Rory's Story

After haircut!

Before haircut...

Rewind to February 2019. It'd been almost a year and a half since Phinneas died and we had about zero interest in fostering since then. I'd fully immersed myself in my new job as a veterinary assistant and had nothing in the way of extra energy outside of work. Drew's travel took a serious uptick and fostering honestly didn't even register as a blip on our radar. Then came Rory.

Rory's story began as a puppy named Ross, when Ruff Dog Rescue found him and his sister abandoned in a metro Atlanta park. Rory got adopted from Ruff Dog at about six months old. His mom loved him dearly and Rory never left her side. Rory received his regular veterinary care from the hospital I worked at, so all my co-workers knew him well. I met Rory in November 2018 under very sad circumstances: his mom had a brain aneurysm and Rory came in to our hospital for emergency boarding while she had surgery. Rory's weekend stay quickly turned into a long-term, indefinite situation; his mom's recovery was not going as planned. After living in our hospital kennel for two weeks, we were able to contact Ruff Dog Rescue and secure a temporary foster home for Rory. He deserved a comfortable home environment for the holidays while waiting for his mom to recover. Not all rescues would have come to Rory's aid like this just because he'd fallen on hard times; there isn't always a space in foster care available or enough resources at hand. Ruff Dog pulled together and made it happen for him - thank you, RDR.

 

Rory sporting a blue mohawk at an event

Those butt pads though...

Unfortunately, Rory's mom's health took a turn for the worse. Three months after surgery, she still required a ventilator and had only just begun to sit up in her bed. She transferred to an acute care facility and Rory was not allowed to visit. His first foster mom needed a reprieve, so Drew and I tagged in to take Rory for a while. As Rory stayed with us in a state of limbo, we all dedicated ourselves to working on his weight problem. At his heaviest, Rory tipped the scales at a morbidly obese 102 pounds. Proper nutrition and adequate exercise made all the difference. While in boarding, Rory lost the first significant chunk of weight just from having structure: this is what you get to eat, when you get to eat it, and how much of it you get to eat, the end. No more people food, no free grazing, and no Big Gulp sized food cup. His first foster mom, Kristen, brought his weight down from the upper eighties to 76 pounds in the three months she had him. Three more months with us brought him all the way down to a svelte 54 pounds, his goal weight. You read that right: 102 to 54 in six months' time. That's 50% of his body weight - HALF OF RORY - chiseled away. Weight loss like this has to be done carefully, slowly, and in a calculated manner in order to be achieved safely. It's a lot of shock on the body to lose that much, and losing too much too quickly can be dangerous for the heart.

Rory's extreme makeover!

Keeping Rory on a low calorie food and constantly adjusting his food calculations as he continued to lose proved key. It's not like we ran marathons or anything - this is simply the difference appropriate feeding makes. I say all of this without judgment; we live in the South where food equals love in many people's minds. We call them "love feeders". All the veterinary consultation in the world sometimes isn't enough to make folks understand that dogs will almost always try to convince us they're starving - they're not. We had clients come in concerned that their obese family lab wasn't finishing his meals. My boss would tell them that he's "pushing away from the table" (i.e., he's full!) and that's him telling you he's had enough. No, you don't need to add gravy to entice him to finish his kibble. Really, he's good. There truly are only two ways an animal gets fat, excepting medical conditions: too much food and too little exercise. It's a straightforward concept, yet companion animal obesity is a pervasive problem we continue to see. Rory wrote the book and earned lovingly rude nicknames from us such as "house hippo" or "the great white whale" or "roropotamus". We actually had to pen him out of the dining room while we ate dinner to keep him from begging at the table!

I remember the first time Rory solicited a game of fetch. He'd never done this before; I threw the rope and he brought it back, giddy to repeat the process. I realized this meant he finally felt physically GOOD. That was a really rewarding moment as a foster mom. From this point on, there was no stopping him. Rory had arrived - and what he'd lost in body weight, BOY, did he make up for in personality! This boy trucked over everything in his path like the proverbial bull in the china shop. He found his voice, too. I'm still not sure what his breed mix is, but I have to think there may be some husky in there with the way he talks! [For the record, I think he is a pit / wheaten mix]. Rory has something to say about everything that goes on during the day. He is a talker, a lover, a people person, a real mush. During the time he spent with us, Rory became my shadow; he followed me around like a fluffy white cloud. Every time I'd have friends over - particularly girls - Rory plopped himself down right in front of them and shamelessly begged for love. He knows no such thing as personal space or too much affection, but now he knows structure and a healthy lifestyle!

After it became clear that Rory's mom was not going to recover to the extent that she'd be able to take him back, we began to look for a new forever home for our scruffy white ward. Rory came to us with zero leash manners, zero dog social skills, and zero understanding of how to act in group settings. Despite our hard work, he just did not show well at adoption events. People's fascination with his unique looks and the emotional pull of his sad story quickly evaporated into horror if another dog approached. Rory became possessive of his admirers, felt socially pressured, and exploded into high-pitched shrieks and off-putting snarls. Instantly, the endearingly quirky Heinz 57 who looked a mutant Jack Russell terrier morphed into a pit-mix scruff dragon who could convince anyone that he'd in fact eaten a whole family of Jackies. Sigh. All the creative marketing in the world, all the volunteer hours spent at events, and all the meet and greets I could muster would not matter an ounce if it wasn't the right fit for Rory...and then my sister spoke up.

 Ashley and Shawn met Rory a handful of times over the spring and summer, both with and without their three dogs: Bubba, Bellatrix LeStrange, and Sirius Black. They both were clearly taken with Rory's goofiness and affectionate nature, but I had no idea how serious they were about him until I'd just about given up hope. They'd fallen hard - and did I mention Rory didn't mind their dogs? Quite the opposite: he actually PLAYED with their dogs and for some reason blended right in like the fourth member of a zany jazz quartet. It hit me: my sister and her pack are exactly Rory's brand of crazy. After a whole lot of real talk and some logistical planning, Drew and I jumped into the car and hand delivered Rory to his new home in Florida. It was a seamless transition and it was right under our noses the whole time. Sometimes when it works, it just works. And that's the conclusion of this former white whale's tale. Happy forever, Rory! You deserve this so much!

Epilogue: We'd never done a foster case quite like this before with regard to the surrounding human element. Rory's former mom transferred to an assisted living facility up north near her family.  I don't want anything I've written here to come across as insensitive toward her circumstances or her love for Rory. Rory's - and his mom's - situation absolutely broke my heart. I can't imagine her sadness, her worry, her fears for him. I grappled with the implications of all of this for some time, hating that life dealt her such a terrible hand. All I can hope is that she knows Rory is happy, healthy, and loved forever.

Double Update: Rory's mom passed away in May; we didn't know until September, after he'd been adopted. I didn't know what to make of this at first, but I quickly chalked it up to Rory's serendipitous fate. Heartbreakingly sad as it may be, Rory's story worked out in the end. I'm so glad we worked proactively to give this guy a chance at a new future. Dogspeed to his former mama, and dogspeed to Rory and his future!

Phinneas: Happiness in the Now

The Five Foundlings (Phinneas far right)

We cannot save them all. I know - it's a harsh and depressing first sentence, but it's true. Phinneas's story is different from all my others: it doesn't have a happy ending. Friends keep telling me that it isn't fair [when we lose them] and it never is, but this one really isn't fair. Phinneas got caught in death's boomerang; he stared down ill fate with his tiny determination and then rallied against it only for it to swoop back and claim him in the end anyway. Death's boomerang.

Leonard's fleas

So yeah, it's sad and not the typical feel-good plot, but I'm going to tell his story anyway because otherwise he only exists in my memory and I can't allow that. I promise there are glimmers of happiness that shine through the tragedy; I'll do my best to illuminate them. The beginning of Phin's story as we know it is bleak, naturally, as rescues usually are. Perfect Pets Rescue received a phone call saying five chihuahuas had been found abandoned in the closet of a vacant apartment unit without food or water. Huddled together in a flea infested pile, the "five foundlings" survived their nightmarish neglect for who knows how long. PPR took them in and renamed them Mortimer, Rose, Leonard, Blanche, and Phinneas because they all looked like they should have the most classically geriatric names possible. I saw Phin's photo and offered to foster him, as I'm a sucker for projects and his skin clearly needed the most work.

Top: first photo of Phinneas
Bottom: rockin' the PJs

Phinneas came to us completely hairless with lava red skin that was hot and greasy to the touch. I had folks ask if we shaved him this way or if he had mange. The fleas did this to him. It's called flea allergy dermatitis - basically a hyper histamine reaction to flea saliva (read: bites) which in this case irritated Phin's system so much that he "dropped" his coat (severe alopecia). Constant scratching allowed bacteria to penetrate the skin's barrier and cause infection to set in, giving him a nasty odor and open sores. His initial bloodwork looked shockingly clean - I expected much worse given his condition and the stress his tiny little body had endured. He had four teeth, two good looking canines and two horrendous molars in need of extraction. The dental, neuter, and vaccines would have to wait until we got his skin infection and overall inflammation under control. We undertook a heavy duty course of antibiotics for the skin infection and twice weekly medicated baths to knock down the bacteria. I applied some extremely diluted essential oils to topically soothe his inflamed skin and made him wear long-sleeved pajamas to keep from relentlessly scratching. Despite his misery, he craved human affection. He never seemed afraid in our house even with all the other dogs and the foreign surroundings; he just calmly observed everything going on around him and begged for snuggles. I'm mildly ashamed to admit that I donned gloves to touch him and wrapped him in towels as a prerequisite for cuddling for the first week we had him. He was Grade A "yick", but oh so sweet. I lovingly nicknamed him "naked mole rat" and began to get to know the little doggy soul behind the ruined exterior.

As time promoted healing, Phin's personality emerged more each day. He quickly appreciated the space to roam and explored each room of the house with great curiosity. We had a lot of fun watching him observe, learn, and mimic our dogs' daily routine. Before long, he blended right in and moved as one of the pack. All of our fosters go through this period of melding, but to watch Phin acclimate gave me a special joy knowing he came from being stuck in the damp darkness of a waste-ridden closet. This little guy had the spirit of a survivor, a certain quiet bravery about him. I called it #tinydetermination.

A couple weeks passed and his skin began to show signs of healing: scabs. Bruises and scabby patches where he'd scratched himself the worst indicated that his body felt it had sufficient resources to designate toward rejuvenation as opposed to inflammation. A white flag from the immune system; a sign of peace instead of war; light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. They say certain things often get worse before they get better. I'd say Phin's skin was a visual example of this sentiment. He looked like he'd been dragged through gravel and kicked around the ribs, but I found myself smiling at his scabs and bruises because I knew their significance. We cut our medicated baths down to once per week as not to overly dry his healing skin.

Scabby and bruised but on the mend!

Sure enough, little patches of white fuzz began to sprout around his ears and along his back. I couldn't have been more thrilled! We'd added Zyrtec and fish oil to our healing regimen and the benefits showed mightily. This little guy regrew his fur like wildfire. Tufts turned into running strips of down which morphed into full blown patches of FUR. My little naked mole rat was no longer naked! He'd become a handsome little white fuzzball and I couldn't possibly be prouder of his transformation. 

Things were really looking up. Phin spent his days prancing around the house following the sunshine from one warm spot to another. He had his choice of dog beds scattered throughout the house, which he enjoyed thoroughly on days when the sun wasn't shining brightly enough through the windows for him. He danced on his hind legs for treats and dinner along with the others and snuggled on the couch with us in the evenings for TV time. The good life - finally! He was able to get his vaccines in September, gain a whole pound in October, and have his neuter and dental scheduled for mid-November. Adoption would be right around the corner. Phin was doing GREAT. So great! And then he just wasn't.

My little naked mole rat suddenly had terrible back pain, complete loss of appetite, and total lethargy. He hid in his crate around the clock and wanted absolutely nothing to do with human interaction. His entire demeanor shifted. We took him to the emergency vet Sunday night and confirmed the worst: he was in full-blown kidney failure. Kidneys, I've learned, are funny on paper. They show up fine until they're really really not fine. I'll never have all the answers I want: how "not fine" his kidneys were by the time he was rescued from that closet, how "fine" they were before his abandonment, how much his dental disease may have contributed to the problem, whether the happiness and improvement we saw was simply a "rally" or a "surge" like the trajectory of that Newtonian apple destined to plummet. In any case, Phin's kidneys were utterly shot. His temp was 98.6 and the vet said he maybe had one more day in him without hospitalization. Dogs have a very poor chance of bouncing back from kidney failure. Even had we hospitalized Phin for dialysis, his chances of meaningful recovery were decidedly poor at best. I knew looking at the little survivor in my arms that he had zero fight left in him. He was just done. I got mad at myself for thinking the phrase, "he's given up", because that little dog did everything except give up. He survived some sort of terrible neglect, socked death in the jaw, and ultimately looked darn good doing it. But the boomerang - it came back for him. We can't save them all. Even if rescue finances weren't a consideration (they always must be - that's just the reality), it wouldn't have been fair to subject Phinny to what likely still would have been his last couple days hooked up to lines and scared in a hospital. And for what? Only to have to make the call at some point down the road anyway, whether that be two days or two months ahead. No. This is part of the gig: making the painful decisions to avoid suffering. I held Phin in my arms and sang the simplest song I've ever sung as he drifted off, "Night night, Phinny. Night night, Phinny. We love you, Phinny. Night night, Phinny." He went peacefully and quickly, as they usually do when they're already that close to death. Not even a ragged breath. But it wasn't fair. It's just not. And it never is. But we can't save them all.

The happiest photos

My last photo with Phin

I wanted so much more for Phin. He deserved the world's kindest little old lady who would've 

loved nothing more than to snuggle him in her rocking chair until the end of their days together. He had so many snuggles in his imaginary future in my mind. I would've snuggled him more if I'd known I was all he'd ever get. I know how this goes; I know he had three months of "good life" here with us and that I must focus on remembering that. But instead, what kills me is that he only had maybe two weeks of true "feel good" during those three months. Just as everything was looking up, it all came crashing down around us. That's just like life, isn't it? That's 100% why we must find and cherish the happiness in the now. Savor life moment by moment. Remember the details. The "now" is fleeting and is never to be repeated. I've never had a foster dog die on me before, not one that was mine from start to finish. Peppercorn, Brooks, Niko, and Meiko are not forgotten but they weren't mine. I'm always the person holding the hand of the grieving foster parents. I guess it's my turn. I sat at the vet's office with Phin in my arms and tears streaming down my face while thinking, "it's not that it's really any different, it's just that I have to hold my own hand this time". So I held Phin's little hand and I let him go. "Night night, Phinny. We love you, Phinny."

Silly Billie, our Favorite Hillbilly

Billie at the shelter

Billie, Day 1

This gorgeous stray Treeing Walker Coonhound girl came to us pre-named by her rescue group as "Aldie", which didn't really suit her personality. We ended up calling her Billie as a combination of all her quirk: her gangly and random "billy goat" ways, her "hillbilly" country roots being a hound from rural Georgia, and her ridiculous goofiness which had us always calling her "silly billy". I tried to figure out a way to make "Billie Jean" fit because of the spelling, but yeah, no. Anyhow, that's how Aldie came to be called Billie. Sorry, not sorry! I'm sort of big on names. ;-)

I was at the Hall County shelter with Perfect Pets Rescue shortly after we moved back to ATL, helping assess dogs for rescue commitment. Billie wasn't on their list to look at, but she caught my eye in her kennel as we walked by. I didn't take her out, didn't want to slow down their process or interject much in a situation where I was a ride-along, but for whatever reason Billie stuck in my head. I asked about her and expressed my interest, but that's about it. I just couldn't stop thinking about her...sometimes I wonder if at this point in the game I am innately drawn to those that are "my type" or "good saves". Who knows? All I know is that in a shelter full of dogs in need, when one jumps out at me through kennel bars and manages to make that much of an impression, that says something and is usually worth pursuing. Lucky for me - and Billie, of course - I got a message from the rescue that she'd become "urgent" and needed rescue a couple weeks after I'd seen her. She needed a foster while recovering from her spay and entropion surgery before heading up to NY for adoption. She needed to put on a good several pounds, too. We welcomed Billie home on November 8!

This. Dog. Is. Awesome. I fell in love immediately. Everything she did just tickled me: the way she ate her first dinner practically upside down, the way she dove head first into the couches with great enthusiasm for each impending nap, the way she loved to spend hours outside just staring up into the trees looking for squirrels and practicing her houndy ways, the way she tried out every possible sleeping surface in the house like Goldilocks and the three bears, the way she slept with her mouth open - just everything about her carried some sort of dopey adorableness that drove into my heart like a Mack truck. By the way, there's a photo included here that illustrates every single one of those quirky examples of her personality. Enjoy! I loved how anti-feminine she was, utterly oaf-like and completely uncoordinated. I think she had two accidents in the house and slept maybe 75% of the month she spent with us - talk about easy peasy! There's nothing we like better in a dog than 100% Genuine Lazy Bones...this girl's got it! It's like she knew she was born to lie on someone's big comfy couch for the rest of her days.

The Goat (see video below for a situational explanation of this nickname) endured her entropion surgery very well. Dr. Daniel at The Veterinary Clinic in Marietta reconstructed Billie's eyelids so that they droop properly instead of turning inward. Entropion causes inflammation and heightened risk of infection, so Billie felt immediately better post-surgery. I think of how obnoxious it is when I have a mere eyelash floating in my eye and imagine how it must feel like for these dogs whose eyelashes are constantly scratching away at their corneas...she only looked like a FrankenBillie for a few days before we could really see a drastic improvement. Fellow Perfect Pets Rescue foster moms, Lisa and Amy, kept Billie for us while we traveled home for Thanksgiving. By time we returned, she had fully recovered and we got her stitches out. A brand new Billie!

 

Our goodbye photo

On December 2nd, Billie boarded the transport van and headed off to New York. Perfect Pets is located up there and their GA dogs stay in local NY foster homes until adoption once they arrive. I always send a letter to the adopter with my transport dogs, including my contact info and musings about the dog. It's proven to be a great way to get updates and stay in touch once they've left, so here's hoping we get an update on Billie! This sweet girl has a great new life ahead of her and I'm so thankful to PPR for sponsoring her. She was a true pleasure to host! We're rooting for ya, sweet Billie Goat!

Another Chapter of the Great Rescue Journey...

I'm writing again! This means two things: 1) I've got stuff to share with you and 2) I've got time to do it! Of course, making time for one thing means cutting back on something else, or in this case all the things. This post is equal parts catharsis and chronology, so bear with me while I bring you up to speed...it's going to be a lengthy one. And before I begin, thanks for listening...it means a lot!

When we moved to California, I had to start from scratch and find a way to insert myself into the rescue scene. As I described in my reflection post about 2014 rescue, I dove head first into the thick of things, gained a lot of experience, and made a bunch of amazing friends along the way. 2015 was messy. As with any field that involves passionate people striving to do big things in the name of change for a common cause, drama and egomania all too often play a nasty role in rescue. The group I poured my soul into during 2014 tore apart at the seams, causing an enormous divide within the rescue community in its wake. Trusted leaders made selfish decisions in furtherance of personal legacies and recognition, spinning webs of lies and destroying reputations along the way without regard for damage done to the cause. I spent most of 2015 trying to recover from the personal hurt and attempts to flay my integrity; I found that fighting the good fight by marching forward with the ever-present need for rescue work was the best way to heal my wounds and affirm my value. Nose to the grindstone, as they say. Rescue never sleeps, never stops, never takes a breath. I showed people who I am and what I care about, which turned out to be a very effective way to gain trust and get good work done. Apparently this approach isn't used as much as it should be. Sincerity is always a breath of fresh air; it's too bad we only ever seem to catch fleeting gasps of it here and there.

Some of my favorites from Unleashed...

Drew and I fostered for a few other groups during the great gap period of 2015 and we had some awesome dogs come through our home, but time and time again I found myself discontent with the group dynamics for one reason or another. I also found it difficult to simply be a foot soldier when I was so used to leading and carrying a bigger role. I struggled to find my place post St. Francis and bounced around quite a bit as a "free agent". Fortunately, I had an awesome little job which I absolutely loved at Unleashed (a boutique concept store owned by Petco) as their Dog & Cat Department Manager. I worked here happily for a bit over two years and enjoyed the meshing of animal welfare between my job and my rescue efforts. Pet nutrition became my major jam and orchestrating our store's relationships with rescue groups for adoption events and fundraising suited my skillset and brought me great joy. Our little store found its way to #1 in the District (and I think the Region) for adoptions during my stint. I even got to organize the Adoption Alley participants at San Jose's annual Christmas in the Park 2015! I took serious pride in my work at Unleashed and my two bosses' support and friendships helped me through the transitional period between what I call St. Francis Round 1 and St. Francis Round 2.

Maddie's Fund foster awareness campaign interview

In March 2015 after spending some time doing courtesy evaluations for various rescue folks, I was asked to join the San Jose Animal Advocates team - four of us (at the time, but later we became six) who walked, slept, ate, breathed, talked, and dreamed rescue triage around the clock. SJAA acts as a liaison between the rescue community and the San Jose shelter, inserting itself into the flurry of deadlines and dates in an attempt to ease the burden on both sides by doing the legwork and heavy lifting of networking. The "needs rescue list" pinged my phone every night around 3-4AM, indicating the latest round of dates and notes on those who needed a little extra help in order to make it out of the shelter. We used our relationships with local groups and rescuers all around the Bay Area to help give these guys voices; we knew which folks to "pitch" which animals to and how to focus our efforts in a perpetual avalanche of deadlines. Review the list, choose candidates, go perform evaluations, take photos and videos for networking, write creative bios for networking, fight the clock, ask for deadline extensions if needed, ask for medical updates, work social media, cash in favors, secure funding when needed, cross your fingers, become heavily emotionally invested, and then either succeed or fail. Save a life or mourn a life. Either way, get over it quickly because the caseload is never just one dog or cat - it's 5, 10, 15, or more at a time. And that clock is always ticking in three day increments. I got to the point where I'd wake up in the middle of the night just before the next NRL came in so I could catch up on messages in order to get a head start on the next day. No alarm clock needed, just the constant need to check my phone and do work that could never wait dragging me out of my slumber each night. I easily put in 40 volunteer hours per week for SJAA in addition to my 40 hour per week job. SJAA is like an around the clock emergency that never allows for breaks, comfort, or a lasting sense of accomplishment. On top of that, we constantly had to sort out difficulties between team members and often between ourselves and the shelter team. Dynamics flew from both sides every day and it wasn't always clear that we were on the same side. It became sort of a "too many cooks in the kitchen" situation. Sure, there was one week in which we secured rescue for twelve dogs who weren't supposed to make it out, but there was also the week immediately preceding where we lost four into whom we'd poured immeasurable effort. I'll never forget the day I assessed 17 dogs in three hours, only to spend three more hours typing up my formal evaluations once I got home. In any case, even for someone as capable of compartmentalizing and embracing a clinical approach to heavily charged tasks as I am, I couldn't sustain the emotional roller coaster of SJAA. I found it hurting my marriage, as I became more married to my inboxes than my husband, more likely to be late to dinner because my evaluations at the shelter ran long, more likely to fall asleep on the couch with my phone in my hand during a movie, more likely to lose myself in the endless flurry of rescue triage and lives in limbo. After 9 months of SJAA trenchwork, I resigned. I quit for myself, for my husband, and for the animals. I had to make sure I didn't burn out completely so that I could continue saving lives longterm. It was an amazing ride, but it was time to rest and switch gears. Turns out I didn't have much time to rest...

St. Francis APS 5k "Run for Rescue" 2016

I'd maintained a working relationship with the President of St. Francis after the "break up" and during my time with SJAA. I'd reached out to her a few times to take in animals we were networking. She lives in Arizona, so the deal was always that I'd manage the dog and its foster home if St. Francis sponsored it. I was amazed by her willingness to work with me after all of the mud-slinging done during the split, but we put our cards on the table and shared our healing processes. I'd never had anything but pleasant dealings with her and she'd never shown me anything but graciousness. When she asked if I'd assume rescue operations for St. Francis and help her rebuild, I needed time to think. It took me a while to process this development and to really consider whether it was something I wanted to do. After SJAA, I felt I needed to run a rescue like I needed a hole in my head - those of you who know me have heard me say this time and time again! And oh my god, I'd have to do cat rescue, too! Hah. But I also really valued the concept of helping restore a community pillar like this group and seeing something good triumph over all the garbage tossed our way. I accepted her offer and began recruiting fosters and rebuilding our animal inventory. I made it my mission to do things differently - I had to in order to show the animal welfare community that St. Francis wasn't the monster under the bed that they'd heard about from a few power hungry egomaniacs who'd lost their way and attempted to burn the barn on their way out. I had to regain everyone's trust on behalf of this organization; I had to make St. Francis rise from the ashes. There's only one way for one girl to do that: get. to. work.

Most of our trusty crew!

Tee up St. Francis Round 2! I spent eight months championing this 44 year old organization's legacy, its present approach, and its future mission. I believed in what I was doing; I believed in this little mini crusade that became my pet project. I was so done with the default desperate ways of rescue; I wanted something more sustainable and more stable that would cause less grief for everyone involved. Working with my friends proved to be the most powerful approach I could've ever cooked up. One by one, the very best of the old St. Francis crew - most of whom are my personal friends - returned to the group wanting to help. It turns out that helping friends make a difference in something you all share passion and respect for is a very powerful thing. And with every animal we helped, with every new or old volunteer we recruited, with every adoption event or fundraiser or volunteer get together we held, we felt that sense of community achievement that so many rescues fail to foster. We made one hell of a team and we saw St. Francis grow in ways it never had before due to the strong ties and great integrity across our volunteer network, our little St. Francis family. We won. We all banded together and enabled St. Francis to shrug off the cloud of disrespect and misuse left behind from 2015 and reclaim its place as a cherished pillar of animal welfare in our community. We all got to glean a great sense of vindication and achievement for ourselves, as well. This felt amazing. Not only did this "project" help me heal, but it helped me build even stronger friendships and hopefully make some lasting impressions for change in the way volunteers are treated across the board. Don't get me wrong, our animal inventory and "numbers" were impressive, but that's only one moving part of the machine. The people - they're the key. When people want to help, it's our job to help them figure out how to help. Folks could do anything with their time, so if they want to give it to you, to your cause, take their hand and graciously show them how to do so. It's not rocket science; treat people with respect and foster constructive contribution. Take the time to high five or publicly recognize or raise a glass when someone does something good. We all need that pat on the back! Rescue isn't about us, but we can't do it if we lose ourselves along the way. Find that balance and help others see it - don't keep it a secret. I am thankful to Caron and humbled by the opportunity to further St. Francis APS; to say it's been a remarkable journey is an understatement. I owe extensive thanks to Kim for her undying support and eagerness to learn all things rescue on such a quick timeline. I am eternally grateful to my friends and rescue peers for the support and camaraderie they've given me throughout this crazy endeavor. I believe St. Francis will always be better for it, because of all of you and the love you brought back to it.

My birthday rolled around and I got an unexpected gift in the mail: an acceptance letter to the Foothill College Veterinary Technology program. Finally. Except I felt nothing upon opening the envelope; I wasn't excited anymore. I'd found so much purpose in the St. Francis project and gained so much more experience than I'd ever imagined; I wasn't keen on giving it all up for something that would throw me back into a state of grueling challenge. Timing is a funny thing; I still very much want to build a career as a vet tech, but not right now. I worked toward acceptance for almost three years and it was weird to say no when the opportunity finally presented. I was happy...I'd found my place. Finally. I signed my name to the line declining my spot in the program and stuck the form in the mail. With great discussion and realization that our West Coast adventure had just come to a transition point, we decided to move back to Atlanta. Just like that, my focus changed. California hadn't kicked my butt after all - it just threw me curve ball after curve ball until my carefully laid plans became an almost unrecognizable tapestry of colorful experiences. I got a new tattoo to symbolize this and to parallel the one I got upon leaving Atlanta. Drew took a new job and I left mine to focus on rescue full time and, incidentally, I've started a small pet sitting business along the way (Wet Noses ATL). 

Count the brown dogs!

So, that's what I've been up to since 2014. The decision to leave St. Francis in the form of a gradual hand-off was difficult, but I managed things long distance for about a month and then found myself ready to let go. I learned so incredibly much during the almost three years we spent in California. The good, the bad, the ugly, the awesome, the inspirational, the humbling, and the challenging. These things make us who we are...I wouldn't change any of it, not even the lessons your own mother hopes you'll never have to learn. I will never stop being a pain in the ass! Never stop questioning the status quo, pondering change, stretching that comfort zone, building new bridges and carefully crossing old creaky ones without looking back, pressing for success, and advocating for what you believe in. Never. Stop. Being. Genuine. I'm still struggling to find my place here in Atlanta rescue again; things are different since we left and I'm having a hard time not running my own circus so to speak, BUT I'm proud to say I've been here before and patience will yield whatever is next. In the meantime, we foster here and there. You know the drill! The time has come for our next adventure...

P.S.: To those of you at the San Jose shelter, at SJAA, and of course to everyone who played a part in St. Francis Round 2, thank you from the depths of my crazy dog lady soul. Much love!

P.P.S.: This one's for all my St. Francis Round 2 critters: Dogs Chowder, Zoe, Holly, Mimi, Pepper, Prince, Annie, Perry, Sabrina, Bonsai, Snoopy, Big Ben, Rango, Dozer, Buttercup, Alfie, Bumble Bee, Dottie, Skipper, Chippy, Charlie Brown, Rascal, Star, Bailey, Shelby, and Zed and cats Arrow, Harper, Sequoia, Brie, KitKat, Skittles, Candy, Gumdrop, Taffy, Charlie, Raven, Rain, River, Daisy, Magnolia, Cosmos, Dora, Diego, Jesse, Jason, Jill, Friday, Professor Pudding, Ivy, Big Boo, Little Boo, Poppy, Monkey, Tiger, Bear, Bunny, Dizzy, Duke, Miles, Nina, Orangie Orange, Gris Gris, Oscar, Simba, Roo, Stevie, Stewie, Skip, Scout, Tommy, and Oreo. I can't name all my SJAA animals, but you're all in my heart forever.

Good Grief, Charlie Brown!

Charlie Brown at the shelter...I mean, c'mon!

This living teddy bear is Charlie Brown! He's got quite a story behind him: this was his THIRD stint in San Jose animal control. Charlie first arrived as a stray, then was adopted out, then came back a second time as a stray, was adopted again, and came back this third time as a stray yet again. Clearly he's a door darter, although I never once had him try to Houdini out of the backyard or anything like that. CB's background is a classic example of the importance of screening for quality adopters. Just about anyone can walk into the shelter, pay $10, sign a form, and walk right out with a dog. Sure, it could've been a door dart situation that can happen to anyone, or they might not have realized that CB is definitely not a suitable off-leash dog, or any number of potential things you just can't screen for. Oftentimes it isn't the right dog for them, and that's assuming they're even qualified to give a dog a good home at all. Unfortunately these things happen with open adoption policies. So although CB likely would have gone up for adoption again for a third time (he had a fatty mass that was delaying his push-through process), I saw him and his history and decided that he deserved a proper chance at a good life with a controlled outcome rather than yet another roll of the dice. The rest is history! Charlie turned out to be a wonderful dog who is great with everyone; it's just that not everyone makes a great dog owner. He can tell you firsthand!

Charles, Brown, CB, Chuck, Mr. Brown - no matter what we called him, he came running with a zest for life! Charlie has an absolutely fantastic personality. Everyone who met him loved him and his whacky little hoarse squawking. Schipperkes often sound like that; we think he is mixed with some Chi or something a bit smaller. He's the spunkiest little guy and super loves to play...especially with laser pointers! We bought him a crazy laser machine and he went utterly bananas over it, so much so that I only let him use it for less than 3 minutes at a time because it drove him that berserk. Check out the video...it's insane.

Irresistible!

Charlie has the most flufftastic fur and such a darling face - everyone said he looked just like a little teddy bear! He sure snuggles like one, too. You could hug him all day long and he'll be your best friend forever. That dog will snuggle anytime, anywhere! Oh, and he is a bit of a food hog...his shelter medical notes actually said that he ate a cheeseburger. I'm not sure when or how, if it was one of the tech's lunches or what, but he swiped a burger at the shelter apparently. Crafty little critter! We actually had another Schipperke mix in the St. Francis foster program at the same time (not living with us, but we watched him a couple times). Skipper is a spitting image of CB, except all black and a little older. The two of them together were hilarious entertainment. They remind me of those old wind up toy hamsters that take a couple jerky moves backward before zinging forward with a great burst of energy! That's pretty much CB's MO. Nutball!

100% Adorable

Charlie spent February through the first part of June with us, even though he was supposed to just be an "overnighter"...whoops. That fell through and we just loved him; he fit in so well, so why make him move if he had no other place to go? I was grateful for the time to enjoy his antics, even though we had a very crowded house at the time (our three, Shrimp & Grits, CB, and the occasional vacation relief foster guest). We couldn't understand why it took so long for him to be adopted, and frankly I still can't figure it out! What matters isn't his past or any of that, but that he ended up with an absolutely wonderful woman named Evelyn as his forever mommy. He goes everywhere with her and truly is her best friend. I love this dog; he is one of my favorites. I'm so glad he gets to be cherished, finally! Happy life, Mr. Brown!

Peppercorn's Plight: A Difficult Rescue Journey Comes to a Difficult End

Pepper, just a week before the end.

This is one of those posts that requires a large glass of wine next to the computer as I type. It's not a happy post, but even the saddest situations often have positive takeaways. If you recall, we last left off with Peppercorn adjusting to being the only dog in his new (third) foster home and doing well with a bit more space. Please, if you've got a few minutes to spare, have a refresh of his full story: http://ohfortheloveofdogs.blogspot.com/2015/04/peppercorns-plight-overcoming.html

Our last moments with Pepper

By way of Peppercorn, I came to know my wonderful rescue friend, Dawn Piazza. Dawn and 

I were both drawn to Pepper while he was at the shelter and we both committed to finding him rescue. Dawn is the one who found Jenna, Pepper's first foster, who made his jailbreak possible. Little Taco, the grey-ish Chi playing with Pepper in one of his shelter videos, is one of Dawn's own dogs she uses to test shelter dogs and help gauge their social skills. Dawn was right there with me on day one of Pepper's journey and we've since saved more dogs together than I can count, both independently and as part of the San Jose Animal Advocates team. Today, Dawn was right there with me on the final day of Peppercorn's journey. Today, together, we let him go.

Enjoying that cheeseburger

Over the past month or so, Pepper's foster dad (Henry) noticed his lymph nodes seemed enlarged. Over the next few weeks, he noticed Pepper seemed to be generally uncomfortable and extremely tired. He lost interest in walks, food, and water. His physical appearance changed; Pepper looked both oddly bloated and emaciated at the same time. He had no muscle tone left, just a bag of creaky bones. The vet cultured Pepper's lymph nodes and discovered that he had terminal Stage IV Lymphoma. Last Thursday, the vet informed us that Peppercorn had 10-30 days left. Just four days later, Henry called me to say he felt Pepper's comfort level had further declined and that we should go ahead and make the difficult decision to let him go. This evening, one week after we received Pepper's diagnosis, I made that painful one-way trip to the vet. After Henry gently kissed his head and said his goodbyes, I drove Pepper to Burger King for a treat. He enjoyed a bacon cheeseburger in the front seat of the car before we went inside for our appointment.

He went peacefully. In fact, Dawn and I think he passed on his own before the cocktail kicked in. His poor little body was so tired, so worn out, and so ready. I honestly believe that today was his day to go. Dawn and I stood by his side the entire time, stroking his back and gently scratching his formerly tattered ears (they healed in time!). In many ways, seeing such a weary creature finally let go and just slip gently out of our world came as a relief. Cancer is a terrible, exhausting, all-consuming monster. I am glad, in a poignantly bittersweet sense, that it took him so quickly.

Peppercorn spent ten months and eight days in foster care, during which time he bounced from Jenna's home to mine and finally to Henry's. To call Pepper a village effort would be an understatement. I remained his foster coordinator the whole time and got to see, unfortunately, that Pepper seemed determined to remain on the wrong side of the "unadoptable" cusp. But we are RESCUE. It doesn't matter. What matters is that Peppercorn had almost a whole year of freedom and love. Although we can't have every case be a "Peppercorn", it is so tremendously important that we take one on every now and then in order to grow in our efforts, to check our motives, to make a difference, and to save a life. So when you wonder why Dawn and I are smiling in the photo with Pepper on his last day of life, it is because he brought us together and together we will save many more lives in his memory.

Thank you to everyone who played a part in Pepper's journey. Jenna & Alyssa M., Dawn, SJAA, Alyssa S., Tina, Heidi & Jake's Wish, Drew, and most of all, thank you to Henry for loving him for seven months without a single hint of impatience or complaint. You may never read this, but I hope you know that you meant the entire world to this little dog and I don't know what we would have done without your commitment.

Pepper & Henry

Pepper: thank you for bringing Dawn into my life. Thank you for reminding me that I can't fix every broken dog. Thank you for keeping me humble. Thank you for the opportunity to grow even more in what I do. Thank you for trusting me and for allowing me to be part of your journey. Now rest, and know you were loved, Peppy. This hard life is behind you.