My Autistic Dog

America at War by Dan Rather and the Reporters of CBS News 2003 19 oz 

Captive in Iran: A Remarkable True Story of Hope and Triumph Amid the Horror of Tehran's Brutal Evin Prison by Maryam Rostampour 2013 18 oz

The Iraq War: As Witnessed by the Correspondents and Photographers of United Press International 2003 18 oz

Jihad: The Rise of Militant Islam in Central Asia by Ahmed Rashid 2002 8oz

Total: 63 oz

Method of Disposal: Dog Shredding Them in Preparation of Recycling

Wisconsin was born to a high-strung, energetic, and stubborn young pit bull that we named Georgia, on August 19, 2015.  He was part of a large litter who was temporarily fostered by a shelter employee before coming back to the shelter to be adopted.  Soon, all but three puppies found homes.  The only ones left were the black and white ones, Wisconsin, Nevada, and Dakota.  They grew up at the shelter, became bow legged, fought off mange, and became extremely mouthy.  Volunteers grew scared of them.  Harriet and I took them all home when they hit about 10 months old, to run free with our young pup, Whiskey, until we could find them a family.

Dakota went into foster and was adopted first.  Then, Nevada was adopted.  Finally, Wisconsin went home.  They were great, but they were energetic and clumsy babies.  We were glad for some peace.  Almost one year later, Wisconsin was returned with dark, purple bruising all over him.  He had restraint marks on his wrists and bruising on his chest.  I called Harriet crying, and she let me bring Wisconsin back home.  He proceeded to act more and more strange and, ultimately, it was suggested he might have rabies.  We took him to the emergency room where it was discovered he had a foreign body.  I got a phone call from the doctor who saved him, and she was quite cagey with me.  It did not take long to realize it was because she was trying to determine if I abused the poor boy.

He had been gone 9 months, and he came back completely changed.  He is such a sweet and sleepy guy most of the time, but he is ultra sensitive to sounds, lights, changing environments, activity, and he cannot control himself when he is around water.  Show him a lake, and he will try to drown, biting onto roots at the very bottom and refusing to let go.  Turn on a hose or a blender, and his eyes will change, and he will bite you.  It is hard to explain, but it is not like your typical aggression.  He is just frantic and grabbing everything within reach and, if you are within reach, he cannot distinguish what is what.

After he bit me for using a hose one day, we realized we could not adopt him out.  We understood his triggers.  We knew he needed a routine.  We knew he had to bing the clips on the side of the grill every single time he went outside before he could go into the yard to go to the bathroom.  Who else would have the patience to learn him?  We adopted him.  He was seen by a veterinary behaviorist who said, we do not label dogs as autistic yet, but, if we did, he would be labeled autistic.  We had to keep his toys to a minimum, decrease his excitement, medicate him, and find the right balance of alone time and together time.  It has been a roller coaster, albeit absolutely worth it.

In the last month, we've had a family living with us that lost their home to a fire, and we have loved having them here.  It has changed the routine a bit, and he struggles with toddler bath time.  We've had quite a few casualties.  For a minute there, I was trying to decide if he was extremely interested in the Middle East or just flat out disdainful.  He pulled the above books from various shelves and destroyed them all, on different days.  Given, he took out a printer, paper shredder, garbage can, office chair, an old portrait of my great grandparents, and quite a few original paintings and prints that were hung on the wall.  So...maybe not.

He has an Impact crate, but it is too large to fit in his room.  We ordered him a smaller one--they are not cheap, by the by, at around $1500, but he loves them.  If you leave his crate door open, he will go in there and go to sleep.  He loves being by himself in his room or in his crate.  Just as long as you do not shut the door when something scary is happening--like a blender, vacuum cleaner, FEDEX driver, dogs on tv, headlights bouncing off the walls, on and on and on.  

He has black out curtains, Impact crates, Prozac, Clonidine, Selieo (as needed), Thundershirts, ear muffs.  I have never met a dog like him, and I have worked at a dog and cat shelter for 15 years.  He is a magical beast and highly unusual, but we love him.  Normally.  Right now, I am watching him eat my library book by book so it is a little hard, but I know I will always love him underneath all that frustration.  We all have our limits and our baggage.

 

What Puppies Do

What Puppies Do by Sharon Beals
1998
Weight: 7.2 oz
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

This book contains adorable photos of dogs being dogs.  Of course, it does not resemble the Home for Wayward Dogs (aka My Home).  They would have to be shouting, screaming, licking, sleeping, searching, chewing, glaring, snuggling, begging, etc.  Once they are feeling better they leave to other homes except for those that are permanently institutionalized.  They get better and better, but they are always off kilter.  

Catmas Carols

Christmas Carols by Laurie Loughlin
2013
Weight: 5.6 oz
Method of Disposal: Lending Library

I lost another foster kitten today.  It is bound to happen.  We never want to foster kittens because it ends in heartbreak too often but, when you see them, struggling to breath and there is no one else willing to endure the possibility of losing them then what can you do?  You cannot leave them to suffer at the shelter just because you do not want to break your own heart.  Besides, sometimes you are able to turn it around.

I was not able to do that today and so, after a four day struggle, we lost Cilantro.  On evening two I started to get my hopes up.  By three, I knew we could do it.  Up until an hour before he died, I refused to believe it was happening.  Once they are gone you wish you had opted to euthanize and end their suffering.  Sometimes that is the decision you make.  Sometimes one pulls through.

No matter how many we have lost I am always heartbroken to say goodbye, to watch their final breaths.  I wish I could say that I will never foster another one.  I would really like that.  But I will never be able to turn away from a kitten or cat that is sure to die, alone in a cage.

Common Sense

Common Sense by Thomas Paine
1999
Weight: 4 oz
Method of Disposal: Leaving Somewhere

Sometimes being a little nerdy can make you the dumbest one in class.  I remember that in high school we were able to pick a book off a list for class, and I chose Common Sense based on the title.  Not on any previous knowledge of it.  Not on the number of pages, though it amuses me to think that kids regularly fall into this trap.  At the time, I was bored out of my mind while reading it.  It was paine-ful.  Haha, get it?  Okay, not funny.

Any who, now I have taken home this adorable Chihuahua puppy and was considering adopting her, but common sense tells me I should let her go.  A high school acquaintance who is a wonderful dog mom is very interested and that has to be the best route.  To love her for the next two to four weeks and then let her go.  The joys and sadness of fostering...

Guess I better talk to the wife.  Got some things to work out.

Commandos

Commandos by Octavio Diez
2001
Weight: 1 lb
Method of Disposal: Donating

The General George Alexander (featured above) is training himself to be a Commando, despite my attempts to civilianize him.  Yesterday, he took to pouncing on my ankles as I walked by and biting them.  It would shock my, and I would stumble, trying not to crunch him.  However, when you pick him up and hold him he is just a purring machine.

NEVER DRAW BLOOD THOUGH.  He had his first blood test last week and things quickly got out of hand.  He bit me and was off in a frantic, angry, blur of bristled cat fur.  It was embarrassing.  Bottle babies always have such...unique personalities...
 

Marley and Me

Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog by John Grogan
2008
Weight: 12 oz
Method of Disposal: Donating

 

Today, My Beautiful Baby Girl, Bayah, went into a trial adoption period with a very nice woman from work.  I was more of an emotional wreck about it than I have been in the past.  I had consistently been tormenting myself, going back and forth, about whether or not I should adopt her.  For once, my dogs seemed like they would allow it.  I could not even bring myself to say goodbye to her.  When I brought her in this morning, I had no idea she would be leaving this afternoon.  I, admittedly, went and top-secret, stealth cried on the walking trail.  It is always difficult to let a foster go but, as you may have read in past posts, often it is more clear to me that I am doing the right and necessary thing.  Bayah will have a wonderful home with this woman.  I do not doubt that, I just question my heart.  I loved her intensely.  Did I let her go because it was best for her?  Because I was afraid to take on more responsibility?  Because I was scared of being so connected to a foster?  I don't know.

 

 

 

Bayah (then Beau) was rescued with a single puppy, Aries, over a year ago.  They went into foster care with Harriet and Connor.  Aries got an amazing home with an incredibly kind, warm, loving man and Bayah went home with someone else.  She was fed a poor diet and returned to the shelter a year later overweight, with 6 teeth, hair loss, and looking like she had aged by at least five years.  We had nowhere for her to go at the shelter, but I could not just watch Harriet's foster walk back out the door without knowing she would be safe.  I took her home because I could not bare the thought of Harriet going through the emotional trauma of hearing what happened to her foster and not knowing the outcome.  I took her home because I loved her the second the woman said she had been cared for by a British couple. I would like to say it was before that, but I had hardened my heart.  How many other animals had come in before her that we did not have room for that day?  She embodied the love I felt for someone else.

 

 

I had her for a month, and I fell hard for her.  I loved her for who she was, a lazy, easygoing Chihuahua that felt like an overgrown potato in my hands.  I could bring her with me anywhere.  She played with my friend's dogs--okay, she did not play, but she could be around them, watching them warily or ignoring them.  She was the perfect co-pilot in the car.  She cuddled, burrowed, and snugged like no other.  Most importantly, my dogs tolerated her, were curious about her, and could leave her be when necessary. 

 

 

 

Today, she went home with a very nice woman who has another small dog.  A very well-groomed and spoiled Shih Tzu.  She will have a wonderful life, and I will be able to get updates about her.  It is the perfect, fairy-tale ending so why do I feel so lonely tonight?  I know it was the right decision.  I feel more and more confident about it as the hours pass, but I do not feel better about it yet.  Good luck, Sweet Bayah.  Look at me.  All in a frenzy and do not forget this blog started with the words "trial adoption."

 

 

 

Thinking of Strelka

Microsoft Office Excel 2007 QuickSteps  by John Cronan

2006?

Weight: 1.3 lb

Method of Disposal: Recycling the Remains

It has been a little over 24 hours since Strelka started her trial period.  I left her last night with a wonderful, sweet, thoughtful woman who had clearly been doing her research.  I did not say an emotional goodbye, partly because I was sick and partially because it is a trial.  The woman is not sure if she is ready for a baby (as opposed to an adult), but she wanted to give it a shot since she had already fallen in love with Strelka.  Part of me thinks she will give her back to me because of this, and the other part of me cannot imagine that she could live with that little girl without falling in love.  If she decides to keep her, I might just need to see her one last time.  I have been thinking about her all day.

In a different time, in a different place, she would be mine.  I am smitten with her silliness.  Her langley, clumsy legs.  The way she rests her head on my chest and stares at me while I read.  The way she gets so excited to see someone and then acts as if she is startled by her own enthusiasm and playfully backs off.  She is such a flirt.  I really hope it works out with this woman, because I cannot give this girl the life she deserves.  Oh how I wish I could.  If not, we will keep searching until we find the perfect home.

Strelka did not destroy books, except for this insignificant one.  I think Leda gave her the idea.  This was one that had a little chewing around the edges.  She was being trained by the last foster, the book-eating adorable little beagle mix, who is having the time of her life by the way. 

A Rage to Kill

A Rage to Kill  by Ann Rule

1999

Weight: 12 oz

Method of Disposal: Recycling the remains

Does she choose them by title? 

 Leda went home on Sunday, and it was a beautiful thing.  The woman that adopted her is perfect for her and will love her so much.  I will never have to worry and Leda will never have to want for anything.  If only it could be this way every time.

That being said, I miss that little dog a lot.  I think about her before I go to bed at night AND when I wake up in the morning AND about a hundred times in between.  She is an adorable little spitfire.  I am now caring for Strelka, a pit bull puppy that showed up in my driveway a month and a half ago, until she can find a loving home.  She is the complete opposite of Leda.  She likes to sit or curl up in a ball to nap beside me while I do other things.  She is playful, but also very gentle and mellow.  Instead of peeing in ten places all over the yard, it takes me at least 30 minutes to convince her that it is time to go to the bathroom (though the time gets shorter and shorter each day).  She is only a few months younger than Leda, but their energy levels and attitude on life could not be more different.  Strelka is excited but cautious.  Sweet despite being a little scared.  Leda is fearless and her excitement knows no boundaries.  I am filled with so much love for them both.  I miss Leda’s eager little face, but I love Strelka’s loving gaze as she rests her head on my chest.  I cannot wait for the day when she too finds a permanent home and a loving family.

Something Wicked This Way Comes By Ray Bradbury

1983

Weight: 4 oz

Method of Disposal: The foster puppy, Leda, ate it and the remnants are in the recycling bin

The joys of puppyhood and of fosterdom. I always tell people, confidently and smartly, that I only adopt dogs 4 years and older. It is not exactly true, but I want it to be. In a world where I did not adopt dogs so that they would not be euthanized, I would only adopt adults and seniors. I know this is counter-intuitive since adults and seniors are put down more often than the younger ones, but in the case of pit bulls—all bets are off, all pits are at risk, and if you meet the right one at the right moment you take it home whether it is 10 months old or 12 years old. Hell, I took the wrong one at the wrong time, when she was 10 months old, and she reaffirmed every reason I ever gave for not adopting a puppy, and now she is the perfect 4.5 year old girl for me. All of this is to say, that I am still adamant that adults and seniors are the way to go. They need you and you need them.

So, why do I torment myself with fostering kittens and puppies?! I foster adult animals too, but I do not have a foster age limit or maxim. I guess that it is true, on some level, that babies (particularly animal babies) are made super cute for a reason and that most people are susceptible. When I walked into the clinic over 8 months ago and saw a little baby girl that looked like my Sergei, licking the vet techs' faces, despite the fact that they were removing an embedded collar, I just had to take her home to heal. I knew it would be a short-term commitment, and I knew I could give that puppy some of the things she needed until someone else could do better.

I took her home. I cleaned, medicated, and re-bandaged her oozing neck wound. I treated her for mange, and then I took her in to be spayed. I thought she would go on the adoption floor days later, but that was not what was in store for us. As it were, Leda had a failing kidney that had to be removed. I took her to the emergency vet and then to the specialist. There was a terrible and sickening chance she would die. But she didn't. The relief was overwhelming. We just had to make sure her other kidney was functioning properly.

Once that was in order, it was time for her to find a loving home. Wrong. She had ringworm. We went through quarantines, lyme dips, and oral medications. It took a Long. Damn. Time. I am getting excited/nervous ahead of time, and I know I shouldn't do that lest I test the universe, but she may go into a forever home this weekend or next week.

One of my many heartbreaking trophies from my relationship with this beautiful, intense, hellion I loved for so long is this copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes. It was one of many books to be shredded when I was not paying attention (it only takes a few moments). It is the only one that remains recognizable, though not readable. I was frustrated when I found it in the living room, the kitchen, her bedroom. I had wanted to read it, but I never had. Why was this dog still here?!

It is true that I am about to put it in the recycling bin now, but as I hold it in my hands I think about all the wonderful attributes Leda contains in that tiny little tank of a body and that always-rearin'-to-go mind. I think about all the goofy things that have made me laugh out loud and all of the sweet kisses she gave me when I rubbed her belly. The way she so eagerly and rapidly sits, shakes, and lays down (seemingly all at the same time) when she sees a treat. Sure, I also think about all the times I complained about her (SO MANY times) and all the aggravation, but it takes on a whole new light. I also, miserably, recall her crying in pain after her surgeries, waking her up during nightmares, and falling asleep with her many nights on a pallet on the floor since she could not sleep with my dogs. I think of her exuberance when she gets to play with other dogs and new people. I love that wicked little dog. I love her so much.

 And I worry, now that the time is finally here, that she will never know how much, that she will never know why I had to give her up, and that her new family will not fully realize her wonder. But I also know that I cannot offer her the things she needs. I cannot afford her the life she deserves, the life she will soon have. I cannot do these things with my current work hours and with my own special needs dogs. For 8 months, I have known this, fretted over it, mourned it, stressed about it. It is time, for me and her, but I hope that I can continue to get updates from her new life and know that what we did, while imperfect, was incredible and that it has bonded us for life. Even if I never see her again. That I gave her the chance she needed to survive and that she gave me the experience of witnessing and partaking in her embodiment of all-encompassing joy, despite all of the hurdles she had to overcome.

Amoeba and Paramecium

America the Beautiful by Moon Unit Zappa
2001
Weight: 12 oz
Method of Disposal: Donation



I have been fostering a three week-old kitten for three days now, and I still do not have a name for her despite my manager asking me about it through text message at random times during the day. I am thinking about it, but I want it to be wonderful. It does not matter how often I name animals it is always important and special to me. Usually, I get vetoed and when I don’t people grumble about the dog named “Medvedev” for weeks. My own dogs were named by my ex-girlfriend, with the exception of Phoenix—who I named when I was in 9th grade and I bet you could tell. My car is named Alexandra (and the one before her was Athena) and my GPS is Vetica. I like names. I really like irregular names. I dream of naming a sibling duo Amoeba and Paramecium, but I am always shot down.

I picked up America the Beautiful after my coworker/dear friend/girl who would read me Curious George pointed it out. She was thinking about buying it because Moon Unit is the daughter of Frank Zappa. I bought it mostly because the author’s name was Moon Unit and the main character was named America Throne. I should have known I would not enjoy it when I saw that the two review quotes on the back of the book were made by Alanis Morisette and Diane Leslie, author of FLEUR DE LEIGH’S LIFE OF CRIME? Or when I read the first sentence of the description. “America Throne is living the good life in L.A. Her career is sprouting, and she is in love—with Jasper Husch, a sexy-sultry artist from San Fran.” I feel like I was just punched in the stomach. Do you feel that?

Fortunately or unfortunately, there are plenty of people in the world that would love to read this book so I am donating it—unless any of you poor souls would like it. If you do, let me know soon and I will get it to you free of charge.
As for the baby kitten, I am thinking up a stream of not so irregular names with the help of friends and family. Just to list a few: Raika, Chicago, Millie, Mona, Lola. I do not know why, but I think it is suppose to be Millie even though I have been resisting it. A quick Google search says the name means industrious, strong, and brave. She IS all of those things, after all. Thank goodness it did not say “sweet” or I would have to throw that name out forever. To give credit where credit is due, Millie was thought up by my mother.