Zach (January 7, 1996 - January 31, 2011)

Zach in his prime

According to the charts, he was 115 (human) years old.  Tibetan Mastiffs have an average lifespan of ten to fourteen years, longer than most large-breed dogs, but any dog owner will tell you it's never long enough.

The Mother-in-Law always called Zach a "gitte neshamah," a "good soul," because of his patience and gentility. When the Brother-in-Law brought him home from Virginia fifteen years ago, he was a big ball of fluff, and the BiL used to carry him around in his arms because he was afraid to climb the stairs. The MiL fell instantly in love with the "big teddy bear," and within a month Zena came north to join her littermate so Mom could have a dog too. Zena was the runt of the litter, and Zach always looked out for her, something that made the BiL pick him in the first place. The two of them never passed each other without a wag of the tail and lick on the face. When Zina was put to sleep two years ago, Zach didn't eat for three days.  He knew someone important to him was gone, and he grieved.

He was a gentle giant, nervous about everything. When he was a puppy, he slid and went splat in the marble entry hall to the condo building; that floor terrified him ever after. Every time he went around the corner from hall to kitchen in the apartment, he put one paw down very gingerly, and took his time; he'd had a fall there too.  He barked up a storm when the doorbell rang, but greeted everyone who entered with a dignified wag of the tail and a gentle nudge of the nose.  He never jumped, and seldom licked.  In the true manner of a TM, he was aloof and independent, yet never unfriendly. He bore up manfully under petting from small children, but would eventually just get up and walk away.

He shed. My lord, did he shed.  The BiL couldn't be bothered to groom him on a regular basis, and the clumps of fur drove me nuts.  I used to take him out on the balcony, and brush and pull and gather enough to knit a sweater.  Zach didn't care much for this.  One day, as I enthusiastically pulled and tugged at his coat, he kept getting up and moving to the door, and I kept grabbing him and pulling him back. Finally, he let me know in no uncertain terms he had had enough. This enormous, 120-pound dog, who could rip my arm off if he wanted to, started to cry. And he won-- I didn't have the heart to keep brushing him.

The family brought him here for the Eldest's birthday last year, because Zach was very much part of the family and we wanted him with us. Our Best Friend felt threatened by the presence of such a big alpha male in his house, and finally attacked him, biting him over the eye. I came very close to getting rid of OBF after that. The BiL convinced me that OBF is a good dog, just insecure, and that time and patience would cure this aggression. As much as I love him, I still haven't forgiven OBF for this. It taught me something important about my dog, but I'm sorry the lesson came at Zach's expense.

Our last visit with Zach involved a trip to his dog park, and I think it was the best good-bye we could have had.  I knew in my heart I probably wouldn't see him again; sure enough, a few weeks later he was diagnosed with a growth on his liver. The BiL didn't think Zach would make it to his birthday, but he did; he even made it to the BiL's birthday a few weeks later.  Then, as last week wound down, it became evident that Zach's quality of life was declining. So today, the BiL, his sister, and mother all went with Zach to the vet for his final visit.

I won't believe he's gone until we go out there on our next visit, and there's no black polar bear to greet us.  The house will seem empty.  Rest in peace, Zach, our gentle giant, our "gitte neshamah."

Fairy Dogparents

Here's a little feel-good story to start off the new year.

Economic times are rough, and animal welfare experts will tell you that when money grows short, the family pet is often abandoned or given to a shelter because its owners have to make a choice between feeding the pet and feeding themselves. At the same time, animal lovers know the difference a pet can make in life of someone who is lonely or struggling with hardship.

Enter Fairy Dogparents.  The brainchild of Marlo Manning, Fairy Dogparents is a non-profit organization  that provides food and vet care for dogs whose owners are facing difficult financial times so they are not forced to give up their pet.  The charity operates in Massachusetts, and is fairly new.

For the full story, watch this "Making a Difference" segment with Brian Williams of NBC.

The "Perks" of Dog Ownership #4

Our Best Friend loves snow. The Middle Child took him out the other day, and he started digging frantically under the hedge between us and the neighbours.  Thinking it was a ball buried under the snow, TMC helped, pushing the snow with her mittens.  The next thing she knew, OBF had a frozen dead squirrel in his mouth.  Horrified, she made him drop it somehow, and brought him in immediately. She was clearly traumatised, but, to her credit, held it together. 

I gave her a big hug, and we talked about life and death and how excited OBF must have been to catch a squirrel at long last.  The critter lay in the yard until I had a chance to go out this morning and bury it on the hill.  The ground is too frozen for a proper burial, so it's under a layer of snow.  We may see it again in the spring-- but I hope I see it first, and get it under the earth before the kids are traumatised a second time.

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part II: The Decision to Foster

After foster kitties Scraps and Matilda left, the house felt empty and sad. For the longest time I couldn't bear to go in the garage and see the leftover litter, their little dishes, and the toys my kids had made. Eventually, I emptied the garage and swept away all traces, crying as litter dust flew.

In our search for a rescue group to take in the girls, I connected with Marisa, who heads up a group called Paws for Life. Marisa has two main sources of foster dogs: puppy mills and seven-day "shelters," where dogs have one week to be adopted or they’re euthanised. These shelters have the nerve to charge Marisa to save these dogs; each rescue costs her about $40.00, and she also pays for neutering, shots, and other medical needs the animal has. She gets some donations, but is not a charitable organization and can't issue tax-deductible receipts. She recoups her expenditures through adoption fees that just cover her costs.

Much as I wanted to save the life of some poor puppy on death row, The Spouse and I were hesitant. Fostering means getting attached to a pet, then giving it up. At the time, our children were 10, 8, and 5. I didn't need to traumatise them– or me!– with revolving pets. The Eldest and I had cried all the way home after leaving Scraps and Matilda at the rescue.

The children, however, badly wanted a pet, so we did something we do very infrequently in our family-- we had a meeting. We emphasised to the kids that we would not be keeping these dogs: we travel too much, we don't have the money for expensive vet bills (one friend has spent $3,600 curing her dog's urinary tract infection), no one was home all day, etc. etc. The kids didn't care. They promised there wouldn't be tantrums and tears. They wanted a pet in the house, and they loved the idea of saving a life in the process. So, a little nervous and wondering what I was getting into, I e-mailed Marisa and told her find us a new friend.

Return From Hiatus

The last few posts haven't dealt with dog park per se because we've been away on vacation, and left Our Best Friend behind.  Although we returned a few days ago, it's been pouring rain, and today was my first chance to get back to the park.

We went just before mid-morning, around 9:30.  It was an interesting welcome home; there was only one person I knew, and she and her Doberman pup are just acquaintances.  The two dogs sniffed one another cordially, and OBF went on his way. 

It was a good thing I brought my iPod; no one was in a social mood, not even the dogs.  Two men stood talking, but everyone else was doing his or her own thing.  A woman sat on a bench, writing on a pad.  Her dog ran up to sniff me, but when I stretched out my hand to pat him, he jumped back and ran off.  A man sat alone on another bench, as his dog romped around. OBF gave brief chase to a golden retriever cross, but then galloped past to the water fountain. (Our Best Friend is not very social on his best days.)  We walked the oval path that used to be the bus turnaround; another woman and her Rhodesian ridgeback took the path in the opposite direction.  We smiled at the Doberman pair each time we passed, but overall it was a solitary outing today.

Doesn't matter. It's still our dog park, and it felt good to be home.

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership

In case you haven't noticed, my personal photo shows a kitten cavorting through the meadows.  It doesn't jive with a person who writes about dogs, and owns a rather large, wolf-like German shepherd cross.  There is a reason.  Truth is, I'm a cat person.  My MSN picture shows a small grey kitten pointing a semi-automatic weapon out a window.  I call her Assassination Kitty; her motto is, "Mess with me and I'll blow your guts out."  She seems too aggressive for a blog persona, so I chose kitty-romping-through-the-meadow for the blog.

But I digress.  I became a dog owner through bad association.  The Spouse is violently allergic to cats, and thus I, a person who believes that a purring cat in one's lap can cure all ills, can't own one.  For years we lived in an upstairs apartment that was too small for the five of us, never mind any pets.  We finally became homeowners with a yard three years ago. Still, we weren't ready for a pet. Pets cost money.  They need food and vaccinations and boarding when you go away.  We weren't prepared for that kind of commitment.

Then, almost two years ago, we were hosting an evening party for a friend when two kittens made an appearance at our front door.  They had pink flea collars, but were dirty and skinny and much too young to be wandering the streets.  All the children were delighted, and half the party moved outside to play with them.  Our kids, especially The Eldest, who is a cat person like me, wanted to take them inside, but there was no way with 60 people in the house and The Spouse who would end up wheezing and possibly in the ER.  When the party was over, I shut the door firmly in the kitties' little faces (feeling like a monster as I did), and told the kids we'd do "something" if they were still there in the morning. 

Matilda

Scraps

They were still there in the morning.  The kittens, whom we named Scraps and Matilda, stayed in our garage for over a week.  It was hardly an ideal environment-- filthy, full of little hazards-- but at least they weren't on the streets.  I discovered Petfinder.com, and finally managed to get a local rescue to take them in.  In fact, they are still there, two years later.  My daughter says if they're still there when she moves out, she's buying them back, even though they'll be about 16 years old by them.  And she will, too.

In the course of trying to place the kitties, one of the rescue organizations asked if we would consider fostering dogs.  I was intrigued.  It was a way to 1) save an animal from death row, and 2) have all the fun of pet ownership with few of the responsibilities.  We just had to provide food and exercise.  The rescue would pay vet bills and be in charge of the search for the "forever" home.  After talking it over for a few weeks, we agreed to give it a try. And thus began the journey from petless people to dog park denizens.  (To be continued...)

Perks of Dog Ownership #2

We are currently "blessed" with small, four-legged intruders in our basement. Are they mice? Are they rats? I'm not sure I want to know.

We know they're there when Our Best Friend stands by the wall panel at the bottom of the basement stairs and starts scrabbling at the wall. Mostly they stay in the walls. But last week one of them made a break for it. Our Best Friend was fussing at the furnace room door, and when The Spouse opened the door to investigate the peanut butter-baited trap, something small came shooting out.

We thought it escaped down the hole in the floor under the washing machine. Then, about half an hour later, our Middle Child, the Spouse and Our Best Friend went into the office. Suddenly, Our Best Friend lunged under my desk (MY DESK!!!) and came out with a new friend clutched in his mouth. Whether it died of fright or canine jaw pressure we don't know, but when Our Best Friend released the critter, it was an ex-rodent.

And they say you need cats to catch mice. This is the second one OBF has caught; the first predates the existence of this blog. Our winter mouse problem vanished quickly, as the barking and scrabbling at the wall scared them off. We hope to be rid of these new invaders too speedily in our days-- amen.

Dog Friends

Human friends are almost a bonus at the dog park.  It's really the canine companionship that draws people. I know a few teens who hang out there because they don't have a dog of their own, and they crave the kind of affection only dogs can give. I find that I often ignore my own dog in order to make a new four-legged friend.

Perks of Dog Ownership #1

My daughter, who is a bit of a chicken, just ran screaming from a moth.  Our dog came rushing to her rescue, and ate the killer moth.  The world is once again safe for humanity, thanks to Man's Best Friend.

Dog Park Friends

Dog park visits become part of the rhythm of life. Some people come early in the morning, before they go to work; some people work from home and take their lunch break at the park. Others come after work, some only on weekends, and some (the unemployed like me) show up all over the map. If you keep a regular schedule, you'll end up seeing the same people over and over.

It's not the morning rush on the subway, where people avoid eye contact and everyone focuses on his or her iPod, newspaper, or nap. The dogs make the difference. Of course some dogs are shy, some stick to their owners, but there are plenty of friendly ones who rush up to strangers demanding affection or recognition. Have a ball in your hand or some treats in your pocket, and you're guaranteed to attract attention.

The Dog Park

We live a seven minute walk from our local dog park. I just learned recently that it used to be a "bus turnaround" point; hence, it has an oval cement path around the perimeter, and a bus shelter at one end. I always wondered how that bus shelter got there; now I know.

Our dog park is large and relaxing. Along with the oval track (which, prior to my recently acquired knowledge, I had assumed was put there by the city so we could walk along with our off-leash dogs), there are a few picnic tables, some large shade trees, and a water fountain. The water fountain has a human end at the top and a doggie spout at the bottom, with water bowls on the ground meant for the hounds, but I've seen larger breeds put paws up and drink from the human end. Humans don't drink from the fountain in the park; we bring bottled water, if we remember.