Brown dog, brown dog, what do you see?

We have a temporary visitor at our house.  I'm just calling him Brown Dog, although KC, Middle Kid and Dear Daughter have all named him (different names, I might add.)

A few weeks ago, I received a frantic phone call from a lady who had adopted one of my fosters; she had found a dog in a parking lot at the movie theater.  When she stopped to pick him up, a homeless couple came out of the shadows and said he'd been following them for days and handed her a leash and canned food (gee, that would explain why he'd been following them - more on that later.)  Not being able to keep him and not wanting him to go to Animal Control, she did the only thing she could think of, she called me.  I should mention at this point that I have agreed to help dogs in need in ways other than fostering.  We had started fostering again last fall and by January, I had failed AGAIN so I SWORE that I would take no more.  But in my defense, the new boy, Baxter, had been returned twice and can be a bit of a jerk but we think he's the cat's pajamas and the thought of him being returned a third time was more than any of us could bear.  He's actually KC's "2nd favorite, behind Frank."  Still, I was somewhat panicked at the thought of how KC was going to react when he came home to this little guy.  I should also mention Brown Dog is freaking adorable.  I greeted my husband at the door with, "It's only temporary - I promise!  There just needs to be a few adoptions so a space will open up for him at another foster's."  That was 10 days ago.  Since he's getting neutered tomorrow, I said we would keep him until he recovered.

Brown Dog adores Middle Kid, sleeps with him and charges at him full-speed when he gets home from work.  And because I raised Middle Kid right, he loves him back.  Still, I refuse to call the pup anything other than Brown Dog, despite the many names my family has christened him with (Hobo, Rufus, and Scooby.)  My girlfriend has taken to calling him Charlie, as in Charlie Brown (Dog), which is quite clever.  Baxter shadows him like he's going to steal the silver but the other dogs have accepted him as part of the pack and he fits in well, except at feeding time.  As I mentioned earlier, the homeless couple was feeding him canned food.  I have 6 permanent dogs, I do not have the money (or time) for canned food.  Still, my dogs act like they've won the lottery twice a day by howling and dancing when their bowls are being picked up to be filled with plain ol' dry food.  Brown Dog didn't buy the hype and would not even eat for the first day but realized by Day 2 at our house, that was the best he was getting.  He would, however, follow me until all the bowls were distributed, just to make sure I wasn't holding out on him.  I thought we had finally come to an understanding after he had been eating for a week straight but unfortunately, I was wrong,  The other morning, he followed me to the end of all the bowls being put down, took three bites of his food, then walked over to my curtain and peed - while looking right at me - as if to tell me how upset he was that CANNED FOOD IS FROWNED UPON IN THIS ESTABLISHMENT!  (That is an ETrade commercial reference, for those of you who are scratching your heads.)

Brown Dog is getting neutered tomorrow and I'm somewhat worried how he's going to express his displeasure with me about that.  I'm also a tiny bit worried how Middle Kid is going to handle it when he leaves.  I'm surprisingly okay at the thought of him going.  I'm comforted by the thought that he'll end up someplace where they will feed him canned food and give him a proper name.

Maybe not naming them is the key?  

I've got a lot of Pep and Zip

Mutt

After Lil Bit went to her forever home, I brought home a white terrier mix with a wild underbite.  His name was Pepe and he was full of piss and vinegar.  I also brought home a little, elderly chihuahua who weighed all of 5 pounds; his name was Mutt.  I loved Mutter Butter.  He was so sweet and mellow.  Pepe, on the other hand, just wanted to play - all the time.  I would wake up at 4:30 in the morning to him playing fetch by himself with his tennis ball.  He would toss it in the air, let it bounce down the hall, then chase after it and sliiiide, occasionally crashing into the wall.  He also liked to bite feet, particularly toes, and he would grab my pant legs as I would walk down the hall, tripping me from time to time.  He would 'steal' water bottles, socks, slippers, anything he could carry and he loved to unroll the toilet paper from the holder.  He also liked to nip at my shirt, while bouncing up and down, and he would chew on my fingers and ankles whenever he got the chance.  While this was done playfully, it still was uncomfortable and sometimes actually painful!  When he would try to bite the jiggle part of my arms, I would hold him at arm's length and then he would then try to bite my wrists.  He was exhausting.  Pepe and Mutt stayed a few weeks before Mutt went back to his original foster, who ended up adopting him.  Pepe became a regular at Saturday Petsmart adoptions but no one was showing any interest.  One weekend, there was a new boy; a scrawny little chihuahua named Zippy and man, oh man, did he give Pepe a run for his money.  Those two played all day, nonstop.  Chewing, biting, wrestling, barking, and nipping.  I decided if Pepe or Zippy didn't get adopted that day, they were both coming home with me because those two wore each other out.  Turns out, neither did and they continued their play session at my house.  Pepe slept until 7 a.m. the next morning; he hadn't slept through a sunrise the whole time he'd been with us.  The minute he and Zippy woke up, however, they were back at it.  Frank would occasionally join in but it was always short-lived.  Daisy would just bark at the two as they streaked through the house and Lilly found a spot out of the way. 

Zippy

Fall Break was fast approaching and we always go to Michigan, as it's my absolute favorite time of year there.  The leaves are beautiful, the air is crisp and I can wear sweaters, something I can't do in Tucson since it's still well over 100 degrees in October.  This year, however, I began to wonder if going was such a good idea.  I worried about how we were going to travel across the country with five dogs.  It's kind of funny how easy the decision is when you really don't like any of the alternatives.  We loaded up the suburban, piled in the kids and dogs, and away we went.  About five hours into the trip, Pepe vomited all over me.  The night before, he had gotten into the Halloween decorations and ruined my fake bats and scorpions.  That explained why there was a bat head in my lap and scorpion legs all over my sweatshirt.  And Lilly hadn't barfed yet so I feared the fun hadn't even started.  Luckily, that was the end of the puke for the rest of the trip.
We made it to Michigan and it was chilly!  It was awesome.  Unfortunately, we don't have a fenced yard in Michigan like we do in Arizona, so every time one of the canines had to go out, someone had to go with them.  There is nothing sadder than an underweight chihuahua on a cold Michigan morning trying to pee while shivering uncontrollably.  Frank handled the cold surprisingly well.  He was kind of an old pro in Michigan and he surprised everyone in my family because he had turned into a really well-behaved boy, which was quite different than how he had behaved in the summer.  Pepe took his place as the rotten dog.  He barked at everyone, wouldn't mind, was bossy and rude and just was an overall stinker.  And I loved him.

Pep

Our vacation flew by and it was time to go back to Arizona.  By this time I had pretty much made up my mind that I was going to adopt Pepe, and probably Zippy too, but I knew it was going to be a delicate dance getting KC to agree.  I managed to make up excuses for a few weeks about why the dogs weren't going to the adoption events with me but eventually they had to go to one; this was right around Thanksgiving.  As we were getting ready to go, KC said something about how he hoped Pepe got adopted.  I got mad and began to pout.  How could he not love him as much as I did?  I left the house in a huff.  He called me on my cell and inquired what my problem was.  "I'm just on my way to get my heart broken," I dramatically replied.  He gave me the "this is what you agreed to" speech and we ended the call.  About an hour and a half later, he called me and said, "bring that damn dog home, I don't want your heart to be broken," and that is how Pepe officially became Pepper and how I came to love my husband even more than I already did.  About two weeks later, I made Zippy official too, but I didn't tell anyone.  Pep really did need Zip and vice versa; those two were still playing from sun up to sundown.  I figured I would just keep taking him with me on Saturdays and no one would be the wiser.  Of course, my conscious got the better of me and by Wednesday of the following week I had spilled my guts.  KC wasn't surprised at all, he has been with me for almost 19 years and knew it was just a matter of time.  And he agreed that they really are two peas in a pod. 

I'm happy to report that Zip has put on some weight, Pep still steals socks, then acts like he's killing them when he growls and shakes them ferociously, and they still wear each other out.  I decided that I am a permanent foster failure and can't bring home any more dogs.  I still go to the adoption events and lately, I have been kicking around fostering again; but they can only stay a week at a time or else I will get attached.  I'm hopeless.

Those horrid, evil chipmunks.

"I love you, KC.  

Every last week in May, we load up the suburban with golf clubs, luggage, three kids, two dogs and at least one box of Avon and hit the road to Michigan for the summer.  2011 was going to be different because we had just adopted Frank, so we would be traveling with three dogs instead of two.  Lilly and Daisy are old pros (other than Lilly gets car sick) and are excellent travelers so we were a little apprehensive about how Frank was going to travel.  Turns out, we had nothing to worry about, as long as he was next to KC, he was just fine.  Of course, after 34 hours of traveling, the adoration got a little annoying.

Damn you, chipmunks!

Frank spent most of the summer being tormented by the squirrels and chipmunks in our yard because he couldn't figure out how to get down those damn deck stairs to catch them!   He would sit as still as he could and watch their every tormenting move.  It soon came time for  KC to leave to go back to Arizona for a few weeks for work and Frank turned into the naughty demon dog from hell.  He would piddle in the house while looking right at me and then growl at me when I scolded him. When KC came back he turned into the angel dog again so I was accused of making things up when I would tell him what a stinker his little prince was while he was gone. 

Lil Bit

We sadly closed up the house and returned to Arizona just in time for school to start in the beginning of August.  I touched base with APR to let them know I was back and ready to foster and came home with a furry cock-a-poo girl named Lil Bit.  I know, I know, I wasn't crazy about the name either.  APR got her when her owner, who had had dementia, passed away, so it was the name she came with.  (Her future family would end up renaming her Sophie, a much better fit, in my opinion.)  Lil Bit was large and in charge and poor Frank didn't know what to make of it.  Fortunately, Lilly and Daisy are old and grumpy so nobody messes with them or face their wrath so Lil Bit soon learned to stay clear.  She had only been with us one short week before her forever family sent an email inquiring about her.  After we communicated back and forth, it was decided they would go on a trip they had planned in two weeks and then travel to Tucson from their home in Phoenix to meet her. Unfortunately, in those two weeks she charmed us all and I began creating different scenarios in my head about why she wasn't going to  work out with her new family; they wouldn't know that although she barked at strangers, she wasn't really mean, or that she only liked to snuggle on the couch for a little while before wanting to get down, or that when she paced back and forth at the kitchen counter and then sat patiently it meant she was waiting for a treat.  Of course, those thoughts were ridiculous but I was convinced I was sending her to live with a crotchety, retired couple who were going to think she barked too much and end up tying her up outside all day.  Fortunately, I never voiced these doubts out loud but I felt them in the pit of my stomach when we were driving to meet her potential new family.  We walked into Petsmart at the arranged time and when her new mom saw her trotting towards her, she exclaimed, "Oh, is that my dog?!" and immediately started crying tears of joy.  She hugged her and told her how pretty she was.  They carried her around the store in a cart and bought her all sorts of new things; collar, leash, bed, toys, treats, you name it.  They talked to the professionals at the store about proper nutrition and grooming.  They were going to spoil her rotten!  I was so happy for her and a little ashamed of myself for worrying.  Admittedly, her leaving was bittersweet.   Knowing this adorable little creature was going to be given a second chance and I got to play a part in it was an incredible feeling but I was going to miss her.  I cried a little when they walked out and she looked back at me but I knew she was going where she belonged and that now another dog would be able to get a second chance.

Pepper and his pal, Zippy

The next one that got another chance is asleep right now on my bed.  He stayed too long and there was just no way I could part with him, or his partner in crime.

More on that next time.

It all started with a scrawny 6 pound poodle

Frank, fka Napoleon

The beginning of how Pepper came to be our dog....

One Saturday afternoon my husband, KC, dropped me off at a local shopping center to get my nails done and, if time, run to Target (okay, I will always make time for Target).  As it turns out, it was the day of the local high school’s prom so the people at the nail salon just laughed at me when I walked in without an appointment.  Realizing I had at least two hours before my husband would be done with his errands, I started walking towards Target.  Now, I love Target but even I was going to have trouble killing two hours there, so on the way was Petsmart with a sandwich sign out front that said, ‘Adoptions Today’.  I hadn’t had a puppy fix in a while so I went in, thinking I could just hold a few puppies and smell their puppy breath and I'd be good to go.  I met the lovely volunteers from Arizona Poodle Rescue (APR) and they began to tell me about their organization and all the dogs available for adoption.  I sat and held several puppies for at least an hour.  They were so sweet, cuddly and precious but I knew I wasn’t going to adopt one, I already had two at home, Daisy the Miniature Pinscher and Lilly, the Miniature Schnauzer, and I definitely did not have time to housebreak a puppy.  I expressed that out loud, part excuse, part 'don't try to talk me into this because my family won't go for it.'  That's when Rochelle, the fearless leader of the Tucson chapter of APR, casually said, “you know, you should consider fostering.”   Fostering!  Yes, that's the answer!  I thought, “I could sell this to my husband. We wouldn’t really be getting a new dog, but we’d be giving a dog a home until they found their forever home!  It's perfect!"  I called my husband, it’d been well over two hours so I thought he’d be ready, but asked him to pick me up at Petsmart instead of Target.  Oh, and come inside.  “Oh boy,” was all he said.  He showed up and I rapidly explained the merits of fostering, not pausing for a breath until I'd made my case about how we’d be a great fit; we live on an acre, there isn't a stitch of carpet in our house, our kids are older and responsible and can help, our dogs are older and mellow, and, and, and... we love dogs!  He asked Rochelle a few questions and then said, "what ever you want to do."  Yay!  No, wait!  Is this a trick?  Don't I have to do some more selling?  Why are you agreeing so quickly?  I decided not to question it and just be excited.  Which dog were we going to go home with?  I was honest and said we didn't really have time for a puppy.  Rochelle decided a little white poodle named Napoleon would be a good first foster for us.  He was a well-behaved boy who had been found as a stray.  When he was picked up he had wire wrapped around his privates and was incredibly matted.  Rochelle said he seemed grateful during the entire grooming process and never gave her any trouble.  He weighed just six pounds but easily needed to gain at least four more pounds, you could see every bone in his body; poor fella must have been without food for a while!  He was definitely cute; he had a puppy face even though he wasn’t a puppy.  My concern was that I had been trying to pet him all day and he didn’t want anything to do with me!  “He’ll warm up to you when he gets home,” Rochelle said.  So, we put a leash on him and with a spring in his trot, he pranced out the store with KC.

When we got home, it quickly became apparent that Napoleon had a crush on KC.  He would look at my husband like he was the maker of liver snacks and made sure he was sitting right next to him, wherever in the house that may be.  Couch, kitchen, bed, bath - it didn't matter. Sunday morning came and the new dog had slept in our bed but never made a sound nor moved all night.  And no accidents!  What a good dog!  The sun came up and I woke to a little white dog sitting next to KC's pillow, staring at him while waiting for him to wake up.  Apparently, KC didn’t wake up quick enough for him because Napoleon decided to kiss him awake.  It was very sweet and my 6'5" husband loved it, all the while pretending to hate it, of course.  That night, I overheard him tell the dog, “You’re such a good boy, if you really are housebroken, we might be in trouble.”

I went to work the next day and got a forward of an email that a woman had sent APR, inquiring about Napoleon.  As his foster mom, it was my responsibility to contact her and let her know all about him.  I knew KC was going to be sick to lose him so soon.  I called him with the bad news.  “Tess, I don’t think I can give him up,” was his reply.  “Are you sure about this?” I asked.  Without hesitation, his one word answer was, “Yes.” Oh dear.  Here I was, a brand new foster mom and I’m already screwing things up, they're going to hate me.  I called APR and explained the situation.  Surprisingly, they were very understanding (as I found out later, they all had "been there") and the following Saturday, we went back to Petsmart to complete the paperwork and pay the fee and become an official "Foster Failure."  Napoleon was renamed Frank and he is stubborn, sweet, and a little prince.  He continues to be KC’s baby while tolerating the rest of us.  Little did we know what adopting Frank would lead to…