Well, the furless (nekkid) dog previously known as Mr. Stinky was renamed Dobby last night due to his disturbing resemblance to Dobby the house-elf from Harry Potter; but no need to worry – his impressive wiffyness remains intact. 
For folks with a soul, prepare yourself, this tidbit is going to punch you in the gut a little; ready? okay, last night during his nice warm bath when I was gently cleaning his skin, he made this soft groaning sound and leaned into my hand. That’s when I realized this poor little bugger hasn’t been touched much during his first year of life and it felt good. Yep, that’s a heartbreaker right there, isn’t it? Hit me square in my feels. I told him not to worry, he would be very sick of me fussing over him very soon. 

So, for folks not familiar with the joys of dog rescue you may be unaware that introducing a new dog, especially a sick dog, to an established pack of dogs is not as easy as letting them all sniff each other and then they take off playing. Nope. That’s a bad idea; please don’t do that. It’s more like you become the ringleader of distraction circus. “Let’s go in this room pack of dogs!! Look, there’s toys and treats for you!” or “Let’s go outside pack of dogs!! There are toys and things to bark at!!” Then go to the Dobster’s room and try to get him to come out to the (separated) outside to use the restroom while you get him clean, medicated, fed, watered and settled. Then release the pack who immediately sniffs everywhere the Dobinator stepped all looking at eachother like, “dude….there’s totes another dog here. I think he stepped here. and here. and holy crap, here too!!” You keep this shell game up for as the sick dog gets healthier, eventually allowing him to meet a couple of members of the pack one on one. Slowly, over the course of a month or so, you get the pack to forget that the other dog hasn’t always been there. It’s a different process for every dog. 
But the SamSam dog? He disagrees with the process and as the only dog in this circus with experience in acrobatics this butthead decided that there was a butt to sniff and nothing would keep him from sniffing it. This was of concern because Mr. SamSam, well he loves puppies and kittens and cats and probably would be great with bunny rabbits, ducks, and all the other cute things you sometimes see dogs pictured with, but grown-up other dogs usually cause him to get fiesty. So, when SamSam managed a matrix-like leap to jump INTO the segregated area of yard (this was a new thing) to meet Dobby I was very watchful of his body languange. Thankfully, it appears that according to SamSam, that Dobby is “the wounded baby nekkid mole rat who needs love and cleaning and more cleaning” rather than adult intact male dog invading his territory.  The Dobinator was also excited to be sniffed and fussed over. I still separated them as soon as the opportunity presented itself, always best to leave it on a good note. 

Dobby has made a couple of impressively-sized examples of his digestive system working well, and he is eating and drinking consistently. He is still (obviously) exhausted and is starting his second day of antibiotics (cephlaxin). He looks rough, but impressively improved for less than 24 hours since pickup. 

As a person who loves dogs, there are some days when the disgusting actions of unknown humans really bruise my soul; today was one of those days.

While driving to do a speech for work I saw a brief glimpse of mange-riddled naked skin and said to my co-worker (V; who was also going to be speaking), “shit, there’s a dog  over there who needs help.” She didn’t see it but agreed we would stop after our presentation on the way back and see if it was still there, if so we would stop and take it to the animal welfare center. After the presentations, V helped me find the right place along the road back and I couldn’t see a dog; V spotted it and gave me a chunk of sandwich for him and off I went. People, the dog was a mess. Hell, calling him a dog is kind of a stretch; calling him a crusty mange-riddled naked-mole-rat with a pigpen-like cloud of stench almost visibly wafting around him would have probably been more appropriate.

“Well, hello there Mr. Stinky.”

He was curled up in the bottom section of a rotting drivers seat, he gratefully and delicately took the sandwich and and got up to follow me. His feet looked extremely inflamed and his toenails painfully overgrown, his poor face was a scabby-riddled mess and he had a flea infection from hell. He appeared to have about one square inch of hair. I attached a leash to him which (obviously) freaked him out and he tried to pull back to his “cushion;” I grabbed one of the extra blankets from the car (I had already prepped the back of the vehicle with towels and blankets so any infection/pests/smell could be contained) and picked him up and placed him inside the car and covered all but his head with a blanket (more for the smell containment than anything else, but I think he felt safer.) I didn’t tell my coworker this, but I knew we were taking him to his death. Not because she would disagree, but because I didn’t want her to be sad. To me, a clean quick death after a good meal while someone who cared told him that he was a good and wonderful dog who deserved better than he received and that he would be remembered was a hell of a lot better than being left to die slowly and painfully from secondary infections by some asshole who did wrong by this dog.

As suspected, the animal welfare center is already over-filled with wonderfully healthy dogs & puppies dropped off by other irresponsible dog owners and the chances of this rather gross dog made mostly of scabs, infections, and smell finding an adoptive home is less than likely. It is simply a matter of managing what few resources the shelter has to do the most good. He watched everyone doing everything, obviously nervous but not reactive, stoically accepting having his skin scraped and blood drawn. I stood there uselessly, using my hip to keep the table from wobbling and providing what comfort I could while they confirmed he was an approximately 1 year old intact male, 20lbs, complete with fleas, demodectic mange, swollen feet with overgrown nails and a few nasty secondary skin infections. He watched everyone with calm accepting eyes, obviously nervous but not reactive. He tolerated his skin being scraped and blood being drawn with no reaction. Surprisingly, he turned out to be heartworm negative. His eyes lit up when he was offered a packet of cat food which he rather delicately ate and he lapped some of the offered water, although he seemed to do that to be polite, not because he wanted it. He kept looking at the box the cat food came from, seeming to hope more would appear.

Decision time: I brought him in, I have to make the decision; do I take responsibility to foster this dog until healthy and find it a home or do I have him put down.

I can exhaustively list the many reasons why I can’t bring an additional dog into my home, but every single one of them can be boiled down to money and time. Do I have the funds available to feed and medically treat this dog until he is healthy and do I have any extra time to spend with him to slowly (painfully slowly) integrate him into the pack and train him to be a well behaved indoor dog before finding him the perfect home?

Not only no, but Hell No. Nope. Not even a little bit. I have nothing left to give.

This dog would add more stress, more stink, more pain in the butt medication schedules, more baths, more cleaning, more exhaustion, and not to mention less money and less time with the other dogs who do not get enough as it is. The logical and intelligent course of action would be to put him down and go on with my life, accepting that his miserable existence was not my fault and that he is not my responsibility and I did everything I could for him and ended his suffering.
That stinky little guy just stood there on that wobbly table watching everyone work around him, accepting everything happening to him as his lot in life and was still able to find joy in a pieces of a cheese sandwich, a packet of cat food and a kind hand. He has to be in more discomfort than can be described in words, but he didn’t lash out or become catatonic. He is strong and sweet and he deserves a hell of a lot better than what humans have allowed his life to become; but so many animals do.

I can’t save them all, but I saved his stinky butt.

I just couldn’t face putting him down when everything he has is treatable and he could live a good and happy life for the cost of some money (which I never have) and time (which I also never have). This was not a good decision for me, but it was a good decision.

​Dear Ziesa, we already have a dog dedicated to making things weird (Piper), please stop your attempts to make things weirder.

Love, 

FoodLady.

So, the other morning I wake up like most days with approximately 300lbs of Ziesa-head resting on my leg. This pretty little princess has little to no work ethic, has embraced the persona and demeanor of an 85 year old grumpy woman, and currently rules this house with an iron paw; but she is an AMAZING snuggler. Her super power is snuggling up tight against you and deep breathing until everyone is just as sleepy as her, it’s her gift. Anywhoodle, I wake up, stretch, and notice she had eaten a large section of the left leg of my shorts. The shorts I. was. wearing. 

While I slept, Ziesa put her head on my leg and I can only assume she became a bit bored (peckish?) and looked around thinking, “toy?” nah, too far away; “sheet?” nah; “pillow?” boring; “hey, I wonder if I can eat the clothes off FoodLady without waking her up!?” Now there’s a challenge!! This is what we’ve been training for; let the nibbling begin!!!

Thankfully, her natural exhaustion kicked in before she stripped me completely shorts-less; but I slept through it completely. Fingers crossed I don’t start waking up in a shredded pile of former pajamas on a regular basis. It’s weird enough around here without her help. 

Love to y’all,

FoodLady 

FoodLady Chronicles – SamSam the Model
So, something happened yesterday that was so incredibly funny to the humans in FoodLady’s house that I can only hope to portray it effectively in words.
My favorite store in the world (The Blue Mutt) is producing a calendar of conventionally hot guys and dogs to benefit an animal charity. Hot guys and dogs on beaches? This entire project is my wheelhouse.
A few days ago I was asked if Piper would be available for model work and when I asked Piper she told me to check with her agency and book her through them. Luckily the pretty little diva is available.
Yesterday, I was asked if I also had a brindle-colored doggie and would be be able to model too? Of course I do and his name is SamSam!!!
So last night just after the humans got home, we were all playing fetches and I was happy-puppy-speaking to SamSam something along the lines of, “Mr. SamSam, are you a model? Yes, you are! You’re a super handsome model!!!”
……and he looked me dead in the eye and threw up.
That over-excited-just-drank-a-bunch-of-water mini-urp induced so much laughter and commentary that it is the joke du jour around here.

Per SamSam:
“I’m a model; gotta stay CUT!”
“I’m a model; cue bulimia!”
“I’m a model; what’s a model?”

Meanwhile, Piper continues practicing finding her angles, working her light, having the wind blow through her hair and “smizing” all the while trying to get SamSam to watch at least one season of America’s Next Top Model.

Have a great day!
Love,
FoodLady

​FoodLady Chronicles – SamSam & Piper’s Big Day Out or How to Make FoodLady’s Hair Fall the Frak Out!

So, I took this week off of work to give my brain a break and it has been awesome. I started the week just relaxing but made sure to try to schedule some “not me” stuff to do towards the end of it to force me to interact with other humans so that next week I don’t feel super awkward when trying to speak to coworkers. I offered my favorite local store some volunteer time if I could go hang out there for most of the day with a couple dogs (they accepted). Because Ziesa was not feeling well (ate too much rawhide at a friend’s house), I decided to leave her home and take Mr. SamSam & Ms. Piper. Mr. SamSam far exceeded my expectations of good behavior; Ms. Piper did not. Bless her heart, no one explained to her that strange men in hats were not alien invaders coming to kill us all. Poor supportive loving SamSam attempted to “help” by jumping between Piper and DevilHatMan to defend his packmate by barking along, “barkDon’t barkKnow barkWhy barkBut barkWe barkHate barkYou!” 

*sigh* 

But their crowning (embarassing) achievement of the day was when DevilHatMan’s friend was carrying a large box and having a minor short-tempered discussion with Ms. Piper’s and Mr. SamSam’s newest bestest friend which (of course) led to a cacophonous canine rebuttal of, “barkDon’t barkYou barkTake barkThat barkTone barkMr. DevilHatMan’s Friend, barkWe’ll barkEat barkYou barkAnd barkYour barkBox barkToo!”

Other than that incident and them performing random and amazing feats of “in-the-way,” it was a great day! SamSam managed to encourage me to purchase every toy from the clearance toy basket (so thankful he went for the clearance basket!) by playing with each and every toy exhaustively (and adorably). When we got home the poor little man fell into a deep sleep (coma) with all four feets in the air. 

Today, Piper vigilantly monitors the area for potential DevilHatMan incursions and SamSam continues his snoring. 

Love,

FoodLady 

​So, the other day I was away from the house when Darrin called me with some info that filled me with schadenfreude (see, see? proof I’m not that good; I experienced a rush of joy when hearing of others’ misfortune). You know the people I occasionally write about who seem to sort of relish calling the police if there is a loose dog in the neighborhood (except for the loose stray last week that was sitting in front of their gate, but I don’t think they saw him). 

Anyway, Darrin called to tell me that their little fuzzy dog was running up and down the street with his human chasing him all the while yelling at him (fyi – exactly what not to do). Imagine my disappointment when Darrin wouldn’t embrace the wee little devil on my shoulder’s plan to call the police and/or go stand in front of the gate and scream as if the wee fuzzy-wumpkins was a hellhound there to steal souls. 

*sigh* 

The really good stuff never happens when I’m there to truly enjoy it. 😉 

(note, I am not condoning loose dogs. Loose dogs are a hazard and a large amount of our time and money is spent actively repairing and reinforcing our fencing to keep our jerks contained. That said, things can and do happen. Please go to doggonesafe.com to learn more about what to do if you come into contact with a loose or stray dog to prevent being bitten.)

​Dear new horsie-friends, 

I don’t know what you readbon the horsie friends facebook, but FoodLady’s house is more of a canid-centric rather than equine-centric locale. Sure, sure….exceptions happen, but I can say with absolute certainty there is not enough room for you on the bed. Anyhoodle, I admire the new approach (through the back neighbor’s yard) and your stalwart stance of “don’t give a f*ck” regarding a Humphrey fully losing his shit through the fence with full volume never-ending BaWooo!s supported by his backup singers in a band tentatively titled, “The Assholes.” 

As per my ongoing FoodLady horsie-friend duties, I have provided you with the requisite bucket of clean water to enjoy and removed the loud dogs from your location. Do not forget to uphold your end of the contract by NOT providing said loud dogs (aka “The Assholes”) with their favorite snack/eau de toilette. 

KThanksLuvYaBye! 

-FoodLady

​This weekend…has gone to the (asshole) animals. No, seriously – not kidding. 

Went to breakfast yesterday with the dogs safely locked away in the house with access to what we lovingly refer to as “the poopin’ yard” or “shitville” depending on our mood. When we returned from breakfast there were two horses in our yard – because why wouldn’t there be two horses in our yard?!? *sigh* So, with the two horses happily munching on grass and all of the dogs maniacly performing acrobatics in shitville because OMG THERE ARE TWO HORSES IN THE YARD AND OMG CAN WE EAT THEM CHASE THEM WEAR THEIR POOP THERE ARE HORSIE FRIENDS RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Gave horsie friends some water and moved them along and closed the gate. When the dogs were released from their tortuous separation from the yard that used to have horses in it, the blessed jerks exhaustively examined every. individual. blade. of. grass. that the horses came into contact with and discussed amongst themselves about how they would get to chase them next time! *sigh* at least the horses didn’t leave the dogs any snack/cologne suprises. 

Fast forward to this afternoon: I was outside with the dogs playing fetch and I see out of the corner of my eye movement I know all too well – lost/lone/stray dog. well….shit. At least I saw it before the braying pack of idiot horse hunters did. I finished playing with my pack of misfit dogs and lured them inside before grabbing a half-can of kitty food and a wooden spoon all the while selfishly saying, “please be gone please be gone please be gone.” I know it doesn’t make me a good person, but I am spread too thin as it is right now and it would just be so damn nice if it didn’t have to be me dealing with it. Alas, he wasn’t gone. There, hidden in the tall grass next to the fence belonging to the neighbors who hate me, was the stray. I walk out through the gate thinking, sure….I’ll get close and he will run away. Nope. I got close, he flipped over and wiggled joyously. Shit. I sat down about 5 feet away from him and he ran over – thrilled to meet a human. Damn. He had fleas and ticks (pre-bath) and one ouchie foot, but generally appears in decent health. He is probably about 6 months old, intact (aka not neutered), loves other dogs, loves people, loves food, thinks mirrors are keen, does not think baths are that keen but definitely enjoyed running around like an idiot after said bath. Of course, as I’m attempting to wrangle dogs into various contained areas guess who shows up at the gate? Yep. The horses. “Hay! Lady! (sorry, I had to pun there) Got any more of that good water stuff?!” The only dog outside at the time was Ziesa and bless her heart, she put on quite the show of home defense! She ran as fast as her wee little legs could take her to the gate and by golly, she got there in just under 2 minutes squeaky snorting and grunting the whole way! I cleaned and filled the horse water bucket (yeah, this would be the previous pig water bucket for those of you keeping score on random animals that visit FoodLady’s fence) and put it outside the fence where they could access it safely. Ziesa and I returned the the house; her in triumph of home defense and me shaking my head and wondering at what point I ended up with a visiting farm animal water bucket. 

Stray Dog, temporarily referred to as Boo-Boo, is now passed out in the office and separate from the other dogs keeping Darrin company while he (Darrin, not Boo-Boo) finishes up some paperwork. 

Boo-Boo weighs about 20lbs and looks like a perfect miniaturized version of belgian malinois and although you can’t see it in these photos/video, has wonderfully mobile and expressive ears! The video and photos were taken during our first meeting. If ya know him or where he belongs, please message me. I will be taking him to Animal Welfare as soon as I can to scan for a chip, etc. His info and photos were also posted on various local groups, etc.