The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part V(b): The Great Guinea Pig Fiasco

In the midst of harbouring fugitives from death row Caramel and Cocoa, we got a call from a friend.  Could we look after a pair of guinea pigs for a few days, as the father of the family they resided with seemed to be allergic to them.  The Oldest was interested in a rodential pet, so we thought we'd give it a shot.

We knew we were in trouble right away.  Initially the cage went into the Oldest's bedroom, but really there was only enough room on the floor, and Caramel took an immediate unhealthy interest in them.  Guinea pigs are timid creatures by nature, and a large slobbering dog snuffling at their habitat freaked them out completely.  We tried putting them on a table in the living room, but Caramel still tried jumping at them.  Finally, we took the cage downstairs and put them in the guestroom with the door closed.  That didn't stop Caramel. She started going downstairs and snuffling at the door.

We managed to keep the two species separate for a few days.  Then, one night, we were invited to dinner at a friend's.  I couldn't stay, as I had a 6:00 class, but the Spouse and the girls were there until about 8:00.  I called them on my way home to find out what I'd missed.  The Spouse answered the phone and said, "You better get home quick."  Apparently, whoever had visited the guinea pigs last hadn't closed the door properly.  The cage was destroyed and the pigs vanished.

I came home to three hysterical girls, all crying uncontrollably.  Caramel was curled up on the couch, shame written all over her.  The Spouse had already left a very nasty message for Marisa, telling her that if she didn't rehome these dogs tomorrow, they were going to the SPCA.  I went from child to child, trying to offer what comfort I could, but they were completely traumatised.  The Oldest sobbed, "Ima, I'm  not mad at Caramel, because she just did what dogs do... but I feel so bad for the guinea pigs!  It must have been so terrifying, to be eaten by a giant monster!"

I couldn't stand the thought myself.  And I wasn't going to forgive Caramel so fast.  After all, what was I supposed to tell the neighbours?!

No one had had the emotional energy to clean up, so I went downstairs to get started.  But when I opened the door to the guest room, I screamed, "OH MY G-D!!!"  I was completely unprepared for the scene.  The cage was on its side, in two pieces. The entire floor was covered in shavings from the cage. Not an inch of carpet was visible.  Naturally, guinea pig poop was liberally mixed in with the shavings.  It smelled... well, it smelled like the inside of a rodent cage.  I was, as the cliche puts it, rooted to the floor in horror.

However, there was a curious bit missing.  I had expected to see bits of fur or blood here and there.  There were no signs that cage had ever been occupied.  Was it possible for a medium-sized dog to swallow two guinea pigs whole?  It was a mystery. I had a faint hope that the pigs had managed to bolt from the room and escape down the hole under the washing machine.  Of course, that just meant a slow death from starvation under the house, because I wouldn't expect them to poke their noses out ever again.

The Oldest, in fit of responsibility, decided it wasn't fair to make me face the mess alone. She rousted her sisters from bed, (it was after 9:30 by this point, and a school night, but who was sleeping anyway?), and we all pitched in.  Cleaning had a therapeutic effect.  We swept up the shavings, washed the food dish, emptied the water bottle.  The Spouse rebuilt the cage. We were all gaining hope that maybe the pigs had survived, given the lack of blood and body parts in the debris. Then, the Middle Child, who was picking up beside the chest of drawers, yelled, "I think I see eyes!"

And there they were. Wedged between the wall and the chest of drawers were our runaway guinea pigs, their glowing eyes revealing their presence. One was sitting on the other's shoulders. Both were shaking violently and soaked with sweat. We relined their cage, refilled the water bottle, and gave them food.  When placed back in the cage, they immediately hid in their little house, uninterested in anything but safety.  The girls were laughing and crying with relief.  The Middle Child got to be the rescuing hero, a role middle children seldom see. The girls even forgave Caramel immediately, now that she was no longer a slavering guinea pig devourer.

The Spouse was not so forgiving.  He still wanted her out yesterday. The SPCA threat was effective. Marisa's assistant Natalie called us immediately, pleading for a few days, but with an immediate home for Caramel. She was gone the next day.

The house was considerably quieter with only one dog.  Contrary to our expectation, Cocoa was completely fine without Caramel, and the new foster reported that Caramel was awesome.  However, by miraculous intervention, Natalie found a young couple, Jeff and Marni, willing to foster both. They lived an hour away, in a small house in a rural setting, with a large fenced-in property for the dogs to gallop. The other foster brought Caramel back to us; Cocoa greeted her with a snarl, but settled down quickly.

Jeff and Marni arrived mid-morning on Sunday.  I tried to warn them about what they were getting into, but they were completely unperturbed by all the little quirks. The fence would keep Caramel from running off; there are no other dogs to trigger Cocoa's aggression.  They told us we were welcome to visit anytime.

It turned out to be a perfect match; Jeff and Marni and Caramel and Cocoa became a happy family, and the foster home turned permanent.  Jeff and Marni are parents now, and Caramel checks on the baby a few times a night. A year and a half later, my girls are still nagging to visit, and I would like to see them too. One of these days, we'll get there, but it will have to be without the Spouse; he still refers to them as The Beasts Whose Names Must Not Be Spoken (or Caramel and Cocoa, Cursed Be Their Names). 

Immediately after they left, we told Marisa we needed a break from fostering to recover.  In fact, the Spouse and I wondered if we would ever bring another dog in the house again.

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part V(a): Caramel and Cocoa

Caramel and Cocoa arrived at the beginning of January 2009.  They stayed exactly eight weeks. I have delayed writing this post because the trauma of these two dogs still leaves me.... shaky.

They were advertised on Marisa's Petfinder site as "urgent" and "to be euthanized."  They had been brought in together, and were described as completely submissive and very sweet.  Well, that was true... but they were still vilda chayas in other ways.



Cocoa

 Cocoa was a boxer/lab mix, while Caramel had some husky mixed with the lab.  The first night in the house, there was a sudden melee, with paws around the other's neck and snapping teeth.  Completely freaked out, I just bellowed, "HEY!", and by some miracle, they both dropped to the floor and left it.  Caramel let her dominate, and after that one time, there were no more fracas.  Then Caramel seemed unable to control her pee, but it turned out to be crystals in her urine, and antibiotics did the trick.  And for the first little while, we did grow attached.

Caramel

However, other doggie beahvioural issues were not fixable with antibiotics.  Neither dog walked well on a leash. They both pulled mightily, and controlling both at once was impossible.  So not only did they have to be walked separately, but walking them was highly unpleasant experience. Now I would know how to correct that. Back then, at the end of my Masters and under tremendous pressure, I didn't have the time or the energy to train wild dogs. So they never got walked, and were completely filled with pent-up energy all the time. It got so bad that Marisa found us a volunteer dog walker that came once a week. But clearly dogs need a good walk more than once a week.

Then there were the individual issues.  Cocoa, it turned out, was utterly and completely submissive to humans, but a terror to other dogs. On the Middle Child's birthday, about a week after their arrival, we took the dogs and some sleds and went to the park. It was a total nightmare. The dogs barked at every other dog they saw, and Cocoa almost got into it with one we met while walking along. After that, we never took them anywhere again.

I think Caramel may have been decent with other dogs, if not for Cocoa's bad example.  On the other hand, Cocoa obeyed, and Caramel didn't.  One day Cocoa discovered she could leap the fence around the deck.  She raced into the neighbour's yard, but when I bellowed, "COCOA! COME!", she did. So Cocoa could probably have been let out on her own in the yard, but Caramel was prone to bolting and did not come when called. Had Caramel made the leap, we may never have seen her again.  Thus we couldn't just let them out in the yard to pee without being leashed, which was a terrible nuisance. It meant parkas and boots just for a 30-second pee, not to mention the leash-pulling.  We put up a baby gate at the stairs, and our deck turned into their toilet.  And we always had to guard the door coming and going.  Caramel managed to get past us one Sunday, as we were leaving for an afternoon wedding.  We drove around for 15 minutes before we found her a block away, trotting down the street, very pleased with herself.  She wouldn't come when called, but not being very bright, trapped herself by running up on someone's front porch.  We managed to lasso her and get to the wedding on time.  At that point we started feeling enough was enough with these two creatures.  That, and the fact that I hadn't slept since they'd arrived, as they both insisted in sleeping with me.

We asked Marisa that, if she couldn't find a permanent home, perhaps she could find another foster family.  However, we felt that separating them would be a bad idea.  After the skirmish on the first night, we never had any trouble with them as a pair.  They spent most of their time curled up together on the couch or on my bed.  Cocoa had a very endearing habit of licking out Caramel's ears.  In fact, we suspected a mother/daughter relationship; Caramel was fixed, but Cocoa was not.  We muddled along, marital bonds fraying, as The Spouse got more and more fed up with two large dogs knocking about befouling the porch.  They also managed to destroy the paper blinds in the living room.  But Marisa and I stuck to our guns: they went together, or not at all. 

Truth be told, Caramel was just a gentle idiot, and wonderful with the girls.  She wasn't really bad, just stupid for a dog.  And Cocoa was just my dog.  She was more intelligent, and adored me. [All negative comments based on that statment will not be posted, so don't even try.]  She stayed by my side at all times, and even, with great effort, managed to curl up in my lap on my office chair. Quite a feat for 50+ pound dog.  If we could have fixed the dog aggression, I might have considered keeping her.  However, The Great Guinea Pig Fiasco ended any chance Cocoa and Caramel had of staying with us, separately or together.

Winter's Coming

Last Friday, I took the girls with me to the dog park.  I think it will be the last time I take them for a long time.

The wind blew.  The Youngest froze.  We all ended up in the former bus shelter, where curious dogs poked their heads in through the open spaces where panes of glass used to be.  Our Best Friend, in full protective mode, spent most of the time in the bus shelter with us, venturing a few feet outside to wander and sniff, but not moving too far off.  We left before our meter expired, which is unheard of.

The best dogs are gone.  I haven't seen Princess in over a month; she and her owner disappeared last winter too, reappearing in May.  The Italian greyhounds, my two special boys, were there about a week ago, but they had their sweaters on (and Cocoa looked quite... effete... in his little Argyle).  I haven't seen them since, and they're too delicate for severe cold.  More friends I'll miss 'til spring.  I'll see Happy, I'm sure, a few others... but only strong, heavily furred creatures enjoy the northern winter.

Our Best Friend loves the cold, but he hates the wet.  I managed to run out there with him today, during a break from the rain that's been falling steadily since Saturday.  About five minutes before we had to leave to get the girls from school, it starting raining again.  And it wasn't a gentle start, with a slow build-up, giving you a chance to open an umbrella, or get to your car.  No, suddenly it was sheeting down.  Again, I got to the car before the meter expired.

I don't like the cold or wet, but unless I want to suffer guilt, I try to take him out every day. That means muddy paws on my kitchen floor, and dirt everywhere.  That, combined with the furballs along the baseboards and in every corner, makes me understand why my friends think I'm crazy to have a big shedding dog in the house.  I'll actually be happier when it is winter; at least the snow is cleaner than the rain and mud.

Waste Not....

Instead of throwing it in the trash (in biodegradable bags, of course), the people of Cambridge, Massachusetts, have found a better use for dog bombs.  Now, if we could get such a project off the ground at our park....  (Off the ground-- get it? Or should I say get it under the ground?  Or maybe I should just shut up now? )

Art Imitates Life-- Badly

I was flipping channels a few nights ago, and one of the movie channels was showing a movie called Dog Park.  Well, clearly this was in my purview of interest, so I PVR'ed it.

I knew it was a bad sign that it had "famous names" in the credits, and yet I had never heard of it.  And true to this warning, it really was very bad movie.  It scored 4.9 on IMdB, and 33% on Rotten Tomatoes.  (Frankly, I'm surprised it scored that high.)  It was even badly named; though some of the action takes place in a dog park, not enough of it does to consider it the focus of the movie. 

IMdB calls it a "sex comedy," while RT lists it under "comedy."  I think they were shooting for "romantic comedy," and if so they shot themselves in the foot.  Andy, played by Luke Wilson before he was really famous, is pining for Cheryl (Kathleen Robertson), who left him for Trevor (Gordon Currie), until he meets Lorna (Natasha Henstridge), who used to date Trevor until he was stolen by Cheryl.  Lorna, however, refuses to be interested even though Andy proves what a stellar guy he is by holding her hair while she repeatedly throws up on their first "date" (if that's what you call it when a chick takes you back to her place after picking you up in bar).  He even sends her roses afterwards, which she promptly trashes (except for the single one she saves).  Why she refuses to give him a chance, when he is clearly into her and she liked him enough intially to invite him over, is totally unclear.  It has something to do with fear of relationships, I think.

Thus rejected by Lorna, Andy ends up with Kieran (Kristin Lehman), who bought him at charity bachelor auction.  Kieran, however, is all about the physical, while Andy is about something deeper.  Meanwhile he envies the relationship of his best friends, Jeri (Janeane Garofalo) and Jeff (Bruce McCulloch, who also wrote and directed this sorry mess), until he finds out that Jeff is actually having an affair with Rachel (Amie Carey), who, coincidentally, works with Lorna.

So what does any of that have to do with dog parks?  Well, they all own dogs, you see!  Lorna has a dog named Peanut, who refuses to come when called.  Andy has a Sheltie named Mogli, whom Cheryl stole when she went to live with Trevor and is consequently suffering from emotional trauma due to overexposure to Cheryl and Trevor's enthusiastic love life.  The best part of the movie is the doggie psychologist, played with great camp by Mark McKinney, who is seeing both Mogli and Peanut.  We only learn that Andy and Lorna have a mutual bond through Cheryl and Trevor when Andy, Lorna and Cheryl all meet up in good doctor's waiting room.  (Jeri and Jeff's have two boxers, whom they call "the girls;" they are very well-balanced and don't need therapy, although they do attend Dr. Cavan's training school.)

There are a few scenes actually filmed in a dog park, though no park I can imagine.  It looks like an enormous city park dedicated to dogs, rather than a fenced-in bit of a larger park.  If you had a dog prone to bolting, you'd lose him there in the first five minutes.  But while none of the characters or relationships in the movie have any authenticity, the behaviour of the people in the dog park rings true.  In one scene, Jeri and Jeff search for a doggie deposit left in the dark, desperate to find it.  Jeri even turns to the dog and asks, "Where did you leave it?"  In another, one woman (I think it was Cheryl, but it could have been Kieran; all these characters seem the same to me) asks a woman in the park what her name is.  The second woman freezes, holds her dog tighter in her arms, and replies, "I'm with Poppy." Then she walks off.  Andy explains, "At the dog park, it's about the dogs."

Well, maybe that's a bit exaggerated.  While we do tend to ask the dog's name and breed before asking any personal details (like the name) of the owner, when asked for their names people generally answer. I expect more dogs, and more park, from a movie called Dog Park.  Maybe I should turn the blog into a screenplay;  excuse me while I call Uma Thurman and see if she's available.....

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part IV: Bernita

After Cookie left, the kids wanted another dog immediately.  There was a black lab/Bernese cross on death row at one of the country pounds outside the city, and one of Marisa's volunteers dropped her at our house.  My girls named her Bernita.

Bernita

Bernita, for a pound dog, was grossly obese.  Almost immediately after entering the house, the dog pooped in the kitchen. I blamed myself, thinking she had needed out after her long car ride from the pound, and I should have realized it.  I took her out to pee, and she took off, racing through three yards before I cornered her.  She refused to come when called, and when I tried to pull her, the collar came off.  She was too heavy to lift.  So I just turned my back and walked off, and thankfully she followed me home.  After that, I only took her out on a least.

However, I couldn't take her out enough, and the puddles of pee accumulated in the kitchen.  Bernita had arrived on a Wednesday evening, and by Thursday night, I was at my wit's end.  She waddled when she walked, and often just plopped down, seemingly unable to walk any farther.  She was fearful, but not aggressive; she would cry and roll on her back when given an order, but would not obey it. 

I couldn't have a dog peeing all through the weekend, especially as we were invited to friend's for lunch Saturday.  I didn't want to deal with an incontinent dog, and asked Marisa to re-home her immediately.

Predictably, the kids were hugely distressed.  Whatever her other faults, Bernita was a kid's dog.  On her first night, she spent an hour going from room to room, cuddling all three kids in turn.  On Thursday night, she just climbed into bed with the Middle Child, and cuddled her all night.  She lived to love and be cuddled by small people.

But the maintenance was beyond me.  Although it was a Friday in December, and the Sabbath came in very early (around 4:00), we all loaded Bernita into the van and drove her to a new foster family about 30 minutes away.  The new fosters were "professionals."  Melinda was a stay-at-home mom, with three kids and her mother living with them.  They had two dogs of their own, a Bassett hound and a Great Dane, four cats, and had foster birds and bunnies from the SPCA.  They also had a fenced-in back yard where Bernita could be let out instantaneously when she had the need.

My kids patted all the cats, cooed over the bunnies, and made friends with two little girls, one of whom was attired in a princess costume.  Poor Bernita cowered in the entrance hall, terrified of the Great Dane.  Fortunately, her bladder held. She was whimpering and terrified when we left, and two of my kids cried all the way home.  We spoke to both Melanie and Marisa later; Bernita got over her fear, settled in just fine, and her indoor peeing became a problem of the past.  But my girls still talk about her as the "cuddliest dog ever," and it reinforced the message to me, lost through the perfection of Cookie, that fostering a dog could be more work than one is ready to take on.

Fun at the Park

In spite of what my recent posts sound like, we have taken Our Best Friend to the park a few times in the last few weeks.  And it's still the fun place that inspired me to start this blog in the first place.

I am always amazed at the number of new dogs (and new people) I meet.  I keep thinking that after over a year, coming several times a week at different times of the day, I should know everybody by now.  Yet there are always new dogs and new people, making for different experiences each time.

At the beginning of September I struck up a conversation with a woman who told me that she and her partner had just moved to the nieghbourhood, bringing four children and a dog together in a new, blended family.  Yes, it was stressful and hectic, but wonderful too, and coming to the dog park was something they all loved.  She even told me her name, and I gave her mine.  She said she looked forward to seeing us again, I think because we're also one of the rare "families" that come.  Naturally I haven't seen her since, and of course, I've also forgotten her name.  But I hope we see each other again too.  I want to hear that the two families are really becoming one, and see a happy ending unfolding in front of us.

We also met a young man with his girlfriend and his young miniature pinscher.  I didn't even recognize the dog as a miniature pinscher, as it was smaller than most, with no black at all, only brown.  I thought it was a rat terrier or chihuahua, and it ran through the park faster than the greyhounds.  Just watching it go was highly entertaining, but I found when I reached out my hand to make friends, it backed off.  "He's nervous around people," the owner explained.

Meanwhile, his girlfriend was tentatively reaching out toward Our Best Friend, who was being his usual aloof self with a stranger.  "Can I pat him?" she asked anxiously.  "I'm still nervous around dogs, but I'm trying to get over it."  We assured her that Our Best Friend was perfectly harmless, and she patted him gingerly, starting when he moved.  The irony was amazing: a dog afraid of people, and a girlfriend afraid of dogs.  This dude never has to worry that she'll steal the dog if they break up. 

And we did see old friends too.  There's Happy, a black lab cross who "talks" in a highly distinctive hoarse bark.  Princess, the golden retriever, always comes trotting fast when she sees my girls; she lives to be patted by small children, and mine are happy to oblige.  Her owner is a slightly eccentric older woman with an amazing European air.  She has her group of friends that she likes to chat with, but she's always gracious to my girls and we have a very cordial rapport.  Sierra, a thirteen-year-old poodle, capers like a puppy and comes to press her head against me for a love, especially after her owner tells off for eating dirt.  And we even saw Pal, whom I hadn't seen in months, a "goth" Dalmation with black rings around both his eyes and a sweet disposition.  His owner is a quiet but friendly young woman, and we all spent a good ten minutes marvelling at the amount of white fur that covered the picnic table he was sitting on.  My Oldest's skirt was covered in tiny white hairs when she was done playing.  Lesson learned: Dalmation owners should not wear black.

And there were days I went and didn't see a soul I knew, or talk to anyone.  You see people sitting on benches reading, talking on their cels, or actually playing with their dog.  Whenever I go mid-morning, I try to remember to bring my iPod so I feel less alone.  I know that's also part of the dog park experience, but the truth is, I like the interactive times better.  I see the dog as a catalyst to relationships between people.  The category "dog lover" is the common denominator that makes us find other factors we might share.  And anything that helps people get along better is a good thing.

Back to Reality

The holidays are finally over. Sukkot started almost two weeks ago (Wednesday night), and went straight through to last Saturday night.  After all the cleaning, laundry, and general catching up, this has been my first chance to resume some normal actitvities.

The holidays were hard on Our Best Friend. I had decided that we were going to make sure he got adequate exercise over the holiday time. Good intentions, best-laid plans, man plans, G-d laughs, etc.