Luck Runs Out - almost

I guess it's time to confess to a dirty little secret.

We have a beagle.

I've mentioned this hound a couple of times before, and after yesterday's trauma I suppose it's time to "reveal all".

This tale starts in early 2004 when the friend-of-a-friend asked for help if locating a beagle to adopt. At that time I had good connections with rescue and shelters (we lived elsewhere in NM at that time), so after clarifying the seeker's requirements (young adult, 15", altered, housebroken, good with kids), I put out my feelers. Over the course of a few months I screened several candidates, none fit the bill.

Until one day, a owner-surrender came across my radar.
To say that "Copper", as he was then called, was fat, is to make light of his girth. The dog was hugely obese, 56# in a 15" body. This, people, is what animal cruelty looks like. Obesity is easy to prevent, and puts incredible stresses on the body's joints and organs. It is mean and irresponsible to allow a dog - any animal - to eat so much that this becomes their condition.

At five years old.

I drove to Albuquerque, temperament tested the dog (with kids, food, toys, and basic husbandry), and found him charming and stable. I stepped outside, called the seeker, confirmed they wanted this dog, and bailed Copper out of the shelter and into my car.

Not the first time I'd brought home a rescue, not the last. But he turned out to be a rescue like no other. The old adage that "no good deed goes unpunished" may have flitted through my mind... I don't really remember.

I seem to recall it was a Thurdsay when I did this... the next day we all headed out of town for an agility trial, taking the new dog with us (he couldn't fly out until the next week as we were awaiting veterinary paperwork). Turned out Copper had a terrible vice: baying. Incessantly. The friends set up next to us at the agility trial actually moved to get away from the noise. We were pariahs all weekend.

No matter, he was leaving in a few days.

And leave he did, shipped out by air to his new owners, who had pined for a beagle for nearly three years.

And three days later I spoke to the new owners, to see how things were going. Oh, fine, they said. He's sweet and smart and the grandkids love him, but he's too tall so we're taking him to the shelter here.

Um, WTF? No, you're not. Read the contract, he comes back to me, on your nickle. No exceptions. (Too tall? Seriously? Whatever.)

So Copper was flown back to us - promptly dubbed "Boomerang" - and a new adventure began.

He arrived heavier than when he left - now a staggering 58#. Boomer was granted house privileges while we figured out how to place him again, and he relished in the new accommodations.

New Mexico Beagle Rescue was over-stuffed and unable to take him, so we agreed to foster Boomer until a new home was found. I took him back to the vet for a detailed exam (his initial trip had been to secure a Health Certificate so he could be flown out of state) - and we were shocked by what the vet found: bilateral subluxating patellas, lubo-sacral disease, and worst of all, a severe heart murmur. This was no longer a dog that could be placed in a pet home. We could return him to the shelter or keep him.

Hardly a choice at all.

So Boomer went on a diet. At that time Rick was the house-spouse, so Boomer joined the border collies on long daily walks in the 500 acre open-space behind us. A strict, high-quality diet, proper supplements, and countless miles later, a very attractive hound emerged:
This picture was taken just four months after Boomer went on a diet - still too heavy at 35#, but soooooo much better than he was.

There was, and still is, fall-out from his early years of being free-fed. Boomer had come to see food as his god-given right to consume at will. He counter surfs, steals food off the plate in front of you and sometimes out of your hand, walks on the dining table, tears open food bags, grocery bags, trash bags - anything that contains something remotely edible. Having a beagle has turned out to be a lifestyle, and one frankly that we don't particularly enjoy.

Boomer is also an escape artist - which he proved in spades yesterday and is actually the prompt of this post. One of my favorite stories involves my sister (and mostly because it [A] wasn't a failure on my part, and [B] it ended well) who came over to potty dogs while Rick and I were away for several hours. I had a HUGE sign posted, which she looked at after letting the dogs into the back yard. The sign said: do not let Boomer outside unsupervised. She ran into the back yard, only to discover Boomer was already gone. The sounds of screams from next door (we lived in suburbia at the time) drew her attention - Boomer had gone over the back wall, down a culvert, up the other side, through a neighbor's garage, into Vera's house via the cat door, and was eating her cat's food in her kitchen.

We bought Vera a bouquet of flowers.

Since moving to our Ranchero, keeping track of Boomer has become part art and part science. Because he digs (the only one of our dogs to do so), we have learned the hard way - repeatedly - that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence. He can go under, around, and through anything - and regularly does. Gates are no challenge. The dog-equipment industry has yet to invent a collar or harness that can contain him. (We should have named him Houdini.) Supervision is the only solution, as training (it took me three years and multiple attempts to get him to pass a CGC test) only works when you are vastly more interesting than some distant temptation. At night he wears a lighted collar and a bear-bell so we have some notion of where he is in the small dog-yard off the house.

This winter was harsh. We've had many many feet of snow and the ground has been frozen for four months.

We got sloppy about watching Boomer. By we, I mostly mean me.

Yesterday, just before lunch, I put Boomer out to potty, then the phone rang. I answered the phone and chatted for twenty minutes. Then it hit me. Fuck, Boomer's outside.

I grabbed a coat (it was howling wind) and dashed out the door - no Boomer in the dog yard. I stepped back in the mudroom, grabbed a leash, and headed to the barn. Boomer finds horse-poop irresistible, and has been known to break into Bugg's stall for a gorge-fest. It is, in fact, his preferred destination. This time - no Boomer. I knew I was in trouble.

After a quick survey of the rest of the ranchero, I went with the feeling in my gut: Boomer was off-property.

Fighting the panic rising in my system, I called Home Again and started printing flyers. I called all the neighbors (which covered 40 acres in 5 phone calls), let Rick know, and headed out the gate. I had posted four flyers and was was taping the fifth when the phone rang: A guy had Boomer in his garage, about 1/2 mile to the east.

Total elapsed time: a little over an hour.

Toll on my being: about 100 years.

While letting the microchip company know the dog was missing was the right thing to do, that isn't what got him back in my possession so quickly. It was the brass plate on his collar - home phone number, the word R E W A R D, and the microchip information. All of which is duplicated on his tags.

It was 15 degrees overnight; imagine if he'd been out all night. A 10 year old dog with cancer, not much body fat or coat. It was luck he didn't cross the main road, but stayed on "this" side, avoiding the traffic that routinely speeds down the hill. Boomer was trying to break into this guy's dogyard, where a bowl full of kibble is out all day for his own dogs. Thankfully the guy was home and heard the ruckus, caught Boomer easily, and checked the collar.

He wouldn't take the reward money I offered. Hey, I've got dogs, been there. No worries.

So now we have a hole under the fence to fill, gate mesh to extend, and I'm seriously considering electrifying the bottom interior of the dog yard. It already looks like a prison out there... hey, maybe I should consider concertina wire... No, I've got it: I'll train him to use a litterbox, so he'll never go out of the house again.

Yeah, right.

That is my confession. We have a beagle, and all too frequently he gets the better of us. Our first - and last - scenthound. A beloved member of our family, but... never again. One of these days his luck is going to run out, for good. And that will be very sad indeed.

Rescue Me

Yeah, I'm behind. WAY behind. I have a half-dozen posts in my head, many with pretty pictures, but it's fall and I'd rather be outside in the glorious glorious air than inside on the 'puter. Plus it's trial season and I'm out of town 3 days every week and insanely busy teaching and when I am home it's all-laundry-all-the-time time.

Anyway, the following showed up on one of the lists this morning, I have no idea who the author is but it nails the human condition as frequently seen in animal rescue work. (The most expensive dog I own was a rescue, his history is one of neglect. The third time he was picked up by Animal Control the owner didn't want him back - don't ask for my opinion of that guy 'cause I'll tell you. How Boomer wound up with us is a long story, but he is here to stay, warts and all.) It's not the dogs' fault they wind up in rescue, but it's rare to find a perfect dog there.

If you recognize yourself in any of these, I hope you take that as a cue to change your ways.

A RESCUER'S ANSWERING MACHINE:

Hello: You have reached ___-____, Tender Hearts Rescue. Due to the igh volume of calls we have been receiving, please listen closely to the following options and choose the one that best describes you or your situation:

Press 1 if you have a 10-year-old dog and your 15-year-old son has suddenly become allergic and you need to find the dog a new home right away.

Press 2 if you are moving today and need to immediately place your 150 pound, 8-year-old dog.

Press 3 if you have three dogs, had a baby and want to get rid of your dogs because you are the only person in the world to have a baby and dogs at the same time.

Press 4 if you just got a brand new puppy and your old dog is having problems adjusting so you want to get rid of the old one right away.

Press 5 if your little puppy has grown up and is no longer small and cute and you want to trade it in for a new model.

Press 6 if you want an unpaid volunteer to come to your home TODAY and pick up the dog you no longer want.

Press 7 if you have been feeding and caring for a "stray" for the last three years, are moving and suddenly determine it's not your dog.

Press 8 if your dog is sick and needs a vet but you need the money for your vacation.

Press 9 if you are elderly and want to adopt a cute puppy who is not active and is going to outlive you.

Press 10 if your relative has died and you don't want to care for their elderly dog because it doesn't fit your lifestyle.

Press 14 if you are calling at 6 a.m. to make sure you wake me up before I have to go to work so you can drop a dog off on your way to work.

Press 15 to leave us an anonymous garbled message, letting us know you have left a dog in our yard in the middle of January, which is in fact, better than just leaving the dog with no message.

Press 16 if you are going to get angry because we are not going to take your dog that you have had for fifteen years, because it is not our responsibility.

Press 17 if you are going to threaten to take your ten year old dog to be euthanized because I won't take it.

Press 18 if you're going to get angry because the volunteers had the audacity to go on vacation and leave the dogs in care of a trusted volunteer who is not authorized to take your personal pet.

Press 19 if you want one of our PERFECTLY trained, housebroken, kid and cat friendly purebred dogs that we have an abundance of.

Press 20 if you want us to take your dog that has a slight aggression problem, i.e.. has only bitten a few people and killed your neighbor's cats.

Press 21 if you have already called once and been told we don't take personal surrenders but thought you would get a different person this time with a different answer.

Press 22 if you want us to use space that would go to a stray to board your personal dog while you are on vacation, free of charge, of course.

Press 23 if it is Christmas Eve or Easter morning and you want me to deliver an eight week old puppy to your house by 6:30 am before your kids wake up.

Press 24 if you have bought your children a duckling, chick or baby bunny for Easter and it is now Christmas and no longer cute.

Press 25 if you want us to take your female dog who has already had ten litters, but we can't spay her because she is pregnant again and it is against your religion.

Press 26 if you're trying to make one of our younger volunteers feel bad and take your personal pet off your hands.

Press 27 if your cat is biting and not using the litter box because it is declawed, but you are not willing to accept the responsibility that the cat's behavior is altered because of your nice furniture.

Press 28 if your two year old male dog is marking all over your house but you just haven't gotten around to having him neutered.

Press 29 if you previously had an outdoor only dog and are calling because she is suddenly pregnant.

Press 30 if you have done "everything" to housebreak your dog and have had no success but you don't want to crate the dog because it is cruel.

Press 31 if you didn't listen to the message asking for an evening phone number and you left your work number when all volunteers are also working and you are angry because no one called you back.

Press 32 if you need a puppy immediately and cannot wait because today is your daughter's birthday and you forgot when she was born.

Press 33 if your dog's coat doesn't match your new furniture and you need a different color or breed.

Press 34 if your new love doesn't like your dog and you are too stupid to get rid of the new friend (who will dump you in the next month anyway) instead of the dog.

Press 35 if you went through all these 'options' and didn't hear enough. This press will connect you to the sounds of tears being shed by one of our volunteers who is holding a discarded old dog while the vet mercifully frees him from a life of no medical care, severe neglect and abuse.

Christmas Traditions

Something old, something not-so-new...

We went to a wedding on Sunday; the last cousin of my generation has finally found the perfect woman and gotten hitched. Of the seven of us, only one was married in a church, two are divorced, one re-married. The rest of us put off marriage until at least our late 20's and that may have been part of making it stick. Chris just turned 44, his bride is 41. The ceremony was ancient (a Diné ceremony on Winter Solstice, with a Circle of Elders), the reception was modern (catered with electricity), the happy couple wrote their own vows and there was nary a dry eye in the building. Long may they love.

Here at the ranchero, we finally got our tree decorated on the 22nd. The tree was purchased nearly a week ago (by tradition, always on the 16th) but work, chores, snow storms, shopping, the wedding, and general procrastination conspired to put it off. It's a HUGE tree, we had to put coffee table away until the tree comes down. In case anyone wonders how we live with intact males and have a tree indoors, it's simple: x-pen.

This is Anthony's last Christmas living here, I can hardly believe he'll be off to university somewhere next fall. We made a point of putting all Anthony's childhood ornaments on the tree. Holiday cards are slowly covering the hand-made door to the deck (we haven't mailed ours out yet - eek). Some years the glass is completely covered, and while the tape is a pain to clean off it's nice to have them all in one place, easy to read.

The hanging of the stockings is always a tear-jerking affair. Every being that lives here gets a stocking, but once somebody dies that stocking is retired. I know it's going to happen, picking up Thomas's stocking and bawling, but I do it every year. Tommy was 17 when he died, and it nearly killed me when he went. Rick (hubby extraordinaire) and I both know this is Mac's last Christmas; he's had a really rough couple of months and every day he wags his tail and trots outside makes me treasure him all over again. The snakes' stockings are taped to their tank, as they are very small (and the snakes don't appreciate gifts the way the mammals do).

The other thing that's become a tradition, though it actually goes on all winter, is Boomer's favorite napping spot. Boomer (Desert Island Boomerang, CGC) was a dog I rescued from the pound and we fostered, but his adoptive home didn't work out and he was returned. He has a number of chronic health issues (lumbar sacral disease, bilataral subluxating patellas, moderate heart murmur), as well as a recent diagnosis of cancer, and is an extremely difficult dog to live with (our first and last scenthound, hand to doG), but we love him anyway. This may be his last Christmas too, though it wouldn't surprise me if he lives another 10 years. Boomer's favorite hobbies are proving once again that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence, stealing food, and finding posh places to sleep. During winter the underside of our wood stove is, appearantly, an ideal place to nap. It seems incredibly dangerous, but he's been doing it for years and we've given up trying to discourage him. Beagles are described as "hedonists of the dog world" and it's true.

Since moving back to New Mexico, a couple of other traditions have taken hold. New: Christmas Eve dinner somewhere. In recent years we've eaten out, this year my sister is hosting. Should be a nice afternoon. Old: Canyon Road Walk. Some years we freeze our asses off, some years it's just cold. The last couple of years I've taken a borzoi on the walk; they love the weather and draw lots of compliments. And yes, a Santa hat is required garb for the 'zoi. The smell of pinon fires and hot cider, everybody bundled up, crazy holiday hats with flashing lights, the occasional burst of Christamas carols, art galleries with doors flung open late into the night... it's not to be missed.

This year we will again have a house-full of family, food, and fun for Christmas day. Eggnog lattes have been improve with the discovery of peppermint coffee espresso (thank you, Sandra!!). Gifts are exchanged but generally low-key, but the annual tradition of mis-packaging items will continue. One year I got a plain brown box and was told to keep it in the freezer for two weeks... it was a skirt. Every family is a little crazy, right? Our neighbors will stop by to exchange home-made goodies, near-violent games of 42 will be played, naps will be taken.

And of course, New Year's weekend I'll take a dog or two down south to look for Mr. Jack. My newest tradition, and it's a dandy.

I'm hoping that sometime in the next couple of weeks I can get up to the Taos Inn, where one of my uncles has an art exhibit of photos from his travels around the world on exhibition. My aunt decks the Inn out with spectacular holiday decorations - another family tradition.

Wishing everyone a very merry Christmas and spectacular new year, whatever your traditions, old and new.

The Replacements

It fails at least as often as it works, and I find myself wondering why so many people try it.

A chance conversation this past weekend at an agility trial got me thinking: am I the weird one, or is she? Laura has a new dog, not her usual breed, that she freely admits was an impulse acquisition coming on the heels of the death of one of her dogs. Laura said this new dog's eyes reminded her of her dead dog's expression, so she got the new dog. But they're both unhappy, it's a bad fit.

I asked her if she'd considered returning the bitch, and she said no, it was a rescue and not going anywhere. But Laura loves to compete in agility, travels widely doing it, and enjoys doing well. All her dogs are expected to do agility and some obedience; it's her house, those are her expectations. The dog hates it, is very stressed, complies out of... something, but shows no sign of having a good time. And needless to say, doesn't do particularly well. So, is that really being rescued?

A lot of training organizations give discount to people that get rescue dogs, and on the face of it, that seems like a great idea. There are too many dogs in shelters, one way of encouraging people to adopt them is to help reduce expenses where we can. But, if it's the wrong dog for your situation (or, the wrong situation for a given dog), saving money won't make it any better.

What to do? I haven't the foggiest. But then, I've never tried to replace a dog.

Years ago - heck, DECADES ago, I had the world's greatest Labrador Retriever. Her name was Polar Bear, "Bear" for short, feet the size of dinner plates and more coat than a beauty salon's dumpster. She would retrieve anything, for endless hours, in any kind of water. And she would work for anybody. Hunters would come by the house and borrow her, and return Bear with a couple of ducks at the end of the weekend. We ate well on those; nothing is better than fresh fowl. I don't think I'll ever have another Lab, but if I did, it wouldn't be to try and replace a dog that was so perfect.

A few years ago I was involved in rescuing a dog for a directed adoption; the dog was ideal for them, and the family acknowledged that. But the new dog wasn't their previous dog, so the new one was returned. He's still here - Boomerang, "Boomer" for short, and will never leave - proving once again that no good deed going unpunished. My husband and sister love Boomer, his health issues make him unsuitable for adopting out again, so there we are.

Currently I have a client with a rescue, I'm helping them place the dog. They called a little while ago; they are falling in love with the rescue and need her to go to a new home quickly, before they bond too much. One of the risks of doing fostering. Hopefully they keep their eye focused on the unsuitability of this particular dog for their lifestyle, and not her charms, letting her go to a better home when one is found.