The New Girl

Recently we lost the dog to end all dogs.

He was THE dog. That once in a lifetime dog.

It didn't just depress and sadden us, but his bonded brother as well.  They'd been together for 7 years.

After months of contemplation we decided to add another dog to our house.  The two we had had were both rescues and both interesting, quirky individuals who showed in many ways that one of these things was not like the other!  Not even close!

We began looking at rescues.  Rescue had my heart.  The rescue we usually went through had nothing but "one dog only" homes, which left us out as Custer was still large and in charge in our home.

We decided to try further afield.  We found rescues in all the surrounding states but the state of Illinois had the most dogs available.  Think more than 20.  We contacted the smaller of the two rescues there and were told that they had nothing suitable for our situation, which I understand.  Probably medical holds and more "one dog only" pets.

We then contacted the second rescue.  They had many dogs.  We were told they did not adopt outside their specified border lines.  When we explained that we had lived in that state, in fact Custer was from that state, and that we could provide myriad testimonials by other rescues on what a great home we were, it was reiterated...nope, you have to live within our topographical parameters.

I understand their reasoning, but I find this incredibly stupid to be that unbending.  Here is a home, great vet care, only the best food and treats, well traveled, good opportunity for socialization, with the credentials to prove that one of your dogs would not only thrive but be spoiled like crazy and you say no because of borderlines.  No wonder you have so many in your rescue coffers!

A dear internet friend, a breeder, offered to help us.  She had a friend with two retired show dogs she would offer us.

We talk to her a bit, but before we go we decide we would prefer the younger dog as Custer is 8.  Bulldogs live to 10 or so...if we got another 8 year old, we'd be facing sadness x 2 very shortly.  The girl was 5.  We opted for the girl.

We drive to Illinois to meet these kind people who drove all the way from Kansas to let us look at the dogs.

Lucky was adorable, a heavy breather who LOVED everyone and to lie on a sofa.   He was a big mush.  Then there was little Margo.  45 pounds of quiet, low energy sweetness.  She had the worse eyes I've ever seen.  Green gunk pouring out of them and a double cherry eye surgery that left her with dry eye.  But she was 5, so we packed her in the car and headed home in the blizzard.

Margo/Maisie, Age 5

She traveled like a dream but didn't like being alone in the  middle seat.  She wanted the back of the SUV with  Custer so we stopped and let her back there.  They snuggled up like old friends and slept all the way home except for potty breaks.

We get her home realizing she didn't really ever live anywhere but with the breeder were prepared for a few adjustment issues.  We'd fostered dogs, we had two rescues, we knew that hard times would come and go and eventually level out.

What we did not expect was that she would lose her mind.  Apparently she was often kept in a dog run at this family's kennel.  Dogs who are kenneled have a certain behavior when finally let out.  They do this manic running here and there looking for sanctuary.  Margo would hide in a room all day if allowed.  She wanted nothing to do with us and often acted as if she had been beaten severely.

For weeks this behavior continued.  She'd run into doors, take your feet out from under you in a bullypedo move, she was so unhappy...and that broke my heart.

Seeing something so sweet be so scared is unsettling.  To see her pant and blow with exhaustion because of these manic runs heartbreaking.  

We decided to take her to the vet and get some answers or help.  It ends up she has kennel syndrome.  Dogs who are kept much of the time in a kennel or run learn it is a safe place and that running is her looking for a safe place to stop.  We ended up putting her on puppy xanax and are seeing some big improvements.  Oh she still does the run,not as much however...it is down to a livable level...most of the time.  We also found out she is fairly blind.  She has dry eye and it wasn't treated enough or with the right stuff and so, her eyes are a mess.  We have her on things now that should improve her vision and help them not be gunked up all the time.

She's very sweet, and good about all the washing of her eyes and the drops.  The vet says it has to feel good to her.  I hope so.

So what do we know about the new girl?

• She is beautiful
• Custer abides her, but only just.  She won't play and he is a dog that plays
• She has kennel syndrome
• She is basically blind
• She loves to run in the leaves
• She loves her bed
• Once she has a routine down, she is the queen of routine
• She frightens so easily
• She makes me laugh
• She is kind and gentle, when not crazy
• She reminds me of Sherman in her gentle nature 
• She reminds me of Sherman in looks
• One day...we know that she will come to not be so very afraid.

What we  also know is that she is with us for the remainder.  She is loved.  Left Brain calls her little one, I call her pretty girl, and she is coming to know us as forever.  

She will not be put in a kennel, she will have her eyes treated and she will be part of our family...crazy and all.

So welcome.   Prepare to be loved!

You got all the Thoughtful Genes

My last blog post was about my family and how I don't fit.

This post is a bit of an addendum.  More thoughts that the comment "you got all the thoughtful genes" stir up in me.

My father was tough.  Tough as nails when it came to the protection of his girls.  He was strong and determined.  He was a man of faith and family, country and friendship.  My father was thoughtful, even in little things.

Take for example my birthday.  My father was rarely around for my birthday.  My birthday falls right in that first week of deer season.  He would always be in the upper portions of our state hunting with his buddies.  He deserved that, he worked hard.  But he always made sure I had a little something, trinkets and tchotch mostly, from wherever it was he was hunting in lieu of making my birthday.

As a child I sometimes saw it as an “ahhh... my sisters didn’t get something just from daddy, did they?” thing, but most of the time I saw it as it really was.   Thoughtful.  He didn’t have to do it.  He did it on his own.  I still own the bracelet he got me when I was 8 with stones from the Bible in it.  I still have the cedar box he brought me home.  Those things meant a great deal to me…because of the thought!

I am always thankful that I am much like my father.  I’m tough as nails when it comes to my son and grand kids.  I’m strong and determined.  I am a woman of faith and family, country and friendship…and I am thoughtful.  Because of that, I truly appreciate the thoughtful things people do for me.  I know what goes into that.

When my children were growing up, and even now my grands, the little things they made me on their own, and even the little sweet things they said from their hearts mean the most to me.  Thoughtfulness will always print a heart memory directly on the sweetest spot of my heart.

Now that my son is a single father, he makes sure I get little thoughtful things from his kids.  Gift cards for manicures with her…paint ball with him.  Things he knows bring me joy.  Things with him, however, have become few and far between.  Part of that is his career, and part of it is his need to tend to his father, my ex-husband, with whom he feels (my opinion) he must protect.  After all, I have Left Brain, his father has no one.  Sometimes that lack of thought hurts me.  I wish it were not so.

For my extended family, I try to go that little extra bit.  Making things for my sisters, including them in the genealogy research and photos that I come across…I know they love it, they appreciate it.  For my nephews as they marry, I try not to only get them something off their registry, but something small, yet thoughtful as well, going rogue as it were, with that little something extra.

I’ve sat through surgeries and visited in hospitalizations.  I’ve called. 

The last time one of my sisters called me has been so long ago I can’t even recall what year it was.  My own mother never calls, but to be fair, she never calls anyone, or so I’ve been told.  The last time I was hospitalized for 5 days…no one came!  No one called.  No one cared to be bothered.  When I had surgery, no one came, called or bothered.  I find I am getting a little weary of this aspect of their lack of thoughtfulness.

One time when I commented on this, one sister said, “but…you got all the thoughtful genes” as if that explains or excuses it. 

It hasn’t.  It doesn’t.

Their lack of thoughtfulness toward me will not stop me of thinking of thoughtful things, it will, however, stop me from acting on them, and that is sad.

Left Brain counsels me that "sometimes people just need a good letting alone."  I see the value in that for myself as I get older.

It is said, "never cross oceans for people who wouldn't jump a puddle for you."

Here's the deal though, they probably won't even realize I've stopped crossing those oceans.

If I had to get all of a gene...I'm awfully glad it was the thoughtful one!