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