Category: Animules

Previously… (The Foster Chronicles: ‘Nita, Week 9)

Day 1

As it’s ‘Nita’s last full day with me, we take a big walk and schedule extra snuggling sessions in the morning

and the evening.

Day 2

I drive to High Point to meet Lainey for the drop-off. ‘Nita’s very happy to see her new mom and her five-year-old human brother because she’s always happy to see everyone, but—and I’ma go ahead and anthropomorphize the shit out of her right now—she seems confused and concerned as I get in the car and drive off.

People comment that I can just change the name! and transfer admin rights! and that it’s easy!, and I know that but I don’t want to. I want to keep her page exactly as it is. It represents me and ‘Nita and our relationship, plus what do I know?, but I think it’s a good portfolio item for my new career.

Day 3

Redford and Violet are a little weirded out—they run to the spare room and check the crate when we come inside—but happy, I think, to have 100% of my attention.

I try to teach Violet how to snuggle belly to belly. She tolerates it for a few minutes before repositioning herself at my side and making it clear she prefers that I just rub her chest k that’s better thanx.

Day 4

Lainey makes a new page for ‘Nita. Except now she’s Ruca. And not nearly as funny.

Day 5

Friends keep asking if I’m going to foster again but with that oh-god-don’t-do-it tone.

And I get it. It’s difficult, and people who love you don’t wish you difficulty.

But really, fostering has given my life meaning. For a few months at a time I have a purpose. For a few months at a time there’s a reason that the world is better because I’m here.

And it is better. Better for the dogs, better for the people. Let’s not mince words: ‘Nita would be dead right now if I hadn’t fostered her. She was scheduled to be put to sleep the day volunteers from CCB walked into a shelter in Wake County, pulled her, and delivered her to me.

And what a tragedy that would’ve been. ‘Nita made me happy. She made her 300 Facebook fans very happy. And from what I gather, she’s making her new family very, very happy.

So no, I’m not going to foster again right now, but I probably will again in the future, and let’s not pretend that’s not a good thing.

Previously… (The Foster Chronicles: ‘Nita, Week 8)

Day 1

Except that I stay up too late writing the last CrossFit post, so it’s after midnight by the time we hit the couch. No! Bad Amy!

Day 2

Lainey writes to say she got word that they’re approved! We exchange celebratory messages. Her 7-year-old wants to let me know, since I’ll be sad, that I can visit her any time and that they’ll send lots of pictures.

You’d think CCB would’ve let me know first. :/ I email the president to make sure it’s true before I announce ‘Nita announces on Facebook.

We head to class. ‘Nita really is tremendously smart. She learns so fast, and her behavior has improved exponentially. The instructor doesn’t even have to put up the screen. ‘Nita makes one or two aws—like “Aw man, I’m not even going to get to say hi to the other dogs?”—at the beginning, but that’s it.

Day 3

Because I have a 3:30 appointment in Chapel Hill after work, ‘Nita’s in her crate for 10 hours. I desperately want to go to the gym, so we do a quick 20-minute walk. The dogs are like, What even was that?, because we always do the 2.5-mile loop. I put her back in her crate and feel guilty as hell. About going to the gym. Is this what parenthood feels like?

Day 4

It’s a nice afternoon, so people are out and about in the neighborhood. Just as I open the screen door to let ‘Nita go potty, I notice three girls on bicycles pedaling in slow circles 100 yards away. ‘Nita tenses. I’m almost able to grab her but miss by this much as she flings herself over the rail and jets toward the bicycle girls. I yell, “SHE’S FRIENDLY,” and by the time I reach them, all three girls are cooing and petting her. But I’m peeved. I can’t trust her to be out there by herself for one second. I snatch her collar, hitch the leash to it, and fuss at her all the way home.

Once we’re inside she won’t stop wigging out—jamming her nose against the windows and barking—about the bicycle girls. I have to put her in her crate for a time-out. Eventually, she calms herself.

This caption is my favorite ‘Nita-ism that I’ve come up with.

Day 5

Fun with iPhone apps.

Day 6

Gorgeous day. After the gym, because I like to torture myself, we do our usual long walk, and then I mow the lawn. I can hear ‘Nita’s protests from inside the house. (She’s in her crate though because I learned the lawn mower lesson the hard way with Tulip.)

Day 7

Lainey and I finalize plans. Mid-day Tuesday, I’ll meet her in High Point for the handoff.

It’ll be a huge relief not to have to rotate ‘Nita and Violet anymore. Of course it’ll be a huge relief. And Redford and Violet deserve the attention I’ll be able to pay them once ‘Nita’s gone. Of course they deserve it.

But damn. I’ll miss that snuggly dog.

Previously… (The Foster Chronicles: ‘Nita, Week 7)

Day 1

‘Nita has been doing a lot better about not lunging at cars on our walks. Today though, halfway through our loop, a car pulls out of the Kingdom Hall parking lot, and ‘Nita bites my butt. You heard me. She doesn’t break the skin or anything, but it’s not a nip; it’s a chomp, enough to make me shriek, enough to leave twin bruises, one on the top of the cheek and one on the bottom. [This is when Dan NJ will say, pics or it didn’t happen.]

I holler at her and hold her neck to the ground. She kisses and wags.

What’s she got against Jehovah’s Witnesses, I wonder.

Day 2

Redford and ‘Nita, who is tethered to my chair, wrestle on the floor or the living room. Violet approaches gingerly but with tail twitching. She and ‘Nita do a little tag team action on Redford. Maybe Violet’s ready to make friends?

Day 3

‘Nita tries her hand at motivational speaking.

She can’t keep a straight face, but people like her anyway.

Day 4

There is some drama within the foster organization. The president, who resigned three weeks ago and moved to Sarasota, is accused of some financial… let’s say, less-than-transparency. People quit. For a moment, CCB’s future is uncertain. I may have to get this dog adopted out myself.

Everything eventually gets explained, to some people’s satisfaction more than others’ (I think I’ll be directing my energies elsewhere in the future), but the important thing is the organization is intact, for the moment.

A volunteer does the home visit for Lainey, the woman who lives near Charlotte, and it supposedly goes well. :)

Day 5

I write to Lainey and tell her about ‘Nita’s progress:

She’s really doing great on her manners. She learns fast. My only concern is her issue with wheeled things. She’s gotten better around cars. I’ve learned that if I keep her on the side opposite the traffic and if we stop when one goes by, that’s effective about 80% of the time. Bicycles and motorcycles and scooters are another story. She jumps and makes monkey noises and will just not let up until the thing is well out of sight—the other day, she almost jumped out my car window when a motorcycle went by! Scared me to death. And I worry about her getting hit by a car if she got off the leash.

I’m going to ask the dog trainer about how to handle this stuff. If you were to adopt her, would you be willing to continue working with her on it?

Lainey replies that after we met she started researching, and she’s found a trainer who is willing to come to her house. She thinks agility would help control her predatory drive.

Yes. Good answer.

In the evening, I’m walking through the kitchen with ‘Nita on the leash when everything explodes. In a moment, she and Violet are on their hind legs, Violet’s chin clamped in ‘Nita’s mouth, ‘Nita snout in Violet’s, and it’s LOUD.

I wrestle them apart and wonder what the fuck. Then I see the food bag. I had emptied a bag into the bin and then left it on the floor. Violet had been investigating the empty bag earlier. I think ‘Nita showed a little too much interest in it as we walked through the kitchen, and Violet was policing.

Whatever, I’m so sad and mad and scared, especially when I check the dogs out, and each is bleeding from the face. ‘Nita appears to have superficial cheek and nose scratches. Violet has several holes punched through the bottom of her chin.

I rub Neosporin on their wounds and fret.

Day 6

‘Nita’s lip is all swoll up. I email, call, and text the president of the organization: Should I take her to the vet? The org’s vet is closed on Saturdays… maybe I could cajole mine into seeing her? I need to know soon though because the office closes at noon. After that, our only option with be the emergency vet, which will cost four times as much.

I hear nothing for several hours.

Finally, the pres calls and says just put hot compresses on it three times a day, and if it’s still swollen on Monday, we’ll get her seen someplace.

‘Nita’s outside with Redford when a rollerblader comes by. She jumps the gate to get to him. Fortunately by then he’s tromping along the gravel road (yes, I live on a gravel road in a city—I’m fancy like that). I shout, “SHE’S FRIENDLY!”, and she just runs over and wags at him.

Day 7

Sundog morning:

We head to south Durham to go for a walk with TULIP and her mom! Tulip gives me lots of snuggles and kisses. Her mom says that’s the warmest welcome she’s given anybody. I think that girl remembers me. :D

Redford and ‘Nita are sunbathing in the afternoon. ‘Nita vaults the fence again to go visit the rollerblader. He holds his cigarette aloft in one hand, pets her with the other, and says, “That’s OK, girl. You can come holla at me anytime.” She’s such a flirt.

Sundog evening:

Nothing like Auntie’s magical dog yard.

Previously… (The Foster Chronicles: ‘Nita, Week 6)

Day 1

I tumble out of bed, stumble to the kitchen, but before I pour myself a cup of ambition, I must feed the dogs. One, two, three bowls. Sit, wait, two bowls down. “OK.” They eat. Head to the spare room with the third, put it down in front of ‘Nita. She waits! Good girl. “OK.” She’s halfway through it when I remember it’s spay day, and she’s not supposed to eat anything—SHIT. I pluck the bowl off the floor. She wags, whatever.

I worry though. Shit. Will they not spay her? I tell the sweet teenager who has volunteered to drop her at her appointment (I have to be at work before they open) to tell the vet techs about the food. Shit.

At 8:54am, I get a message from her: Omg they need your # ASAP

SHIT. Heart attack.

I freak out for an hour, only to find that they wanted to tell me ‘Nita would be ready earlier than they thought. THAT’S NOT OMG-WORTHY, YOUNG’N.

She’s so sweeeeet and dopeeeey when I pick her up.

The food seems to be causing no problems—whew.

At ten past ten, she yorks on the floor.

Day 2

‘Nita barfs again at 3:20am. I clean it up, then I’m awake for hours.

In the evening, we go to our first class together. As soon as we hit the parking lot and she sees other dogs, she just can’t deal.

Day 3

My sister texts me to see if I want to walk with her and the kids after school. ‘Nita does relatively well, considering all the stimuli of a new place, but she gets really agitated and nips at the tires of the stroller carrying my littlest niece. I tug on her leash every time she lunges, and after a while she seems to get the hang of it. However, whenever we drop behind and then catch up, we have to repeat the learning process because she doesn’t remember from four minutes ago that strollers are not for herding.

Day 4

On our neighborhood walk, a little black and white dog in a vest is loose. He comes to say hello. Ninety-four percent of the time, I can handle my three dogs just fine. The six percent of times, when there is a loose dog, all bets are off. Redford and Violet get away from me. A neighbor driving by stops, helps me corral my dogs, and shoos the little guy away until I can put some distance between us. Thank you, neighbor.

My friend Sam lives along our route, so she comes out to walk part of it with us. The only problem is she’s pushing her son in a stroller. And all the progress from yesterday is null.

I’m tired of shuffling dogs around the rooms of my house, so I tether ‘Nita to my belt, and we all hang out together. She humps Redford’s butt; he humps her face; it’s all good.

Day 5

My dad comes to visit and snuggles his granddogs. He comments every time ‘Nita humps Redford:

“You shameless hussy!”

“You’ve got your roles reversed!”

“That’s obscene.”

Lainey is supposed to have her home visit today. Fingers crossed.

Day 6

I find out the home visit was cancelled. I don’t know why.

So we walk.

Then I clean like blazes because I have some folks coming over in the evening.

When I bring her out to meet my guests, she promptly climbs in the first lap she finds and kisses the accompanying face. Then she makes her way around the circle offering good will toward men.

Day 7

On our walk, a guy hollers, “Can I have the black and white one?” I tell him she’s adoptable, and he comes over to meet her. As soon as I say she’s spayed, he says, “Oh,” with obvious disappointment. Goddammit, why can’t people just love dogs without wanting something out of the deal? In other words, goddammit, why can’t humans be more like dogs?

Previously… (The Foster Chronciles: ‘Nita, Week 5)

Day 1

Would that we all thought like dogs.

Day 2

I email the Charlotte woman—let’s call her Lainey—to see if she can meet on Saturday. She says she’ll get back to me in the afternoon. I don’t hear from her.

Every day after our 2.5 miles, I let ‘Nita and Redford run laps around the shed. It’s wicked cute, but I’m kind of unnerved by ‘Nita’s intensity. It seriously looks like she’s hunting Redford.

Day 3

Still no word from Lainey. Oh, well.

I send photos of ‘Nita with a food donation we got to CCB, and whoever posts about it on their Facebook page fucks up her voice.

‘Nita doesn’t use capital letters unless it’s all-caps, she would never start a sentence with ‘us’ (though she sometimes uses text-speak, her grammar is excellent), and that status is NOT FUNNY.

Day 4

I go to doggy manners orientation night. It is VERY helpful. Why the hell haven’t I done this sooner?

Day 5

Already ‘Nita is learning her name, how to sit to say please, how to keep all four paws on the ground—she really is valedogtorian. I’m looking forward to the lesson on leash-walking, though. :/

Lainey emails and says sorry for the delay, she had some dental issues, and can we still get together? We plan to meet halfway between Durham and Charlotte.

Day 6

I drive to a soggy golf course in High Point to meet with Lainey and her two sons, ages 5 and 7. Both boys are clad in camouflage galoshes and full of wiggles. Bonita snugs on all three of them as soon as they jump out of the car. The elder boy is more talkative and inquisitive; the littler guy does a lot of rolling around on the muddy greens.

7-year-old: Does she hunt?
Me: Not that I know of, but she sure is interested in squirrels, so I bet she’d hunt them.
7: That’s what I do! Hunt squirrels!

Later…

7: She had puppies?
Me: Yep, it sure seems that way.
7: Yeah, you can tell by her udders.

They seem awesome, definitely dog people. Lainey says she’s already put in an application and is ready for a home visit. The only hiccup is they don’t have a fenced yard. I don’t know how that’ll affect their chances.

‘Nita is good traveler but has her preferences.

When I change the station to something with more pep, she sings along.

Day 7

It’s GORGEOUS out, but I’m just not ready to walk yet. ‘Nita’s outside sunbathing. I shoo Redford out the door and watch from the window. She’s ecstatic; he lets her wig out—jumping around, standing on his back, wiggling—and doesn’t do much. Eventually they do laps, and everything’s fine. Whew.

Tomorrow ‘Nita goes to get spayed.