It’s Raining Dogs

We arrived to an empty house, and no trip to the puppy hotel would fill it. It felt like there was a huge hole in our routine again.

I took my time unpacking. Before, I would unpack as quickly as possible, hiding the suitcases away so they wouldn’t upset her, lest she think we were abandoning her again. My suitcase is still lying in the middle of the floor of the spare room. I thought that maybe if I didn’t unpack, my vacation wouldn’t have to end. We failed to hit a life-changing jackpot in Vegas, so it’s back to work we go.

At first I was crabby, then apathetic. But now hopeful.

We’ve applied to three rescue organizations. We have a home visit scheduled with one this weekend. A few hours later, someone from another organization is bringing a dog over for us to meet and potentially adopt. I’m not sure if that counts as the home visit, or if the two organizations work together, or if we’ll need a separate visit later.

I’m cautiously optimistic. Other families are interested. She might reject us. As eager as we are to have a dog in the house again, she might not be the right one. But I’m excited to meet her. Just in case.

Either way, it will be fun to be around dogs and hear familiar sounds– claws on the wooden floors, drinking water, panting, sniffing, whimpering, barking. I watched a video on YouTube several times just to hear a dog drink water (although the puppies are adorable too).

I keep telling myself it will all work out, and I have to be patient (again, not my strong suit). Every step we take is leading us to New Dog, somehow.

New Dog won’t fill the void completely. It’s unfair to expect that. It will be different, but it will be good.

Yet I still miss things that are unique to Abby. I feel a need to capture as much as I can, before the memories fade away or they get blurred with other ones. A few highlights:

• The way she would give my husband’s feet a thorough tongue bath every night.

• The way she would peek around the corner of the kitchen at the treat counter, even if we were making toast. We were within five feet of tasty morsels that might make their way into her mouth. (This probably isn’t unique to Abby, but the position in our house is.)

• The way she would drop her red saucer on the floor and look up at us, asking us to remove the chicken treats inside.

• The way her tail would wag when we walked in the door, even if we were just coming in from the garage. Or the way she would sit in the living room window, poking her head through the gap in the curtains. When we pulled into the driveway, she would stand up, her tail would thump against the curtains and the couch, and her entire rear end would shake. She would toss her head and disappear into the living room to greet us.

• The way she would run to the living room window when we said certain words (”Puppies,” “The Boy’s home,” “The Girl’s home,” or my favorite, “Where’s Schmoopie?”). Like several million other couples in the late ’90s, we adopted “schmoopie” as a term of endearment from the Seinfeld episode. Somehow “Where’s Schmoopie” became a cue for Abby to dash to the window to see if one of her people was arriving home.

• The way she would tilt her head whenever one of us would say “chalupa” or “Taco Bell,” even when we went on diets and didn’t visit the establishment for months. “Chalupa” meant “car ride” in dog language.

An Interlude

Posts will be even more sporadic than usual, as I’m out of town for a few days.

I managed to hit myself in the face as I was getting dressed this morning, and now I have a big red bump on my cheek because I’m smooth like that. Perhaps it’s a sign that I need less spandex in my wardrobe.

I had a slight meltdown last night, but packing always stresses me out, and it hasn’t been the most relaxing week. It was weird putting my stuff into a suitcase without an inquisitive Abby wandering in and out of the room to sniff things and hearing her claws on the hardwood floor. And it’s odd not taking her to the puppy hotel today.

We always prepared her a few days ahead, inserting the words “puppy hotel” into conversations. Her eyes would widen and she would tilt her head to the side, and we reassured her that we weren’t going yet, but soon. We had to wait to bring the suitcases out at the last minute because she’d get so worked up. She knew that the big red boxes meant a big change in her routine for the next few days.

On the day we brought her to the vet for boarding, she would pace the floor as we packed up her food, toys, blankets, and medications. She got more excited as the hour approached, and we usually ended up taking her in earlier than we had planned. We would finally ask her “would you like to go to the puppy hotel?” and she would spin around the living room wildly, then abruptly stopping to do a modified downward dog pose, her front legs stretched out, her back arched, her butt pointing to the sky, with her head looking up, her eyes fixated on our every move. (We called this the “I want to play” stretch, although she did it whenever there was play, walks, rides, or any sort of potential excitement involved.)

Her entire back end would shake with anticipation as we turned the corner to the vet’s office, and she would pant loudly. Most times she was so happy to be there that she eagerly followed them into the back room, but there were a few times when she turned around specifically to give us a look to make us feel guilty. She had glowing reviews from the staff when we came to pick her up, though. And she always managed to spill water on her blanket the last day she was there, so we would have to wait a few extra minutes for it to come out of the dryer.

Typing this makes me miss her, but fondly.

This will probably be our last vacation in a while due to the furnace debacle, so I’m going to try to milk all the happiness I can out of it.  No thinking about work, no stressing about bills, and no crying over the dog. I’m going to tell myself that I can cry later, and I’ve been crying for the last month. She won’t mind.

When we get back, we can start our search for a new four-legged friend. New Dog, I’m looking forward to meeting you soon.

Vacation, All I’ve Ever Wanted

I don’t think I’ve needed a vacation more in my life.  Today, our furnace decided to give us a going-away present by going on strike. Luckily, we were able to get an appointment to replace it before we leave. Unluckily, it will cost us a four-figure sum. The cost of being a homeowner in a state that requires heat, I suppose.

One thing that made me laugh really hard today: someone found this blog by searching for “different names for butt”.

Hardly Getting Over It

“That was the day it occurred to me that what I was actually looking for, in their faces, was the face of my dog. I was looking for that familiar stare that already knew me, already knew how to live with me and could come home and fit in and put things back the way they were.”
– What the Dogs Have Taught Me, Merrill Markoe

“A circle can’t fit where a square should be”
– Hole Hearted, Extreme

I still miss her every day.

I feel like my life is a puzzle, with a huge chunk missing out of the middle. And I know that we’ll find new pieces, but it will take a while for them to fit as neatly as she did.

I miss the way I used to be able to give her a hug. Her chin would rest on my shoulder, and my head would lean against hers. She was so comforting.

I’m trying not to wallow in self-pity. I’m trying to move on, but at the same time I respect all the time we had together, and all that she gave us. I can’t just forget. But I can’t think about it every moment either. I feel guilty for not thinking about it more often, but I feel awful when I do.

Just when I think the wound has healed over, I find a raw area. The memories that comfort me one week are agonizing the next.

It just takes time.

Vacation will be good. I need to not be at work for a week. Grief and cabin fever and a department reorganization are not a good mix. I need space from everyone. Oh, and the cold. I don’t remember signing up for highs of -6 when I moved here, but that must have been in the fine print.

Can Anybody Find Me Somebody to Love?

We’ve submitted applications to a couple different rescue societies. I’ve been in frequent e-mail contact with Minnesota Boxer Rescue, and we have a home visit scheduled with South Dakota Boxer Rescue in a few weeks.

I’m not sure how things work when you’ve submitted applications to multiple rescues. We wanted to increase our chances of getting the dog we want, and we’re interested in having two dogs in our home in the future, so I’m hoping we’ll be able to help them both (and vice versa).

I keep visiting the sites, wondering if our dog is out there yet. I know it’s silly to do so at this point, because we won’t be able to adopt until we return from vacation. The encouraging part is that I’ve seen several potential candidates, and I hope that one will be available when we are.

Reading the profiles only tells me so much, though. We’ll need to meet the dog.

We’re looking for a dog that’s between one and three years old. I’d love to consider a senior dog, but I can’t handle getting attached and going through this trauma again in just a few years. By adopting a younger dog (and there’s no guarantee they’re going to live ten years, but their odds are better), we’re hoping to increase the time between painful incidents. Plus, older dogs will most likely have more medical issues and expenses, and we’re still recovering from the chemo bills. Senior dogs are wonderful– they’re usually mellow and need less training, but they’re not right for us at this time. Same with a special needs dog– we’d love to be able to help, but emotionally and financially I don’t think I can do it. We can afford a new dog, but we want to be able to afford two eventually.

We’d prefer a female, but if the right male dog came along, I could be persuaded. Natural, uncropped ears are a must, although the tail can be natural or docked. Most have docked tails because it’s done within days of their birth.

I find myself gravitating toward fawn dogs instead of brindles. I don’t want to confuse the dog with Abby. It’s going to be enough of an adjustment without giving the poor dog an identity crisis.

Sometimes I worry about knowing if it’s the right dog or not. My experience with Layla tells me that I’ll know if I’m ready to bring a dog home or not. I also worry about rejecting a dog, or a dog rejecting us. The advantage of going through rescue is that the foster family can tell you a lot about a dog– how it responds to training, if it’s comfortable in a crate, if it needs additional training, if it’s housebroken. I know that our dog will need to be comfortable being alone for several hours during the day, even though that won’t always be the case. Our first dog will need to be okay with being a solo dog for a while, but open to the possibility of another dog entering the pack later.

Also, I would prefer that the new dog not eat its own poop.

Friday I’m in Love

This happened a few Fridays ago (January 25th, to be exact).

I’m sitting at my desk at work, minding my own business, getting actual work done. I notice a couple dog hairs in my sweater, and I fold the cuffs over to preserve them better.

On a whim (or maybe because writing about insurance really isn’t the most exciting topic in the world), I find myself on the Animal Humane Society website.  And on that page is a sweet fawn Boxer named Layla. She’s about a year old and has uncropped ears.

I look at the clock, and it’s about 11:15. The shelter opens at noon. That would give me just enough time to get there. In a matter of seconds, I decide to go. I figure that I’ll see what happens, and call Tim later.

My car starts after a few hiccups, and I weave in and out of traffic. Not driving dangerously, but with a little more urgency than usual. For once I’m driving toward something.

I arrive at the shelter in Golden Valley just after noon. After a few frantic dashes around the cat area, I find the dogs and there she is. She is beautiful. I ask one of the volunteers if I can get to know her a little better, and we go into a small room.

She is more interested in the people passing by outside at first, but she settles down and lets me give her lots of affection. She knows how to sit and shake. She shows a lot of interest in the kids that walk up to the glass partition.

At this point, we only have three weeks until we go on vacation. It’s been two weeks since we’ve had a dog in the house. I know it’s too soon, and I know that it wouldn’t be the best situation to send her to the vet for a week if we were to take her in, but I take a chance and put a deposit down anyway. At the very least, it will be a donation to a good cause. I fill out some paperwork and place her on hold until the end of the next day. I know that the probability of taking her home is slim, but I also knew that if I didn’t put the deposit down, I might be missing a chance I wouldn’t otherwise get.

When I get back to work, I notice fawn-colored hairs embedded in my sweater, mixing with the white ones that were there earlier. My coat and hat are colored with golden dog hair too.

I take a deep breath and call Tim. I ask him about a hypothetical situation. What if there was a Boxer available right now? He cuts me off before I can go any further and says, “I know what you’re going to say.” And then there’s silence. I can hear him breathing deeply, and I know he’s upset. Then I get upset for making him so upset. I apologize profusely, then let him go because my rambling isn’t helping his emotional state.

That evening, I gently bring up the subject again, just to make sure, but he isn’t ready. The next day, I call to release the hold because I know Saturdays and Sundays are their busiest days, and she has a better chance of getting adopted the sooner she gets back out on the adoption floor. So Layla, I hope you found a fantastic home and that you’re showered with affection every day.

In retrospect, I know it would have been too soon. And even though we would have had three weeks to bond, it would have been disruptive to leave her at the vet. And most importantly, Tim wasn’t ready. I’m not even sure if I was ready, but it was a step I had to take, to know that I could eventually open my heart to another dog.

Puppy Bowl IV

Animal Planet held their fourth annual Puppy Bowl last weekend. And because I’m lazy, I did not get around to writing about it until now. Well, not really lazy but tied up in studying for a very dry insurance exam that eventually yielded me a bonus of a few hundred dollars which will be very handy in paying bills when I return from vacation. But I digress.

They had some active dogs this year, as opposed to previous years where they had several who sat there and chewed on toys and didn’t interact much. There was a lot of wrestling and play-biting and chasing each other, which was fun to watch. This is what we strive for in the dog run.

They didn’t have any Boxer puppies this year, but they had several mixed breeds that were very cute. I loved the giant Alaskan Malamute named Bruin who towered over all the other puppies, like Godzilla over a furry moving city. They also had an extremely energetic Jack Russell terrier that convinced me that’s not the breed for our laid-back household. I think she set some sort of speed record. All of the dogs were from shelters or rescue associations.

This year they introduced “Time Oust,” a cheesy way to clean up accidents while simultaneously promoting a product. They also called a lot more plays this year. Whenever a dog would run the length of the field, they would declare a puppy touchdown. There was also some unnecessary ruff ruff ruffness. I kid you not. Patton Oswalt is interested in being the referee next year. I hope they find a way to make this happen.

We recorded the showing on TiVo, which was a good thing because they kept showing the Pedigree commercial with the animal shelter during every commercial break. I had to be at the ready with the remote so I could press fast forward at the first sign of the gold Pedigree logo.

I’m not allowed to watch this commercial in my fragile emotional state. The first time I saw this commercial, I rewound it to watch it, because I was a huge fan of their “we’re for dogs” ads. Big mistake. Here is a play-by-play of my thoughts:

Ooh, puppies! I like puppies.

Aw, look at the cute dog in the shelter.

The puppy is wagging its tail because it’s going to get a new home. Yay!

Wait a minute, why is the person walking away? Why doesn’t this have a happy ending? Why is the dog sighing and putting its head down between its paws? Nooooooooooooooo! (Cue waterworks.)

It is a wonder that I haven’t managed to bring home every dog at the Humane Society, really.

Getting Back Out There

Last Sunday, I dropped off Abby’s leftover food and medication at the Humane Society in St. Paul. I hadn’t been there in months, since we found out Abby had lymphoma and I’d been instructed to stay away due to her lowered immune system.

I used to volunteer there quite regularly. I started out as a dog bather, and then they began a new program to help with play groups in an enclosed outdoor dog run. I’m meeting a friend later today to help put together dog groups. It will be so good to get out of the house and interact with dogs.

We  look over the dogs on the adoption floor, and pair them up according to size, age, and breed. Young male dogs tend to work pretty well– they have tons of energy and curiosity, and they haven’t learned to be territorial yet. They’re just a couple of adolescents goofing around.

Age doesn’t matter as much as size. You don’t want to put a toy dog with a large dog because the toy dog might feel like prey. If we put a young puppy with an older dog, it might bring out some playful instincts in the older dog.

There are certain breeds I’m wary of putting in play groups. We’ve had some interesting experiences with Chows and Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. We’ll take them out as solo dogs so they can spend some time running around, though.

The goal is to get two dogs (sometimes three) who interact with each other well. This usually involves play biting and wrestling and chasing each other. Those are the most fun to watch. But if we get two dogs who are comfortable with each other and don’t interact as much, that’s okay too. The goal is for them not to eat each other.

Sometimes we get dogs who ignore each other completely, or sometimes one dog is much more interested in having a buddy while the other one isn’t having any of it. We want to make it a positive experience for both dogs.

Of course, the minute we get a play group together, that’s usually the sure sign at least one of them will be adopted. But that’s okay– it’s the goal. And then we start the process over again the next week.

Long Time, No Blog

Or at least it seems that way. I have a bunch of stuff to post, but it’s been swirling around in my head and I haven’t made the time to get it out there. I’ve been fairly emotional this week. When I’ve been up, I haven’t felt like going to that place where the stories are hiding. When I’ve been down, it’s been too hard to be coherent. But a lot has happened (and a lot has been good). The last week has felt like a month.