this sea of despair.

Happy First ReBirthday, Sweet Petite!

Dear Allie,
Happy Birthday, Sweet Petite! I hope you like your pretty new collar. May you wear it for many happy years.

Love and cuddles from the other Divas 
and your loving Mama. 

Bringing Home the Butterfly

July 2, 2011

Our corner of the world is still locked in a heat wave, so I get up very early to get to the shelter to pick up Allie. My good friend Tammy meets me halfway and we have breakfast together. A animal lover, Tammy has several dogs that were dumped near her farm. I kid her about running an unintentional animal shelter, but she's wonderful with them. She sends me on my way with good wishes and some advice for my first small dog. 

When I pull up to the shelter, I realize that I'm more than a little nervous. What if the dog, whom I'm thinking of calling "Almond," doesn't like me? Or is more than I can handle? Determined to do my best, I gather up the baggie of chicken bits I've brought to smooth our meeting and head into the shelter. 

The shelter staff are busy, so they take me into meet both the Papillon and the miniature Schnauzer and leave me to get acquainted. The dogs are in huge crates, one above the other. My heart sinks when I see the Schnauzer, who is huddled on the back wall of his crate, looking like a terrified child in a prison line-up. He's shaking so badly that I can see it from several feet away. I think, "Oh, no. I'm going to have to take him, he's in worse shape than the Papillon."

In the top crate, the Papillon is in the back corner, feet tucked under and pancaked, staring at the wall. He's not black, as I had understood them, but a red sable with a tri-color face.  He's not moving, even when I make kissing sounds. No eye contact. 

I decide to check out the Schnauzer. When I open his crate door, he scuttles over to the corner. Sitting on the edge of the crate floor, I pat my leg and wheedle him over to me. He creeps over to let me pet him, then rolls on his back in bliss, begging for a belly rub. I decide that there's probably hope for him if he's willing to meet someone halfway, and go on to check out the Papillon.

Chicken, smoochy sounds, high happy voice: nothing moves this dog from his stare at the wall. I'm too short to reach him, so I find an attendant to come get him out for me. 

That's when I truly understand how terrified this dog is, and how important it is to get him out of the shelter as soon as possible.

The second the attendant touches the dog's backside, he evacuates his bowels and bladder. Not just a sprinkle--I mean everything. The attendant turns and says to me, "Oh, he has a little problem with submissive peeing." My mind said, "Really? Don't you recognize abject terror when you see it?"  She was reluctant to hand the dog to me, commenting that my dress would be ruined. "It's okay," I said. "I wore it because it's the most washable thing I own."  

When she handed me the dog, it was like taking hold of a bag of stick and stones set into dried mud. And the smell was awful. My face must have shown this, as the attendant told me that all of the dogs that came from that shelter had been living in crates with their own waste. They'd all been given baths, but this a scent that would take some time to reduce. At this point, his tail is tucked so firmly between his legs and on his stomach that it takes me 3 or 4 days to realize how stained it has become. 

But in those first seconds when I am finally holding this frightened Papillon, I know that I want to help him. We head to the office, where we find that the only info on "Pappy" (very original, huh?) is simply his name and his breed. The only history available is written in nearly invisible pencil on a folded sheet of blue lined notebook paper. To this day, I still don't know if the shelter Allie came from was shut down by the state, or closed because funds ran out. 

I load Almond into my big car, thankful that the crate can be in the front seat with me so I can talk to him on the ride home. I know he probably doesn't understand me, but I tell him all about his new home and the Divas waiting to welcome him. I'm a little worried about that last part, but I know we'll get through it somehow.

When I arrive at the house, I take Almond out of the crate. I place him on the ground, and he starts thrashing around in a panic. I scoop him up and take him into the fenced yard, where I again place him on the ground.

He promptly squats and pees. Squats. 

Now, male dogs will squat to pee at times. But not like that. When it's clear that she has finished, I pick her up. I hate to do it, but I turn her on her back and pry her tail up to check. Yep. No penis. 

The first shelter had no excuse: they'd had her long enough to do a through check. In the Joplin shelter's defense, they probably only had time to run a hand down her belly, hit the tip of her tail, and think, "yes, male equipment." The joke has become that the first major change Allie experienced while in my care was a sex change. :)

I called and made sure the shelter knew this new information. After all, if someone was interesting in adopting her (remember, I'm just fostering at this point!), they'd know she was female. 

The next step was meeting Rimba and Dulcie. To my relief, they gave Allie a sniff or two, then walked away. Since I hadn't had time to dogproof the house, I set up a crate for Allie near the A/C unit, gave her food and water, plugged in a music therapy CD of harp music, and didn't fuss with her much. I spent the rest of the day in the room with her, reading in the hammock while she stared off into the distance. 

Stay calm and do WHAT?

Allie's first photo at her new home, July 2, 2011. Looks like a happy dog, eh?
Now take a closer look at her eyes in both pictures.

Allie's second photo at home, with Dulcie's belly. Still terrified. Check out the belled cat collar she wore home from the shelter. About 9 months later, she'll be mistaken for a cat, even with a different collar.

"Do you like Pina Coladas?"

Allie's story starts, as some love stories do, with an ad. Hers just happened to appear on the Joplin Humane Society Animal Adoption and Resource Center's Facebook page: 

 

July 1, 2011

"We also have three really scared little dogs that will need patience and a quiet home, Mamma is an older Pekingese, a M Papillon mix that is terrified can't tell age yet and and older schnauzer that is too scared to check his age."

I was immediately drawn to the Papillon,  a breed I'd been researching for a couple of years. A spaniel lover ever since reading Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow series in high school, I'd already said goodbye to one wonderful Cockapoo, Shani. Although I still had a 12 year old "SchnauTick" (BlueTick Hound/Schnauzer) named Rimba, and an 10 year old "CockleShel" (Cocker/Sheltie), Dulcie, I was looking ahead to find a small lap dog for my next dog.

Rimba, Dulcie, and sweet Shani.

Both Rimba and Dulcie had come from JHSAARC. Rimba was a puppy destined for euthanasia, so I brought her sweet face home. She's been a good dog, but she's a terrier. Aloof. Tenacious, and not always in a good way. I love her silly face and her big smile, but she never stole into my heart like Shani and Dulcie did. Those spaniel eyes and playful ways are impossible for me to resist! 

In my research, I found that Papillons are considered a toy spaniel. They used to be referred to as the "squirrel spaniel" because their lush, plumed tails resembled squirrels' tails. Their huge feathery ears perch on their heads like fuzzy butterflies. It was a natural for the French to call these wee dogs "Papillon"--the French word for "butterfly." With their beautiful coats, so silken to the touch the French called it "angel skin", they are gorgeous little creatures. Surprisingly, even with their fluffy coats and delicate looks, they are easy to groom and keep clean.

But I wasn't after beauty alone. I wanted my dog to be smart and adaptable, too. Papillons are loyal, playful, and smart. Border Collie smart. Sturdy little dogs,  most of the health problems they were prone to seemed manageable (if they occurred), which was a plus. Besides, who can resist a beauty whose luminous eyes look as if they've been outlined in kohl?  I was sold: a Papillon would be the perfect dog for me and my lifestyle.

I phoned the shelter, which is about 40 miles from my hometown. I was told that the Papillon was an intact male, age uncertain, and that he came from another shelter with a group of dogs. All of the ones they'd listed in the ad above needed immediate fostering, because shelter staff were worried they would die if they had to spend more time in the shelter. I made arrangements to come pick up the Papillon the next morning. 

Teaching 4-H kids how to do  canine massage.

The shelter staff were thrilled that I could take one of the dogs, as I am a massage therapist fascinated by canine massage & acupressure. Dulcie, who had turned out to be a gentle and empathic dog, received massage frequently since she was 12 weeks old. She had been fostered out when her shelter dwelling mother gave birth prematurely. Dulcie's foster parents did a fabulous job, and since Dulcie had only been back at the shelter only a few days when we found each other, she didn't suffer much trauma from her short stay.

Dulcie plays a huge role in Allie's rehab, so let me give you a quick overview of our life together before Allie's arrival. I adopted Dulcie when she was 12 weeks old; I call her my "menopause dog" because I was not looking for another dog when she came into my life. But I am very glad I took the chance with her! She has been my devoted companion and trusted sidekick since she walked in our back door. I love her like crazy. 

In obedience class, everyone knew Dulcie was there because she never stopped wagging her tail. She was the loudest dog ever in a down stay! With her sweet disposition and calm manner, she earned her CGC and was soon visiting at nursing homes. Then we became registered with the Delta Society as a Pet Partners team. (http://deltasociety.org/) 

In a year, Dulcie and I had also become a R.E.A.D. Team (http://www.therapyanimals.org/R.E.A.D.html for more info) and were volunteering at a local school once a week. She and I can still quote "Too Many Dogs" in our sleep. : )  (I estimated in our 4 years with the kids, we read it over 2,000 times.)

Dulcie and I read with kids at the library, too.

Dulcie has been retired from therapy work now for 5 years and enjoys chasing flies, barking at cats, and hamming it up for the camera. Not to mention teaching Allie all the ins and outs of being a happier dog, a task that we soon found would take patience, love, and a generous dose of laughter. 

 

A Bed for a Butterfly

Just one more week until we celebrate Allie's first re-birthday, the day she arrived at our house terrified and confused. Posts about her first year here will start on July 1st, but until then I'd like to show you the inspiration for the present I'm making to fulfill the Bashful Butterfly's desire to be well hidden. It'll be very different, but we're still going for the "Arabian Nights fairy tale come true" look. I'm only hoping she'll deign to use it! 
http://www.sophiegraceboutique.com/tent-bed-chocolate

Camera Shy Dog Seeks Photographer

In other news, Allie continues to be afraid of the camera--when I'm holding it. Anyone interested in coming over and playing photographer while I hold Allie? It's one of her last fears, and we could use some help getting her over it. Thanks!

I KNOW Where She's Been. . .well, pretty sure anyway.

A few weeks ago, I was out and about with Allie. I had her tucked under one arm when this charming little girl about 5 or 6 came up to pet her. She listened to me when I told her that she should move slowly and pet Allie on her side, gently. 

It was love at first sight--at least for the girl. Her mom, on the other hand, apparently thought my quiet, well groomed, wee dog was a public menace, even in my arms. (Must have been her owner's messy hair.) She tugged her daughter away. Daughter kept slipping away to come pet Allie. Finally, while I am talking to another woman about Allie, I see out of the corner of my eye that girl has escaped Mom yet again. This time I also hear Mom hiss, "You leave that dog alone! You don't know where it's been!"  

It was an arrow to my heart. I wanted to turn to this woman and say, "She's been visiting elders at the nursing center this morning. Where have YOU been today?"

Being the poet I am, I worked through my anger with words. You don't diss my dog, who has struggled so hard to face all her fears--including kids--and expect to escape my pen. :)

To that persistent little girl out there somewhere, keep reaching for the things that make you happy. Patience, as the Bashful Butterfly so well proves, pays off.

I'll Tell You Where She's Been 
by Lorraine Achey, June 2012

She's been in a wire cage, wearing

down her sharp teeth on the metal,

trying to chew away boredom,

knowing the madness of being without

love and attention, only receiving

food and water, and having to fight

even for those small blessings.

She's been driven all over one state,

hoping to find someplace safe to land.

With each lonely shelter she stays in,

her terror grows, along with the pain

in her ears. She learns to mold her terror,

her body becoming a bag of sticks and stones,

her eyes hopelessly staring at another wall.

She's been at our vet's office, shaking

in fear and pain, her tiny body filled

with infection, her delicate ear growing

closed with a tumor. But she's patient,

allows us to handle her, peer in her

mouth and ears and eyes to see

what other ailments may hide beneath.

She's been under bed, buffet, porch--

no trust for anything except the golden

dog that helps her make sense of this new

world where quiet reigns: no dogs crazed

for love, no constant barking, no fighting

for the food in her own dish. Water in a bowl,

instead of sprayed onto feces covered cement.

She's been coaxed into discovering the joys

of gentle touch, of love, of being rocked

to heal her sense of balance. Learning how

to come to dinner when called, to sit

and be picked up, to know that she's come

into the protection of the whole household,

not just the circled armor of one woman's arms.

She's been visiting at the nursing center

twice a week, allowing strangers to stroke

her, calling her by the wrong name since

they never remember hers from visit to visit.

She hears them call her gorgeous, pretty,

sweet. The elders see her as their doll

baby, warmth and silk for their loneliness.

She's been blessed, unlike your winsome

daughter. You've put her lovely face under

a too tight chignon, and you deem my dog

unworthy of her instant adoration. This

child's recognition of another who needed

love and acceptance, who longed for a place

where anything is possible, and found it--

was it more than your heart could bear?