I really did NOT want to stop. I have a pretty well developed “okay or not okay” system of scanning roadside dogs. In reality, of course they are all not in the best circumstances, but my world has forced me into a pretty strict triage consisting of me not pulling over unless the dog is obviously in imminent danger, in heat, emaciated, or too young to survive alone. The mama dog and what looked like a single 3-4 week old puppy checked 3 of my boxes. Dammit.
I had nothing with me but there was an emaciated mama dog and tiny puppy walking on a VERY busy road. Fuuuuuuck.
I turned around and couldn’t find them, “phew!” I thought, they went home……..NOPE. Just further into the damn road. So, stopped car in traffic, then stopped traffic and chased them off the road itself and there was the tiny puppy….right in front of me.
So, I scared the (metaphorical) shit out of him and grabbed him. He had obviously no experience with humans. Sadly, mama DID have experience with humans and I couldn’t get close.
Moved car out of road, called my friend for backup and bought some puppy food at the gas station and was hoping to use that and her baby to snaggle mama.
Mama – gone.
I felt like *such* a failure. I would rather have gotten that poor mom dog than just snatch her puppy. 🤦♀️
Also, her puppy was way older than he looked next to mom. He is almost 8 weeks old (based on teeth) and I don’t believe he was getting any food other than mama milk.
Because we found him in front of a subway he has been named FootLong and I’ve decided that he is the rarest of breeds – the Teacup Mastiff. 😂
Thankfully, my visiting friend has already found a home for this little shit in the states, so just have to raise a puplet for another week or so. Please enjoy some cute mini mastiff photos. 😁
Okay, so their names are Moose & River and they are only staying at Camp FoodLady for like a week, but holy shit – the laughter they have brought has been pretty darn great.
Real talk: River is the brains of the operation and like any smart person I know, anxiety is REAL with her. In her daily life, she is used to being HBIC and uses Moose as her personal bodyguard. So, Camp FoodLady has been a surprising challenge to her reality – but I think it will be good for her in the long run.
Okay, had to pause from writing about River to tell you exactly what she is doing right now. She has one of D’s socks and has been throwing it up in the air while laying on her back on the couch. She is super sad that it fell behind the couch. I just stopped typing to go and get that pretty lady her stinky sock. I SWEAR, D’s worn socks could be used as dog toys – I believe my husband’s feet may sweat dognip.
So, onto Moose – we have been unable to stop misquoting from Princess Diaries 2, “…but he’s a cute Moose, makes all the girl moose say, hrrraawwhh!” Moose is a handsome simple summer child. We don’t know if it is his normal skillset, or if he has learned from our pack of assholes, but Moose’s in-the-way game is spectacular. He wants to lead the human parade, unfortunately he doesn’t know where the humans are going so he proudly leads the way, and then realizes noone is following him so he quicky zooms back to where the human is walking. And repeat. and repeat. It’s adorable.
Thus far, they have been having a pretty great time. The slow introduction to my pack of assholes went very well with one exception, and that would be a Dobby. Dobby is our very own special simple soul, bless his heart. The first two days that Moose & River were here I had them in the a/c in the front bedroom and individually introduced them to a few of our pack of assholes at a time. Dobby *found* them, and by *found* I mean he remembered that there were two new dogs in the front bedroom and went and “Woooo’d” at the door on an almost hourly basis. To be fair to him, he forgets a lot – I just didn’t realize he resets himself hourly. But, they are all integrated now and Dobby only *finds* them about once per day, so he seems to have settled that Moose & River exist into his long term memory – or whatever he has that sort of equivicates a long term memory.
OMG – Moose just found River’s stinky sock. He looks so excited about it.
Y’all. Y’aalllllllllll. Listen! I’ve been tired. Like, capital T, Tired. Depressed? – sure, but doing alright. Anxiety? – well, yeah. No more than anyone else what with the global pandemic (or global pandemania as I like to say) and all. Physical pain? – yup, it’s been a fucker, but I’m working on it. Anywhoodle, all I’m saying is that just like all y’all, I’m doing the best I can.
However, a good thing happened, so I’m forcing myself to sit here and write about Mr. Antonio, because writing helps me and if anyone deserves to be written about it’s Mr. Antonio, or Tony, as he is now called.
Mr. Tony was found on island by a lovely (and straight-up dedicated!) human. She was impressed with his majestic 19 hairs just a’blowin in the wind, overcome by his magnificent natural aroma and pebbled scabtastic skin (of demodectic mange and associated infections), and let us not forget, his impressive knee-length testicles which probably could have been literally, 🎶 thrown o’er his shoulder like a continental soldier🎶. What’s NOT to love?!?
I could spend a lot of time writing about the hectic 3-4 days from meeting Tony to actually getting Tony to his final destination (which, btw, was Alaska 🥶) and/or the never ending logistical nightmare of attempting to move a dog that weighs greater than 18lbs off-island these days – but I don’t want to; this is a post about an amazingly lucky dog and my deep gratitude and appreciation for some beloved and wonderful people in my life who kept me going during a rough time and how I was (hopefully) able to pass that forward.
About seven years ago I was traveling to the great arctic midwest with my service dog, Herbert. He and I were delicate tropical flowers and two wonderful people provided me with winter wear for Herbert. Debra bought him a jacket-type coat that he ended up using a lot even after our winter trip was over for over-air-conditioned buildings (again, delicate tropical flower). Kristin, an amazing artist/designer/seamstress, made Herbert a GORGEOUS quilted cape type coat with embroidered vines that kept him warm and safe during the insane snowmageddon we encountered during our travels. During the coldest times, he wore both VERY happily.
After Herbert passed away, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of a lot of his things, some of them because my practical butt thought they could still be used, but some, like these coats, because they were *his* and I still miss him every day. When I met Mr. Tony, I knew where those coats had to go – Alaska.
Mr. Half-a-Floof Tony, his nekkid mole rat-looking self went from in the living in the tropical Caribbean sun, eating trash with his hot mess of broken teeth and his skin rotting gently from infection while itching everywhere ALL of the time, to meeting a few ladies who lured him with delicious turkey, (I have this interaction pictured in my head like the siren scene from “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” but with turkey instead of laundry 🤣 | https://youtu.be/SJmZtn8vmt8), to visiting a vet clinic for 4 days where he was bathed, medicated, and walked on a leash, to then being dressed in toddler pajamas which were made crotchless by a lady in overalls who spent way too much time laughing over his crotchless pajamas (I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, they REALLY highlighted his, um, testicles and I have a *very* lowbrow sense of humor), to then flying on a plane to Miami, and then ANOTHER plane to Alaska with *his* turkey-providing FoodLady.
Y’all, Tony has just accepted every weird-ass change in his life with the same look on his face, “Okie dokie, I guess this is happening.”
Today I received a text from Tony’s FoodLady. He LOVES his extra-warm cape coat and he knows it’s his because he picks it up and carries it to his kennel by himself. He likes to keep his special treasures with him all the time and would take them all with him everywhere if someone could please provide him with a Tony-sized shopping cart. 🤣
Mr. Tony is on day 9 post-heartworm treatment and doing okay. He is tentatively scheduled for neuter and tooth-extraction on Thursday.
So things have been bad, I feel crappy whining about things because they are really more “first world problem” bad than truly bad.
Example? I am without a car. My old taurus has officially died the death of oh dead dead which means I have been walking to work. Herbert (service dog) thinks this WAY better than driving and it is only about a mile. Yes, this sucks, and yes, it sucks trying to do things like “buy food”, but really…things could be worse.
For example, it would have been worse if last night when I got home from work the two dogs at home could have gotten into the trash, destroyed a pillow, disassembled the couch, and begun gnawing on the arm of the couch which was *just* paid off. (I wasn’t worried about the new couch because it is made of METAL)
oh wait, that *wasn’t* a bad dream, that actually happened.
Everyone has their own language with their loved ones. Thankfully there were no other humans around to hear my conversation with the dogs this morning because in reflection, I may have sounded a wee bit macabre:
*FoodLady leaves bedroom, sees Sam in hallway*, “Sam, where did you get that trachea?! I didn’t give you a trachea……Herbert!?! you have a trachea as well!? I see….so we raided the treat box. Mia, no….you can’t steal Herbert’s trachea–he’ll kill you…….here, here *grabs bully stick from box*….have a penis. Okay, fine….Sam, have the penis. Mia, here is a trachea.”
*happy peaceful canine munching sounds*
*FoodLady walks past bathroom, sees another stolen trachea carefully half hidden under a towel and bellows*, “Herbert! we do not hide stolen trachea in the bathroom!” *picks up trachea and stomps around looking for more stolen bovine anatomy.*
Good morning from the anatomy thieving fuzzy-butts.
Woke up drenched in sweat with Herbert snoring on my pillow. Grumped about “damn slacker diabetic alert dogs,” blearily used one open eye to find my kit and test……huh, 109mg/dL.
Oh, that’s right! I live in the damn tropics in June.
Dear Herbert, I’m sorry I besmirched your good name. Snore on my good dog, snore on. [but get off my damn pillow 😉 ]