Tag Archives: rescue

Veterinary adventures

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I’ve got worms in my where?!?

Charlie has taken to pooping in the spare bedroom.

The lil’ stinker manages to hold his pee for outside. But on more than one occasion we have discovered presents waiting for us in our back room. So this morning, when he disappeared for exactly 60 seconds, then casually trotted back into the front room, something told me to go check things out.

I looked under the dressing table (he’s scouted that spot before) and all was clear. However, my nose told me otherwise. I scannned the floor, then looked up on the bed. Oh. No.

Not the bed.

Right where the cat usually spreads out in the sun, Charlie had left us a couple of his finest specimens. A friend had told me the best way to deal with this was to grab the dog and the poo, then take them outside to show the dog where to properly make a deposit. So I grabbed Charlie, plopped him up on the bed and prepared to pick up the tootsies to take outside.

Until, the poop moved.

I blinked real hard. Yes. It was definitely moving. I screamed.

Matt ran into the room asking what was wrong. I pointed at the pile of poop, and screamed again.

“Worms!!”

I thought about the massive puppy makeout sessions I had with Charlie, and wondered if his kisses would give me worms, too. I immediately bagged the offending poo in a ziplock and called the vet. After securing a visit, I demanded to know if I could get worms, too. I mean, I had let Charlie lick my face after, ummm, I presume he licked his bum. I know, I know! Why would I do that?!? I had always heard that dog’s mouths are cleaner than humans. I believed the hype, until I got a dog with worms.

After getting a vague answer about my condition (because clearly it was all about me, at this point) I called my personal physician and asked the same question. At first they referred me to a vet, then acquiesced to my pleas and dug up an answer. The succintly told me that I would probably be OK as long as I didn’t eat the poop. Phew. For once, a problem I don’t have.

So Charlie went to the vet. And the bottom line is this:

Worms are no big deal. Really.

I guess it’s common for puppies to get these squiggly white things in their poop. I had no idea. And honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had a puppy. Lex was 1 when I adopted her. The same for Lili. Still, my friends and the vet assured me this is a normal complication. We even received a concerned text from his foster mom, Gail!

The vet checked his vaccination history, and while Charlie had been dewormed once, it was time for another treatment. While we were there, we got his next round of puppy shots.

And we had the vet settle a bet.

When we first saw Charlie’s profile, it said he is a border collie/brittany spaniel mix. I can totally see it. Matt is convinced that Charlie is border collie, but mixed with beagle. And for some reason (mostly I think because of his coloring and his size) a lot of people who meet him instantly ask if he’s a beagle.

So without any hints, or looking at our chart, we asked the vet to give us her opinion. Right away, she said border collie, then she paused. She then offered brittany spaniel or German shorthaired pointer.

Matt and I looked at each other and laughed.

“Definitely, a Heinz 57,” she decided.

And my name is …

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It was a three-way race to the end but one name emerged victorious.

Meet Charlie “Scout” Greenberg.

Charlie is sitting in Lexie’s spot, but she’s OK with it.

This name won by a nose.

At first it was a strong two-name race, between Charlie and Walter. They duked it out. Then, out of nowhere, Maxwell entered the race as a dark horse. They remained basically in a three-way tie almost to the end.

My favorite, Henry, came in dead last with two votes. I’d really like to meet the other person who cast a vote for Henry and shake his or her hand. I still stand by my vote.

Ira came in just ahead of Henry. But Matt and I were a bit relieved, and both agreed that name would be best saved for someone’s first born, rather than a cute pup.

Click on the image above to see the final poll results.

I would be remiss is I didn’t mention the Scout contingent. You were loud. And persistent. And honestly, if Scout — the name he came with — was an entry on the pool, surely this would have been one helluva four-way race.

As a nod to all ya’ll Scout-heads, we will keep that as a middle name, to be used at our discretion. Most likely when I really need to get his attention. Like when he’s eating a pair of underwear or pooping under my dressing table (OK, that only happened once, so far).

Charlie seems a perfect fit. He’s already turned his head when Matt called out his new name.

We’re off to a good start.

First bath, well earned

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Getting him into the bathtub was easy. Keeping him there was another story.

First bath. Squeaky clean.

Once he was wet, Scout orchestrated a couple greased-pig-style escapes. Matt thought ahead and closed the bathroom door so he couldn’t get far. After placing him in the tub one more time, he froze as the warm water hit his small body. Scout’s legs stuck firm in cowboy pose, and his muzzle never left the tub’s ledge. His eyes gazed off to a far away place, and he didn’t seem to notice to ruckus on the other side of the door.

Lex avoids eye contact after doing a cannonball off the side of a pontoon boat.

Did we mention that Lexie got her bath first? And after drying her off, we opened the door and she never looked back. We didn’t hear much of the chaos until a loud crash from the front room, followed by frenzied paw steps up and down the stairs going to our bedroom.

I focused on the task at hand, giving Scout his first bath. Considering we have had him for a little more than 24 hours, the lil fella totally trusts us. After washing Scout, I handed Matt the towel to dry him off and opened the door to see what Lex was up to. I found her on the couch, cradling a hurt paw. There was blood on the couch, and somehow she had managed to clear off the entire coffee table onto the floor … including a full cup of coffee (obviously Matt’s, because I would never leave a cup of coffee to languish).

It was shocking Lex had such an energy burst, especially after spending the day at our friends’ house. Josh and Holly live on a lake, and have a gentle giant of a dog, a Newfoundland named Byron.

Lexie and Scout play in a lake.

Actually, Lex had more bizarre behavior at the lake house. When we were loading up to go on our friends’ pontoon boat, Lexie jumped through a tiny hole above a metal door, right into the lake. Specifically, right into a pool of muck. She landed with a big splash, disappeared under the muck, then resurfaced and promptly went ashore. A couple hours later she dove head first into the muck again, this time from the dock as we were exiting the boat. I guess you gotta know Lex to understand this is not normal for our prim-and-proper princess. She’s all about protocol.

I fear these may be symptoms of the early-onset dementia our vet recently diagnosed Lexie with. I’m not sure. But her behavior isn’t sitting well with me.

For now, I’ll just think it has more to do with Scout, and the youthful energy he’s brought to our family.

Could it be this puppy has put a little pep in her step?

Gosh. I sure hope so.

Mending fences

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What you need to know is that we told Lexie she may get a little brother.

It’s a delicate balance, not wanting to get her hopes up too high. But in all fairness, we had to tell her.

Since Lili died, she has gracefully matured into an elder dog, easily ruling the roost. She controls the couch, and easily snatches a mouthful of Pink’s wet cat food before I shoo her away. Lex trots into the yard when she wants, plopping down on the perfect swatch of grass to soak up the sun.

Lex waits for her little brother to arrive.

All of that will change if Scout joins the family.

Lex is OK with that. In fact, she’s sure of it.

Since Lex has it so together, that allows Matt and I to focus on prepping the house for tomorrow’s home visit. The biggest project we had to tackle was our fence. My neighbor to the west replaced my Wild West-style fence with a modern cyclone version a couple years ago. But my fence to the east is just terrible. The posts are wood, and completely rotted at the base. The chain link is all rusted, and the top is connected by rotted two-by-fours. Uuugh. Needless to say, the fence was swaying back and forth, and probably could be toppled by a rambunctious puppy.

Matt and I did our best to fix this last weekend by pounding in tall metal stakes, then hooking them to the fence. Believe it or not, it worked. It now runs straight, and I think could withstand jumping by a moderately excited dog.

Other things we need to do are obvious: clean the house, pick up the library and organize the spare bedroom. I even emptied the litter box last night, a task alone that surely should earn me a new puppy.

Also, we need to wash up the medium-sized crate. My large-sized crate already is clean and prepped, from when we thought we would have Ranger. But it seems way too big for a puppy. In all the hub-bub, I forgot to ask a couple important questions. Like how big is Scout? Is he crate-trained? Sheesh. I don’t even know if he’s housebroken. This whole thing is quite a mystery.

Last night, Matt looked me dead in the eye and asked what we would do if we didn’t like him. I told him there was no way that would happen. But worst case scenario, I guess we could ship him back on a round-trip car ride to Kentucky.

That thought made us sad. We agreed something terrible would have to happen for us to not take him. And chances are, even then we couldn’t be swayed.

We are ready to welcome Scout home.

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.