Feeling Grateful…

Bosco was so cute this morning. I hated to leave him to go to work. He pranced and twirled as I put his collar on to go outside. He doesn't do a lot of that at his age, so to see him get “puppy feet” is a real treat. 

When I came home from work, I couldn’t wait to see the furkids again. Bosco trotted down the steps to greet me, exhibiting his eagerness with tail wagging and head-butting. 

And Buffy—eager to see Bosco—jumped on the chair above Bosco's back. She stuck her tiny calico paws between the chair slats. Then the canine tail chase began. Bosco has so much fur, he doesn't even notice when Buffy swats at his tail. 

“Bosco, buddy, did you miss me?”

Slurp. 

“Want to go outside?”

Slurp. 

“Kisses?”

Ever so gently, he gave me another slurp. 

He waited patiently to go out even as I discovered I was stuck in my coat from zipper failure. Once back inside, he remained patient as I realized I STILL was stuck in my coat. At last, I secured my freedom. 

“Okay, are you hungry?” 

He answered with more prancing. 

I prepared his first food bowl, which was inspected and quickly devoured. Then I got that in-your-face stare. 

“Are you still hungry?” I asked. 

Bosco moved in a little closer to me to affirm his answer with a giant “BURP” reply. That gesture was followed by another gentle face slurp. 

“Thanks, buddy. I’m SO glad you burped BEFORE you got in my face and kissed me.”

The second bowl of food disappeared as quickly as the first. Bosco’s belly was full. Content that mom was home, Bosco knew life was good.

Buffy, ever patient, was also fed. She conveyed her gratitude by snuggling and kneading. It was finally time for all of us to relax. And yes, this was a very good day.

 (Sigh.)

  

Let Us Take a Lesson

I find it amazing that while out walking my dog, Bosco, I realize he has gained celebrity status. Not as big as Lassie, mind you, but he still has that "aha" discovery factor when someone gets sight of him. I know or am acquainted with many of my neighbors, yet  I have more people excitedly waving at me who, in reality, I have no idea who they are. Part of this confusion might be the sun in my eyes or tinted car windows, but many times I am just clueless. Their excitement is not in seeing me, but seeing my dog with me. "Look, there's Bosco!" I glance up and just politely wave back. 

I try to practice my return wave to get it down pat. You know, that gentle cupped wave that royalty and pageant queens have mastered. I'm at a slight disadvantage as I am sure the Queen doesn't wave at her fans while gripping a poop bag. Alas, grace and coordination have never been some of my strong suits. 

I do my best to disguise my surprise to Bosco's fan club. Along with the gracious wave, I simultaneously deliver the skilled expression of, "Ah yes indeedy, I recognize you!" Hopefully as people pass by in their vehicles, they are not able to read my lips as I ask Bosco, "Do you know who that was?" 

Cheers may be the place where everybody knows your name, but life B.D. (before my first dog, Mollie the Collie), nobody knew my name. With life A.D. (after dog), I was donned with the neighborhood nickname "Mollie's Mom." People still didn't know my name, and that was okay. But having a dog and walking the neighborhood was like having my own personal ambassador. Introductions were forthcoming. Genuine interest was shown in my dog's life, then in my life, and these greetings led to many new friendships. If I wasn't out walking my dog, the questions came—why not, is Mollie (and now Bosco) alright, have you been sick, is the dog feeling okay, how about that awful weather we've been having, were you on vacation, and so forth.

It occurred to me that the world needs more dog-like ambassadors who are able to neutralize situations. Dogs are blind to race, color, creed, ethnicity, socioeconomic status and politics. They give confidence to children, strength to the infirm, comfort the elderly, pure joy to the anxious. They know kindness, gentleness, assurance and love. They, like many other good-hearted souls, are eager to please. For a pat on the head, a bowl of kibble, a warm blanket, and a loving home, they are your forever friend. Mess with their loved ones, and they spring into action to protect their flock, their family. They have your back, no questions asked.

In this world where people are so eager to condemn, jump to conclusions and unwilling to communicate, let us take a lesson from dogs. Let us be ambassadors of goodwill in our neighborhoods, our jobs, our travels and in our schools. Let us learn to live simply, serve compassionately and love equally. And then, perhaps, we will sleep peacefully and behave confidently to know we have each other's backs.

It's a Good Night for Snuggling

Mollie

No two pets are ever the same. They all have their distinct habits and idiosyncrasies. My Mollie the Collie has been gone almost two years, and still there are days I miss her so much I can hardly stand it. My neighbor and I often recount some of Mollie’s funniest habits when we are out walking my current dog, Bosco. A squirrel or several deer can go by during our walk, and Bosco reacts as if to say, “Oh, that’s nice,” and then he keeps moseying along. But Mollie, by contrast, would have been bouncing off the ground, springing right out of her boots had she worn any.

One of the things I loved to do with Mollie was pet her to sleep. I would call her upstairs, and she would curl up on her pillow next to my bed. If I stopped scratching her head, her paw would come out and tap my hand or arm as if to say, “More, please. Don’t stop!” Then I would continue to stroke her head more and more slowly and gently. Her paw would come up even more slowly. I would lightly and tenderly pet her just a little more. Soon her paw would stretch out in mid-air, pause, miss touching me, and return to her pillow. Her eyes would close, and she would be asleep. I would then quietly tiptoe away and crawl into my own bed.

I recently remarked that I missed petting Mollie to sleep. Contrarily, I think Bosco actually sleeps with his eyes partly open. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when he’s asleep. His fur is so dark and his eyes are so brown, I have to look closely to determine if he’s really asleep.

Bosco

Tonight was one of those cold spring nights where it felt like winter snuck back into the picture. It’s a good night for snuggling. Bosco decided to warm up my bed and hopped up for some quality nap time. I stopped to give his head and cheek a gentle scratch. He surprised me with an outstretched paw that tapped my leg. I returned to stroking his cheek. Sure enough, he fell asleep in front of me and even closed his eyes. “It’s okay, Bud. You just rest.” His rhythmic breathing gave me a quiet reassurance as I continued to clack away on the keyboard.

Mollie had a similar mesmerizing effect when she slept. Had I not known better, I would have thought her soft snoring sounded like someone else was in the room with me. “What’s that noise?” I would ask as I sat up in bed. Oh, that was Mollie snoring in her bed. I would smile, sigh, and return to sleep. All was well. Bosco, on the other hand, seems to be a quiet sleeper. The other night, though, I heard him snoring. Yes, it was true, he officially snored. And, as a matter of fact, given the way he belches and breaks wind, I would say he’d rival a rustling cowboy.

Pets wiggle their way into our lives and never quite let go. When they leave, they take a piece of our heart with them. Sometimes I think a piece of Mollie’s spirit wound up inside Bosco. Occasionally, I see a glimmer of a familiar trait in him. That’s when I’ll look at Bosco and ask, “Did Mollie teach you that trick?” Heck, there were times when I thought Mollie could read my mind. She was so smart she anticipated my every move.

Bosco woke up from his nap tonight, looked over, and gave me a little lick on the nose—as if to say, “Thanks, Mom. I needed that.” I looked at him and asked, “Did you see Mollie in your dreams tonight? Well if you did, tell her I said, ‘Hello’ and let her know I miss her. Always have, always will.”

What a Difference a Year Makes

This article was also released in the Fall/Winter 2011 Issue of Imprints. (Used with permission.)

A year ago July, I was very much moping around having lost my Mollie the Collie. It was pretty obvious I needed something to pull me out of the doldrums. I think David and Betty suspected they had the cure when they brought Bosco, one of the latest rescues, to a gathering at Tom and Cindy’s home. This big guy seemed pretty quiet, very content to be petted, and looked like he could have that “Velcro” effect once you paid attention to him. I think Bosco secretly had a plan. One look into his big, brown eyes and, well, he figured he’d just about melt your heart, and then hitch a ride home with you.

Well, his plan was working…except I was hesitant because I still had a large vet bill to pay off from Mollie’s surgery and passing. NEOCR offered that I could take Bosco nome and foster him. So I started to listen to his story. David and Betty said Bosco was a bit of a loner at their place. When left outside, he went under their deck in the back yard the for the first couple days and wouldn’t easily come out. The next few days, he walked the perimeter of their yard and avoided the other dogs. They thought he would do better in a one-dog home.

I asked a lot of questions about eight-year- old Bosco while petting and checking him out. They said he was turned in because he jumped a four-foot fence. I also learned he was heartworm positive. I didn’t know what the ramifications of having heartworm were, but I wondered if that was the real reason he was turned in to a shelter. I wasn’t too concerned about the fenced yard aspect since my pets don’t go outside without me and/or a leash.

“PLEASE take me home,” his eyes seemed to plead. Those eyes…those soulful eyes…they really tug at your heart. Once Bosco knew he had me, he stuck by my side. Deciding to try my first foster situation, off we went for our ride home. Bosco eagerly jumped in the back seat, settled in and made himself comfortable, while my neighbor, Bonnie, documented the event with pictures.

Back at home, the first order of business was to introduce Bosco to Buffy, my petite, eight-year-old calico kitty. Now mind you, Buffy had just lived with Mollie for five-and-a-half years, and they got along splendidly. When I walked in with Bosco, she was a little surprised. Actually, I think she was a little miffed. After the initial introduction, she perched herself at the top of the steps while surveying the room and glaring at me. “Give it time,” I thought. Yeah, right. For the first two weeks, I walked around, and slept, armed with a squirt bottle. Whoever budged first to start the chase or antagonize the other, that’s who got squirted. They made progress behaving well and tolerating each other in the living room. But, every time I went upstairs to bed, the cat ducked under the bed, and the dog did his best to rat her out. Buffy got quarantined to the basement for a few nights since she would let the dog sleep. Whoever’s tags jingled, that’s who got shot with the water bottle. Make it or break it time for Bosco. If he didn’t get along with my cat, he’d have to go back. After a few pep talks, they both got the message, called a truce, and Bosco made the first cut.

Next hurdle we had to pass was shaping up Bosco’s digestive system. He came home with a pretty bad case of diarrhea. I took him to the vet for a checkup and asked about the heartworm condition while I was at it. It turns out dogs can develop COPD or congestive heart failure from untreated heartworm. Due to his age, we put Bosco on monthly heartworm preventive, but nothing more aggressive. He also got some antibiotics and anti-diarrhea medicine. It turned out he was also underweight at 62 pounds. After several messy cleanups, a near melt-down on my part, four dog foods later and a few relapses, his digestive system finally shaped up. Bosco now does so well with potty breaks that I tell people he came with a cast-iron bladder.

Now my Buddy-Boy Bosco had a few hang-ups when he first came home. He wouldn’t go upstairs or downstairs, and he wouldn’t cross tile floors. I put him on a leash and took him up and down the stairs to the bedrooms. Bribed by biscuits, that situation worked out okay, but under no circumstances would he go down the (carpeted) basement stairs. To get him across the tiled kitchen floor, I went out and bought some carpet runners. Then, he’d only traipse through the kitchen in a counter-clockwise direction. One day I washed the kitchen floor, and in doing so I picked up all the rugs and pet dishes. While I was waiting for the floor to dry, I spied Bosco slowly walking through the kitchen, sniffing here and there, and no runners were down! Not wanting to miss this teaching moment, I only put a small rug back in front of the kitchen sink. I put Bosco’s food dish on that rug. He couldn’t reach it from either entrance unless he came all four paws into the kitchen. Determined to eat, Bosco finally crossed the kitchen floor to his dish. Mission accomplished!

One day about three to four months after Bosco came home, Buffy and I charged downstairs to get the nightly meals of pet food. Bosco, not wanting to be left behind, followed us down the stairs. He got about three-quarters of the way down, realized what he did, and then turned around and went back upstairs. Despite being cheered on, he did this several times, always returning to the kitchen. I went upstairs and got one of his squeaky toys. I went back downstairs and squeaked the bejeebers out of his toy. He got up enough nerve to come down to the last basement step. He gingerly touched the floor from the last step as if he were testing the waters, and then he finally crossed the last step to the basement. His reward was eating dinner downstairs that night. He paraded up and down the stairs several more times in a row with me, proud of every step, and stuck to me like glue. However, he still avoided the tiled bathroom floor.

Bosco does not like thunderstorms, which was apparent early on. Although I have to say he isn’t as scared as Mollie was during storms, he is still pretty traumatized. If you are on the couch, he instantly becomes your lap dog. If you’re sleeping in bed, he jumps up next to you and tries to squeeze between your head and the headboard. Then I have a dog sitting on my head, panting and drooling. One day as I was getting ready for work, he quietly came in the bathroom and sat down next to me on the tile floor. “Ah-ha, Bosco! I see thunderstorms trump tile floors!”

That first day I came home with Bosco, I took him for a walk in the neighborhood. Oh my gosh. I wanted to say, “Giddyup, doggie!” Let’s just say he was moving about at a snail’s pace. I thought, maybe I had a dog who didn’t like to go for walks. The vet told me he needed his exercise, but we had to pace him because of the heartworm. I thought about the situation, and concluded that no one probably ever took him for walks, so he didn’t know what to do and was greatly out of shape. Hence, we built our daily walks a little at a time. He looked like Eeyore going down the street. Da-dum, da-dum. Da-dum, da-dum. “Come on Bosco, you can do it! Pick up the pace, Bosco.” Then one day I saw with my own eyes… Da-dum, da-dum, TROT, TROT, TROT! Hey, what was that? He started to pick up the pace slowly but surely. As I passed from yard to yard, neighbors noticed and asked about his progress.

“Hey Moose!”
“How’s the bear today?”
“Hey, Mr. B. How’s it going?”
“Looking good, buddy!”
“How’s Bozo doing?”
“How’s Corky?”

“Corky?” I did a double take on that one. “Who the heck is Corky?”

Bosco continued to improve all winter. He definitely likes cold weather better than warm weather. Can you blame him with that beautiful fur coat of his? Well, spring came along, and out came the bikes, motorcycles, scooters and skateboards…not to mention other neighborhood dogs. Bosco, having now passed his heartworm test at the spring vet visit, was feeling better and getting stronger every day. Mr. Meek & Mild, who first strolled down the street last summer, who did not bark at all for the first three weeks he was home, was now pretty feisty and objecting loudly and wildly over intrusions into his neighborhood. Before the summer was out, I had to get him to some serious training to break his bad outdoor habits. This was the last hurdle. Could we do it? Time would tell.

Bosco was one strong-minded dog with a strong herding instinct. He would take a correction, but he kept barking, twirling and pulling at those obstacles on wheels. “I know, buddy, you would love just once to sink your teeth into one of those rubber tires that keep circling around us, but that’s just not polite.” My back was giving out, and I couldn’t control him on just a leash. We had already tripped over each other and wiped out once, and I’m sure it was a good show for the neighbors. His aggression toward other dogs had to be kept in check, too.

After trying other traditional alternatives, the trainer I was working with and I decided to try an electronic collar for Bosco that came with a portable remote. Some people might object to this method of correction, but it was the solution that worked. I am so proud of Bosco and the progress he’s made. Just the other night we passed a bike, a motorcycle and a couple dogs with nary a WOOF out of him. He gets an opportunity to comply to the heel, sit-stay and leave-it commands, and then he gets a momentary correction after that if he doesn’t listen. He can now get to the point where he starts to object, sighs, and just settles into a sit next to my side.

“Good boy, Bosco! I knew you could do it! Such a good doggie you are!” Yes, he gets LOTS of praise, and loudly too, so the neighbors and bike riders can hear us. We are no longer intimidated by them, but feel free to walk our neighborhood in a well-behaved manner. We still need to work on doggie socialization skills, but I couldn’t be happier with his progress. I even took him to the Collie Picnic this year.

Okay, what’s the moral of the story? What a difference a year makes! Fostering wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to do, but I was determined to get Bosco over his hang-ups and fears and make him feel comfortable, secure and loved. Even when we hadn’t worked out all the kinks, I knew I didn’t want this dog going to another home. I didn’t want him regressing and starting all over again. Jumped a four foot fence they say? I don’t think so, unless he was left out neglected in a yard or left to wander aimlessly during a thunderstorm. This dog is like a big teddy bear on the inside, gives all kinds of kisses, and, more often than not, likes to be my shadow when I’m home. I nicknamed him Back-Pocket Bosco when he first came home. He seems every day to turn into the relaxed and confident pup I knew he could be.

If you have never fostered before, please consider this loving alternative for a dog who might otherwise be hard to place. I hope when I’m Bosco’s age, someone is as kind to my cranky old self and gives me a little extra attention, too. After celebrating Bosco’s one-year anniversary, we recently upgraded his status to adopted. “Atta boy, Bosco!”