About Mike

There was a man named Mike who was particularly fond of Hardy. I thought it endearing when Mike would arrive to say hello to his favorite dog, Buddy (Mike’s name for him). He usually showed up to visit much later compared with the everyone else. By the time most of the other residents had already retreated back to the comfort to their rooms, Mike would arrive from his walk throughout the grounds, and in a loud voice holler across the room, “Hello Buddy.”

Hardy would react by wagging his tail and tugging hard at his leash so he could run and greet Mike. I would always drop the leash and allow Hardy to run to his friend and let them interact independently. They were always bursting with mutual admiration for each other. After a brief but enthusiastic salutation, Eugene would pick up the leash and walk his “Buddy” around the foyer introducing him to anyone who would listen. “This is my dog, Buddy.” He would say. 

Mike was a large man, both in size and in character. He stood over six feet tall and was built like a football player. He had a kind expression and sparkling blue eyes. Unlike most of the residents at Whitegate, he was able to move around lithely without the assistance of a walker. He was always cheerful and frequently displayed his affection for Hardy when they returned from their meet and greet stroll. As he said good-bye I would frequently witness Mike wiping his misty eyes with a sentimental sniff.

I’m not sure if Mike knew who I was, but he sure enjoyed interacting with my dog. Word around the facility was that he had Alzheimer’s and had a difficult time recognizing people from his past. I came to believe that he thought I was a relative bringing his dog, Buddy, for a weekly visit, but I didn’t mind. I thought it charming to watch their interactions, and how happy they both behaved whenever they were reunited. One day, Mike just stopped coming around, and when I queried the director about his whereabouts, I was informed that it was becoming too dangerous for him to be on his own. He had been moved to a facility that focused on memory conditions. 

Undivided Attention

Need I say more?

SCC Wags

The seniors at Whitegate came to know the dogs and me not only as a company that provided pet therapy, but as friends. On our visiting day, they would sit and wait for us to arrive at our designated spot by the dining room. Many of them had cute stories they would repeat again and again about their own pets from days gone by. Each of them seemed to have their favorite “therapist,” and it was fun to learn the reasons why. Hardy was always popular with the folks who had any type of terrier or those who needed a hypoallergenic dog, but particularly by those who had once owned a Schnauzer. Chico was the favorite to those who loved a shorthaired, Chihuahua or Jack Russell terrier.

As lunch was served, I would wait on the nearby couch with the dogs and chat with residents as they walked back to their room. Some would remain with me for the duration of my stay, and some would relax on the sofa with one of the dogs. Sometimes they would ask me to show off by performing tricks. Both dogs and humans alike loved this. Often the employees would stop what they were doing to watch the dogs as they jumped through a hula-hoop, shook hands, or took a bow. The trick that was always good for a laugh was when the dogs were told to wag their tail. This didn’t require any training in the slightest, just altering the voice to use a higher pitch. The dogs always responded by wagging, and the reaction from the crowd was merry.

Shared Canine Companions was slowly gaining momentum. It became evident from the crowds that were waiting on our day to visit that I needed more volunteers. I also needed help organizing everything that came with starting up a company. At this point I was still working with the foster dogs, plus doing a weekly visitation at the lodge. I decided it was important to focus on recruiting. I decided the best route was to take SCC to the streets, literally. I rented a spot in the non-profit section at the annual street faire.

Chicks Do The Strangest Things

Never a dull moment at the "chicken" house. I went outside this morning to discover the new chicks had not gone inside the hen house. One was running around like a dodo bird. The grown hens were squawking and scratching the ground.

Where was the Ameracauna?

Hiding inside the treadle feeder. It looked like she ate quite a bit all night. Whew!

How did she get in there?

Two Geese

Canada geese were on the bike trail today. I've heard a story that when one goose stops to rest during migration, another will remain behind with it until ready to resume flying. I wonder if that's true? In any case, I snapped this photo today on my bike ride to the library. Such beauty and grace.

Shared Canine Companions

        After a lot of thought and deliberation I decided to name my organization Shared Canine Companions, or SCC for short. The concept was simple. I would pull small dogs from shelters and either rehabilitate them to become potential therapy dogs or adopt them out if they weren’t a good fit for the work. I would recruit volunteers interested in pet therapy, and as the trainer, help them pass an in-house behavior certification process. We would visit hospitals or other places in need to share our pet companions providing “lap” pet therapy and entertainment to their clients. The organization would operate off donations – given for services rendered or simply as charity.
        I got to work right away creating marketing tools. Using my home PC, I used a software client to design and publish a website. I made a cute logo, and I had patches and tee shirts printed using a blue and gold color theme. I sewed little blue jackets for the dogs to wear while working, and applied the cute patch with the SCC logo on each side. Finally, I prepared brochures and business cards to use throughout my day so I could promote my business any time, any place. My next move was to drum up places to visit. I figured the volunteers could join in later.
       I took it upon myself to perform cold calls at local hospitals to see if I could begin the pet therapy aspect as an SCC representative with Hardy and Chico. There were several hospitals that were only a few miles from my home. My goal was to book a place that would allow my two pets to begin working and then expand as my volunteer base grew. After all of the positive feedback I was receiving, I thought it would be easy, but in reality, it was the opposite. I felt like a leper repeatedly getting rejected place after place. No one wanted to allow us to visit! Even worse, the places I tried would not even allow my dogs inside their doors.
       I lowered my standards, asking our local hospice agency and a number of rest homes if I could come to visit with my dogs. These places were just as adamant. No dogs allowed. It was simply too much of a liability. After several long and disappointing weeks of searching. I finally found an assisted living home that I could visit. In fact, we were welcomed to come back after lunch was served and perform once a week at a place called Whitegate Lodge.
        Whitegate was a home for older folks who needed minimal assistance throughout their day. The residents had their own suite and came and went as they pleased, using the shuttle bus that picked up and dropped off all day long. There were many activities scheduled throughout the day, and they were happy to include Shared Canine Companions in their weekly schedule. We were asked to come out to a sitting area directly outside of the dining hall where we would be easily recognizable. We were a huge hit from day one.

Searching for a Career

Unfortunately, I wasn’t booked with enough dog training appointments to pay the bills. In fact, the money I earned was only enough for occasional splurges from time to time. I was fortunate that Brad’s financial support for our children and me came in without fail, but I wasn’t content to ride on his coattails forever. I desperately wanted to pull my own weight and make a mark on the world. With all of the responsibilities I had taken on, in addition to taking care of the kids, I found little time for a social life, let alone a career.

I had high expectations for myself when my marriage broke up, but I had no idea how difficult it would be for me to find someone the second time around. I wanted someone who loved me, loved my kids, and loved dogs. I also wanted someone who I thought was a good role model. He absolutely had to have as many assets as I had. That meant he needed to own a house. In my social and occupational circle, it wasn’t likely. Sure there were men out there who were interested, but the standup type of guy I had in mind wasn’t forthcoming.

When I took a step back and looked at my situation, I realized that I was asking for a lot on my end. I didn’t have much of an income, but more importantly, I didn’t have the time. I decided it was best to focus on my career because until I got that worked out, I really didn’t want to move forward with a new relationship anyway.

I still needed a job that paid a salary, not just cash in hand or minimum wage, like I had become accustomed. I also wanted to feel like I was contributing to society in a positive way. At the same time, I also needed something flexible so I could care for my children and at a minimum my two dogs. I needed to get the ball rolling and make some kind of change. Then one day, I had an idea that came from trying to merge my passion for working with dogs and helping people into a career.

I wanted to perform pet therapy with Hardy and Chico. They seemed like the perfect animals to do this type of work. They were small and easy to manage, they were entertaining, and they both really enjoyed being lap pets. I began kicking around different concepts, talking to clients, friends, and family members. Finally, I came up with an idea that was well received by everyone. I could start up a non-profit therapy dog organization. If it worked, I could be the executive director one day. 

Chico's Anniversary

I wrote a cute piece about Chico's adoption anniversary which falls on March 15. Unfortunately, it was lost when I tried to add a photo in the mobile app. Chico is in his late 60s in dog years. So glad he was pulled from a shelter over eleven years ago instead of being put down. He literally was on death row. Thank goodness for the person who saved him that day! I will be forever grateful.

Not So Subtle Persuasion

Unbeknownst to me, my children were staging a coup d'état with the intent to persuade me into agreeing to keep Chico. It was a lot of work, caring for five dogs at a time, and thus far I was resolute that we were not going to keep any of the foster animals. Now that my dog training business was up and running, and I was moving towards pet therapy, I was motivated to reduce the amount of dogs in my care. I wanted to earn a living, not volunteer my life away.

My kids had something different on their minds.

It all happened early one evening after everyone was finished with their responsibilities. We had just finished dinner, the dishes were done, the foster dogs were all fed and tucked safely in their crates in the garage, and homework was finished. It was family time for us. I had been puttering around the house tidying up, and when I came back into the dining room, I became interested in what my children were doing.

Dawn was laughing inwardly, and Chico was sitting quietly in our rocking chair. Nate could not be located at this point, but I remained interested in what was up. All of a sudden, Dawn asked me, yet again, if we could keep Chico. I had become accustomed to this question, and I spewed out my usual response, “When that dog can say yo quiero taco bell. We can keep him.”

I had surmised a long time ago that my statement would get across the message that I was never going to allow that dog to stay. He was a foster dog, and I wanted him to find an excellent home just like the rest of the little canine cherubs. I prepared myself for a chat with both of my children so I could explain why we couldn’t keep him, finding a seat at the dining room table. At that moment, I looked around for Nate again, but still heard, nor saw nothing.

I looked over at Chico,who was still sitting calmly in the rocking chair. “Yo quiero taco bell,” he seemed to say as his lips moved and smacked together.

He looked like the dog on the television commercial – actually talking. I laughed aloud, knowing now where my son had been hiding. I got up from my chair to see for myself. It turned out that Nate was scrunched behind the rocking chair speaking the popular and necessary words for Chico. Nate was Chico’s voice. They had fed the dog peanut butter so he would move his mouth in a way that looked like he was actually talking. I had no idea how long they had been working on this feat, but it was really entertaining and it worked.

“Okay.” I said, “You win. We can keep him.”

Cheers could likely have been heard outside our home, as the kids laughed and danced with glee. Soon after, they got Hardy and Chico howling along, and it was noisy, and boisterous, and triumphant, and gratifying. 

Doggie Singing Lessons

“This dog has been an angel while he was in my room,” Dawn reported after finishing her homework. My assessment of Tiny-Chico after surgery had been correct. He was an extremely affectionate dog with a pleasant demeanor. By now the sedation had completely worn off, yet he only wanted to relax with her in a place that was cozy and comfortable.

            Before long, he was getting the same privileges as Hardy, and he was becoming a beloved member of our family. Nate had taken to him as well, often retreating into his room with our foster dog they were now calling Chico. The dog loved to please my children, and he loved relaxing with them whenever they were quietly in their rooms playing video games, watching television, reading, or doing their homework. They had begun teaching him tricks, and Dawn had been successful with the jump through the hula-hoop stunt.

She also taught him to “sing.”

Dawn said she was inspired by the fire truck sirens that we often heard – our home being situated a couple of blocks from the local fire station. One day she heard a slight howl coming from Chico as the fire truck went through the neighborhood. Out of curiosity, she did a little research to discover how she might be able to get Chico to do it after her cue. What she found was it was easy to get a dog to howl if the correct pitch was created, so she decided to discover if there was something in the house that might also be appropriate to elicit that howling response. 

She experimented with several different musical instruments but quickly discovered that the recorder and the harmonica worked best. After she discovered it was easy to bring out a little howl from Chico with a musical instrument, she began to provide a verbal cue before playing. She eventually shaped the howling to happen after she would tell him to sing. Imagine the cuteness when my teenage daughter stated the command sing, and her little white puppy dog began howling along with her as she sang her favorite tune.

One day she called me into her room, and to my delight she sang a song, working in the recorder during a musical interlude while Chico “sang” along. It was priceless, and it got me to thinking. Between Hardy and Chico, we had quite a talented pair of entertaining dogs. My original idea to share Hardy with others had now grown into an idea to share both dogs in a therapeutic way. I imagined us going to hospitals and entertaining people who needed a positive lift in their day. I had heard about these types of animals, and I wondered if our dogs would be right for this type of work.  

Healthy Animals Make Healthier Food

I've been perusing over mass media information about how to become more conscious about my food purchases. I was particularly interested the humane treatment of animals and pesticide free food. Not that I'm any expert. I simply wanted to become better informed. At this point I've watched a couple of movies, and I've read several articles pertaining to the subject, but I believe what I've learned is worth a post.

Interestingly, I've noticed that a lot of the disgusting abuse videos I found date back to early 2000 and before. In an attempt to keep things current, this post will provide my take from information I acquired that was published in 2011 or greater. I think it's also important to stress that this post will also expire in time. The humane treatment of animals for use as our food is not a topic that has a lot of positive information, but at the same time positive changes are here right now.

The bottom line was surprising. Here are my findings from WORST to BEST, in terms of third party auditing and food labels. I believe we should continue to check ingredients and food labels because all third parties are not created equally.

Surprise! The printed words such as Cruelty Free, Cage Free, Environmentally Friendly, Nature's Friend, No Chemicals, Vegetarian Fed are all a marketing strategy called "green washing." They mean absolutely nothing - the producing party says it's so, and puts the words on the packaging. There is no third party auditing company that supports these claims.

The companies that are basically promoting products for them to be able to display a label, but don't require anything substantial to get the label are: United Egg Producers Certified and American Humane Certified.

The third party groups that allow their labels on the packaging and seem legit from my perspective in order of priority are...

1. Animal Welfare Approved
2. Global Animal Partnership.
3. USDA Organic
4. Certified Humane Raised/Handled

The Day After Surgery

I had become accustomed to picking up foster dogs after their neuter surgeries. Sometimes it would be my first encounter with my new foster pet. Dr. Warren’s office was a type of drop off and pick up spot for many rescue organizations. Over a fairly short time, I had learned the drill well. At pick up time, the dog was always groggy because the sedation would still be wearing off. Because of this, on the first night at my home I would give the animal special treatment. It was also one of the rare times when I would get one on one time to get to know them in a relaxed state.

After spending what remained of the evening crated in my bedroom, if the animal was recovering and behaving well, I would allow the convalescing dog to sleep on the bed with Hardy and me. I had learned to use this time to forge a strong bond with them through the night and upon their awakening the next day. It helped during the training sessions that would subsequently follow. My goal was to help them fit in with a typical family that wanted to adopt a dog, and I was getting really great results from beginning a relationship with them in this way.

Tiny-Chico was different from the start. He came to me only one day prior with an attitude, and his dramatic aggressive behaviors were still fresh in my mind. Plus, he was on death row. I had been well informed that if I couldn't get him to behave, he would be put down. It was only one day after the surgery, and he was behaving sweetly… calm, quiet, and well mannered. I hoped it wasn’t simply the sedation, but just in case, I kept him away from the other dogs so as not to create any additional drama that could result in any injuries. Dogs have a way of picking on the weakest members of the pack, and I didn’t want that to happen to him. He needed peaceful encounters.

After my other foster dogs were out in the yard for the day, I took the opportunity to work with Tiny-Chico. The kids were away at school and I had let Hardy outside to play with the others. I took that time to work with him, and discovered he was highly motivated by treats - a good omen to be sure. This meant that I wouldn’t have such a difficult time training him. Like Hardy, he had already learned the basics, and I found myself falling in love with him. Not wanting to get too close, I pawned him off on Dawn, when she was home doing her homework in her room stating, “You need to get to know this dog.”

Looking back, I think I was looking for a sort of validation from Dawn. I wanted to see if Tiny-Chico would behave with her as well as he had with me. I asked her if she would take care of him for the rest of that day, and she was happy to help out. Meanwhile, I needed to provide care for the other foster dogs, as well as Hardy. The next adoption event was always on the horizon and I was preparing to let go of another dog at the local farmer’s market on the weekend. 

A New Start

It was a hot day in sunny California when Dawn and I drove together to the veterinarian with our newest foster dog, for what I considered his last chance at a good home. Everyone was hoping the scheduled neuter surgery would reduce the dog's fight response in stressful situations due to a lower testosterone level. At that time, his name was Tiny. I thought it was because he behaved like a tiny, short-tempered Pit Bull, but Dawn thought it might be because he must have been really small when he was a puppy. Ultimately we knew we would never find out, but we always engaged in this type of process concerning our foster dogs: trying to figure out the animal’s past.

He was certainly cute enough to be called Tiny. We both agreed that he looked like the dog in the Taco Bell commercial that was popular at the time. It was the advertisement that depicted a Chihuahua longingly watching a human eat something yummy from the restaurant, the dog stating in Spanish to the human, “Yo quiero taco bell.”

The receptionist at Dr. Warren’s facility admitted Tiny that morning, after making sure we had not fed him after eight p.m. the night before as well as checking if we remembered to pick up the water dish in the morning. She instructed us to return back for pick up by four o’clock in the afternoon. Kind-hearted Dr. Warren made it part of his practice to provide excellent veterinary care for all of our foster dogs at a discounted rate. It was his way of giving back to the community. Because I paid for the vet bills for all of the foster dogs, his services were invaluable.

By the time we left Dr. Warren’s office we had decided we wanted to call him by a different name. Weighing in at approximately fifteen pounds, he really wasn’t that tiny, and in the singular day we had shared with him, we learned that he could be impressively athletic when he jumped up and down with his muscular, Jack Russell type build. This he did practically every time he wanted to go through a door or gate. Dawn wanted to call him Chico, because it was somewhat representative of the aforementioned Chihuahua from Taco Bell.
 

I had read in one of my training books that it is easier for a dog to respond to a new name when the previous name is included together with the new one, much like a hyphenated last name. So when I picked up our new foster dog from Dr. Warren’s place later that day, I started calling him Tiny-Chico. I planned to drop Tiny from his name later in our rehab process. I believed that the new name would also help him with his aggressive tendencies. I hypothesized that hearing a new name might exhibit a different response from the dog. I was willing to try anything because I had seen how dramatically different he could be when provoked, and I wanted to stack the deck in his favor.

Afterward (Roxie's Condition)

Roxie wasn’t released until one o’clock the next day. She was in the animal hospital over 24 hours and came home after she was deemed healthy and out of medical danger. She began eating solid food and drinking water on her own sometime in the middle of the night during her hospital stay. We will never know what caused her condition. The veterinarian release papers maintain the Hemorrahagic Gastroenteritis diagnosis, after ruling out any other major illness including blockages in her digestive tract and poisoning.

My instructions were to continue giving her small amounts of a bland diet several times a day. Since her hospitalization, I have restricted her exercise and access to doggie “junk” food. When she first got home her diet consisted of one part boiled burger, chicken, or cottage cheese mixed with two parts rice. I was additionally instructed to slowly introduce kibble into her diet. I decided to give her a low fat kibble that is for sale only at our local high end pet food store.

Two weeks have passed since Roxie’s illness, and she is thriving. She has lost about two pounds, and I am working to help her regain her weight. She and I are back to taking our daily walk, but I’m not taking either of my dogs to the dog park anymore. I can’t get over the idea that the use of reclaimed drinking and irrigation water may have caused this problem. Many thanks to the veterinarians and nurses at SAGE Emergency Veterinary Clinic. I truly believe they saved her life. 

I Knew She Would Make It When She Wagged

    The last time I had seen Roxie at the veterinary care clinic was when she had been carried to the emergency care area from my car. As I waited, I had been communicating with friends and family to keep them informed about her progress. My husband, Brad, a busy CPA in the middle of tax season, thought it important enough to come down to the clinic and wait with me until we knew Roxie was out of danger. After four hours of waiting, which included several conferences with the nurse and a meeting with the veterinarian, we were finally cleared to see Roxie.

    When we were finally reunited, she immediately stood up and wagged her tail. Tears formed in my eyes as I whispered excitedly to Brad, “She wagged!”

     I motioned for her to lay down, and she obeyed. It was a huge sense of relief seeing her looking like she was no longer in pain and on the mend. Brad put his hand in the cage to pet her forehead. “You’re going to be okay,” he stated softly.

     “Maybe. But she needs ongoing care.” The nurse interjected, “She has been very ill, and we’ve been cleaning up a lot of bloody stuff. We gave her pain and anti-nausea medication. Remember... This is a life threatening illness. She’s going to require a lot of care over the course of her stay here.”
     The nurse went on to remind me that their facility would be the best place for Roxie to spend the night so that Brad and I could both get a good night's sleep. Her dialogue caused me to connect with my exhaustion. It felt good to know that Roxie would be in better care at the emergency hospital than at home, where I knew that I would be able to sleep without worry. The nurse made sure we understood if anything bad were to recur, we would be contacted immediately. Looking at Roxie, it was clear that she needed more time to rest and recuperate with medical interventions in place. 

     Not wanting to disturb my pet in her weakened state any longer, I decided it was best for Roxie if I left her at the pet hospital so she could recuperate and not be distracted by my presence. Brad and I turned towards the exit door, and I felt a surge of relief and gratitude for their being able to act quickly and save my dog. It had been a long night and an even longer morning, but now I knew my dog would most likely be okay. I was exhausted and at the same time energized. It was time for me to go home and rest.

My Best Layers, Calypso and Fauna... Gone

We recently lost two of our best layers to a wild coyote... sad, but true. The evidence was overwhelming. Calypso was not in the coop, and Fauna (my favorite) was down in a pile of feathers. I didn't hear anything, but I know it was early in the morning - February 9th to be exact. Unfortunately, they were my best layers.

The next day, I did some sleuthing to try and discover what species was the culprit. Up on the hill over the lowest part of the fence, I discovered feathers trapped in the fencing and a larger pile of feathers on the opposite side. There were no remains left behind, but they were definitely the beautiful feathers of my Calypso. I cleaned up all of the feathers, both inside and outside the coop. A lady at the feed store told me it may keep the coyote from returning. It was a sad day.

We are back to buying eggs in the store, which, I have unfortunately rediscovered, are not very good. Even if I spend a lot of money for a six pack with some nice looking brown eggs tucked neatly inside, they don't seem like eggs to me anymore. Am I spoiled, or what? In any case, I decided to look into how to purchase better eggs, and found two articles that are worth reading. Hope you think so too.

http://www.salon.com/2011/01/28/egg_marketing_labels/

http://grist.org/article/food-2011-01-21-parsing-the-new-humane-food-labels/

Roxie Gets Admitted

Nate leapt out of bed to help me, asking what I needed. I informed him that I had to take Roxie to the emergency clinic because Dr. Warren’s office was closed. He responded by going directly to my room gathering the dog crate, carrying it downstairs, finding the keys to the car, and placing the crate in the back seat. Meanwhile, I followed with Roxie in my arms wrapped up in the blanket. She was moaning away, but I could tell she knew I was taking action. She dropped her body down in the crate and closed her eyes. I adjusted the rear view mirror so I could watch her as I drove to the emergency pet clinic, which was less than a mile from our home.

When I arrived at the pet clinic, I was frantic with concern. I decided to leave Roxie in the car so I wouldn’t move her anymore and cause her any more suffering. It was clean and quiet inside the building. A young, professional woman behind the front reception desk queried about my plight, and I fervently explained to her what had been going on over the past twenty-four hours, taking care to note that I thought my dog needed urgent care. The woman sprung into action; the next thing I knew there was a different woman ushering me out to the car to retrieve my sick little doggie. 

The nurse calmly followed me out to the car, asking questions about Roxie the whole time, reassuring me that every effort would be made to help, while also being clear that she wasn’t making any promises. After a couple of seconds, seeing Roxie’s weakened posture and glazed look in her eyes, the nurse carried my weary pet inside the clinic, asking me if I wanted her to provide fluids. This I affirmed.

The next hour was filled with questions and answers, both for admittance purposes and for assessing Roxie’s condition. As I filled out the paperwork, the nurse periodically came out to inform me about my dog’s progress, as well as ask more questions, always returning quickly to communicate my answers to the veterinarian in charge. I could feel the sense of urgency as she went back and forth from the emergency care part of the pet hospital to the waiting room. I felt assured that my dog was receiving excellent care, but I was extremely worried that I was going to lose her. All I could do was impatiently wait for updates, which really weren’t that reassuring. She was still ejecting blood from both ends. 

I ended up spending the entire morning and the earlier part of the afternoon before it was clear that Roxie could be saved, but it became evident that she was going to be admitted for observation and ongoing care. The doctor didn’t know what was wrong, but wanted to provide treatment for a condition called, Hemorrahagic Gastroenteritis (HGE). She was immediately given an anti-nausea agent and put on intravenous fluids.