Jumpin' Joplin

We took in Jumpin' Joplin from a shelter in Virginia. We're told he was a stray running the streets dodging traffic. He really needs a haircut, but he's adorable nonetheless.

Love

Foster cat Franky and Missy. My mom says it would be animal cruelty to separate these two lovebirds.

ADOPTED: So long, Sophie!

Missy and Sophie

Sophie wasn't an easy post-foster-failure dog. She was well-behaved, friendly, cute, and the perfect dog. She made it hard not to fail again. Truth be told, if she had come along first, we probably would have adopted her. (Don't tell Missy this!) But there's no room in this inn and thankfully a super nice couple adopted Sophie on Saturday.

Missy and Sophie and all the other dogs that came before them are testaments to the absolutely wonderful dogs that crowd shelters in the U.S. My blood boils when someone tells me they have chosen to buy a dog instead of adopt one because they "don't want to deal with a shelter dog's issues." Many dogs—like Missy and Sophie—end up in shelters not because they have issues but because their people have issues. Both Missy and Sophie's original families moved away and decided not to take the dogs with them. Look into those brown eyes and tell me these girls don't deserve a second chance. I dare you!

Dogs v. Cats

Franky

Well, folks. We've crossed over to the dark side. We took in a foster cat. My better human half is good with cats, and he figured a cat would be lower-maintenance foster animal.

I, on the other hand, was a little unsure. I've never had a cat before; in fact, I was pretty certain I'd be allergic. I've also been under the impression for the last [insert how old I am here] years that cats are slinky little things with ulterior motives and shady personalities. Nevertheless, like dogs, they too deserve warm homes, so we thought we'd give a try when someone asked for our help.

When sweet kitty Franky came to us, I immediately posted his picture on Facebook thinking I would be inundated with comments along the lines of Oooh, Ahhh, and I want him! What I heard was the exact opposite—things like Dislike and We're not friends anymore. Then there were the people who told me they wouldn't dare come over my house again for fear of going into anaphylactic shock. (To their credit, some kind-hearted cat people defended the feline race.)

But I was still left thinking—what have I done!? 

Within a few hours of bringing Franky home, I realized what the cat people were talking about. Not only are cats low-maintenance, they have their own way of showing affection. By mid-week, I was convinced that all of my life, I actually have been a cat person and just not known it. (At one point, perhaps after a couple beers, I might have also convinced myself I was a cat in a former life. Might being the key word here.) 

• Loves to just hang out at home and doesn't really see a need to go outside? Check.
• Generally would rather hide when the going gets tough? Check.
• Requires only small doses of human interaction? Check.
• Obsessively clean? Double check. 

Then, a couple days after this hypothetical realization, I started to see some of the drawbacks of cats. The litter pan started to stink up the whole house. The sweet kitty went crazy kitty on us when we tried to get him out from under the bed. And who ever thought it was a good idea to keep a nocturnal animal in your house? But the final kicker was when I came home from a long day at work and just wanted an exuberant, I'm-so-happy-to-see-you ball of energy to greet me at the door. 

Instead, Franky hid under the bed. He only came out when I brought him food and to use my legs to scratch his side. Sure, he didn't need me to rush home from work to keep him company. He didn't need me to walk him in the pouring rain. In fact, I generally get the feeling he doesn't need me aside to fulfill his sporadic needs of hunger or play. 

So my verdict is this: There are moments for both, and there might (again, the hypothetical might) even be a place in my home for both. Since you've read this far and are probably throwing your hands up at the fact I'm taking the easy way out by calling this a tie, if I had to make a final ruling, in more moments than others, dogs still rule and cats semi-drool. 

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.

SEMI-ADOPTED: What a Difference a Week Makes

If Karina made the case that people should adopt dogs based on their sweetness alone, then Jagger makes the case that dogs are flexible and adaptable. More humans should be like dogs.

Last Saturday, Jagger barricaded himself under the dining room table.

This Saturday, Jagger let strangers approach and pet him.

Despite his progress, I still thought Jagger might be a middle to long termer with the rescue because of his age and size. So imagine my surprise when Jagger's Petfinder listing caught the eye of a couple this week. They came to meet him at adoption day this weekend.

When they first approached, Jagger did his "I'm a five year old boy hiding behind my mom on the first day of kindergarten" routine. Once he showed his face, he warmed up to the woman, but was a bit leery of the man. They went to look at other dogs available for adoption, but really had their hearts set on Jagger. You can tell when people really want a dog. They keep looking back over their shoulders to make sure no one else might be interested in the pooch.

We explained Jagger's situation with being returned to the rescue and what he needs some work on. With a fenced-in yard, dog experience, and the willingness to work with him, the couple had a strong application. Because of our experience with him early on this week, we decided to do a trial period or a "foster to adopt" set-up. We want the couple to have a really good idea of what life will be like with Mr. Mick Jagger in their presence. They'll keep him for two weeks, and then decide for sure if they think he's a good fit for their lives.

I know some rescues do two-week trial periods as standard operating procedure before adoptions. I see the utility of these test runs; it helps people make informed decisions before making lifelong commitments. However,  it's not a usual practice for other rescues like ours. I would imagine many dogs could get returned because people might treat the trial period just as they do a rental from Netflix.

I'm curious to know your experience with trial periods. Do they work? Do they not work? In the mean time, cross your paws that it works out for Jagger!*

* But I will miss him like a mom sending her 5-year-old boy off to school on the first day of kindergarten.

Hello, Bella!

Our new foster dog has arrived! She definitely does not respond to Chelsea. (Phew.) Something about this dog screams sweet, gentle, and beautiful, so we decided to go with "Bella" as a name. Thanks for all of your suggestions!

She was labeled a shepherd/husky mix by the shelter, but I'm not sure what she is. Take a look at these pics, and let me know what you think. She's about 35 pounds (fully grown.) I wish Petfinder would let me select "mutt" as a breed or just be happy with "dog" as the species, but that's not the case!

Meet Our New Foster, [Insert Name Here]

I think the foster coordinator knew we needed a rebound dog—and quick. After two long hauls with Jack and Karina, plus wedding day 9 weeks away, we also told her we needed a shorter-term foster. We went with our usual criteria—able to be crated during the work day, young adult, ideally under 35 pounds, and suitable for condo life.

As a result, we have a sweet, 2-year-old husky/shepherd mix headed our way this weekend. She was in a shelter in Virginia where she had a litter of puppies. All of her puppies have been adopted. Now it’s her turn.

But we need your help. Her current name is Chelsea. Don’t get me wrong, Bill and Hill, it’s a wonderful name for a girl. But I’m not so sure for a dog. [Yes, I realize Karina was no better. I know, I know.] As superficial as it is, I also know that names as they appear on Petfinder can make or break a dog’s appeal.  

The other problem is that one of the volunteers with the rescue is named Chelsea. Might adoption days get a little confusing? “How old is Chelsea? How much does Chelsea weigh? Oh no, Chelsea had an accident!”

Now, if the dog comes trotting through the door responding to the name, I don’t know if I’ll have the heart to change it. But if she doesn’t, we need to change it—pronto.

Do you have any suggestions? Please help!

Check Out These Blogs

It's end-of-the-semester crunch time, plus I'll be out of town for business for a few days. Check out these blogs by other dog fosters in the mean time:

Inu Baka - Jen blogs about her three personal dogs, plus her foster dogs. She knows so much about the canine world—from food to health to behavior and more! I learn something new with every post.

Dog Foster Mom - Laurie features her foster dogs (and sometimes cats!) on this blog. She has one foster dog named Ziggy, a deaf pit bull, who is as cute as a button. She also has lots of rescue experience to share.

My Better Half

She’s become my sidekick, my right-hand man, and my better [canine] half. She’s become my stress reliever, my stable constant, and my calm within the storm. She’s become my confidant, my shoulder to cry on, and my best [canine] bud. She’s become everything I could ever want in a dog. 

What I struggle with the most is that she’s a dog who seemingly no one else wants—except me.  

My other better half (the human one) is the voice of reason and tried to thwart off my persuasive attempts toward adoption:

She doesn’t bark, he says. Dogs should bark. Non-barking dogs in condos make for happy neighbors.

She farts, he says. Every dog farts. Plus, you’re not going to adopt me out because I fart, are you?

She smells, he says. Yeah, like cinnamon graham crackers.

She’s too big to sleep on the bed, he says. So what? We’ll buy a bigger bed.

She’s too big for this condo, he says. So what? We’ll buy a bigger house.

For every excuse, I have a comeback—however irrational. So now he reminds me of the truth. We started fostering to help as many dogs as possible. Adopting Karina would mean we couldn’t continue to foster. We could take an overnight guest once in awhile and keep the dogs separate. But having a constant flow of dogs in the house would be impossible with her.  

Some of my friends have said, Just adopt the damn dog. But I’ve reached the point where I know adopting this dog is selfish. She can be placed elsewhere. Despite our lack of success thus far, I know she’ll make a great pet for a lucky family.

And so, I tell Karina that we’re waiting for her upgrade to come along. You know, Rina, the family with the big backyard where you can run and not sit around this condo and gain weight? You know, the one with the kids who will chase you around and dress you up in funny outfits? You know the one I’m talking about, right? She drops her head in my lap. We have to help other dogs, Karina. She looks up. She understands, but I’m not sure I do.

Little Orphan Annie

My colleague Amanda just started fostering with a rescue group called Southpaws Express. They pull dogs from shelters in Louisiana and get them adopted in the Northeast. Because Amanda has noticed that shelters in the South are full of scruffy dogs that are otherwise very popular in NYC, she asked to foster a scruffaluffagus. (OK—those weren't her words exactly. But she does love scruffy dogs. She already has one named Henry.)

Southpaws emailed her a list of scruffy dogs so she could decide which scruffer would be best for her. She decided on this adorably cute dog.

The only problem was with the dog's name—Amanda. Could you imagine calling a dog by your own name? So she asked people for suggestions. (Some of my favorites were Louisiana names, like "Stella" from A Streetcar Named Desire.) Then someone piped up, "Hey, she really looks like Sandy from Annie." Well, Amanda has a good friend named Sandy, so that wouldn't do either.

But Annie—Annie would be perfect.

Without further ado, meet Little Orphan Annie. She's had a hard-knock life up until now, but will you be her Daddy Warbucks and adopt her? If you're interested in learning more about Annie, visit her page on Dogster.

Short Term, Long Term, and Everything in Between

One of the most common questions people ask about fostering is how long you’ll have a dog. And the answer is that it totally depends. It depends on the time of year, it depends on the weather, it depends on the dog’s age, it depends on the breed(s), and, of course, it depends on the dog’s personality.

From my mere six months of fostering experience, I’ve broken down the lengths on times into a few categories:

•  Super short term: Many of the highly adoptable dogs are only with you for a week. Like Wookiee, they are young and cute and don’t have limiting factors. Many of the puppies that the rescue takes from high-kill shelters in the South fall in this category. They come in on Saturday night and are adopted out the next weekend. The truth is that people love fuzzy, wuzzy, I-want-to raise-them-from-the-beginning puppies, so these dogs go fast. The nice thing about these fosters is that you can save/foster/adopt many of these pups in a short amount of time. And, within a week, you can’t get too attached to the dogs. (Yes, I know I cried when Wookiee left, but with the retrospect of longer-term fosters, the bond you form in a week is nothing compared to several months.) The downside to the super short term fosters is that each week, you have to get accustomed to a new dog. You have to begin training again, understand what you can (and can’t) trust them with, etc. It’s a revolving door and, although I don’t know this all too well, I’m sure it’s exhausting.

• Short term: I would put short term at 2 weeks to a month. These dogs may be younger or just good adult dogs that can be placed successfully without any special considerations. This is a good amount of time to get to know a dog’s personality.

• Medium term: Let’s say these dogs are with you for a month or two. Quite frequently, they are adult dogs or younger dogs with special considerations. Why more people don’t look for adult dogs is beyond me. I’d never take in a puppy (unless my work schedule changed and I could be home all day—wishful thinking.) We only take adult dogs because we’re gone for eight hours a day and, as a result, can’t properly housebreak a puppy. (By “adult dogs” I mean “mature bladder dogs.”)

• Long term: I would put this at 3 to 6 months. Often these are dogs with special needs—be they medical or behavioral—regardless of age. They often have other limiting factors, such as not being good with other dogs or cats, requiring a fence, etc.

• Super long term: I haven’t been here yet, but I’d say you’re really in it for the long haul once you’ve hit 6 months. (Has anyone been there, done that?) 

What’s interesting is that these terms can vary greatly between rescues. Some breed rescues that work with harder-to-adopt dogs may find that adopting out a dog within a month or two is a super short-term success story.

With Karina, we’re on the cusp of medium to long term. (If you consider the time between when the volunteer found her, treated her for heartworm, and got her back on her feet, she’s been with the rescue for seven months total.) If we could negate the “not good with other dogs or cats” factor, she would have only been with me and Jonathan for a week. But we can’t. While we’re trying to teach her to ignore other dogs, we can’t remove that factor entirely.

And we also can’t fall into the trap of thinking, “Well then why don’t you just rescue all of the young, highly-adoptable dogs so you save more lives?” I have to be honest and tell you that thought has crossed my mind. Just how many dogs could we have saved in the time we’ve fostered Jack and Karina?, I wondered during one exceptionally trying adoption day. If numbers were all that mattered, then that would be a great idea. But the truth is that the life of a fuzzy, wuzzy puppy is just as important as that of an adult dog with special needs. Each of them deserves a fair shot at a good home—no matter how long they’re with us. 

Desperate Plea

I sent out this desperate plea for help to my Facebook friends:

Please someone ADOPT this dog. She is so sweet that I can't handle it anymore—her snores, the way she plays with the rubber chicken, her signature "lab lean." I'm falling in love with her more and more every day. Please help!

But no one has yet to answer this cry to take this really awesome dog out of my home and my life for good.

The Switcheroo

Jack is a handful. He wants to be king of the world. There is no doubt about it. Over the last few weeks, he has taken it to the next level—being possessive over his bones (OK—acceptable), growling when I pet him (what?), and guarding our bedroom (I just want to sleep!).  Then, at adoption days, he has been less-than-friendly to some people who approach and pet him. [If you recall, these are some of the behaviors that the adopters noted.]

What happened to the gregarious dog that we knew? Surely he wasn't feeling well and was cranky. So we took him to the vet. Was it a thyroid problem or Lyme or something else? Probably not. He showed no signs of lethargy or loss of appetite. Was it a simple ear infection or intestinal parasite? Nope, not that either. What was it?

I'm convinced it's us—his foster people, but specifically me. Jack is Jonathan's sidekick, his partner in crime. The vet pointed out that we both need to be equally firm and in charge. We should do our equal shares of working with him, feeding him, and walking him. Well, therein lies the problem. Part of the deal for continuing to foster through this hell-ish semester of grad school was that Jonathan would take over much of the day-to-day responsibilities. I spend so much time at work, in class, commuting, and doing school work that taking the dog for an extra walk at night has just become impossible.

Maybe it's our fault for even agreeing to take him in the first place. A Border Collie in a condo? We thought it would be fine for a week or two. If we had ever imagined it would be 3 months, then we might have said no.

The last straw came on Saturday. A very nice couple with lots of Border-Collie experience came to adoption day with the hopes of adopting Jack. That glimmer of hope quickly vanished when Jack growled and barked every time the couple approached him. I knew these people would be great with him because they kept trying. They approached different ways, with different treats, in different locations. But it didn't matter. Jack wanted nothing to do with them.

With time, resources, and some space to run, we might be able to work with this dog. We see his potential. But right now, we just can't do that. We can't give him what he needs.

So we asked another foster with more behavioral experience and a big backyard if we could do a "switcheroo." She kindly (very, very kindly) agreed. On Sunday, we went to her house, dropped off Jack, and picked up her Karina. (More on Karina later.) We know that the change of environments is stressful for the dogs, but we hope that the situation will be better in the long run.

I cried as we drove away. We always joke about "foster failures"—those that end up adopting their fosters. But here, I felt like a failure for giving up on a dog that I loved. His needs are just beyond us; he has shown us what we still need to learn.

The Short-Lived Victory Dance

We had a grand total of 43 minutes to celebrate after Jack's new family told us they wanted to adopt him.  In those 43 minutes, we danced, we laughed, and we cried. We spent nearly two months working with a dog who, by all accounts, was as good as dead, and matched him up with the absolutely perfect family who will treat him like a king for life. We felt so accomplished—so proud of the partnership between the rescue, ourselves, the family, and Jack.

Then we got an email with the subject line, "Your Next Foster." It began with the qualifier, "only if you say yes." This email was a disheartening reminder—there are millions of Jacks out there. 

But for us, it's one dog at a time. It's one "yes" at a time. And how couldn't we say yes to this face?

Meet Sable. She was found on the side of a road, pregnant, with a broken pelvis after being hit by a car. When a shelter in West Virginia wanted to put her to sleep, a vet stepped in and took Sable into her own home. Once there, Sable gave birth to 6 pups, only one of whom survived. That one pup has since been adopted out; now it's Sable's turn. She's scheduled to join us on Saturday night.

In the mean time, we have a few days off from life with a dog. That means an extra 30 minutes of sleep in the morning, five fewer walks in the freezing cold, and one quiet and lonely household.

Love That Dog

This must be how parents feel. They have their first child and love that child more than they thought their hearts were capable of loving. They have a second child and worry if it’s possible to make room in their hearts to love that child as much as the first. But their hearts grow wider and they do. (Or, in the case of my own parents, they love that second child even more than the first. I kid, Mom and Dad, I kid.) In some cases, the third or fourth (or even more) come along. And their hearts grow and grow.

I’ve found myself in that position. (I realize, of course, that children are not dogs and vice versa.) With Wookiee, it was love at first sight. I fell head-over-heels in love with that fur ball. I was convinced that he was the physical manifestation of love. [And we only had him for one week!] I doubted that another foster dog would come along that I could love like that.

But he did. He was black and white and fuzzy all over, and his name was Jack. And although I’ve called him lots of different variations of that name, I actually called him Boo Bear in our quiet hours. It took a little longer for me to love that dog—to trust each other and to grow accustomed to each other’s idiosyncrasies. It was the logical type of bond that grows slow and deep. I love that dog.

For those of you who live in the world of children’s literature like I do, you probably know Sharon Creech’s book, Love That Dog. It's a series of poems written by a boy who happens to be named Jack. When Jack's teacher tells him to write a poem about a pet, he writes,

So much depends

upon

a blue car splatted with mud

speeding down the road.

As Jack grows as a poet throughout the school year, he opens up about the loss of his dog, Sky, and finds solace in his writing. The book ends up with his poem, Love That Dog.

Love that dog

like a bird loves to fly

I said I love that dog

like a bird loves to fly

Love to call him in the morning

love to call him

“Hey there, Sky.”

This love story is not too different from another one I know by heart.

When Jack's forever family picks him up tomorrow, they'll begin to write their own love story together. And we are so grateful to have been part of it. 

The Stresses of Adoption Day

Adoption Day is exciting, disappointing, educational, and stressful all at the same time.

Every Saturday, we spend 5 hours at the local Petco with the rescue group. It’s a chance for potential adopters to meet the animals, plus it allows the organization the opportunity to spread information about the humane treatment of animals. It’s so important.

But it’s also stressful. Consider the stressors on the animals. Let’s use dear Jack as an example:

“Oh, car. You want me to get in the car? I barfed in there once, and I don’t want to have to do it again.  Oh well, let’s give it another try. ::hop:: Yeah, yeah. I’m okay back here, Foster Mom. Stop asking if I barfed. Just keep your eyes on the road.

Hey, I remember this place. It’s where the pets go! Huh? Doh! That sliding door gets me every time. So many smells in here. ::sniff, sniff:: Dogs, cats, ferrets, birds, rawhides… RAWHIDES!

Oooh, people are walking through that sliding door. Come pet me, pick me, love me! Oooh, now dogs are coming to sniff me ::ruff, ruff::, little girls are coming to strangle me, and little boys are pulling my ears. Help! Okay, I’m tired. I need some peace and quiet. Can we get back in the car yet, Foster Mom?”

It’s equally as stressful on us humans, too.

First thing in the morning, we pack up Jack’s things that the rescue has given us for him. This must be how contenders on reality TV feel when they have to pack their belongings on the chance they’ll get voted off the proverbial island. On the whim that he gets adopted out that day, I always want to make sure he’ll everything he needs.

[SIDEBAR: These same-day adoptions only happen in rare and special circumstances. Usually, over teh course of several days, references have to be checked and a home visit has to be made. But I pack his bag just in case because of what happened when Wookiee was unexpectedly adopted out that fateful day.]

It’s obviously not just the physical act of packing that’s stressful. It’s not knowing whether or not this animal, who has become engrained in your family and in your life, will be coming home with you in a few hours. 

Once we’re there, it’s always great to see the other dogs. Jack is VERY excited to see them too and tends to bark for their attention [constantly], so we try to keep a reasonable distance.

Then, of course, there are the people who walk through the sliding doors. I always look in anticipation, not knowing if Jack’s family may be walking right on through. Of course, Jack wants to greet each and every one of them personally.  (My back is still aching as a result.) After we’ve spent weeks trying to teach him not to jump, he jumps into the arms of these people, who praise it thinking it’s the cutest thing ever. Granted, it is cute. It’s just not cute when he does it 24/7.

As people approach, we field questions about Jack. Our answers, in order of frequency from greatest to least:

1) He’s a border-collie mix.

2) He’s about 3-4 years old. 

3) He’s neutered.

4) He’s basically housetrained, but he has marked new places on occasion.

5) Yes, he would have otherwise been put to sleep. Yes, a perfectly good dog like him.

6) Yes, he’s been here the past few weeks. No, he didn’t get adopted yet.

7) No, he won’t bite you.

8) Yes, he needs a lot of exercise. He loves playing. He would love agility training.

9) How much does he cost? There's no price tag you could really put on this pooch. The rescue has an adoption fee, which is a tax-deductible donation. It covers his transport, spaying, other medical needs, food, and so on.

10) An application? Huh? You might want to fill out an application for him? Right over here. Oh, you want the puppies instead? Oh, okay—right over there. Thank you for adopting.

For a month now, we’ve left adoption day through the sliding dogs with Jack in tow. We usually come home—all 3 of us—and pass out. The very secret and selfish part of me (you know, the part that shares all of my thoughts with you here) is happy because I know I have another week with this amazing creature. The other part is very disappointed that no one saw what a beautiful animal he is.

It’s a slow time for adoptions now, as people come off the holidays and the deep cold sets in. But we’ll pack our bags again next Saturday and get ready for whatever surprises those sliding doors might bring for all of us. 

From the Desk of Jack

Hello everyone,

Let me introduce myself. My name is Jack, though my human companions have taken a liking to any nickname that involves "Jack"—Blackjack, Jack-in-the-Box, Jackson, Jackal, Jackie, etc. I can assure you, without a doubt, that my name is just Jack.

I decided to hijack (get it... hi-JACK?) Kim's computer and write this entry myself. You see, I'm so smart that I know I'll write a better blog post than those depressing ones Kim writes.

So, allow me to tell you more about myself. The vet says I'm about 3 years old. But this comes from the guy who took away my manhood this week. I don't trust him and neither should you; I'm probably a year older or younger than that. I don't keep track of those sorts of trifling things. What is age anyway?

Among my hobbies are greeting people with giant bear hugs, burying treats that humans give me, and playing fetch. I would love for my adoptive family to take me to training and agility classes. If I don’t say so myself, I would ROCK that.

My best features are my intelligence (I learned how to “sit” on the second try!), my beautiful brown eyes, and my cookies-and-cream paws. I get along with all sorts of dogs and people. But if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s cats. They scare the heck out of me creeping and crawling all around then sneaking up on you. But who knows—maybe I could get used to it.

Alright, I think it’s time to go outside and herd some cars. Feel free to leave me messages, and I’ll write back as soon as I can.

Paws up!

Jack

"We Have a Wookiee!"

At 9pm last night, we received a call from a volunteer telling us, "We have a Wookiee!" 

Wookiee was rescued from a shelter in Virginia. He made the trek yesterday from VA to NJ with the help of some dedicated volunteers. The volunteers have organized an underground-railroad type transport system. Each volunteer drives a stretch of the trip, then hands the dogs off to the next volunteer. When Wookiee reached us last night, we gave him a good meal to fill his belly and a good scrub-a-dub-dub bath to get rid of that shelter-dog smell. Shelter dog, no more! We're putting Wookiee on his way to his forever home.

We're told that Wookiee is a terrier mix and is about one year old. He was recently neutered and is heartworm negative. He's cute as a button and sweet as sugar. He'll be up for adoption on Saturday, November 20.

If you look at the photo below, you will see that we do indeed have a Wookiee. We're just having a hard time resisting the urge to call him Chewy.

I Know What You're Thinking

I know exactly what you're thinking. "But isn't it going to break your heart to give up the dogs?" My fiancé and I have heard this from friends, family members, and colleagues alike when we tell them of our intentions to foster dogs.

The answer is yes. It will break our hearts. Into a million pieces. We'll cry. We'll miss the pitter patter of paws running through the house. We'll long for the warm body curling up next to us. But the reality is that another warm, furry body with pitter-patter paws will be saved from an untimely death and will find its way into our open home and open hearts.

And the truth is that the pain of doing nothing to help these dogs is a hundred times worse than the pain of giving up a dog to a good home could ever be.