Kenya...or maybe Tenya?

I picked up 10-month-old Kenya almost two weeks ago and she was as skittish as could be.  At one point, I had to tell her "No!" when she tried to eat food off the coffee table. She ran away and hid, whimpering in her crate until I could coax her out.  (My "no's" have been much more gentle since then.)
Kenya was especially afraid of hardwood floors.  Around the house, she ran from rug to rug, with a wild look in her eye when she wasn't on her carpet "island."  Worse, she was very afraid of my 16 year-old son.  She barked at him every time he came in the room and, despite treats, it took her a long time to warm up to him.  On the other hand, she liked my husband and daughter.
The background is that Kenya was adopted at an early age, and then just chained up in her owner's back yard for most of her young life.  She wasn't used to being inside, and she wasn't used to having a lot of people around.  When she was returned to the dog shelter, in Tennessee, she was mixed in with lots of dogs, so she still wasn't very people oriented.
The good news is that two weeks have passed, and Kenya is a new dog. She gets happy and excited when my son, or any of us, come home. She loves to be petted, and she has even learned a few tricks.  In fact, Kenya is a great house guest.  She doesn't get on furniture, she's not destructive, she's totally house trained, and she sleeps through the night.   Of course, she barks a little more than I'm used to, but she is part German Shepherd and they love to guard the house!
Kenya will make a great addition to any family as an only dog or an additional dog.  She's very affectionate and well-mannered.  If you know of anyone who would like a sweet guard pup, please put them in touch with me at 781-631-9552.  Also, I think maybe we should change her name from Kenya to Tenya - because she is, after all, from Tennessee!

Update and New Pup!

I have not posted in so long, and the cliche' holds true, "the more things change, the more they stay the same." The kids are two years older, I've changed jobs, but I have a new foster pup coming to stay with us on Saturday.

With both kids in High School (one of them driving!) my parenting focus has changed from chef, chauffeur, and therapist to short order cook, talented teen tracker, and private investigator. The kids are definitely more self-reliant, but probably need more guidance now than ever.

I've gone from working as a 4th Grade reading tutor back into the business world as a recruiter for software startup companies. It's challenging, certainly interesting, and best of all...I work from home!

Working from home means I can be around to help out a pup in need, who would have otherwise been euthanized at the shelter in Tennessee. Her name is Kenya, and she is an Anatolian/German Shepherd mix from Tennessee. I think that means she is going to be BIG!

Stay tuned to find out where Kenya ends up living in her "forever home!"

Blackie gets a bath

I picked up Blackie, the foster dog, in Harvard, MA, and he howled when I put him in the crate. I was concerned, after all it would be an hour long drive to my house. Yes, I felt foolish talking in a soothing, sing-song manner non-stop while I got on the highway, but within a few minutes the pup had settled down for a nap.

Blackie was very skittish at my house, but my dog, Indy, calmed him down. The biggest problem was that Blackie was filthy and smelled horrible. The women at the shelter said he and his litter had been kept in an outside pen in Tennessee and they hadn't really ever had a bath. So, when C and her friends got home from school, they had a job to do...and everyone loved it --even Blackie!

He's now been at our house for two nights, and he's coming into himself. He's gotten very calm, and he absolutely loves to be cuddled. Indy gets a bit jealous, but mostly because we keep giving the puppy her toys. Indy has actually been very nurturing towards the little guy.

Blackis still hates his crate, and last night I just let him sleep on the doggie bed. I got up at 5am to let him out to pee, and then we all went back to sleep. He understands the word "no," and he has only had one accident in the house, when he first arrived. Could he already be house broken?

If you know of anyone who wants to adopt a sweet little puppy, please go to Great Dog Rescue New England.

Meet Blackie the foster dog

It's been a while since I've written this blog because I've been very busy with my Teen Issues column for the Boston Examiner. Check it out and subscribe if you'd like to receive information, research and news about parenting teenagers.

Now...introducing....Blackie.

I'm picking him up tomorrow from Great Dog Rescue of New England. This is the second doggie we've fostered, but this one is a puppy. (Oscar was about 3 years old.) I may be crazy, but my goal is to have him house broken by the time he's adopted, which I expect will be within a few weeks since puppies are adopted rather quickly.

My rationale for fostering a dog is: a) my family wants to help homeless animals in any way possible, b) we're not going anywhere this spring because the kids' sports schedules have imprisoned us in our own home town, c) the puppy will keep our dog, Indy, company, and d) I LOVE dogs and especially puppies and I'm so excited. I may even be more excited than C, who is beside herself.

Lil'J and Big J are a bit skeptical on this whole project, but I bet they'll warm up to the pup right away. I will take pictures and blog about Blackie, the foster dog (hmmm...may be a children's book title?)

A Happy Tail

On Saturday we dropped Oscar off with his “forever family.” What a happy ending for the little dog with a big spirit. At times I wondered if this doggie experiment was really going to work. I wondered if we were really fostering a dog, or if we had taken a dog who would eventually become ours by default.

The truth is, I think we all learned and grew from this experience. My family and I opened our home to a stranger, and made him feel loved and welcome. Yes, it was more work, especially for me. But I got creative, like figuring out how to tie two leashes together and actually get the pups to walk side-by-side so as not to get completely wound-up and tangled by them – sounds easier then it really was. Big J, in the end, may have learned to have a little faith in my crazy schemes. And, he had to be especially tender with Oscar, because the pup was the most afraid of him – we assume some man had been abusive in the past. The kids, in addition to spending afternoons training and playing with Oscar, learned to love and then let go. I was worried we’d all become too attached to Oscar, but as it turns out, I was the one welling up as we drove home without him. The kids had to remind me of how happy and excited we were the day Oscar came to our home, and how his new family was feeling the same. Bottom line is that we all knew Oscar was where he was meant to be.

Oscar was only in our lives for two months, but that’s two months he didn’t have to live in a crate at a kennel. And now, we definitely miss him. He was a wise little pup, with caramel colored eyes that could melt your heart. He was as cuddly as a cat, loved people of all ages and he kept our dog, Indy, entertained for hours. We were a nice transition family for Oscar, and I think we helped him learn how to trust humans again.

So do I recommend fostering a dog and would I do it again? Would I invite a strange dog to come live with us until he or she found a forever home? Without a doubt. We all do what we can to make the world a better place. At different times in our lives our gestures may be large or small. For us, we started with a little dog named Oscar. Welcome home, sweet Oscar.

If you want to foster a dog, contact Great Dog Rescue New England.

A day at the Beach

Finally, Oct. 1st rolled around and I’m able to take the dog(s) to the beach near my house. It’s a tricky beach because it basically doesn’t exist at high tide. At low tide, the beach is expansive! For three days in a row, I’ve made a quick visit to the beach a priority on my “to do” list.

Walking the beach, and letting the dogs run free, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief from my daily life. I watch the dogs chase birds, balls, other dogs, and though my pockets are heavy with symbols of reality, like car keys, leashes, plastic bags and dog treats, my spirit soars up and down the expanse of beach freely.

Most times I am alone on the beach, but dog owners are a friendly bunch. When we meet, we rarely exchange our names, just the names of the four-legged frolickers. Over the years, I’ve taken many walks with complete strangers, never to be seen again. Sometimes we’ve talked about nothing important, the weather, dogs, how lucky we are to be here, now. Other times, I’ve heard life stories, love stories, or tales of loss and betrayal. There’s something freeing in anonymity.

Today on the beach the glaring sun dazzled wet sand making each footstep (or paw step) shimmer with energy. I looked for slick wet rocks that held the promise of drying with undiminished beauty. I remembered sandcastles of my youth, and the miniature sand people that lived there and had to magically rebuild with every change of tide. I breathed ocean air that had blown over from Spain, filled with the essence of wine and Paella. I got my sneakers soaked and laughed.

“A day at the beach” is an expression people use to say something will be easy, fun, not a problem. It’s an appropriate expression.

Tyler/Oscar -- Dogs are in the House!

We are animal lovers. Since living in our house we’ve had two dogs, two cats, fish, frogs and a guinea pig – not all at once. So when I started getting emails from the Great Dog Rescue of New England, I was somewhat susceptible. Something about those sweet, pleading little doggie faces got under my skin, and I found myself returning to re-read my emails again and again.

Most of the dogs, I discovered, needed foster homes – a place to stay before a permanent adoptive home could be found. Because of a network of volunteers, these dogs were rescued from shelters across the country that are considered “High Kill.” It seems many of the mutts had missed their appointments, standing-up the Growling Grim Reaper himself.

Many of the rescued pups are given a second chance at life and happiness here in Massachusetts. The least I could do was help just one of them on his journey. What’s one more dog? We already have one very energetic Yellow Lab who would love a playmate.

I discussed this idea with my kids and my husband, and the biggest concern was that we would fall in love with a foster pup and have a hard time giving him up. “So, we’re afraid of loving someone too much?” I wondered. That didn’t seem to make sense. As long as we know the dog will go to a good, loving home, we’ll all be fine, we decided. And I responded to the email saying, “We’re in!”

After an application and a home inspection, we now have Tyler, but we call him Oscar. He’s a two-year-old Welch Corgi mix, and he’s a sweetheart. We’ve had him for almost a week and he’s very affectionate with humans and dogs alike. Yes, it’s possible that I’m falling in love with him. He rests his head on my knee when I sit down. He’s very patient and polite around food and toys. He already knows how to sit and shake hands and I’ve gotten him to stop pulling on his leash (sort of.) But, luckily, he does little things to irritate me, like dig out under the fence and run away. So, I’m happy we have him, and I’m happy to help him, but I’m a one-dog woman. Still, after we get Tyler/Oscar happily placed in a new home, I’ll consider helping another lucky puppy get a second chance on life.

Check out the Great American Dog Rescue !

Knocking Some Sense Into Me

It had rained for a few days straight and I’m not sure who was going crazier, the kids, the dog, or me. My frustration was growing on a number of levels; the kids kept sitting zombie-like, staring at the TV; the dog had pulled up and chewed one of the newly installed sprinkler heads; and I was trying to get the house together and pack for the upcoming weekend. While my husband and daughter delivered my son to his first sleep-away camp, I would be headed to Connecticut to join my father, brothers and sister to commemorate what would have been my mother’s 79th birthday. Already, a year and four months had elapsed since Mom passed away, and we were planning to secure a final resting place for her ashes. The problem was, despite a few rounds of emails, none of us had any idea what we would actually do with her ashes. Furthermore, while we were all in town, we needed a plan on what chores the four of us could do around the too-big house Dad still maintained. I didn’t want to even imagine sitting around, depressed, staring at my siblings for two days and doing nothing.
“Ahhh…the sun is out!” I yelled to the zombies. “I’m taking the dog to the beach.” And I was out the door before I could hear a response. Finally, alone at the rocky “Dog Beach,” balancing on low-tide mussel shells and seaweed, I felt I could breath. I tossed a stick into the ankle deep water and Indy frolicked and danced, eventually returning the stick, dropping it next to my muddy, absorbent sneakers. “Go, get the stick!” I encouraged. But after a few rounds the pup lost interest, so I began to head back toward dry land; that is, until Indy noticed my departure and romped toward me with an eager face that pleaded, “Please…don’t make me go home.” I could totally relate.
So I bent down to pick up a shell, and in her eagerness, Indy went for the shell as well. But she pulled up suddenly and hit my face full-force with the back of her big, square, solid-bone Labrador Retriever head. “Ow!” I reacted; reaching for my nose that I was sure would be spouting blood momentarily. “Ow, ow, ow!” I moaned. My nose was reverberating in the back of my head. Pain shot down my neck. My jaw was throbbing. It friggin’ hurt!
Still holding my nose and still reeling from the hit, I began to whimper and tears overflowed from my watery eyes. I looked around the deserted beach and, realizing no one could hear me, I started to cry louder – though I was in pain, the crying felt, well … good. As the pain began to ease to a dull throb, I decided to really go for it. I actually started to sob, right there on the beach. No one could hear my bawling. Not a sole was around to respond to my greedy intake of air between each noisy bout of blubbering. The dog just sat and stared at me quizzically. Feeling the release, I went on, quite hysterically, for a few minutes.
As I finally began to calm down, I realized what I had been crying about, and from where this deep well of emotion had bubbled up. It was simple, really. I missed my mom. I missed telling her about the kids and dog driving me crazy. I missed having her make decisions, telling my siblings and I what would be on the agenda for the weekend. I missed her as much as I did the day she died, and I knew I would always miss her in a painful and dramatic way. I guess I just needed a knock on the head to remind me how I felt. My histrionics on the beach were very cleansing, I decided. And, as I walked toward home, I knew I was ready to move on again.
“Thanks, Indy,” I told my tail-flapping buddy as we left the beach. “I needed that.”