Monthly Archives: June 2012

Dog drama resolved

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It was a rough day. After announcing to all my friends and family that our soon-to-be adopted pup would arrive for a home visit on Friday, I received a call this morning saying his trip to Michigan was on hold. I was told to hold tight for a return phone call.

I was sure I would not hear back. I called Matt on the way home from work hoping for distraction. We did our best to avoid the topic but I could hear the disappointment in his voice.

Well, when the going gets rough, I go to Cupcake Station. I picked up two Originals for us, and a pupcake for Lexie. For a dog who hates carrots, she sure devoured her carrot cake creation. The chocolate frosting on our cupcakes was divine, and temporarily transported Matt and me away from frustration.

The phone call finally came at 7:57 p.m.

Jackie, a rescue volunteer in Kentucky, told me Scout would arrive Friday afternoon. I could barely make her out because she has a bad cold, so I plugged one ear and listened really hard until I heard confirmation. She said that the other dogs originally scheduled for transport had all fallen off the roster. But since I had rearranged my work schedule so I could be there for the home visit, they would send Scout solo after all.

I couldn’t believe it. We would finally meet Scout!

Jackie asked if I was sure Scout is the one. It was a six-and-a-half hour drive from Kentucky.

I assured her that Matt and I are more than ready to meet the pup. I told her I already had written a blog post about him and showed off his photo to anyone willing to humor me.

So now, it’s really for real. I’ve got to get cleaning.

Maybe I’ll pick up a pupcake or two for Friday.

A home visit? Finally.

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Our efforts scouting for a dog finally paid off. We have a home visit scheduled for Friday!

For those not in the know, this is the magical step before an actual pet adoption can take place with most private rescue organizations. The pup, named Scout, is being hosted by a rescue out of Belleville, Mich., and will be driven to Michigan from Kentucky, where it currently is being fostered. Sound complicated?

Let me back up. I’ll show you complicated.

Matt and I will meet Scout on Friday. He’s supposed to be partly border collie, but looks mostly Brittany spaniel to us.

When Matt first showed me a picture of Scout, I didn’t even pause before barking out my order.

“Fill out an application!”

“Really?” Matt asked, then paused to look at the profile: a stout pup that mostly looked like a brittany spaniel. It was clear Matt was still burned by the collective Ranger/Daisy experiences.

“Do it,” I said.

But doing it was not an easy task. The application was mammoth, asking everything from our understanding of the dog’s breed (with examples of how we researched this information) to what we would do if we could no longer keep the dog. It also asked for two personal references (including their phone numbers AND emails!) and contact information for our current vet.

Matt was daunted.

“I don’t want to do this,” he complained, about 10 minutes into the process.

“Babe, it’s worth it. Push through,” I reassured him.

Another 10 minutes later, and Matt was stumped.

I reached out, asking for his computer. “C’mon, let me finish it up.”

“It’s just so invasive,” he said. “They’ll know where we live and we haven’t even seen the dog yet. They’ll even know we have a dog door!”

We sent out the app, and I got busy sending thank-you emails to my friends for putting in a good word. I later found out they each had to fill out a lengthy questionnaire asking everything from where my existing pets sleep to my disciplinary approach.

That night I received an email saying the application was received, and that it could be expedited by faxing vaccination records for my current pets. Amazingly, I has those papers handy, and sent them off. I soon received a second email thanking me, and letting me know the adoption process could take up to three weeks since the organization is run completely by volunteers. The woman also explained in detail how the adoption process worked.

Matt and I were pleased with this news since, well, it was news. After our last experience, this little crumb of communication felt like a steak dinner.

Next we received an email saying the reference portion of our interview was complete, and that Scout’s foster parents or a rescue representative would be in touch to interview us.

That Thursday I received a phone call during my lunch break. Seeing the number was from Kentucky, I eagerly picked it up. A woman with the rescue’s main office had a few questions for me, then she said all my paperwork was in order, and she hoped to conduct a home visit within two weeks. My heart just about jumped out of my chest. We were making progress. Finally.

After a long four-day weekend of no communication, we felt less hopeful. So I jumped in the driver’s seat and called the woman in Kentucky. It ends up she was about to call me to ask about availability for a home visit. She offered Friday, and I said Matt would definitely be there, and I would be able to meet after work.

It’s finally feeling possible. Possible that Matt and I could soon be parents to a new pup. It’s hard to keep our emotions in check, while giving ourselves permission to whoop it up a bit. I called my mom to share my excitement. I imagined Scout, with his soft brown ears, in my house and meeting Lexie.

Matt and I considered buying another dog bed for the front room. But we decided to hold off. We know better.

One thing at a time.

Rescuing Pink (Floyd)

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For the first four years I’ve had Pink (Floyd), I hardly saw her. She holed up in the basement, probably decompressing from the hoarding situation I saved her from, and partly trying to figure out what to do about those two pesky pups that lived on the main floor.

Pink was a rescue. Literally.

Lex steals a kiss from Pink.

A girlfriend of mine called me over one day to say her elder hippie neighbors had taken off for the west coast and left Pink behind. Apparently they had drugged the cat for the trip, and she crawled into a small dark spot and drifted off … and shortly afterward, when the hippies couldn’t find Pink, so did they.

Almost three weeks later, my friend spotted Pink in an upstairs window, and using a key the hippies left behind, she went in and grabbed her. She invited me over to show me this skinny, inquisitive tuxedo cat, and I fell in love. I needed to have her right away!

Did I mention I am terribly allergic to cats?

Well, the first six months were rough. And I was grateful she was more comfortable in a secret location somewhere in the basement. I sneezed a lot, fought hives and used my albuterol inhaler. Then something magical happened. She stopped getting under my skin.

Eventually she was curious enough to hang out on the first floor of my house longer than it took to scarf down her food. She cautiously checked out the dogs. Lex tentatively approached Pink, and customarily sniffed her butt. Pink froze and fluffed out. Lili, my late sausage-like cocker spaniel, broke up the lovefest by barreling toward them maniacally barking.

In an instant, Pink was gone.

And so the drill went. Sometimes Lex was snuggled up in a nap with Pink, and Lili would disapprovingly charge them, sending Pink packing for refuge in the basement. As chaotic as this sounds, it became their routine. Even at the end of Lili’s life, when she was very sick and frail, she would take one step toward Pink and attempt a growl. Pink would stand a second longer, and feign fear before sauntering into the kitchen.

Pink atop her new kitty condo.

In preparation of bringing another dog into the house, Matt and I decided to buy a cat tree. A cat condo, if you will. A simple wood structure covered in carpet, providing perches and hiding spots.

For some reason, Matt and I found these things quite silly. But now that Lili is gone, and Pink spends the majority of her time in the front room with us, we thought maybe we missed the point. We started staking out the area pet stores, and searching online.

In the end, we settled on a cat tree that stands about 3-1/2 feet tall, covered in light beige carpet. It has two cradling perches, and a cat cave of sorts. Matt and I worried if she would even use it at all, but we had a secret weapon … catnip. After setting it next to the fish tank, Matt took small pinches of catnip and sprinkled each perch. Then we placed Pink on top of the tree, and that was it. She rolled, and rollicked and purred. We had never seen her behave like that before. The good news is that even without the catnip, she now uses it every day.

Clearly we had waited too long to get her one of these contraptions. I foolishly thought it was enough for her to have the basement landscape, or the window in the spare bedroom. She wanted a safe space to hang out in the front room so she could be part of the family. Awwe.

And now that a puppy may be on the way, the timing couldn’t be better.

NEXT: Scouting a new pup.

Radio silence

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Two weeks after walking away from Ranger, a Facebook alert told me he had been adopted. I didn’t have much time to contemplate this development, as Matt was eager to get my attention.

“Look, look,” he pleaded, trying to pry me away from Facebook. “Pleeeease look!”

I turned my head, and saw the sweetest dog staring back at me. Matt was holding up his computer, open to a black and white dog he found on Petfinder.com.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s the cutest dog, ever!!!” Matt told me.

I scooched in close so we could read the dog’s profile together. She had an unfortunate name, but her profile seemed to make up for that. It said she was “house trained, great with kids, cats and other dogs. Zero food aggression and very well mannered.” The organization advised against using a crate with her. Lexie was the same way when I brought her home; she hated to be confined. This new pup was a border collie/spaniel mix, although it almost looked like the mix more likely involved a corgi. Kinda goofy looking, but we liked that.

“Do you think she’ll be able to jump onto the bed? It says she’s only 24 pounds, so she’s small,” Matt asked.

We decided we would put an ottoman at the base of the bed, just in case. And the name. We had to do something about that. We decided upon Daisy. Yes. She would be our sweet Daisy girl.

Adopting her required submitting an application to a private rescue organization. This was a new experience for both of us, but we were eager to try something different after the humane society debacle with Ranger.

The application was thorough, and turned Matt off. Still, he plugged away, thinking about sweet Daisy.

The next morning, I called up her profile to swoon and think of all the things we would do once Daisy joined our family. I was shocked to see “Pending” next to her name. Butterflies exploded in my stomach. The organization must have fast-tracked her application! I called Matt, and he shared my excitement.

“You know, we’ll have to get her a sweater,” I said.

Two days later, Matt received an email from a woman at the rescue. She said she had contacted our veterinarian for a background check, and that the office had no record of Matt or Lexie. Well, that was because Lexie is under my name at the vet. Easy enough to fix, we sent the volunteer my name, along with a pic of Lexie from a recent camping trip. We were shameless about trying to sweeten the pot.

One day turned into two days, then three. Absolute radio silence. Out of desperation, I decided to give my investigative skills a try. The first place I turned? Facebook, of course. I found the rescue organization’s official page, and furiously began reading all the posts.

About 25 posts down, I found an entry by an apparent foster asking if a dog has five applications, do you call all five? She then mentioned Daisy by name, and said she would be at a meet-and-greet the next day.

Immediately, I sent the woman a Facebook message, asking if the pet store visit was a sure thing, that I was one of the applicants and would like to meet Daisy in person.

Radio silence.

When she later posted something else about Daisy without answering my note, anger began to brew in me. Two days went by. She posted a message about Daisy’s successful event. She posted about needing people to help her do home visits in Grand Blanc, Livonia and Downriver. But not Ferndale, where we live.

Daisy was slipping through our fingers.

Several days later, Matt sent the rescue contact a simple email inquiry: “Any updates?”

Again, nothing.

Two days later, Matt received two emails within moments of each other. The first one, from a volunteer we had not dealt with before, said Daisy was in the process of being adopted. She said the organization is shorthanded on volunteers, and urged us to get a home visit done to get approved for adoption. The second email, from the original volunteer, oddly spoke as if we still had a chance with Daisy. She said they were reviewing applications and evaluating which home would be a fit.

Within the hour, Daisy’s profile again was marked “Pending.”

That evening, we exchanged emails with the main volunteer, who now is eager for us to complete a home visit in hopes of better positioning us for an adoption. All this seems so much to go through to adopt a dog. Of course, I’m grateful they look out for the pups, but this process has left us somewhat battered and emotionally exhausted. And this is only dog number two.

Matt and I had just wasted almost two weeks waiting on communication that never came. Two weeks that we could have spent looking at other dogs. We needed to either change up our game, or take a break.

I appears we are back to the dating pool.

Epilogue:

While cruising the rescue organization’s Facebook page to research this blog entry, I came across a post from Daisy’s foster mom. Apparently, while she was crated, Daisy managed to tear up the foster mom’s carpet and padding. She suggested that anxiety (never mentioned in the profile) was an ongoing issue for the dog, and wondered if a trainer or meds might help the new owners.

Ah, yeah. Dodged a bullet.

Losing ground

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Matt and I spent  most of our camping trip avoiding the obvious topic: Ranger.

I think I brought him up twice to test the waters, but Matt was lukewarm. I couldn’t read him at all. I knew I risked him losing the connection with Ranger as the week went on, but I also knew repeatedly asking Matt how he felt could tip the scales in the no-dog direction.

But once we got back home, one thing was clear: We were going to visit Ranger again.

Matt discovers Ranger is food-motivated.

The day after we returned, we drove out to the humane society with our dog Lexie so she could meet Ranger. A young volunteer held Ranger’s leash as we walked around the parking lot, closely watching the two dogs interact. It was mostly benign stuff, with Ranger wanting to play more than the elder Lex, and he got a good butt sniff in too, to which she did not object. I called this a success. Matt was feeling the love.

We walked up to the adoption station, then Matt got cold feet.

“I didn’t know we were going to get him today! I feel like you are rushing me!” he said.

I found this surprising considering I had spent an hour prepping a crate the night before. But not wanting to spoil the entire transaction, I put a 24-hour hold on Ranger and we went home.

The next morning we woke up with clarity and new resolve. We would adopt Ranger. I waited until the shelter opened, and placed a call, excitedly telling them I would be by in an hour to adopt him.

Once we arrived, we immediately were told that Ranger had to pass “the cat test” since we have a cat at home. They offered to use a shelter cat for the interaction, and we were all for it. Ranger was a gently fella, and he would no doubt pass. We were told to wait in the hallway and that someone would lead us to the test room. After waiting 20 minutes, a young woman asked us if we “were the ones here for Ranger” and took us into a back room. After a few minutes, one of the volunteers said the regular cat used in this test was not available so instead they brought in an 8-week-old black kitten, which was quickly placed in a cage in the corner of the room. Moments later, the other volunteer brought in Ranger and the test was on.

Ranger steals a kiss.

Being a German short-haired pointer, he did the expected — he pointed. No growling, no barking, just a solid, unbroken point. The volunteers tittered, took furious notes and talked as if we were not in the room. They noted that a bad reaction to a cat could cause his heart to race and possible break loose a heartworm. Just looking at a cat could kill him, they said. I looked at him shaking, pointing, and wondered what damage they were causing to his heart with this stupid cat test. They quietly observed that he wouldn’t break his gaze. I could tell from the look on their faces that their collective armchair opinion was not good. They allowed Ranger to close in on the kitten as it hissed and swiped with its claws. The kitten was taken out of the cage and left to fend for itself in a corner. At 9 months old, I’m guessing this could have been Ranger’s first exposure to a kitten. A crazed, pissy one at that. Ranger never lost composure. But he never stopped pointing either.

After about 40 minutes of this, the volunteers declared the test over and without telling us the results pointed us to the front desk so we could continue the adoption process. So we walked up front and were told to sit at an adoption table. In the next 30 minutes of waiting, we burned some time by strolling through a small pet store in the lobby, guessing at which toys Ranger would love the most. We also confessed relief that we made it to the adoption table. The girls in the cat test were less than encouraging. I could feel them judging us, marking us as not good enough.

Finally we were called over to a table by a woman who greeted us with a bag of dog food. Suddenly I knew we were golden. Once you get the bag of food, they are ready to send you out the door with the pup. But she quickly excused herself and was replaced by a solemn-looking lady. Our hearts dropped.

The woman quickly told us that the staff was concerned because Ranger did not do well in the cat test, and performed similarly in the meet-and-greet with Lexie. We demanded to see the paperwork, and she said it was lost; all she had to go off of was a quick text from the kid who conducted the dog interaction. Matt and I looked at each other incredulously. She leaned in for effect. “Since Ranger has heartworm, we only have one shot at this.” She all but said that she thought we would kill Ranger if we brought him home, and that they just couldn’t authorize the adoption. She asked us to wait another 24 hours so they could consult a professional behavioralist.

The air in my lungs was gone. I looked at Matt, and we walked past the bag of food on the table.

On the long drive home, I called the shelter and said we would pass on Ranger.

I couldn’t believe I was walking away from a dog that I already imagined was mine. The bowl of water already was set out. The crate, set up. It had nothing to do with the dog and everything to do with the cumulative experience we had with the animal shelter. We got the sense they just didn’t want us to have the dog, and honestly, they zapped our fight.

We knew in time, we would be ready to look again.

NEXT: Trying private adoption.

Falling in love

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When you’ve found the one, you just know it. That’s the way it was with Ranger.

It all started with the humane society where I had adopted Lexie 13 years ago. It made sense to go back.

So in preparation, we started poking through profiles, and both stopped at one that made our hearts go pitter-patter. He was 9 months old, and looked almost all brown nose, with some white fur a few freckles added in. His name was Ranger, and he was a German short-haired pointer. I wanted this dog. I looked to Matt, and he squeaked out an “Awwe!”

Matt meets Ranger. It was love at first sight.

I went back to the profile, and saw that he had heartworm. This did not slow me down at all, as I had adopted a dog with the disease 15 years ago. I understood the risks and special needs involved.

The next day, I stopped at the shelter without telling Matt. I had to be sure this pup was as cute as his pic. I was running late and had exactly six minutes to get back to his cage. I found an absolute sweetheart waiting for me. He was so quiet, and his ears were soft. I don’t remember much else except for what I captured in a 21-second video I took with my iPhone.

I met Matt at a family function, and swiftly confessed to my dangerous liaison with Ranger. Then I pulled out my secret weapon: the video footage. As Matt watched, I smiled as he said “Awwe!” over and over. He took my phone and showed the snippet to relatives all evening. By the end of the night my ruse had worked. We would go to the shelter in the morning.

As we drove to the humane society, we knew we were in a dilemma. We clearly liked the dog, but the next morning we were heading up north for a weeklong camping trip.

I already had my approved dog pass, so once we got to the shelter we were able to walk right back to Ranger’s cage and ask a volunteer to let us take him for a walk. Since Ranger had heartworm, and he was still in a perilous part of his treatment, we were limited to a slow-paced five-minute walk. It was just long enough for Matt to fall in love.

We spent the better part of an hour talking with the head volunteer, and explained our living situation and general background. That I have an aging dog at home, and a cat. That I had a dog with heartworm before. She thought all of this was great news and that it made us excellent candidates for Ranger. She was ready to take us up to the adoption table when we disclosed that we were about to go on a camping trip. Her face fell.

“If he’s still here when we get back, then it’s meant to happen,” Matt said, hopefully.

“And who wants a dog with heartworm?” I added, half hoping she’d get my sarcasm, half hoping I was right.

NEXT: Things fall apart.

Can I see your profile?

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Each time I see someone walking a cutie-pie pup down the street, I want to stop them and ask, Where did you two meet?

But I don’t bother. I already know the answer: Online dating.

I must admit to being a bit more Old School in my approach. Back in the day, I would drive up to the local animal shelter, plug my nose and walk the aisles … furtively glancing into the cages as I passed each dog by. I knew things had drastically changed when one night I heard Matt exclaim “Awwe!” over and over, like a 6-year-old kid. Finally, I looked up, and saw he was furiously studying something on his iPhone.

“What is that? I demanded.

“Awwe!” was his response. He shot me a smile, then held out his phone.

I took a look, and couldn’t help myself. “Awwe!” I exclaimed as I looked at the most adorable little black puppy.

“His profile says he’s going to be medium-sized, which would be good for Lexie,” Matt offered.

Profile? Yes. Just like online dating, now animals have profiles, complete with snazzy photos (sometimes sporting a bowtie or pearls!), and a rundown of their disposition, medical history, behavioral issues and overall background.

But really, just like human dating sites, it’s all about the pics.

“Oooh, she looks like such a sweetie!”

“I don’t like his ears.”

“What about this one? He’s got beautiful blue eyes.”

“Whaddya think? The profile says labrador, but the photo looks like a dachshund.”

And so it goes. We fall in love instantly, with a pixelated image before us. And reread the profile over and over until we know it by heart. We know it’s a fit. So perfect I could cry.

Until we’re ready we’re ready for the next step. That’s when it gets complicated.

NEXT: Meeting Ranger.

A second dog? Please.

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Before Matt even moved back home from a work assignment, it was decided. We would get a second dog.

He would argue, and still does, that it will be his dog. A little buddy that he can bring to ride shotgun in his pickup truck. Or take agility courses. Or snuggle in tight for an afternoon nap on the couch.

Pampered pup Lexie, shown here on a recent camping trip, would love a little brother or sister.

Of course, he knows better. I would like a dog, as well. So we will compromise and get a dog together.

Timing is everything, and the timing is perfect for a new pup. Matt is between lawyer jobs, and has the time to help acclimate a new dog. And our dog Lexie is getting a little long in the tooth. To be exact, she turns 14 this month, and last week she was diagnosed with dementia. Also, she’s been a bit lonely since her lifetime companion Lili died last year. Our cat, Pink, has volunteered to snuggle with Lexie, but she says it’s just not the same.

So we know we would like to adopt a dog. Other important details we have discerned:

  • Since Lex is such a delicate flower, we need a mellow, super laid back dog. Aggressive sorts not invited.
  • Also, we would prefer a small-to-medium sized dog.
  • The dog must dig/like/tolerate cats.
  • Minimal grooming would be nice.

The rest is negotiable.

Join us as we chronicle the drama, suspense and excitement on the path to find our next Furever.

Finding Furever

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About a  month ago my boyfriend Matt and I began looking to adopt a dog. As we are both experienced dog owners, we thought this would be an easy road. We had no idea how wrong we had it.

Welcome to Finding Furever. We started this blog to chronicle our complicated journey to adopting a new dog. We plan to share our triumphs and defeats, and hopefully pass along useful information along the way. Please feel free to join the conversation, and share your canine adventures.

Cheers,

Jillian and Matt