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!”

A Tribute to Mollie: A New Beginning

This article was also released in the Fall/Winter 2010 Issue of Imprints. (Used with permission.)

A few years ago when Tom became President of NEOCR, he was looking for a volunteer to coordinate the group’s newsletter. I thought about it. Considering the condo I live in has limited space and a small yard, taking in extra collies isn’t possible. I thought maybe this was a way I could actually contribute to the organization. Since graphics and communications come pretty naturally to me, I figured I could help the rescues while continuing to conquer the computer world.

I’m not among the gifted and generous folks who do intakes, or coordinate foster homes, or place adoptions, or acquire multiple dogs when we don’t have enough foster homes, or orchestrate the endless details to shuffle dogs to critical vet appointments. Rather I’m one of the “behind the scenes” people who flutter around tracking down e-mails, updating forms, maintaining websites, snapping pictures, tracking “happy tail” stories, editing copy, etc. In my own way, I wanted to “pay it forward” in gratitude for the wonderful and somewhat famous pup that came into my life six years ago, “Ms. Mollie the Collie.”

No one told me as editor that I needed a box of Kleenex^® to do my job. But then again, no one told me how much rejoicing or how many “happy feet dances” would be going on when I was fortunate enough to read about all the joyful endings and splendid adoptions. I would be up to my eyeballs in my usual design details, pulling another late-night shift, when Mollie would come into the office bedroom and give me “the paw.” It was her way of letting me know she was still there, and it was probably time to call it a night. I would lean over, grab her behind the ears, ruffle her all up until she was fuzzy, and say to her, “It’s all because of you, Mollie! Who knew? Who knew you would bring all this joy into my life?”

Mollie came into my life when I desperately needed to mend a broken heart. She and my calico kitty, Buffy, were very much filling the void I was experiencing. What I didn’t know was how many people I would meet, how many friends I would make, or just how many lives Mollie would touch. I’m still amazed at the neighbors who got out of their cars to pet her, the kids who became her fan club, and the people in the park who stopped and tell me their story about their own dog once they met mine. Okay, I admit it: I’m guilty of stopping to talk to the local dog lovers as well.

I’m the kind of person who sees an injured animal on the road and then runs home to check on my animals and make sure they are okay. I loved the secure sound of my dog softly snoring in her bed on floor next to mine. I loved when my cat and dog played tag. And when I poked my head around the corner to see what they were up to, they both stopped in their tracks and looked at me as if to say, “Who me? Not me!” And I knew one day it would be my sad turn to write a tribute to the pup who brought so many great experiences into my life.

Mollie, in a word, had an exuberance for life. On her walks, she pranced down the street with her head held high and a tail that eagerly swished. Squirrels, raccoons, bunnies and deer had better look out when she was on the prowl. Mollie loved everybody and everybody loved Mollie. If I walked without her, everyone wanted to know if she was okay.

Despite all her exuberance, Mollie’s Achilles heel was her digestive system. It was a delicate balancing act to keep from tummy to tail happy. It seemed like in the last year we had made some real progress. We adjusted her diet, the stomach acid problem seemed under control and the span between vet visits was improving. Whenever I took her to the vet, they were able to fix her up, send her home, and she would be on the mend in no time at all. Then one day there was the trip to the vet where I wasn’t so sure if they could put her back together again, but I was hopeful.

We had just attended the Whine & Cheese fundraiser in May and had a lovely time. Mollie became sick about a week later. We went to the vet, got some medication, and she seemed to be on a slow road to recovery. A few weeks later at the beginning of June, Mollie started to not feel well again. This time she wouldn’t eat. She was restless and couldn’t get comfortable. Climbing the one or two steps into the house now became a challenge. I made an appointment for her on a Monday morning before work. I called work and left a message that I would be in late. We got ready to go to the appointment, but this time I had to lift her into the car, which left me pretty concerned.

After her examination, we decided to keep Mollie at the vet’s for the day to have some extra tests done. Off I went to work. Later in the day, the vet’s office called back and told me that while her blood work came back good, something showed up on Mollie’s x-ray. We decided to have her stay at the vet’s overnight and have a series of barium x-rays done the next day. I thought it would be safe for her there where she could be monitored, and they could keep her medicated and hydrated. The house was strangely quiet that night.

The next morning, I went off to work again. I received a call in the morning from the vet’s office, and we went over Mollie’s history again on the phone, It sounded like she took a turn for the worse overnight, but they were still going to do the tests. The next call came in telling me that she had definite internal blockage in her intestines. Then I had to decide whether to do surgery to determine the nature of the blockage. I hoped it would be something fixable, like retrieving a swallowed cat toy. We went ahead with the surgery. At this point, no longer able to concentrate on work, I packed up my desk and headed home. Unfortunately, I took the bus that day and had a long commute home.

The third phone call came in while I was on the bus on the way home. Mollie had a rather large tumor totally obstructing her small intestine. Given her weakened state, the size of the tumor, her recent rapid weight loss, and her continual vomiting despite being on anti-nausea medicine, I made the difficult decision to let her pass on to that peaceful resting place where dogs freely play and romp the fields without pain or suffering. We decided not to wake Mollie up from the surgery, and then I would stop in to say my goodbyes when I got off the bus. Mollie experienced such separation anxiety; I didn’t have the heart to wake her up just to put her down again.

I hung up the phone and sobbed uncontrollably. I suppose the other people on the bus wondered why I was hyperventilating into my Kleenex. A few minutes later, a woman boarded the bus who was only riding for a short distance; she didn’t even take a seat. She stood near the bus driver so she could get off at the right stop. I was watching her while tears were still streaming down my face. I blinked my tears away and took a closer look at the tote bag she carried over her shoulder. It had “Molly Molly Molly” written all over it. I couldn’t believe it. A moment later, I swear I saw Mollie’s face appear on the side of the bag as if she were once again eagerly looking out the window at me…bright eyed and alert. I blinked again and the face slowly disappeared and the canvas bag returned. I looked at my watch and concluded at that moment she must have passed… and that was her way of saying goodbye.

I stopped at the vet’s office as soon as I got off the bus and paid my last respects. It was so hard to believe this time I was coming home without my beloved Mollie. She looked like she was just taking an afternoon nap. I am forever grateful to Royalton Road Animal Hospital for the compassion they showed both before and after Mollie’s passing.

Only another pet lover can understand the range of emotion in this kind of situation. And those of us whose pets are our kids can understand when I say I felt I lost one of my girls. I hadn’t felt this lousy since my dad passed way 11 years earlier.

At this point I could say that Mollie’s life was over, or was it? I was truly amazed by all the concern that was expressed after she passed; humbled by the donations made in her honor. I received more cards from Mollie’s passing than when my father died. I received cards from people I didn’t directly know; they were my neighbor’s friends who always asked how Mollie was doing. I had two friends who talked together on the phone about a friend who lost a dog, and it turned out they both knew “Mollie the Collie” but didn’t realize they both knew me!

Being Mollie’s Mom was truly a privilege. I felt it was the one thing in life I had actually done right. She gave me a sense of purpose. Some people want a dog that brings them the newspaper or slippers. I wanted a dog that brought me out of myself, and indeed Mollie did just that.

I miss her nudging nose. I miss her noseprints on the patio door. I miss leaving lipstick smooches on her white snout. I miss that special language we had where she hung onto every word I said trying to anticipate what she should do next. Go outside? Go for a walk? Go for a ride? Go see grandma? Okay, let’s go!

Well, it was a long and difficult summer to say the least. I apologize for the fall/winter issue of Imprints being so long overdue, but I lost some of the wind out of my sails. This could be the end of Mollie’s story, or it could be another beginning. Funny thing — she came into my life to heal a broken heart, and she somehow left me with a stronger heart.

So it begins again. I sit here writing this editorial with my handy box of Kleenex. My foster dog, Bosco, lays curled up at my side with his paw touching my leg.

“Bosco, you’ve got big paws to fill. I hope you realize that. Oh wait, you already have HUGE paws.”

He lets out one of his long sighs.

“Well buddy, I think we’re in it for the long haul. Don’t plan on going anywhere, okay?”

Okay.