Maggie's Amazing Behaviors, Part 2

Princess Maggie signals "you may rub my tummy now" 

Y'all remember Maggie, my Australian kelpie.  To recap, she was the first dog i ever walked at the shelter; she and her litter of 8 were my first fosters.  Long before the pups were adopted, i knew Maggie had to stay.  i couldn't let her go.  She's a one in a million kind of girl.

The kelpie is a good sized herding dog, 60-65 lbs, known for its intelligence and for a high level of self-determination, which translates, behaviorally, into a certain resistance at being told what to do.  Maggie makes it clear that she's insulted by "commands".  And, while she might voluntarily do a back flip, walk on her hind legs or juggle flaming chain saws, Lord, don't ask her to learn a trick... she will turn her back and saunter off like some 40's dame in a Bogart movie and you'll be coaxing her back with caviar if you ever want to see her asleep at the foot of your bed again.

The only real challenge we've had was that once Her Highness learned to jump the fence, she was like a gazelle, sailing up and over, being gone for hours and coming home when she damn well pleased.  There's an interstate half a mile from here and she'd been spotted at least that far from home on one of her walkabouts, so ignoring the problem wasn't an option.   I finally had to wire several acres of fence line.  Sadly, there's no way to learn about an electric fence without getting stung and that part was painful for both of us.

Maggie loves other dogs.  I mean, really, really loves them; works hard to charm and disarm so they can join the pack for its endless adventures.  She's made fast friends with every dog that's followed her in foster care, till now.  Strangely, she's been unable to connect with Molly, the foster mama in residence who's very defensive of her pups, her yard and even of me, when we're all outside together.  With familiarity and some persistent correction, she's relaxed her guard a bit and will join the other dogs on a walk through the woods or share a roll in some irresistible fragrance with Max and Cora, but she won't get close to Maggie.

Molly's first encounter with the electric fence a couple of weeks ago sent her charging like a bull across the field to her little house.  By the time I caught up, she was cowered under the tractor, refusing to come out.  She's only gradually regained confidence; feeling safe enough to run a few yards ahead with the others.  Then, on this evening's walk, dogs somewhere behind me, I heard a shriek.  Molly thundered past, still yelping, racing flat-out in absolute terror.  Hot on her heels, Maggie came streaking, full tilt after her.  She flew through the air, hit with her full weight, sent Molly rolling and then landed right on top of her holy shit i'm not kidding!!

Here's the part where human reason gets trumped by animal smarts.  I was expecting a blood bath.  I figured I'd be taking one or the other to be sewn back together when it was all over.  But after impact, Maggie simply used her weight to hold Molly down.  I don't know what the signal was...maybe Molly stopped struggling...but when the time was right, Maggie stood up, keeping her body above the other dog who lay quiet on the ground.  After several seconds of just standing there, head up, as if searching the horizon for a sign, Maggie stepped to the side.  Molly stood up slowly; walked calmly the rest of the way back to her house.  She wasn't cowered.  She didn't hide.   She went home and sat by the gate; ate her dinner, glorped down about a gallon of water and after a little check-in with the pups, made it clear she was ready to go back outside.   We joined the pack for another walk before bed.

Molly recovered quickly.  Apparently the incident was explained to her in terms she understood.  But I'm still reeling from the experience.  I'm still in awe.  How does that happen? You can't teach a dog that kind of protective behavior.  Clearly, some Lifeguard DNA triggered when Maggie perceived a panicked flight and what she did was automatic.  But how does that happen??  Know what I mean?  I can't wrap my head around the fact that this dog, for whom a wool sweater is the closest she's ever been to a sheep and who has, to my knowledge, had zero experience with herds of anything except maybe fleas and who i know for sure has spent practically her entire life being a housepet...this dog...upon seeing Molly running wildly and blindly away, gets a chemical message that shoots through her entire body like lightening and that says something like "STOP FREAKED SHEEP" and boom, she does it and then strolls off to pee.

I understand the science.  I just don't understand the beauty.

it appears

clockwise from top, vera, mike mulligan, moline, roxy

that the pups might be a bull mastiff mix!  i was looking for some refresher info on starting their potty training.  found a very helpful site where i was reading along and whoa!  all those puppies that the writer, a breeder of american bull mastiffs, was using to illustrate her technique looked just like little vera.  you haven't seen a good picture of vera yet cause she's usually at the bottom of the pile, asleep.   a google search of the breed turned up look-alikes for each of molly's litter.  square headed, wrinkle faced tubbies, just like these, though mike mulligan's coloring and silky coat are not typical.

see how silky Mike Mulligan is?

so i'm excited.  after the delicate little dolls in the last foster group, these will be very different.  clumpy, galumphy, muscular slobber machines.  yay!  

not to say i prefer big wrinkled, slobbery, square headed dogs over dainty, bouncy, perky ones...though there's some evidence to suggest that people are drawn to the dogs most like them.  it's just that i'm a fan, in general, of nature's infinite variety.  i like that these chunky babies are going to teach me to appreciate puppies in a newer, less petite way.  i won't be comparing them to the elfin little Watson or his sibs.  i'll be watching their particular mysteries unfold.

seriously, how lucky am i.  (imagine a smiley face here.)

then again, check back with me in a few days, after i've started feeding them solid foods and cleaning up gallons of big dog puppy poo.  i might be asking you to imagine a very different kind of face.

the pups

Molly, Mike Mulligan and Moline

have opened their eyes!  i needed this sign, this reassurance that we're making progress and thriving, despite some challenges.  Molly had a difficult time after her surgery, running a fever and being lethargic, but she's on the mend.  the poor puppies, however, traveling back and forth to the vet with their mama, picked up something they didn't need and have been congested, making nursing difficult and exhausting for them.  they sound like pitiful baby snuffelufegus.  snuffelufegai?  (if you don't watch Sesame Street, you'll have to use your imagination on that one.)

Moline, exhausted from all that growin'

despite the stuffy noses, they're growing fast, so at 10 days, they weighed in at 2.4 ( Moline, white ) and 2.2 lbs. ( Mike Mulligan, y-chromosome ) with Vera and Roxy ( blue and brown, respectively ) at 2.0 lbs each.  oh my gosh, they're adorable little piggies.  they struggle against the meds and nose drops, thrashing like fish to get away, flinging their tiny heads from side to side, so it hasn't felt like i've been building some kind of relationship with them.  they just want to get the hell away from me.  so, we were having the usual gagging and writhing last evening when Mike Mulligan suddenly went still and i realized that he had opened his eyes and was trying to see me...actually reaching toward my face with his, adjusting distance for clarity, the way i do when i've lost my readers.   it's a heart melting moment, being present for the dawning of awareness.  i recall having seen it on my own babies' faces, long ago but it took me off guard.  there was a shock of recognition, to see the experience occurring in a puppy's smeary little eyes.

Mike Mulligan Can't Sit Still

it interrupted my busyness.  it upset my schedule.  it hauled me up short and brought me back to center.  that glimmer of wonder and confusion, that leaning forward into perception, did something to my heart.   awakened it, maybe, from numbing routine and jaded old age.  i felt a swelling in my chest, heard a whisper in my head that said, namaste, little one.  the light in me says hello to the light in you.  

it's PuppyTime!

Molly's big babies - one day old

Not the best photo but enough for introductions. These little piggies were born less than 24 hours after their mama took up residence here, in the puppy house.
The brown and white one is the only male.

It's been a tough journey for the sweet mom, Molly.  She's gone from being someone's baby, herself, to being a stray.  She was held at the shelter for the requisite 72 hours without being claimed and then transferred here, to deliver her babies among strangers.  As it turned out, she had to have an emergency c-section after the pups were born so there was another round of out-the-door and back, before she was able to settle in and she's been a sweetheart, throughout.  But the truth is, although she's safe and warm with her little family, my pack of yappers is disturbed by the presence of this dog they've yet to meet.  They mill around her yard, sniffing and whining, releasing their excitement by fighting with each other just outside the gate.  Not the best environment for making Molly feel welcome and relaxed.  Periodically, she'll come out the doggie door, pissed and snarling, to shut them up and I can't blame her.  I do the same thing, from time to time.

Though she seems sad, Molly has met and welcomed lots of folks without the least sign of aggression, since the puppies were born.  She appeared to be delighted with the arrival of my little grandsons, gently bumping against them and reaching up to kiss their cheeks.  Apparently, the presence of young ones can be healing when you're going through heartache, whether you have two legs or four.   I just wonder if there isn't some family out there, missing Molly as much as she seems to be missing them.

it's different

around here without Watty.  There's a stillness returned that i guess we hadn't realized was missing.  Was, anyway, a stillness...till about 4:00 when rottencocker Max ate half a jar of wood putty before i caught him and raced off to the vet.  It was only six weeks ago when he spent the night in the emergency room after helping himself to a bottle of Advil.  He's actually just getting back to health after that close call and I guess he was maybe a little unsettled by the quiet, needing some excitement like an addict needing a fix.  Like me if i don't get my morning coffee.

The rest of us, me and the pack, reacted differently.  We had a nice nap.  No more hurried trips up and down the stairs to go outside.  Nobody climbing on us and biting our ears.  It was a relief after the weeks of puppy busyness to just lie around weeping cause he's gone.  I'm not denying it hurts.  It does.  But this old body's tired and in need of some recovery and well, I guess 24 hours has to be enough cause I've got a new pregnant tenant arriving this morning.

I haven't met Molly yet but she sounds like a sweetheart...some kind of grinning tan mix who came in as a stray...a healthy, well-fed, well mannered dog who, we have to assume, only recently found herself on the street.  But nobody came to claim her and it's just by the grace of Watty's adoption that there's room for her in foster care.  There wasn't time for us to have a meet & greet at the shelter cause she's apparently close to delivery time and if she doesn't get out of there fast, neither she nor her puppies will survive. 

I'll take notes and send pictures as the new adventure unfolds.

So...we'll see...

if it happens or not.  The young man in question turned out to be gentle and soft spoken.  He said that he and his girlfriend had been waiting two years to get a puppy and now that they have a yard, they're ready.  He made his application but it's not final till he pays the fee, so I haven't started counting chickens.  There were several other folks interested in Watson, also and by today I'm ready to let him go.  The surprising bit was how many people, seeing the photo of his mama, asked if they could adopt her.  And another surprise, for me, was that I want to say yes.  It makes me feel terribly guilty to admit that, but although I'm attached to Peach, she's golden.  She's the darling that everyone wants.  She can have a good home in minutes.  And if I let her go, I'll have the space and time to foster another, less perfect one whose chances don't look so good.

I stayed at the shelter till closing, allowing maximum exposure for Watty, who shivered and hid in a corner most of the time he was alone.  Apparently that pulled at a few heart strings so he was in and out of the display window frequently, being cuddled and loved on while I walked some of the big dogs.  It was good to be back working.  It was good to be reminded that what I want is not more dogs for myself but to help more of them find homes.  I don't know why I keep having to learn this lesson over and again, but reason doesn't seem to settle in the heart, as love does.

Loving and letting go, that's the process I've signed up for.  And I'm thinking it must be part of my soul's journey, part of some greater purpose, as it must be for other folks out there who foster kids and critters, cause by any other standard it starts to look like a pretty odd choice.

Watson's got an interview today...

and i'm feeling sad.  i'd love to keep him but i've learned that 5 dogs is just too many for me.  or maybe the limit's 4 dogs and a puppy.  (allowing here for the unforseen...like yesterday when i picked up this huge hound near my house...a beautiful, sweet fellow who, when i'd found his home, refused to get out of the car and who, of course, i wish i'd just kept.)

i was sure we were making great progress on the house training but the dream ended last night when Watty got out of his crate and woke me after he'd done all the business he could do on the rug.  apparently I was making great progress in anticipating his potty needs through an unnatural (for me) level of diligence.  what i see is that this will be a long process and that i can only maintain that kind of focus for a limited time without falling over.  so we're headed for the shelter, despite my reservations.

after talking with the prospective adopter, after having a think on it, i'm not sure this will work out well for Watson.  the young man in question, who seems nice enough, is looking to get a puppy for his girlfriend, for valentine's day. YIKES.  first of all, even though she's apparently expressed a desire to have a pup, wouldn't you assume she'd like to choose it herself?  maybe she's thinking of a fluffy white ragmop that she can name Zoe.  maybe she's thinking of a dog she can accessorize and carry around in her purse for the next 12-15 years, which is the average life-span of a small dog.  Watty's gentle and cuddly, but he's also an active little fellow and he'd rather be digging holes than dangling in a bag.

oh, my trepidation grows, even as i realize i'm making wild assumptions.  even as i look down at my sweet little foster baby, passed out across my arm and making it a struggle to type this, even as i look past him at the chaos of squeaky toys and chew sticks and shreds of stuffings he's left all across the floor, even as i do the math that says i'll be 80 when Watson gets to be 15!, even with that reality chilling my bones, i'm asking myself do i have to let him go?

Puppy life

Watson, quiet

Little Watson today chased a leaf that scuttled around the driveway in the freezing wind, amusing himself, catlike; catching and letting go, to pounce when it moved again.  Later he barked at his reflection in the window, backing away, all the while.  He chased the cat, biting at its legs until Hobbes, who is twice as big and incredibly patient, turned around and gave Watty one of those feline predator looks that says hey, i eat things your size.  Game over.

Like most babies, Watson's either busy or asleep, chewing or pooping.  He tried to gnaw the button off my sweater as I held him to keep him from getting in the way while I negotiated a one-armed stack and tidy.  And here's what I said as I turned on him, catlike...HEY!  I said, this is my favorite sweater!  I've had it half my life! 

Hmmm.  Did I say that? Looking down I had to admit that what I was calling my favorite sweater could reasonably be mistaken for a giant chew toy.   It's drab with age, the elbows sag, the cuffs are stained and it's snagged here and there from when I wore it to trim the roses many houses, many lives ago.  A relic, long past going out in public, it was no accident I was wearing it to clean the garage.   I had to consider why it matters, in the first place.  I could get a new sweater that's comfy and warm, with the same useful pockets on either side, but the arms of this old one, I realize, have encircled almost every love I've had...parents and grand parents, my children and their families, friends, lovers and a long ago husband.  Watson joins the line of precious dogs, cats and a few particular chickens that have rested in its embrace.  This tired old piece of cloth, like me, reeks of memory.  That one of it's buttons now dangles, scarred by puppy teeth, is actually just fine because it will recall, for me, more than just a moment with this soft little pup.  It will remind me that love is sweet.  That life is brief.  That I have been well blessed.

she's back...

and it's only taken three months and a bit of a wander....

at the end of a long day

Over the course of the day, our Peach gave birth to 5 more babies.  Not one resembles her and we have no idea who the daddy was, so there was no telling what they might look like, later.  they went up for adoption at 8 weeks.  I took them to the shelter that saturday and at the end of the day, they were all spoken for.  but as these things go, one of the adoptions fell through and i am here now with the only remaining pup, Watson.  and what i'm learning is that one puppy in your house is a lot more challenging than six in the bin.  whatever that means.

they look like little piggies

Little Watson

Watty is a great little guy, button eyed and gentle.  He has an enormously endearing habit of hugging my neck when i pick him up, pressing his head against my cheek.  Holding him when i sit, he does a version of the same thing, climbing onto my shoulder, drifting off to sleep with his chin on the back of the chair.

Watty playing with his Aunt Cora

Now is when it gets tough.  Where the rubber meets the road, so to speak.  as i started this whole fostering thing, my intention was to help the most needy dogs find homes...plumping them up, getting them healthy, nurturing and socializing them so that they become more adoptable and that's worked out great except for the fact that it absolutely has ripped out a chunk of my heart each time i've had to let them go.  since May, i've cared for 21 dogs including three mama's and their pups, eventually saying snot faced, tearful goodbyes to all but the few who have stayed.  I couldn't let Maggie go.  She was the first dog i walked at the shelter and we'd bonded before i ever brought her home with her 8 babies.  I ended up adopting Corabelle, as well.  Scrawny and old looking, she has some ongoing issues that reduced her desirability in the wider world, though she has blossomed into a beauty, soft as a bunny and easy to manage until strangers show up.  And I'll keep Peach.  If you met her you'd understand.  She's one of those funny, happy little critters that you want to have around.

And now Watty....my daughter's voice got stern the other day after listening to me talk about him.  you could practically hear the hairs raising up on her arms.  Do NOT keep the puppy, she commanded.  You CANNOT keep the puppy.  then, at the vet last week, when someone asked if i was going to keep him, Dr. Mitch jumped in to answer for me, NO, she's not.  He said he didn't want to turn on the tele one day and see me on some show about animal hoarders.  That one made me cringe.  Even though he was laughing as he said it, i knew he was shining a light on an uncomfortable truth.

i'll admit here, in front of you and God and everybody, that i might be close to some tipping point where i could slide right over from helpful community servant to crazy old geezer.  it can eat up your life, caring for pets.  already, i can barely negotiate my way to the bed, for all the dog crates and squeaky toys.  already i spend the greater portion of my days feeding, walking, cleaning up after and shopping for the four leggeds.  it can eat up your life, yes.  but it can also fill an emptiness.   when the other markers of productivity and connection, like jobs and parenting and intimate relationships have fallen away, it can give purpose.  

but at what point does it become a pathology? at what point is it time to say whoa?  is moderation the answer?  oy.  that'll be a task.  i am so not moderate.

TA DA!

The very preggers Peach, showing off her belly.

well folks, this is Peach.  she's a little stray i brought home from the shelter 3 months ago...obviously very pregnant.  at 3 am on Nov 18, she announced her intention to do something about that.   it was a long day of sitting in the shed, staring at her, searching for signs.  i'd think, oh boy...we're getting close...and then she'd get up and go outside and bark at the other dogs and scratch around in the leaves and look at me like, "whut?".

refusing to move

a kind friend brought me breakfast and stayed to help me stare for a few hours but eventually she needed a nap and had to go home to look for it, leaving me alone on duty.  so here's where i get called for my embarrassing lack of forethought.  while she was there, i might have left her sentry and gone inside to have my shower and finally get dressed in some grown up clothes but no.  while she was there we sat on either side of the birthing arena and doubled our staring impact, which was nada.  then when she left, i decided i may as well freshen up cause it looked like it was going to be a long day.  when i returned to the shed 40 minutes later, Peach was the proud mama of one black pup, with more to come.

with the first wee one

and a few more