A Foster Story

Farewell to a Foster Story

This week marked many a milestone in our house. Tuesday, May 31st was Chance's 10th birthday and in celebration of his special day we forced Chance to wear an embarrassing and irrelevant hat while we sang happy birthday.

This week also marked another significant date - the one year anniversary from when we became Chance's foster family. It's hard to believe that it's only been one year since I was captivated by the photo that catapulted out lives into a sometimes hilarious, often frustrating whirlwind of incontinence, random attacks, stolen socks, spilled blood, fights, health dilemmas, snuggling, and a plethora of other events. Over the past year, I've recounted Chance's time with us and have loved hearing all the feedback from you, the "Mongolian Monster" groupies. You've shared in the ups and downs and have helped us in our struggles with your advice, funny stories, and well wishes.

After a year with Chance as a member of our pack, it seems odd to continue to refer to this blog as "A foster story," since it has now developed into a forever story. As long as the folks at SAINTS are cool with it, Chance will live out the rest of his ornery days with Jeremy, Roxy, Cash, and myself, whether he likes it or not. So this marks the end of this chapter, and the end of this blog. Don't fret, as the end of this story marks the beginning of another. Although this will be my last post in this blog, starting next week we'll be launching a new blog that will chronicle my everyday life living with three dogs, as well cover dog-related events, stories, products - in short, anything that encompasses my personal motto of "if it barks, I like it." I hope that you'll all follow my new blog to keep up with of all the current happenings in the canine kingdom as well as with Chance and my other delinquents. Until next time, everyone, Bark On.

Slumbering beauties, or suspicious sleepers?

Is it just my three monsters, or are all dogs light sleepers? No matter how lightly I tip-toe around their heads or how gently I get out of bed, all three of them are immediately wide awake and acutely aware of my every move. This isn't problematic, per say, but rather an out loud wondering of sorts.

Chance, for example, likes to sleep right in the middle of the cold, hard tile dining area floor. I think this is super cute and will try to secretly approach him to observe, but he always seems to sense my approach and immediately rolls over and glares at me grumpily for arresting his sweet slumber.

Cash and Roxy are just the same. I love nothing more than to lie in bed on Saturday mornings and snuggle with my besties, but find myself frozen in place for fear of disturbing them and causing an onset of barking and excited wrestling in my bed.

Are my dogs overly suspicious, or is this common canine behaviour?

Toys tested by dogs who are bananas for TOYS!!!

I can't speak for all dogs, but I can definitively say that Roxy and Cash both have "types". They each are suckers for a certain kind of toy that sends them over the moon when they see/hear it. For Roxy, it's balls, especially ones that squeak. My personal fav is from JW Pet - it's durable enough that if Cash gets a hold of it I have time to repossess it before all hope is lost. It's also slightly larger than a tennis ball which makes it less likely to disappear for eons underneath the sofa (Roxy's own personal nightmare).

Cash's favourite is by far the stuffed animal. Watching him systematically pull the inards from some poor unsuspecting teddy should be disturbing, but instead I find it charming. My favourite option for this mega destroyer is a Tuffy Toy - Cash has had both a pig and a triceratops and surprisingly still shows interest once its contents have been strewn throughout our yard.

The one other toy that has captured my dogs' attention (and kept it) is a combination of both a stuffie and a squeaky which I've found with the Invincible snake toys from Kyjen. A stuffed toy (sans the stuffing) filled with numerous squeakers which take a lickin and keep on squeakin. I know this is hard to believe, but much to Jeremy's dismay, the squeakers in the snakes continue to make noise even after they're punctured. So suffice it to say, they are taken away at night, much to Roxy and Cash's dismay.

As for Chance, his favourite toy has yet to be discovered. However, I am forced to smile each time I find him curled up in his bed with a pair of Jeremy's socks.

Peke problems galore

Last week did not start off well for us. Chance had a seizure Monday night and scared the pants off me. I've never witnessed a seizure before so I wasn't positive at first what it was, but after conferring with other dog owners and Carol (head honcho at S.A.I.N.T.S) it became clear that the violent convulsions and spit spraying characterized the ictal phase of a generalized seizure. Apparently seizures are quite common in Pekes (along with every other unfortunate ailment, it seems) and once they have one, odds are they will continue to suffer from them. I don't know much about seizures, what causes them or what I can do to prevent them, but it's something I'm looking into further. So please send your good-doggie vibes Chance's way and keep your paws crossed that it was a one time occurence - I know we'll be doing the same.

Breedism - when will the world learn?

As the proud parent of a bully mix (Cash is an American Bulldog/Boxer mix) I am endlessly confounded by those who seem to have some unfounded prejudice against these incredibly sweet and gorgeous dogs. I can't tell you how many times other dog parents have picked up their dogs at the park or crossed the street when they see Cash coming because they are "afraid of pitbulls". There are so many things amiss with this statement and I don't have all day, but to sum it up quickly....A) There's no such thing as a pitbull. B) If there was, Cash wouldn't be one. C) Breed should never predetermine your opinion of a dog (see the "What is it about Pitbulls?" article in the Spring 2011 issue of Modern Dog for a full run down on the issue).

I try to comfort myself in the face of discrimination - these people are ignorant, and their opinions should not affect me. But they do, and they affect my dog, his confidence and his ability to play and socialize with other wonderful pups like himself. Breed ambassadors like Cash should be revered for their gentility, kindness and fun-loving dispositions, but instead they are feared and misjudged. I can only hope that someday we'll all open our minds' and our hearts' to every breed; pure or mixed, big or small, sleek or fluffy, muscular or chubby, until we are all breed-blind.

Chance meets with a coif catastrophe

Remember the mix of fear/shame/giddiness you felt when your parents woke in the middle of the night to find you in the bathroom with a fistful of hair and a face framed with unfortunately shaped bangs? That's how I felt Sunday when Jeremy walked into our bathroom to find me surrounded by black hair, holding a dog that looked more like Bon Jovi circa 1984 than a purebred Pekingese.

Why, you ask, would I cut his hair myself when I have no experience or background in grooming? Well, there are many reasons I decided to take matters into my own hands including my impatient nature and lack of expendable income, however it was mostly a spur of the moment decision brought on by Chance's most recent flare-up of itchiness. The combination of his long hair with an excess of oil produced by his skin disease make it impossible for us to keep up with the mats he was producing by rolling around on the floor trying to quell his itch. And so I cut his hair myself with a pair of basic sewing scissors. Check out the results below and be thankful I don’t have access to your dog’s dos.

 

 

AFTER

I think my dog is a cat

I’ve never disputed the fact that Chance can be a pain; his disability and chronic health problems combined with incontinence and a quick temper certainly make for a handful of fluff and fury. But one thing I never considered was the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the descendant of canids at all, but rather a cat trapped in a dog’s body. Before you disregard my theory as a misguided attempt to account for bad behaviour, consider for a moment the clues that have led me to this unusual notion:

He doesn’t bark. This doesn't mean he’s quiet, lord knows that isn’t the case. He has sounded his whiny alarm at 2 am every night for the past two weeks, and offers a wide array of spits, whines, growls and high pitched screams that rip me from my pleasant slumber and bring me back to a urine-filled reality. He just doesn't bark. That’s another thing, he hisses. Ask any of the volunteers at S.A.I.N.T.S. or any of his vets who’ve tried to look in his mouth, this tiny, hairy beast will open his maw and let loose an intimidating hiss from deep down in his gut.

He doesn’t like to chew. We’ve tried everything from raw bones, frozen bananas, toys, smoked treats, balls, anything that’s supposed to taste good and fit in his mouth, yet he insists on rejecting our offerings.

He doesn’t play. I’ve tried enticing him with the most tempting squeaker toys, noisy balls, and treat dispensing devices, even going as far as fashioning a make-shift stuffed toy from an old sweater and discarded bed fluff - still nothing. The only thing he’s showed an iota of interest in is Jeremy’s dirty socks; I shudder at the memory of finding him with a day old wool work-sock hidden beneath his broad chest within the nest of his favourite bed. Gross.

He hates the outdoors. And I don’t just mean rugged camp sites or crowded dog parks; any area that isn’t fully enclosed and heated isn’t up to snuff for him. He’ll tolerate a short stint on our deck with us in the summer-time, but as soon as the sun moves westward and casts us into the shadows, he makes his way towards the back door.

Am I reading too much into his feline-like behaviour? Maybe it’s a breed thing, or maybe Chance is just a spoiled, frustrated, oddball of a dog. That would be fitting being that I’m an ill-tempered tomboy trapped in an adult woman’s body. Regardless of his origin or species, it appears Chance and I are a suitable match.

Underachievers anonymous

As alluded to in my previous post, Cash and I did some investigative reporting on behalf of Modern Dog recently for the upcoming Summer 2011 issue. I can't divulge any of the details, however I can tell you that it wasn't necessarily a great success. Let's just say if Cash were a kid in a classroom, he would have been stuck in the corner wearing a dunce cap. But that's okay, I've always known that my dogs wouldn't be perfectly trained or particularly obedient because I am neither of those things. I would rather have a funny, sweet, rambunctious miscreant than a stoic and refined canine any day.

So here's to all the untrained, ill mannered pooches out there who spend their days making us laugh rather than obeying commands - because we all know the most fun is had when you're breaking the rules.