Zazu's Ears

Take a look at Zazu's left ear. (Her left, your right)

A warning: This is not my usual warm-and-fuzzy post. Its content may be disturbing to sensitive readers.


Our next foster, Zazu, has arrived. But before she even got here, my colleague, Amanda, pointed out something in Zazu's shelter pictures. She seemed to have slits cut into her big, floppy ears. 


We started to put the pieces together. First, Zazu was from a rural shelter in Virginia. Second, she is, without a doubt, a hunting dog. (Although I don't know what she is for sure, I'm labeling her as a Treeing Walker Coonhound mix.) With that, we started to Google terms like "ear marking" and "ear tagging."

The notch on her left ear went straight through;
the notch on the right ear is in the same location,
but didn't seem to go all the way through the skin.

Now I've heard of tagging animals to track their migration. I've also seen tattoos inked into the inside of laboratory dogs' ears. But I've never seen slits like this before. From my research, I believe this is what hunters call "ear notching." It's used to identify dogs of a particular hunter's pack. (It's more commonly used with pigs. It's also used to identify feral cats that have been spayed/neutered.)


If we were talking about piercing/marking/tattooing a dog's ears under sterile conditions where the animal feels little to no pain, this would be a different story. But I happened upon web sites and message boards where hunters discuss ear marking/notching/branding, including this board from predatorsmastersforum.com about branding. I hope they are the minority, but I fear they are not. 


One poster said, "Microchips may be state of the art, but a brand can be seen by all and a theft deterrent in itself. At the very least, if a branded dog gets stolen the sorry SOB gets a reminder every time he looks at the dog that the dog isn't his." 


Another poster asks if other hunters sedate the dogs at the vet, themselves, or just hold them down. One reply says, "We've always just held them down without sedation, they'll whine a bit, but it isn't too bad." 


Another reply puts it bluntly: "I 'juice' them, and cut nuts at the same time if they need it. 'Juice' makes things much easier, for branding and castration." (By juice, I'm assuming he means liquor.)


And then there's the site www.coondawgs.com in which a hunter describes in detail how he brands his dogs. His message to "animal huggers" seem to be written just for me: "You animal huggers can already quit your whining about how much it must hurt, and that's why they struggle when they are being branded, and all of that whiny baby garbage. If you were going to PM me about what an a$$ I am to do that to a dog, and it ought to be done to me, save it. I'm telling you from experience that it don't hurt. I wear the same iron as my dogs - I belong to them as much as they belong to me. They'd give their life for me; to return the favor is the least I could do."


Well, I have a few responses to the conglomerate of posters I have quoted here. First off, I'd like to see YOU merely "liquored" up, have a brand scolded into your ear, then have your nuts cut off. Then I'd like you to tell me that "it don't hurt."


Second, sir(s), I am the "SOB" who "gets a reminder every time he looks at the dog that the dog isn't his." You're right. Zazu isn't mine. In fact, she was found sleeping in a roadside ditch with her sister nearly starved to death. After that, she spent 3 months in a shelter. Perhaps you could have claimed her then if she was such an important member of your pack. 


And now she is currently napping next to me on my bed in suburban New Jersey. I look down at her ear and I'm reminded she's not mine because I would never do such a thing to a dog. She's not mine; I'm taking care of her because I care about dogs, and I care about her. She's not mine; I'm just glad she's no longer yours. 

PUP-DATES: Calendar Photo Contest

My love of pup-dates can not be understated. It's so rewarding to hear how these near-and-dear-to -my -heart dogs are doing. Luckily, pupdates have been plentiful during a week when I've been in desperate need of pick-me-ups.

Why this week? Our rescue is holding a photo contest for adopted animals to be featured on a 2012 calendar. Many adopters have sent in photos of their pooches along with some quick updates of how the dogs are doing.

Wookiee (now Chewie) sounds like the world's best dog. He is one mellow, hairy dude who loves playing with his brother, Zeus. He's gained about 10 pounds since November, which he desperately needed because he was all fur and bones with a case of whip worms when we had him. His adopter says Chewie is a real nature lover who stops and smells the roses outside.

Karina (now Winnie) is really settling down in her home. Her separation-anxiety and dog issues seem to have abated. Her adopter sent me a bunch of pictures to browse through in an effort to pick the best ones for the photo contest. In all of them Winnie is either at work with her adopter or commuting to work. (Sounds like my own life!) Regardless, they were all adorable, but this is my favorite one.

Life Lesson #3: Making Room for More

This post isn't about dogs; in fact, you'll be glad no canines were involved.

Hurricane Irene rolled into New Jersey late Saturday night. We worried about downed trees on our quaint little town's tree-lined streets. We worried about not having electricity. We worried about trains being cancelled and roads being closed.

What we didn't worry about was a basement filled with a foot and a half of water. And that's exactly what we got. We were awoken at 5am by a horrible crashing sounds in the basement. We ran down to find 3-4 inches of water. The power had failed and, accordingly, so did our sump pump. We spent the next hour grabbing the essentials like contestants on Supermarket Sweep—important documents, electronics, scrapbooks. We grabbed and stacked as fast as we could, but the water kept rising. So then we started bailing water. With two small buckets, we ran up and down the stairs dumping the water into our bathtub. It was useless, but you can't helplessly stand by and watch all of your belongings go under.

The water won 16 inches to 0. That was yesterday.

Today was clean-up day. I hope you never have to wade through water with your life-long memories floating by—photos, books, each carrying a specific significance. (But maybe you have and you can relate.) Sure, we lost things of actual monetary value, such as big ticket appliances, and that hurts the wallet. But it was the little things that hit me hardest. They fall into a few categories...

• Things that survive despite the odds (and thank goodness they do):

Our extra wedding invitations were sealed in a dinky envelope. Finding some of these intact made my day.

• Things that deserve to be destroyed but are in perfect shape:

Why do I have these Pogs that went out of style 20 years ago? Even if they were in style, they didn't deserve to survive when my precious belongings did not. I hope they have survival's guilt.

• Things of $0 monetary value that are irreplaceable:



This Golden Book wouldn't sell for $0.01 on ebay, even if it were dry. Sure, I could go out and buy a copy of this same title and it would stir the memories of reading with my mom as a child, but my signature (4-year-old style) can't be replaced.

• Things you never knew you had and are glad you found (even if it took a massive flood):

Photos of my husband as a child

• Things of emotional importance you should have let go years ago:

This was my favorite doll as kid, but she's been musty and mildew-y for years. Also included in this category are just anything to do with exes.

• Things that remain as connections to loved ones who have passed:



As a kid, I took this suitcase to grandma's house for sleepovers. It's soaked through and through, but you better bet I'll be drying it with a hair dryer all day tomorrow. Letting go of this means letting go of her memory.

Sure, we've held on to some things in hopes of preserving them. But we've thrown out 60+ bags of "trash"—all things that once held significance to us. It makes me terribly sad, but it also makes us feel like we're starting fresh, especially as we begin our lives as a married couple. We're making more room in our home and in our lives for something more. What that "more" is, we're not sure, but you can bet a dog of our own and many foster dogs will be part of it. 

PUP-DATE: Karina

I received another pup-date from Karina's family. (And by Karina, I mean Winnie, which is what her people call her now. Does anyone else have problems with calling their old fosters by new names?)

Karina continues to make progress settling in. Her separation anxiety has dissipated. Her people are working with her dog-to-dog interactions. They sent along this picture of Karina on her union-mandated lunch break. I miss that dog, but I look into those eyes and know she is loved.

The Dogs of Pompeii

I'm back from hiatus from our wedding! As we await our next foster, I thought I'd report back from our honeymoon...

Dogs weren't far from our minds. The south of France seemed to be full of people that loved their small, un-neutered dogs—specifically Yorkies and Westies. And then there was the USDA beagle that sniffed me out among hundreds of people at the airport for "smuggling" cookies from Spain.

Above all else, there were the stray dogs of Pompeii. If you've ever visited, you may have seen this famous mosaic of one of Pompeii's guard dogs, which warns "beware of the dog."

I'm sure you also noticed the more modern dogs sleeping in the shade of ancient columns. There are more modern signs that tell visitors not to approach or pet any of these dogs that call Pompeii home. I obeyed and snapped photos of them from a distance—thinking that the photos looked like they belonged on Petfinder.

Luckily, the Italian government is a few steps ahead. Or maybe they had to be. There were isolated reports of dogs attacking visitors at the popular tourist attraction, as well as recurring problems with the dogs fighting over food and females in heat. With an estimated 50 stray dogs at the ruins at any given time, there were also problems with local gangs recruiting (read: stealing) the animals for dog fighting. 

So, in 2009, Pompeii's administrators started a program to promote the adoption of dogs. The dogs were given medical attention, spayed/neutured, microchipped, and outfitted with Roman names. Then, they were put up for adoption. In the program's first six months, the Times reports 22 dogs were adopted. 

As we noticed, the issue has not been solved since the program was handed over to local volunteers last summer. Many dogs are still abandoned in Southern Italy—particularly by pilgrims who visit the area each year and by those who know that their dog will likely be fed and cared for if deserted at Pompeii. Overpopulation knows no boundaries and has no easy solution. But at least someone is doing something to help these dogs stand a fighting chance.

Visit the project's website, (C)ave Canem, for more information. Then, check out these articles from Discovery News and The New York Times. 

ADOPTED: Jack's 8 Months of Yeses and Nos

Jack's first day with us

No, said Jack's former owners in West Virginia. We don't want him.

Yes, said the shelter. We will take him.

No, said the shelter. We don't have room for him anymore. We must euthanize him.

Yes, said the rescue. We have a foster home who will take Jack.

Yes, said Jack's first adopters. We'd like to take him home.

No, said Jack's first adopters. We can't keep him.

Yes, said his fosters. We will take him back.

No, said his fosters. We can't keep him any more. He needs more exercise and is acting out.

Yes, said his new foster. I will take him.

Yes, said his new adopters. We know he has issues, but we've trained Border Collies before. We will work with him and even do agility training. We will take him home.

Lots and lots of PUP-DATES!

We've been dog-less for over a week. You forget how quiet and lonely (and clean and easy) life is without a dog. Sigh. Regardless, we need to take a break with wedding day less than month away. In the mean time, I have some updates on the dogs to share:

Chloe was adopted by a local couple. They are working on house training her—something we only put a dent in during her time with us.

Jagger's family sent along this photo.
He loves his duck!

Jagger's trial period ended and—drum roll, please—the couple decided to adopt him! During the trial, they both fell in love with him and witnessed some of his bad habits, including drinking from the toilet and guarding the home. They acknowledge he's a great dog, and they want to be the people to help him. They are hiring a trainer to work through the rough spots. Major kudos to them for giving this boy a chance.

Bella's people say she's doing well. I haven't heard much else, but sometimes no news is good news.

Karina/Winnie at work. Working
hard or hardly working?

Karina is settling in to her new life. Initially she had some separation-anxiety issues. This was probably due in part to the fact she goes to work every day with her person, so she is anxious when left alone. She's getting better week by week, so this is good news. Her person just loves her to pieces, as does the office staff where she works. The biggest news, I suppose, is Karina underwent a name change. (For real this time—no April Fool's joke.) She is now Winnie. [Side note: I miss her, but the neighborhood kids miss her more. They're always asking for our big black dog that likes to play soccer.]

Jack is still living with the same foster who did the switcheroo with us. We saw him a few weeks ago when we stopped by her house. He was in the backyard—jumping and running in circles like a hyena. Apparently he spends hours and hours doing this. There has been a fair amount of interest in him, but nothing has panned out so far. (Non-negotiables with Jack's adoption include having A LOT of space for him to run and dog experience so he doesn't take over your household.) I just found out he has a promising adopter who he'll meet next weekend. Please cross your paws that it works out for this handsome boy.