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!

Pupdate: Shiva!

Thought I'd give a quick pupdate on Shiva, now named Ayla. She's doing great with her foster mom, who says Ayla makes a wonderful companion. They enjoy the outdoors together and Ayla loves hiking just as much as her mom does. They spend a lot of time outdoors adventuring together on trails and taking in the fresh air and scenic views. Ayla also enjoys going to the local dog park and playing with dogs big and small. I'm so glad to hear that all of our hard work socializing her with our pack paid off! It seems our diligence took a firm hold and that she's really well-behaved. Her mom says she cracks up watching her toss toys in the air for herself and play soccer with tennis balls. She still favors her leg on and off again, but the vet says it will improve with more time. Ayla's mom also reports that she's learning to not chase the cats and is attending obedience school. Pretty pawsome if you ask me! I'm thrilled that she's living the good life and is well-matched to her mommy. Thanks, Tammy, for the photos and pupdate. Paws up for Ayla!

Happy Tail: Cheddar Cheese Man!

Farewell photo

Woohoo, Cheddar found his forever home today! He was one of several JW pups adopted out at the We Dog Care First Birthday Bash this afternoon. I'll be sure to make a post on that soon so everyone can see how awesome WDC is, but for now, we'll focus on Cheddar. I'm thrilled for him to be in a household that's active and playful. Our home is quiet again, this time for a while as we're taking a break for a month due to travel plans. We'll miss Cheddar, but it's awesome knowing he won't be bored anymore and it's nice for our dogs to get some peace and quiet. They really put up with a lot from the crazy red-tailed firefox!

Cheddar & his new family!

Cheese Man hit the jackpot with his new folks. You see, Cheddar is all smiles and wags at home, but as soon as he gets outside of his comfort zone he retreats into a nervous shell. Meeting his adopters at WDC was very scary for him, but they fell head over heels despite his tail-tucked first impression. I'm super grateful that his new people were able to look past the scared little dog they met today and imagine the "real" Cheddar with all of his spunkiness and joy. I am so excited for them to meet that Cheddar once he gets settled in with them at home. Out of all the dogs we've fostered, Cheddar did the most drastic 180 from shelter to home. His personality completely changed. I can't wait for his new family to see that side of him - the cheesy Cheddar who springboards off furniture, grins from ear to ear, rabid dog runs around the living room at 100mph, and entertains nonstop with his antics. Oh, Cheddar also gets a canine sibling out of the deal! His new Husky sister, Banksy, will surely keep him busy wrestling and playing day after day. Paws up for Cheddar and his first day of furever!

Settling in together

Siblings out for a walk

PUPDATE! Cheddar's first day in his furever home went very well. His mom says he and Banksy are well-matched energetically and even insisted on holding Cheddar's leash on their evening walk. They're playing great together and Cheddar is settling in well. Yay, Cheddar! Check out all the pawsome photos of him enjoying Banksy's company.

Playtime!

Herman: Letting Love Go

"Mini Flea"

I went to the shelter in early January with a friend to check out a bunch of dogs. We had a list of nine dogs to parse through, one of which I wrote down simply because his intake photo reminded me greatly of Flea. He'd been on the rescue list for days and I paused at his photo every time I scrolled through the pages of faces. "Another male brown Chihuahua, just what every rescue always wants!" - said no one ever. Regardless, I'm sort of the champion of Chihuahuas, so we headed in to see this guy. He sat huddled in the back corner of his kennel, a little brown ball with giant forward-facing eyes and the tiniest face I'd ever seen. He didn't bark or freeze when we approached, but he didn't jump up to greet us either. I scooped him up with his blanket and we took him to the courtyard.

Those eyes!

Please take me with you

Once in the courtyard, the little brown critter just sort of stood on his blanket for a minute and looked at us. I wasn't sure how friendly he'd be. His kennel card said fearful, but he had no other behavioral notes. He was rescue only due to a mild heart murmur and dental tartar. We sat on the ground near him and gave him a few minutes to consider his next move. He decided standing very still was his best option. I reached my hand out and received a small lick in return. He approached my friend, sniffed her leg for a brief moment, then climbed up into her lap. As she gently scratched his head, he melted into oblivion. At one point he looked upward as if thanking the heavens for this moment of serenity. This 4.8 pound stray from King & Story Road caught our hearts with his quiet demeanor and soulful eyes. 15 minutes later, I knew I had to get him out. Thanks, Sara, for bringing him out of his shell.

I pulled Mini Flea under the umbrella of Jake's Wish Dog Rescue later that week and brought him home to foster. Drew and I were a bit nervous because we already had Shiva (the White Shepherd teenager) and this new guy was just so small and vulnerable. Turns out, they did fine together. In fact, little critter did fine with everyone! He fit in seamlessly with our crew; it was like he'd been with us all along. Now, what to name this funny little bug? I was thinking along the lines of typical goofy Chi names like Taco, Mojo, Poquito, etc. Drew, a bit over the whole "what are we going to name the new guy" conversation, busted out with Herman just to annoy me. Herman, really?! He was like yeah, you know, short for hermanito (little brother in Spanish). There was no way I was giving this guy such a humdrum old man name like Herman. Until it stuck. I found myself debating names for the next few hours, but calling him Herman all the while. I thought it was funny that Drew tossed out this ridiculous name and it turned out to be the one we went with. It just fit him. I don't know why. So, he became Herman. Over time, some of his MANY nicknames turned out to be Hermie, Herminator, Hermwise Gamgee, Hermit, Hermit the Not Dog (like Kermit the Frog), German, Germie, Germinator, Germit, Hermanito, Hermano, Herms, Squirmy, and Squirman (because he squirmed around all the time). Points for Drew and his backfired naming strategy. Herman had a name.

Herman, Oliver, & Bunkin

It didn't take me long to fall in love. Herman was simply perfect. A potty trained stray male Chihuahua who wasn't neutered until 6 years old? That exists?! Yes, yes it does. Herman was perfectly potty trained from day 1. He also learned his name on day 1. I think he's quite a bright little critter. His behavior was awesome; he earned free roam of the house almost immediately. We'd leave to go to dinner and food shopping and come back three hours later to find him in the exact same spot as we'd left him: on the living room dog bed in front of the fireplace. That was his spot. It's a gas fireplace, so even when it's off it stays nice and warm because of the pilot light burning. Herman

loved this. He'd roast his little Chihuahua booty all day long if we let him. Did I mention he didn't give a hoot about the other dogs? We had five dogs ranging from Herman's 4 pounds to Shiva the Shepherd's 80 pounds and he fit in seamlessly. He loved cuddling with Oliver, again because of warmth no doubt. Oliver let him climb all over him and snuggle in real good. We even caught him with Bunkin a time or two! Flea, not so much, but that's par for the course. Flea at least tolerated Herman. They shared a dog bed by the fire or a patch of sunlight every now and then. That's pretty generous for Flea. Oh yeah, bonus: Herman is hilarious. He kept us laughing all the time, whether with his crazy angry cat noises, his raspy bark, his back legs that barely touch the ground when he walks, his pre-meal ritual of rolling around on rugs, or his crazy attempts to make a nest inside a bunch of reusable grocery bags. He's a real clown. His quirks are truly endearing. And did I also mention that Herman even fit our crew's dress code? All three of our dogs happen to be brown males. It's an accident, honestly. They look similar enough that it's sort of a small, medium, large motif. Herman filled the XS vacancy. Can you spell sucker? I was in deep.

The fact that Drew also really liked Herman definitely didn't help my resilience. Herman slept perfectly in his crate in the other room the first few nights. Toward the end of week 1, he started howling overnight. We brought his crate in and set it next to our bed at nightstand-level, so he knew we were right there next to him. This worked for a couple nights, then the howling started again. Drew shocked me by immediately suggesting we just let him sleep in the bed with us and our three brown dogs. You've got to understand: Drew is seriously committed to the principle of fosters not sleeping in bed with us. As in no exceptions made, no "just for tonights", no "just while you're out of town", no "just to shut him/her up". It's one of the few hard lines we draw with fosters, for good reasons. We already have three dogs in our bed with us. It may be king-sized, but our sleep quality definitely suffers some nights because of overcrowding and overheating. The last thing we need is more dogs in the bed. There's also the "this is our dogs' special privilege" concept. Our guys put up with so much in the way of fostering. They share their home, their people, their toys, their couch, their everything. They need to know this is THEIR home, that THEY'RE the permanent residents here, and that there are some things that only THEY get to do. Sleeping in bed with us is one of those things. Depending on the foster, it's sometimes the only thing reserved just for them. It's a status thing. Beyond all of that, keeping fosters out of the bed helps keep me from getting that much more attached. Not to mention we have no idea what sort of sleeping habits their future adoptive parents will have. We don't want to ingrain undesirable habits; not everyone wants their dogs to sleep in bed with them, even though I want that for all of my fosters in their forever homes. Needless to say, when Drew just up and suggested Herman sleep in our bed, I was floored. Of course it worked - no more howling or crying in the night. He slept like a perfect angel snuggled in tight between our pillows or alongside Oliver. We were dealing with a pro snuggler.

Three weeks in, I said it out loud. Why don't we just keep Herman? I mean, he's perfect. He fits 

in perfectly in every way. Keeping him wouldn't prevent us from continuing to foster - he's only the size of a fat guinea pig for pete's sake! And he gets along with everyone. Half the time I forget he's even around, he's so quiet and low maintenance. He's super sweet, loving, adorable, and brown. I mean hello, what's not to love? He's got Bowen written all over him, right? These were all my arguments for keeping Herman. Drew and I butted heads like mountain rams for a solid week on it. He cited several concerns. 1) Cost. But what cost? He's so small, he hardly eats anything! He's already vetted, he just had a dental, and I know several people who 

would dog-sit him happily if we went on vacation. Cost wasn't an issue. 2) Four dogs. Ok, I'm not trying to have four dogs. Definitely not, I'll admit. The San Jose limit is three, so there's that. Plus think about whenever we move back across the country or try to rent another place - it's hard enough with three dogs. Heard, sort of. I mean, would we even have to disclose him? He's practically a guinea pig, like I said! He doesn't count as a fourth dog. 3) Fostering. If we have four dogs, we can only foster one at a time. Five dogs is our crazy limit, especially in our little townhome. We prefer to only have one foster at a time anyway, but it's nice to be able to take in a second if an emergency crops up. We'd lose that luxury, but we could still foster. 4) Flea. Flea is my baby. He is very sensitive. He gets very jealous when I bond with foster Chis. He was noticeably put out about 

Herman, especially once he started sleeping in our bed. Keeping Herman would affect me and Flea's relationship, for sure. 5) Foster Fail. The big bad FF. Were we really going to do it on foster #30? And why? Because he's perfect and adorable? Because he's easy? Because why not? Those just didn't seem like good reasons to foster fail. Not now, not this far in. And Drew was right - if we were going to foster fail, shouldn't it be for a dog that wouldn't otherwise get successfully placed? Not on Herman, a dog that could pretty much do fantastically with anyone. We should reserve that space for the truly unadoptable, like Flea for instance. No one else would have taken him. We're like the island of misfits.

I mean, honestly...

After much discord and struggle, we unofficially decided to keep Herman. We took him off of Petfinder and the Jake's Wish website. He stopped going to adoption events. I even took his index card off of my adoptables board at work and filled out the adoption form. But something wasn't right. Keeping Herman was all I dreamed of, all I focused on, all I wanted for the past couple of weeks. Now that I had my way, I couldn't settle on it. I still wrestled with the idea day in and day out, which told me it wasn't right. Of all of Drew's points, #s 4 and 5 resonated with me. I couldn't "betray" Flea, so to speak and I couldn't resign myself to foster failing this far along. Herman, as much as I loved him and as well as he fit in with us, would make someone an amazing companion. I had to let him go. I knew I could do it - I've done it 29 times before - I knew it would hurt like hell, but I knew I could do it. I had to do it. It's what we do.

Got snuggles?

I dutifully began taking Hermit to adoption events again. He went back up on Petfinder and on the JW site. I steeled myself for the inevitable moment when we received a good application. I spent every day with Herman like it was our last. I snuggled him, cuddled him, babied him, and pampered him. Flea could deal temporarily. Hermie protested adoption events. Drew felt bad for him and said it was because he "thought he was home already". That made me feel like a steaming pile of you know what. My emotions were all over the place on this one. I even started to say, "well, if he's had no interest in two weeks' time, then I'm fine with just keeping him after all". Cop out. Looking for an easy way out. There was no easy way out. I was staring at a band aid that needed to be ripped off clean, no way around it. Then the perfect application arrived.

My favorite Herman photo

Saturday night, Drew and I delivered Herman to his forever home in Cupertino. I'm sitting here, deep into a fat glass of wine, and I can't tell you how much it hurts to write this. All of it. To recount my emotional roller coaster of a journey with this little creature, to relive how I fell in love with him, to hash out how I had to let him go. It's a sort of torturous cathartic exercise. My chest is so tight it feels like I'm going to implode, but I know we did the right thing. We fostered a great love and then let it go so it can thrive. His family is great: a mom and dad who are retired and home all the time, a teenage human sister who fell in love with him at first sight, a Rat Terrier canine brother named Max who likes to play, and a feline sibling named Sheba who loves to snuggle with dogs. Honestly, Hermit hit the jackpot.

Hermie rode in my lap as I drove to his new home, seemingly attuned to my distress. I carried him inside, held onto him for a few minutes, then set him down to meet Max. That was the last time I held Herman. Shortly afterward, his human sister scooped him up and he just sat there perfectly content in her arms, as though he'd known her forever. I could tell they had a special bond, one that will grow over the years into a great love. He's usually iffy with new people, but he was completely at ease with her. We signed the paperwork and I excused myself before I lost it. Herman licked my finger on the way out. That was it. Tears came before I walked to the end of Herman's new driveway. It wasn't an easy night. I was ill, but I knew it was right. I know Herman has a wonderful family who loves him tremendously and I know we made the right choice for our family. Flea is already noticeably happier now that he has me "back", all to himself. Our home is quiet, so quiet, with just our three guys. We need the downtime after difficult ones like this. I need to remember how much I have to appreciate, how good my own boys are, and how nice our routine is. As tempting as it is to rebound with a brand new foster, I need a moment to cleanse my palate. Our dogs deserve that, too. I wouldn't be surprised if they feel a little weird after Herman's departure. The truly great ones affect all of us. For me, it's Pickles and Herman. For Drew, it's Cowboy and Shiva. I have to say, it sort of feels good to have this tremendous pain. It reminds me of my humanity and it's a very intense process to go through - I always learn a little more about myself. And I'm always stronger for it in the end. Here's to love, saving lives, and forging ahead. Most of all, here's to Herman's happy tail.

Happy Tail: Lucy!

Everyone loves Lucy!

Ah, the contented relief accompanied by a bittersweet pang that comes along with saying goodbye to a foster. It's a very rewarding feeling, even though it's always tough to give that final backward glance as you leave the dog you cared for in the arms of another. It's a bit sad going through all the photos of Lucy and moving them into archival on our hard drive. People always ask how foster parents do it, how we let them go. We just do it. It's not always easy, but it's part of what you sign up for when you commit to fostering. And you know what, it's really not that bad. Right now, I'm relishing the feeling of accomplishment I have knowing that Lucy's leg is in good shape and that she's in a truly wonderful adoptive family. I'm taking deep breaths and enjoying the peacefulness of my own pack; we have a moment to ourselves for the first time in over a month. This is a special moment - the glow of a job well done and the closing of another chapter.

Lucy has a wonderful home. Her dad is retired, so she'll rarely have to be home alone. Her mom is head over heels in love with her and is super excited to have her own personal snuggle buddy. Lucy also has two canine sisters: Rosie (labradoodle) and Lucy (Rat Terrier). The three girls get along swimmingly and are going to have a blast romping around in the yard together. Lucy's dad keeps an aviary in the backyard and she is fascinated by the birds. Rosie is already excited about showing Lucy how to use the doggy door...she also thinks it's great fun to hide on the inside and ambush Lucy as she enters! She's going to have the greatest life. By the way, Lucy's leg is doing quite well. She's going to continue to gain strength playing with her sisters. She'll be full out running on all fours before long. She's also up to a full 15 pounds, hurray! No more skin and bones. I am so glad for her!

Aside from being our first California foster, Lucy is also our first local adoption. All of our previous fosters went to different states and are mostly scattered up the eastern seaboard. We've never actually met the adopters of any of our fosters until now. It's nice knowing she's just across the valley. Makes me sleep that much easier tonight. I'm a little nervous about how quickly she'll adjust and whether she'll have any separation anxiety, but hey - I just tell myself that if Pickles can do it, anyone can do it! I know she'll be in hog heaven with her sisters, her parents, and their wonderful yard in no time flat. We love this girl a whole lot and we'll certainly miss her. After all she's gone through I'm just so thrilled she finally has the "furever" she deserves. We love you, Lucy! Enjoy the good life, sweet pea.

To learn more about St. Francis Animal Protection Society and how you can help us continue to help animals like Lucy find their furever homes, click here: http://www.stfrancisanimal.org/

Bonus Happy Tails: Katie and Suri

When I had them...

Bonus happy tails alert! Remember Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise? I posted about their transport to NJ and adoptions a couple months ago. I've been super fortunate to receive continued updates on both of these precious girls since their adoptions. I really want to share with you how happy they are in their forever homes and just how adorable they both look. Huge thanks to both of their new families for taking the time to share these wonderful pictures and updates with me! It warms my heart to see their new lives. I couldn't have dreamed of more for Katie and Suri / Kit and Zoe!

First up: Miss Katie Holmes, now Kit! Judging from these pictures and her mom's correspondence, Kit is as adorable and feisty as ever. Kit's mom says her skin (remember how awful it was from the flea bites?) is doing pretty well overall. That one bad spot flared up a little due to the super cold weather, but with continued fish oil supplements and an antibiotic shot from the vet it seems to be under control. Wearing sweaters helps keep Kit from scratching and prevents flare ups, too. How conveniently cute! Love it. She's settled in beautifully with her new siblings. Check out how pawsome she looks in her fancy Christmas dress and Santa suit!

Suri / Zoe then...

...Suri / Zoe now!

Next up: Suri Cruise, now Zoe! Just. Look. At. Her. Squeeeeeee!!! Zoe's mom emailed me this picture. It's a good thing she told me who it was because I would never have recognized our little baby girl! Oh my goodness! She is so grown up and big! And surprise: she still looks absolutely nothing like her mama. Hah! What a goofy pair these girls are, honestly. I hear Zoe's about ten pounds now. She was barely five when we sent her on transport. I just can't believe how much she's grown and changed. Dachshund? Yeah, right! She looks like a baby Boxer or Mastiff. How ridiculous! Again, the only telling trait is the double dewclaw phenomenon. Otherwise you'd never know Zoe was Kit's puppy. Zoe's doing great. She's learning how to play politely and continuing her potty training.  Check out her transformation! That's all I have for now. Just wanted y'all to see the pawsomeness of rescue pupdates! Paws up for Zoe & Kit!

For the Love of Buster

I've got a bit of sadness to share. One of my family dogs, Buster, crossed the rainbow bridge on Christmas Eve. Buster was a nine year old Boston Terrier who belonged chiefly to my younger brother, Max. We had three Bostons growing up: Bandit, Birdie, and Buster. I've already told you all about my Bandit in an earlier post. Birdie is my sister's, although nowadays she's more my mom's since my sister went to college. Anyhow, Birdie and Buster were always very close. She's doing ok, but of course she knows. It helps that my sister brought her dog home for Christmas the day after Buster passed, so Birdie's had a positive distraction.

While we of course love(d) all three dogs, Buster was the sweetest, funniest, most wonderful of the bunch. Everybody loved Buster. He had the smushiest face of everyone, which earned him the nickname "Smush" among others (Smush, Squish, Busty, Bubba, Butt, Buttweed, etc.). Even though I know it's way TMI, I will explain the origin of the Buttweed nickname. **For those of you who'd prefer the mystery, please skip to the next paragraph** Ya see, Buster had a special talent for dingleberries. Translation: he needed his booty wiped every single time he went potty. What's more is that he oftentimes had grass sticking out of his butt afterward. Extra special. Hence, Buttweed. Anyhow, that's the end of the nickname story. Sorry for that, but when a dog passes you've just got to share everything about them with everyone. Even the not so shareable stuff. Never thought I'd be telling the masses about Buster's buttweeds!

Ok, for those of you re-joining us here, let's continue talking about how awesome Buster was. He was so snorty and so squishy. He had a big old head and comparatively tiny ears. He had bones made of rubber and would spend hours on end lying in the sun with his back legs stretched out behind him like a frog. He loved tug o' war. One of his favorite things was to hold onto the rope/tug toy and let my brother swing him around in circles. In their younger years, he and Birdie were best tug buddies. They played for years until Birdie lost her front teeth. Buster never quit. He lived for tug.

Buster was the gentlest dog...we got him when my brother was five years old and he'd let Max do anything to him without protest. I don't think I ever heard that dog growl at anyone. He was just so incredibly mellow and laid back. I've never met another dog quite like him: half clown, half cauliflower.

About four months ago, my family found out that Buster was in congestive heart failure. They did everything they could for him until he was no longer comfortable. Buster spent his last few days in the GA mountains with his family. He was on vacation in a cozy cabin with those who loved him most. On the way home, it became clear he was ready to go. My mom and Max took him to the vet the next day and said their goodbyes. They buried him in the backyard on Christmas morning. My mom says they're planning to plant a tree over his grave. I wasn't there, but I know he's behind his favorite avocado tree lying in the sunshine forever. He would have liked that. It's so strange to think of him being gone; he never outgrew his puppiness.

We love you, Buster. Keep Bandit company for us.

Birdie (left) and Buster (right)