The Bad, who was really The Felon, now an ex-con

The Man got Patton. On Tuesday, actually - the day he escaped. While I was searching the neighborhood for two days, he was waiting in a cage at the county pound. And they didn't call me because, well, they're idiots, and they never bothered to scan him and find his microchip, and the phone number wore off of his tag. I finally thought today to call them, and ask, just to make sure he hadn't been taken there, and they knew immediately which dog I meant.

And so Three and I had a big adventure to spring him from the joint - big adventure because we had to get proof of shots from Patton's vet (he lost his rabies tag a couple of collars back - he goes through collars quickly), and we showed up with our printout and a checkbook, but they wanted cash, exact change, $25 - which means the ATM is no good, since it only spits out $20 bills. The woman didn't bother to tell me this earlier on the phone. So the boy and I raced back into town to find a bank, go inside, wait in line very impatiently while the slowest people ever were assisted in front of us, cash a check, and scoot back out to the boonies to get Patton before the place closed. Because I couldn't bear to leave him there another night. That place was so incredibly depressing, with all of the dogs barking and calling to us, knowing that many of them - most of them - don't have long to live.

We called in backup (the grandmother) to pick up Big Girl from her class, since this debacle took far more time than anticipated, and we finally got our boy back. In retrospect, I cannot believe the confluence of stupidity that kept him there two days while we ignorantly searched our neighborhood. Some bozo in a nearby neighborhood - not ours, but close - called animal control about him, and told them that he belonged to some new neighbor in that neighborhood, so the dog catcher left a note on the door of that house, and then since they assumed that they had notified the owner, they never bothered to scan Patton for a microchip. Plus our new phone number had worn off of Patton's collar tag, leaving only our old out-of-state number, which was, of course, disconnected. They didn't try to contact anyone with the name listed on his tag, since we have a fairly common last name, I suppose - I didn't press the issue at the time, since I was so relieved to get my baby back. But I feel an irate letter, perhaps even a series of letters, developing.

And I hope I never have to see that place again. We have a great humane society here that adopts out dogs. They get some dogs from animal control, but the latter is basically a kill-shelter, a tiny place crammed full of dogs waiting to die. I don't want to think about what might have happened had my sweet boy been there another day or two. The pound did metaphorical lip service to animal adoption - a couple of posters and a sign listing contact information for the humane society - but I don't think many dogs make it out of there. I wanted to grab all I could and shove them in my van and speed away.

I couldn't - I don't have the space, the money, the time, or the energy to take care of that many dogs the way they deserve - but there were so many sweet faces. So many cute, wagging tails. I hate the pound. I hate what happens there, I hate that there are unwanted dogs, unplanned litters, unfit owners who make it "necessary" to have the pound. I started crying and seething with frustration and outrage as soon as I saw the place (that van was full of rage as I raced to the bank and back to get exact change, in cash, no checks, credit cards, or debit cards). Both of our male dogs are eunuchs, and Katy will be spayed next month, as soon as she's healthy enough for the surgery and finished with her second round of shots. I look around me in this community and often see people doing stupid things - taking foolish risks, engaging in absurd behavior, getting themselves into ridiculous situations - but those whose actions, or inactions, lead to the suffering and deaths of animals seem willfully ignorant, deliberate in their decision not to spay or neuter a cat or dog when taking that action, at relatively little cost, would improve the health of the individual animal and prevent the births of future generations that may not be wanted or supported properly. Ugh.

Nighttime now, and all three puppies are sleeping, at home, where they belong.

The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly

The Good:
Katy went to the vet. She doesn't have heartworms. Her hair loss is likely due to undernourishment and a flea allergy (she had fleas when she showed up but I gave her a bath, vet treated her, and they seem to be gone). She's actually older than we thought, probably close to a year, and she won't likely get taller. She will need to fill out, but it seems that she's a golden retriever mix rather than a golden retriever (only) puppy - though she looks a lot like a purebred golden puppy. She was a very good girl in the car, and after her appointment I took her to visit her grandmother (my mom). She got the usual grandchild treatment - lots of affection, snacks, doting. My mom's very good with kids and animals and they almost all love her immediately. Anyway, my efforts to take a good picture of her remain frustrating, because she won't sit still, won't stop running around me trying to lick and kiss on me, but I'm not giving up!

The Bad:
Patton. He jumped the fence two days ago and hasn't returned. I've walked. I've called. I've whistled. I've searched, driving slowly around the neighborhood (probably looking somewhat sketchy while doing so, but I guess a minivan isn't quite as ominous as a white panel van with tinted windows). He's done this before, and we actually have the stuff to fix up the fence to (hopefully) stop him, but we were waiting for the rains and flooding to stop. And he beat us to the punch.

The Ugly:
The fungus among us. Some really ugly yellow/brown/black mushrooms sprouted in the front yard from all of the rain. Thank goodness we live on a hill, so no flooding in our yard, although other yards in our neighborhood did have some minor flooding, and roads elsewhere in the county were completely covered and closed earlier in the week. I've noticed lots of yards with mushrooms, thanks to the rain, and most of them are cute white ones, or brown ones, but the ones in my yard are just ugly. Ewww. I used a shovel to remove most of them yesterday, but missed a few - and those will go soon.

Yes, she's our problem now!

She's energetic and bouncy and never stops moving like a little furry living run-on sentence. The kids have named her Katy, and I'll be taking her to the vet in the morning, to figure out what she *should* weigh. I know she's extremely thin right now, and I'm not sure if the lack of food alone has caused her to lose a lot of fur, or if there's another cause that will need treatment. When I say that she's a rescue, I mean we literally rescued the poor girl when she wandered through our neighborhood, starving and muddy in the midst of days of rain that caused flooding throughout the area. Katy latched onto us as soon as I called to her, and when I offered her a paper plate full of dog kibble, she made up her mind to stay.

She is so extremely happy, and seems to have meshed well with Quinn,* and the glass storm door to the back deck is covered with muddy little girl dog paw prints. The kids are thoroughly enamored, although my Big Girl remains a little skittish about dogs jumping up on her (not that I blame my girl - she's a slim young lady, and our other two dogs could and have knocked her down in their exuberance). Tomorrow, the vet, which will hopefully provide a few answers such as her approximate age (somewhere between itty-bitty-fluff-ball-puppy and full-grown size, but I'm not sure of anything more specific) and her likely adult size.

*Patton developed a fence-jumping habit a couple of weeks back, and for a while we were keeping him on a very long chain when we weren't outside with him, but I took pity on him during the rain storms and unhooked his lead. And as soon as it stopped raining, the punk jumped over the fence again - sometime yesterday morning - and disappeared. He may be mad at us about the chain. I've walked around the neighborhood calling and searching, and we drove around several times this afternoon calling his name, but so far we haven't seen him. But while he was here, he seemed very interested in Katy, and they seemed to get along well. Honestly I think he was a bit rude to run off, and right after I brought him a new friend who has much more energy to play with him than that large aging fluff-ball Quinn (so fond of his siestas). Well, actually, honestly I'm worried that he hasn't come back. I hope he's okay and really hope he shows up again soon. And we have supplies to make fence-climbing less appealing and less feasible for him, once he's back - since he has been known to climb back in, I don't want to put them up just yet.

This dog

This dog escaped at some point this afternoon or evening - not sure exactly when - and ran feral about the neighborhood. Truly feral: he discarded his collar during the escape. When I went out late tonight, about forty-five minutes ago, to feed him and his punk companion, I noticed he was missing. I called, whistled, yelled his name - no dog. So I prowled around the house with a flashlight for a few minutes, and then got in my van. And drove slowly around the neighborhood with the windows down, whistling loudly like a fool. If any of the neighbors saw me (most seemed to be asleep, as their houses were dark), they probably thought I was creepy, given how slowly I was driving, and/or insane, given my persistent whistling.

I made two huge loops through the neighborhood and I was just getting ready to pull into the driveway when a big yellow goofball ran up next to the van, grinning and panting. I threw the van into park, hopped out, and for once he came nicely when I beckoned him. I put his collar back on and escorted him back to the back yard. Prodigal pup that he is, he enjoyed a big bowl of kibble and lapped up some fresh water with his dinner. Tomorrow I'll try to figure out how he managed this great escape...

Big Mistake

I just read Ashley's post about rebound dogs, and for some stupid reason I went to a couple of Brittany rescue websites and looked at the dogs who need homes. I really want another Brittany. Our dog Rusty, who was our first child and who died last summer, was a fabulous Brit, and if the punk dog hadn't appeared on the scene when he did, I probably would have persuaded Hubs to adopt another Brit. I love the punk, but he has a complete different personality. We got Rusty a few months after we got married, and he was with us for seven years. He was a wild man with so much energy, and then after a long time he started to get stiff and slower and he was an absolute sweetheart who just wanted a little peace and quiet and love in his later years. He was great with the kids - so tolerant, in the same way that he was gentle and tolerant, but not exactly thrilled, with the seizure dog when s.d. was a hyper puppy. I could go on singing Rusty's praises forever. I miss him so much.

So I looked at all of these cute Brits, and it's probably a good thing that most of the ones I saw were too far away, really young, not recommended for homes with young children. Because that made it a little easier not to fall in love with any of them. Rationally, I know we don't need a third dog now. We had three dogs at one point, and it was too much. Two of the dogs were high maintenance (seizure dog being one), and it just wasn't working with trying to get two dogs trained to behave nicely. For now I need to focus on teaching punk dog to be a good canine citizen. He's getting better, but he still needs a lot of work.

Grandma, and a vent about a punk dog

I'm praying for my grandma right now. The nasty storms moving through the state today are in her area right now. Tornado warning. My mom was down there visiting but started back earlier in the day. She had to go far out of her usual route and detour around the storms, and isn't home yet but is safe from the worst of it and on her way. But Grandma, and a lot of my maternal relatives, are in the midst of terrible storms now. As if they hadn't dealt with enough lately, since my grandfather died quite recently. I'm praying for them, and feeling helpless and powerless as usual to do anything else.

Baby boy's sitting at the kitchen table snacking on bananas and cheddar cheese. Two of his favorites. He's in a grumpy mood since waking from his nap. Big girl's still passed out on her bed, sleeping on her stomach with her butt in the air as she often does. Sleeping blissfully through the thunder that rumbles above me every so often. Hubs is working on homework stuff. And the dogs are probably hiding under the deck. I probably should get off of the computer during a storm, but I need something to reduce my worry level. I probably should change the channel off the Atlanta station that has weather coverage, but even though it scares me I need to know what's happening down there.

I'm really ticked off at the punk dog. He's got a major chewing problem, and I probably should have found him a new home already, where he could get out his chewing in an acceptable fashion. He's caused a lot of damage, but today's snack - the plastic shutters on Big Girl's play cottage in the back yard - has me angry. Makes me want to kick his ass, and it's hard to restrain myself (but I do and will). He tore out the toy phone from the cottage soon after we got it (it's an old hand-me-down from another family) and crunched it into a yellow plastic mangled mess. He chewed the tubing stuff that connected the gas tank to Hubs' nice grill (we'll have to replace that so we can grill out this summer). He ripped the cover off the grill repeatedly, ripping it in the process, so that he could wad it up and sleep on it. He shredded numerous towels and blankets that I provided for him to sleep on. He pulled off the plastic sheeting that Hubs put over the vents in the dog crate, to make it waterproof so he could sleep in it outside and not get wet in the rain (now it fills with water and has to be dumped out after every rain). He's been digging in the dirt behind some bushes next to the back deck, along the exterior wall of our kitchen. He's removed the lower section of the gutter that drains out there on that wall. He busted into the shed where we keep the dog food and chewed his way into a bag. He chews up sticks and bark and leaves shredded wood bits all over the deck. He gnawed on a corner of the deck (it's an old deck, probably treated with poisonous chemicals that have since been banned, so this may help to explain some of the stupid things he does). He gnawed the arm on Big Girl's Dora the Explorer lawn chair, which we moved to the front of the house. He tried to gnaw on the kids' Radio Flyer wagon but I rescued it before he did any damage. He destroyed one of their balls, and has chewed up other toys. He jumps on the door and the back windows that look onto the deck. He jumps on me with muddy feet and gets my clothes dirty, and even tore a hole in one shirt. He has a major problem with jumping and has resisted all of my efforts to train him not to jump (I can knee him in the chest when he jumps up and he doesn't seem to notice). He steals food from our other dog. He wrestles roughly and I worry that he will hurt the other dog. He jumps over the other dog and sometimes lands on top of him when he does his "pay attention to me" dance.

I was so excited when we took him in last fall. It had been a few months since our dog Rusty died, and I wanted to find a companion for our remaining dog. The punk was wandering loose in my parents' neighborhood, so we brought him home, and after no one stepped forward to claim him, I took him to the vet, got his shots, had him microchipped. At first he was great, but within a week or so he started up with this chewing crap and it just keeps getting worse. I'm really struggling with this. I don't want to find him a new home. I don't want him to be someone else's problems. I want him to be a good dog, to learn how to behave properly and be a good canine citizen and all that jazz. But he must be as dumb as a brick because he doesn't learn - or at least he doesn't remember anything for more than five minutes. ARRRRGGGGH!

Nasty storms still right over Grandma's house.