ShoeShine!

Although ShoeShine was dumped at the shelter by his owner about a month ago, I only had the opportunity to meet him this past weekend. At first, I didn't think he liked me at all - he would dart to the front of his kennel, bark repeatedly, then dash off... only to repeat this ritual again and again. It was only after I got home and was getting ready to walk our dog Rufus that it hit me: Rufus usually uses the same bark when he's playing or when he wants something. And that got me thinking even more.

The next day, I managed to get up to the shelter again. When I got to his kennel, I called out, "Hey, ShoeShine! Wanna' go ouside?" and he cocked his head at me; not a confused expression at all, but a cheerful gesture that I recognized well. It's the same bright little "Heck yeah!" nod that Rufus gives me when asked if he wants to do something fun. So outside we went.

ShoeShine is brimming over with energy and enthusiasm. He's a smart dog, and a complex one as well. One moment, he can be mischievous and swaggering; the next moment, he'll be sweet, vulnerable, and eager to please. He's a combination of German Shepherd and Golden Retriever, and seems to have gotten some of the best of both breeds in him.

Beautiful, energetic, and amazingly friendly, ShoeShine is a real find - and sadly, one that may be gone forever in just a few short days. Since the opening of the new shelter, adoptions have been painfully few; rescue groups are over-full and desperately trying to make just a tiny bit more space to save more lives. Times are tough all around, but it's literally a life-and-death struggle for the shelter, its staff, and the animals. ShoeShine has been there a month - long enough to grow from a puppy to an adolescent, long enough to watch a number of other animals come and go. In the past two days, at least eighteen new dogs have come in, and there is nowhere to put them.

Tuesday may well be his last day. If it is, and he has to be put to sleep to make room for new dogs, it will be heartbreaking. And for me... well, he's so much like Rufus in so many ways, I think my heart will break a little bit every time I look at my own lovable rascal and see what ShoeShine could have been, too.
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UPDATE 6/30: ShoeShine was one of ELEVEN dogs pulled yesterday by rescue groups at the last minute. Thanks to their hard work, there's a little bit of breathing room at the shelter - at least for a few days. ShoeShine headed to Shreveport, LA along with a Chihuahua named Josh, where they will be fostered - and hopefully adopted out - by Animal Welfare, Inc., a Shreveport-based rescue group.
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Remo (the Second)

February has been shaping up to be a busy month. Not only are our "day jobs" and fostering young Mia keeping us busier than usual, the shelter staff are preparing to move to a new facility (a lot bigger, and about 35 years newer). It seems like there's never any time where we, the dogs, and the sun can all be in the same place at the same time.

It's a real shame, too. There is a legion of wonderful animals stuck here, and far too many will never be seen in time. Remo is one of the ones I worry most about, because he's (like Rexa before him) just too quiet and polite in his kennel to catch people's attention.

At first, he looks all stoic and grown-up. And big. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he had a little bit of American Mastiff in him, especially considering the loose skin on his face... not to mention his warm and affectionate personality. Apparently his previous owner wanted to give this impression, since he had Remo's tail docked. That, of course, means you have to look a little more closely to see his tiny nub of a tail wagging a mile a minute.

Remo is pretty reserved in his kennel. Going out the front door, he slinks along the ground like a soldier under fire. Keep on going though, and keep on encouraging him, and once you get him out in the sun, he absolutely shines. And wallows. And occasionally fetches. And rolls in the grass again. There's just something ineffable about his personality, though: a joyful warmth that's really hard not to fall in love with.

UPDATE: While writing this, I learned from Russell Posch (the awesome resident Shelter Walker) that Remo has been moved - along with several other outstanding dogs - to the "urgent list". That means that if the shelter fills up again, he might have to be euthanized to make room for new, incoming animals.

UPDATE (2/6): ADOPTED! After an amazing outpouring of support and offers to help young Remo out, he was pulled today... And the people who picked him up are thinking he's not going to be needing to find another home. I couldn't be happier - and that's not literary license; I really mean it.
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Pookey

Pookey is a dog that I wanted to feature a week ago. He's likely a mix of German Shepherd and Australian Shepherd, although he might have some Kelpie in him as well. Regardless of his bloodline, Pookey is bright, friendly, confident and just an all-around fun dog to be with.

The reason for his being at the shelter is the reason I didn't post him earlier. Apparently, he was used as leverage in a "domestic dispute." His previous owner dumped him at the shelter to "teach a lesson" to a family member they were fighting with.

I'm no guidance counselor, but I'm pretty sure it's a stupid idea to try and extort loyalty by getting rid of the only thing someone "truly loves" - doubly so when that happens to be a living being. Triply so when that living being is a dog that still loves you, no matter how callously you treat him. And if there's anything that young Pookey has learned flawlessly, it's how to love.

Of course, he's pretty good at fetch, too. And keep-away. Often at the same time. He's got confidence, intelligence, a sense of humor and energy to spare. Working with him, I get the impression that he is truly a "gifted" dog, and would probably love learning new things and facing new challenges. In fact, the one thing Pookey doesn't have going for him is time: I waited far too long to give his previous owners time to work things out, and now the shelter is full.

It isn't fair that he's stuck in this jam. It isn't fair that he was betrayed by a pack mate for the sake of pride. But it is what it is, and all that's left to do is go from this point into wherever tomorrow takes him. That's one major difference between dogs, and most people.
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UPDATE (1/15): Well, Pookey's former family never worked out their differences, it seems. After waiting and waiting in the shelter (with very few people even considering such an energetic and eclectic-looking fellow), he was pulled by a rescue group today. He'll be heading to a foster home quite a distance from here, and hopefully will be finding a permanent - and more stable - pack to live out his whirlwind-happy days with.

Incidentally, had he not been pulled today (with several other dogs), it's likely he would have been euthanized for space at the end of the day.

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Hershey

When Hershey first came into the shelter, I was on my way out with another dog. His owner spun him around and pressed him against the wall, indicating that I should keep the other dog away (I went out another exit). Apparently, there had been an "incident" with Hershey and another dog, and no one wanted a repeat performance.

I'll be the first to admit, it takes a lot to convince me that a dog is "just bad." I don't always agree with Cesar Millan, but I do think he's spot-on when he says that the overwhelming majority of dog problems are based in their environment (and particularly the humans that interact with them). Thus far, Hershey hasn't betrayed my optimism for him.

He's no perfect little puppy, of course - at a modest 93 pounds, he's used to doing what he wants, when he wants to do it. Hershey's pretty sharp, though, and he seems to be getting the hang of this "dog/human teamwork" thing quite well. When it came time to weigh him, he climbed right up onto the scale and waited patiently... and then stepped back down, paused, and on again when we realized that we'd forgotten to turn the scale on. All the while, he was just happy for the attention.

In fact, attention is one thing I think Hershey is needing desperately. It took quite a while - and quite a lot of brushing - to make an appreciable difference in the gritty, oily, dander-crusted mess that was his coat. He didn't seem to mind a bit, which made a nice change from trying to brush our rowdy and grooming-shy dog, Rufus. Hershey's elbows and hocks were scuffed and skinned up, and his collar was pretty filthy - despite still having the plastic price-tag hanger attached to it. I got the impression that someone was in a bit of a rush when they put it on him, long ago.

We gingerly tested his bad reputation with other dogs, starting with an adorable (and pregnant) beagle named Savannah. (She's available too! Hint, hint...) Their conversation seemed to consist mostly of:

"Wow, you're big."
"Yep. You're kinda' small, aren't you?"
"Hey, I got buns in the oven. See? Wow. You're big."
"Er, thanks."

No tension, no drama. A good start. Next we brought out Homer, a male Pit Bull Terrier. No problems at all when they met, although Homer really wanted to romp around and Hershey wasn't overly keen on puppy antics. He did, however, want to go out and walk around. When Homer marked a pillar, Hershey casually sniffed it and moved on - apparently, he's secure enough in his doghood to not feel compelled to "over-mark" other males. There was one moment of tension when another puppy was brought outside, and Homer took the opportunity to get up in Hershey's face. A low growl ensued, and we decided that a break from the happy-go-luckyness was in order.

Later, when the vet was taking Hershey out of his kennel, there was a brief moment of alarm when he and Miller lunged at each other through the kennel door. He backed down as soon as he was reprimanded for it, and I got a visible cringe from him when I put a rebuking finger on his nose (which seemed a bit of an over-reaction to a "hush" command). After getting his weigh-in and check-out, I took him back to his kennel. No problem passing Savannah's kennel, or Joker (another adolescent male), or Homer. As soon as we reached Miller, though, the retriever was at his door, barking and bristling. Hershey tensed up, but relaxed again when I told him to leave it alone. He acted up once more, growling when I had moved between the two dogs - and again dropped the drama when told to.

I'm not sure if Hershey's issues with other dogs are simply testosterone-based (he's 6 years old, and not neutered), or if it's a wayward side-effect of his guarding instincts (all three times he got agitated, there was a person between him and another confident, male dog). For now, he'll need supervision when around other dogs, and a lot of good, old-fashioned training. Personally, I'd love to see him rescued by a group that specializes in German Shepherds, who can re-direct his lonliness, frustration, and tenseness to more satisfying, challenging outlets.

As I said before, I tend to give dogs the benefit of the doubt. I don't doubt for a minute that Hershey would unhesitatingly end any fight brought to him. There aren't many dogs that I've seen with quite so much desperate affection in their eyes, either. He's a bit of a fixer-upper, perhaps, but my gut tells me that he might be well worth the effort, and then some.

UPDATE (12/29): As Tajana and Almir pointed out, Hershey was rescued today! He's made so much progress since he came into the shelter, I have little doubt that he'll earn himself a permanent place in someone's heart - and family - soon.
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Smitty (AKA, "Buster")

Weekends at the shelter are usually a great time - some of the most amazing folks volunteer there, and Saturday is when most of them can shake loose from the daily grind and come play. One of my favorite volunteers is a guy who always seems to have an extra bit of happiness to share around, and a real way with dogs both large and small. After having spent time exercising dogs ranging from Chihuahuas to a St. Bernard, he got ready to call it a day and hopped in his car.

A few minutes later, he came back into the shelter with this young fellow in tow. While leaving, he had seen a couple of guys in a truck slow down a bit, chuck this poor dog out onto the sidewalk (at about 10-15 miles an hour), and speed away. Without pausing a beat, he had pulled over, scooped up the pup, and whisked him back to the shelter to be checked out.

When I got back to the shelter (I was away when it had happened), young Smitty was sitting in his kennel, shaking and looking around nervously. Moreover, he hadn't touched his food. I sat down next to him, casually looking around and waiting for him to calm down. Smitty - who I straightaway nicknamed "Buster," owing to both his earlier pratfall and his deadpan face - sniffed at me cautiously, then licked the air nervously. I gently petted his shoulder, and he crawled right into my lap and promptly fell asleep. I felt so guilty when I had to finally get up and go, but he took it in stride, and nibbled a bit at his dinner.

Monday, Sophie and I decided to brave the rain and take Buster out for a few photos. He was very calm and friendly, though he kept trying to crawl up into my lap whenever he had the chance. Remarkably, he seems to have walked away from his tumble with only a few minor scratches and scrapes, which made me very happy.

When I had to clean his kennel later on, I simply clipped his lead to one of my belt loops, and he followed me so well he never even took the slack out of the leash. And when I was in the kennel next door with Chester, I would periodically glance up to see Buster's eager face bounce up over the kennel wall, then back out of sight. It seems like now that he's seen a bit of comfort and affection, he's very hesitant to let it slip away.

Best of all, I saw him smile today - something I hadn't seen since he came in.

UPDATE (August 1):

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UPDATE (August 14): Two weeks. Buster was with us for only 13 days, then he was gone - the "kennel cough" that he'd contracted had masked the only early symptoms of canine distemper, a far more serious (and lethal) infection. By the time any tangible symptom had appeared (in Buster's case, myoclonus of the facial muscles), it was far too late. In less than twenty-four hours, he was beset by pneumonia, encephalitis, disorientation and seizures. He might have been able to hold on another day, perhaps less; and if by some miracle he survived (CDV is untreatable), he would have suffered horrifically and been left destroyed both physically and mentally.

It was an impossibly painful decision, but we decided that Buster's last memories should be ones that would give him comfort, not agony or fear or hysteria. He was euthanized by anesthesia overdose yesterday, and his body cremated to prevent any other animals from being contaminated.

I can handle the grief - the sorrow, the pain of loss. I can cope with the guilt that I'd let him down so very badly, and wasn't able to save him. The only thing I can't grapple with right now is the anger; the abject disgust for the reason he was in the shelter in the first place, the reason he got sick. The reason he died.

The chance that a mature dog will contract CDV is remakably small, assuming that the human who is responsible for him gives enough of a shit to keep his vaccinations up-to-date. Because someone couldn't be bothered though, Buster is dead.
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Rufus!

Just a couple of weeks after we began volunteering at the animal shelter, Sophie ran across this tiny ball of fur. It looked to everyone like a cross between a Husky and a potato (because up until a certain age, all dogs look pretty much like potatoes). As Sophie sat with the puppy, named "Rufus," snuggling and comforting it, the Shelter Director walked up and nodded in their direction.

"That puppy's too young to stay here. It'll need a foster home." She punctuated the latter sentence with what novelists refer to as 'a significant look'.

After discussing it with Sophie, we agreed that - ready or not - someone would have to step up, and it might as well be us. Thus began two months' worth of attempted house-training, socializing, and looking for a good, stable owner to adopt him. The sleepless nights came as an added bonus. Four aborted adoption missions later (and five other foster animals come and gone), we finally threw in the towel and declared him a "foster failure," as the shelter employees teasingly refer to it. Since he had spent 75% of his life with us thus far, we figured he could stick around for the rest of it.

Rufus has his own Blogger page, "Raising the Rufus," where we basically natter on about some of the ups and downs of bringing up a puppy (now an adolescent dog) in our bizarre little world. Maybe we'll even discuss some things that we learn along the way about what to do - and what not to do - when forging a relationship with (hopefully) the furriest member of your family.

Sarge, Part 2: Fetch!

Through some logistical miracle, Sarge has managed to hang on at the shelter for nearly a week now. Yesterday, I needed to take young Nedra (who appears to be a Pointer/Jack Russel Terrier Mix... talk about your energetic dogs!) out to burn off some excess jitters. Sarge wasn't at all happy about being indoors on such a nice day, so I took him out as well. I figured, why not let the old fella' hang about and watch the puppy ricochet around? Why not, indeed.

I threw a tennis ball across the yard, and Nedra chased it playfully. Sarge watched intently. The next throw was a bank-shot off of a wall, and Nedra homed in on it like a missile. Suddenly, there was a flash of black, a flurry of grass, and the ball was gone from under her nose. Sarge ambled over to me, chewing the tennis ball absently, and dropped it at my feet. A few more throws saw the two dogs racing each other to the ball, having a grand old time. Then Sarge leapt up and snatched the ball out of the air. After that, little Nedra plopped down where she stood, and just watched the old German Shepherd admiringly.

Pretty darned spry for an 8-year-old...

Today was another good day for fetch, and Sarge got to stretch his legs solo this time. He's not too keen on the big red rubber ball, but the felt-covered tennis balls bring out the puppy in him. I honestly had no idea that he could run that fast, jump that high, or scramble that nimbly. It was obvious that he was having a great time, and just as obvious how proud he was when he'd manage to grab the ball in-flight. And every time, without fail, he'd bring the ball back to me, ready for another go.

After a good, long game, I decided it was time to head inside. I put the ball down, walked over to the gate, and picked up Sarge's leash. He followed cheerfully, but stopped a few feet short. Looking around for a second, he darted back across the yard, grabbed the tennis ball, and nudged it into my hand. We did a second round of fetch, until he seemed satisfied. Then he politely tucked his head into his leash, and we headed back inside.

All the way from the playpen to the back door of the kennel area, he pranced along like a puppy as he walked.


UPDATE (7/27): When we came to the shelter today, Sarge was gone. We figured he'd been euthanized first thing in the morning, but it turns out the old boy was adopted! We are thrilled for him and hope he and his new family are a good match. Much love to you, Sarge and to Ryan and Addie, his new "parents!"

Sarge

I have to admit, it puzzles me a bit when I see older dogs and cats being brought into the animal shelter. Don't get me wrong; I know why a lot of people do it, and I understand their reasoning.

I've seen a 14-year-old Cocker Spaniel at the shelter. In human terms, that's close to being a centenarian. Failing eyesight, dental problems, and a tumor about the size of a tennis ball on one shoulder. Not easy to look at and remember that it was once a bouncing puppy just a few short years ago. Heartbreaking to realize that same bouncing puppy quite likely won't be around much longer. In our own household, it's been a rough 18 months; we've lost a cat to illness, a bird to old age, and we have another aged cat who will be lucky if he survives another few months. It's never easy on the pet owners.

But I'd think that it's harder for the pets themselves.

I'm pretty sure that Sarge has no idea what he's doing here. He's part German Shepherd, and looks like he might have a little Akita in him as well. He's strong for his age, and confident. He's good with other dogs most of the time, even the little puppies who just don't understand what respecting one's elders is all about. Sure, his eyes may not be what they were eight years ago, and he's got some patches of dry skin and shots of grey in his fur. You'd have a hard time convincing him that any of that triviata matters, though.

I like walking with good ol' Sarge. I'm a "big dog" kind of person anyway (as if dogs like Johann and Engel weren't a giveaway there), but there's a certain ineffible quality that a lot of older dogs bring with them that's as delightful as it is elusive. Dignified but not too stuffy; proud, yet strangely affable: Sarge tries to shoot for that narrow line between the contradictions. He sometimes even manages to pull it off without too many malaprops.

Don't get me wrong - Sarge is far from genteel at times. He doesn't really understand why you look at him crossly for marking that tree, or for "mounting" that uppity youngster up in his grill. I think he genuinely assumes that every other dog in the world admires him, and he's like some kind of "Awkward Uncle Albert" trying too hard to be groovy with the younger set. He doesn't argue or complain when you correct him, but it's really, really hard to be stern with him; Sarge just carries that much unabashed affection in him.

As I write this, I know that he's been at the shelter far too long. And I know he may well be gone forever (or gone to live with someone else) before I get a chance to see him again. Strange as it sounds, a part of me is perfectly fine with that. No matter what happens from this point on, I know that Sarge managed to figure out something really important. Something that a lot of people never even come close to realizing, with all their superior brainpower.

Sarge has found his happy place, and it's not a place at all. It's wherever he happens to be.

Johann, Days Two and Three

Well, the fight continues to rid Johann of his legion of parasites. He's been given a flea/tick dip now, which makes him oh-so-popular with the other dogs. Another round of topical pesticide (the kind that soaks into the skin and hair) was added, so he's been barred from another bath until at least Monday. He's trying to put a brave face on things, but some kinds of displeasure are hard to hide.

We did get to go out for a couple of short walks and a game of fetch, so at least he could stretch his legs and breathe some fresh air. Just about everyone who passed by the two of us commented on how striking and majestic he looked, and I think the boost to his confidence helped quite a bit.

Another pick-me-up came with feeding time. I had gotten permission from the shelter's resident vet to give Johann a little something for anemia, and cookies and orange juice aren't particular canine favorites. So the big guy got a bowl of liver with his kibble. Even if the extra iron and protein were superfluous, the psychological value was immeasurable.

On day three, Johann was moved to a more easily isolated kennel - the retreating army of ticks was beginning to attack the nearby kennels, something which is absolutely verboten. His considerably less-comfortable temporary bivouac was surrounded by some fairly potent insecticide powder, which combined with the added smell of the flea dip made for a very, very unhappy dog indeed.

After one last trek outside, it was feeding time. I went to put Johann back into his temporary "oubliette of doom," and he naturally balked. A good "alpha" leads by inspiration instead of intimidation, so I stepped inside to call him in.

There was a booming bark of warning that echoed through the shelter, and I was nearly yanked off my feet. Looking back at him, I saw Johann planted firmly in the hallway, trying to pull me back out of the kennel with all of his might. Quietly, I called him over to me and cradled his head in my hands. "I know it's bad," I said calmly. "But you need this. You need to trust me."

The words were just babble to him, of course. The message, however, was earnest, heartfelt, and focused - and Johann is no idiot. He looked at me a moment, walked carefully into the kennel, and waited for his dinner.

I can't wait for this to be finished. And if I never see another tick as long as I live, it might just be too soon.

UPDATE: Well, it looks like there won't be a "Johann, Day 4" update. A rescue group came all the way from Arkansas to check him out, along with Buzz, a BullMastiff / Lab mix. Apparently, both of the boys left a good impression, and they set out for their new foster-homes right away. I'm very happy for Johann, but a little bit sad for myself: I didn't even get a chance to say "Goodbye."

Gute reise, mein freund.

Mike

Mike came into the shelter with Wendy; abandoned, lonely and terrified. He seems to be the more courageous of the two, but he wasn't born with Wendy's winsome good looks. Predictably, he's still at the shelter nearly a week after his only real packmate has gone to find new friends.

Looking something like a cross between a Labrador Retriever, a German Shepherd, and possibly some kind of doggish-looking cow, Mike isn't going to win any purebred championships. But he's got a huge heart, albeit one that seems pretty badly broken at the moment. Trying to get him out the front door is a losing battle; he's terrified of the shelter's lobby, much like Wendy. Shuffling quietly out the back door, however, he gets a bit more of his courage up and cautiously sets out to find some fun.

From the time I've spent with him, Mike seems to enjoy simply walking over just about anything else. Sophie and I have started referring to him as "Shadow," because he's so glad to be near me when we walk, his nose seldom strays more than a foot or so from my side. In the play yard, he's happy to stretch his legs and explore, but likes having a friend around to reassure him.

Although I've had him out and about with both Nick and Johann with no problems at all, the past week seems to have jaded Mike's view of other dogs a little bit. Being sedentary isn't natural for a retriever or a shepherd, and spending most of his time in a kennel is definitely not his idea of a wacky, fun time - so he will occasionally announce his displeasure when I walk by with another dog. It took him long enough to realize that there was actual, positive attention to be had out there; I don't want him to conclude that it's a limited resource he has to compete for.

UPDATE (7/13): I'm quite worried for Mike tonight. Though on the receiving end of a lot of affection (not to mention a good grooming) at the hands of a fantastic new volunteer at the shelter today, he was more withdrawn and depressed this evening. He barely picked at his dinner, and I noticed just before I left that his nose was running. Hardly the end of the world normally, a little cold or a respiratory infection can be disastrous when all of your neighbors live about six feet away. Hopefully, he'll be better in the morning.

UPDATE (7/14): Mike wasn't better in the morning. At least he'll never feel abandoned again: I hope he realized he took a piece of me with him, and it kept him company on his way out.

Johann, Day One

Johann's a bit of a fixer-upper, as dogs go.

An animal control officer found him living underneath a bush, and he'd been there a while, apparently. Flies had destroyed a goodly bit of his ears, his teeth were ground down to almost nothing (his canines are literally flat; no exaggeration), and his coat was a matted thatch of tangles, unshot winter fur, fleas, ticks, and blood. All in all, he was a complete wreck of a dog.

Needless to say, I fell in love with him instantly.

The first priority for me (after the staff gave him his vaccinations and parasite-control tablets) was a bath. We strolled out to the play yard, and I pulled out the bathtub. Johann only took a little coaxing, and hopped up into it himself. Round one of reclaiming the dog underneath the wreckage went well, though it broke my heart to see how badly life in the rough had treated him. Drying him off and taking him back to his kennel, I set off to work with some of the other dogs for a while.

Johann: Filthy, bloody, infested with ticks...
and thrilled to be here.

Later, we went outside and got to goof around a bit. The two of us played fetch for a good while, and he seemed glad for the chance to stretch his legs. Rotating through all of the toys at hand, it was finally decided that Johann loves the classics; nothing beats a good, old-fashioned red rubber ball in his opinion. Though not the quickest dog I've played fetch with, nor the most enthusiastic, he was certainly one of the most polite. He would chase down the ball, and more often than not, walk back and place it directly in the palm of my hand. Petting him, I cringed again inwardly. His poor skin felt like a riverbed, pebbled with bloodthirsty ticks. That can not be comfortable, I thought quietly, and tossed the ball again.

After feeding time, I made a final pass through the shelter: it's sentimental, but I enjoy a chance to say good-night to all the dogs. Passing Johann's kennel, I noticed a couple of ticks had fallen off of him and were trying to crawl away, so I grabbed a paper towel and hopped inside to dispatch and dispose of them. I nudged the big, white dog out of the way, and Johann took a wobbly few steps aside; apparently, the combination of anti-parasite measures from earlier had finally kicked in, and he was understandably a bit woozy. Looking down, I froze; and was suddenly very glad for every disgusting, gut-twisting experience I'd ever had with a tick or flea.

The floor was covered in them. Dozens (if not a couple of hundred) of bloated arachnids futilely scrambled to get away from the now-toxic dog. Sweeping them into a pile, I noted at least three generations' worth of the parasites. And by the time I had cleaned them up, another few dozen had fallen off. Looks like it's going to be a very messy, but very worthwhile night.

I'm off to the shelter now, and am eager to see how well the recovery is coming along. Although we officially don't endorse any particular brand over another, I have to give both Capstar and Frontline props; they certainly earned an A+ with a gold foil star yesterday. Regardless of brand, if you own a dog you owe it to them, yourself, and your loved ones to find a good parasite control and use it regularly. Take Johann's word for it; it's well worth the effort.

Engel (Angel v2.0)

In all honesty, there are a great many days when I doubt myself and the work I do at the shelter. Sometimes, I just can't find what a dog needs to give them that extra bit of courage, or discipline, or whatever else it is that makes them shine before time runs out, things get overcrowded, and they're gone forever. Although things have slowed down a bit for now, there are a couple of dogs I still worry about when I work with them. One of these is a beautiful but extremely frightened shepherd Sophie and I call "Engel," though she's listed as "Angel" officially. (She came in while the first Angel was still there.)

I have to admit, Engel touches on many things I find attractive in German Shepherds; she's tall and leggy, a bit shaggy (though not long-haired), and has a beautiful romanesque nose. Even moreso than all of that though, I love her personality. She doesn't fawn and face-lick like most insecure dogs, nor does she shy away; there seems to be a gentle steadiness to her and a heartfelt warmth, even through her fear.

Engel is certainly not going to break many speed records from the kennel to the front door. She's very cautious with people she doesn't know, and frightened to death of the walk to the shelter's lobby. I'm guessing it could involve feeling abandoned, since her previous owner brought her in. Once she's outside, though, she forgets her troubles and relaxes.

It seems to me a bit odd, but Engel doesn't really seem to have learned anything you'd expect a German Shepherd to have picked up by her age. She came in with a swanky martingale collar, but doesn't really follow on her leash (she doesn't pull hard either though, and comes back to you if she notices you've stopped). Fetch is a foreign language, and she seems to know that it involves a ball, and you throw it, then you look at her expectantly. Honestly, the only things she seems to have learned well thus far are "come," "sit" and "lie down." She seems akin to a classic Porsche 928 that's only been driven to the corner grocery store on weekends. So much potential, so little time to get her courage up.

UPDATE: Fraulein Engel is about to embark on a trip to New York courtesy of Bright Star GSD Rescue in Rochester. They couldn't have come at a better time, and I don't think I could have recommended a better gal. She's being treated for a mild heartworm infestation, then trekking northward for her new life. Good luck, sweetheart!

Angel

When Angel first came in, I didn't really even have time to sit down with her - I just brought her some food and water, and was off again. I later came back, and it took quite a while to get her courage up. Having recently been pregnant, Angel's belly and teats were still swollen, and she was confused and uncertain. She's still a bit intimidated by her rapid change of surroundings today, though after taking her out the first time, it wasn't difficult to see why.

Tugging and pulling on her leash, Angel seemed to have no interest in me at all. She dove from place to place, planting her nose to the ground and looking around frantically. Especially under things. Tables, cars, trailers... and then it hit me with a sudden tightness in my gut. She doesn't know where her puppies are. The first three times we took her out, we helped her look around, knowing full well that they weren't anywhere to be found, but hoping the effort would make her feel better. She certainly seemed to appreciate it, and she's calmed down quite a bit.

Of course, "calm" is a relative term. Though understandably slow to trust strangers, Angel absolutely loves to run and explore, and is certainly looking for a person who shares her adventurous, energetic spirit. She is smart and seems to enjoy being challenged mentally, which is a common trait in shepherds - she'd quite probably have a grand time playing games, or learning tricks once her "need for speed" has been sated.

UPDATE: Angel was put to sleep on June 19. I'm really going to miss your out-of-breath grin, and your curious face popping up over the edge of your kennel wall. You were a great gal.

Cy, the One-Eyed

Little Cy caught my eye (no pun intended) while waiting for his vaccinations. I was smitten with his happy grin, wagging tail, and youthful enthusiasm. He was squinting one eye at me, though, and I checked to see if it was injured or had something in it. Upon closer inspection, I found that Cy appears to be missing his left eye altogether.

That doesn't seem to slow him down much, though; he's fearless and adventuresome. I'm not even sure if he can see out of his right eye, or if he's blind or nearsighted. What he lacks in the visual department, he does a good job of making up for with his ears and nose - which makes it a little bit tricky to tell if he can see where you're going, or if he's just following you by scent or sound. He'll navigate hallways and obstacles with grace and ease, then bump headfirst into his water bucket. Cy's tapetum lucidum - a lens-like membrane in the eye that enhances night vision - looks a bit more reflective than normal, which might be significant. It could indicate blindness in that eye, or it might effect his ability to see in certain lighting... I'm no expert on such things, so I'm in the dark, if you'll pardon the expression.

Aside from needing a good vet to check him out, little Cy could use a fair amount of interaction with people and other dogs. He seems to have been pretty much on his own for most of the first four months of his life, and appears to have missed out on a lot of the "puppy experience." He won't grow up to be a small dog by any stretch of the imagination, so he'll need to be taught to be calm, gentle, and polite (important things for all puppies to be taught, and doubly so in larger breeds).

One outstanding thing that happened today won him my sincere admiration. We were walking together, and passed Sam's kennel on Cy's "blind side". Sam dropped into his best awkward "play bow" and began barking like crazy. Instead of bristling at him, like I've grown used to seeing the other dogs do, Cy turned, bowed back, and bounced around yipping his best, "Yeah! Let's go play!" in reply. Come what may, I'll always remember Cy as the one dog that won't let appearances deceive him.

UPDATE: Cy was rescued on June 16th. Hopefully he will soon be in his new forever home. Good boy, Cybernator!