A little bit of Grace.

You may remember this post about my father's rescue dog.

I'm happy to report that Gracie is doing a whole lot better. She was sicker then we ever imagined. Underweight, spooked by quite a lot of things (like sounds and being alone), plagued by heart worm, hook worm and whip worm...she was a mess. Once the vet put her on (STRONG) antibiotics, she began to come around. This was a wonderful development, since my parents were going on vacation and I was going to be in charge of her for a week.

I learned a lot of things while watching this little dog make her way through illness and defeat it. One, she is tough. She had to be to survive on the street and battle what she has struggled with. Two, in spite of life's hardships, she has remained optimistic and hopeful. Gracie also loves the comfort of human beings. She doesn't ask for much. She's not a demanding creature. All she wants is your gentle presence. I'll sit on the couch and she'll slowly slide into my lap and snuggle as if to say "Thanks."

She loves children. She does her best to keep up with them until she needs a break, but even then, she silently reassures them that she is still their friend. Gracie could have easily rejected humans, and I wouldn't have blamed her in the slightest. After all, people have failed her. In spite of her abusive background, she doesn't see it this way. In Gracie's mind, everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. What I usually keep quiet about on this blog is that I've been struggling with depression. Two weeks ago, I began taking a medication that has really started helping tremendously, but also, this gentle, four legged lady has helped me through this process. She doesn't judge or care if you feel broken. She just loves you. She heals you.

Dad is beginning the process of training Gracie to be a therapy dog to kids, adults and elderly patients in need at local hospitals and I think she'd be absolutely perfect for that. I know that she has slowly healed me. After much needed TLC, it's time to go home, but I'll never forget the week I had with this little girl and I can easily say it's been a privilege. 

Gracie.

Recently, my dad adopted a dog from a local rescue. The rescue found this sweet girl in Puerto Rico. They believe she had been on the streets for quite some time. No one knows if she escaped from a yard, or was simply left to fend for herself.

The rescue from New Jersey found out about her situation, and she ended up about an hour away from my dad, living with a foster family. Dad and my stepmom then contacted the foster family. One thing led to another, and...well....here she is. When she arrived, she was badly matted, had ear mites and was heartworm positive. (still is in fact) The rescue has been keeping up with the heartworm treatment very well and she should be okay (gradually) beginning next month. For now, Gracie can't have too much stress brought onto her or it may affect her heart. We've been keeping everything quiet and peaceful for her. The medicine also wears her out. (the vet said she'd be sleeping a lot and boy does she!) After her first night, Dad and Lynda had a mobile groomer come to the house, (one who was brought up to speed on her heart condition) and the groomer worked her magic.

Gracie loves cuddles and  just being petted. I think she knows and is relieved to be home. She's simply a sweetie.

Welcome to the family.

Volunteering at the Oahu SPCA

Recently, I began a volunteer position at the Oahu SPCA. I knew I wanted to get some experience and get out there, but I wasn't quite sure how to go about it.  I contacted the SPCA after the Honolulu Pet Expo and they said they were happy to have me.

I will say, to get to the SPCA in Kapolei from downtown Honolulu, you have to make a day out of it, at least if you're traveling by bus. It's only about 18 miles away, but with all the traffic and all the stops in my area, it can take up to three hours one way to get there, and maybe an hour a half to return at the earliest. (I can take the C express coming home, but not going there, which means less stops on the way back.) I began my tenure on May 21st. The people there are just lovely, with Cyn, Candice and Marley really standing out and going out of their way to get you accustomed. In fact, I missed my orientation completely due to a late bus and getting on the wrong transfer. I was originally going to return June 10th (the next orientation), but once everyone realized how far I traveled, they let me learn from Candace. Staff immediately took note of my physical struggles and didn't want me to be injured taking care of a large dog. Old me would have gone to the dogs anyway, in spite of the risk of injuring myself. New me found it very, very hard to walk away from them. The solution is that I mostly work with cats, small dogs, puppies and kittens. The first few days, I worked with these guys:

Make no mistake, I enjoy all animals, but I am generally not a cat person. I don't dislike them, but I think I just find cats a big mystery. I can tell you what breed a dog is (or what he's mixed with) generally by looking at him. (in fact, this is a game the dad often plays with me. He'll point to the TV at a commerical or a show and say: "Katie what dog is that?") I can tell a dog is happy, sad, stressed or angry just by their expressions and body language. I'm generally not afraid of most dogs. (with the exception of a vicious dog I might encounter by chance that's bigger then me.)

Cats? Cats are another story. When I was five, we had a cat once. His name was Arthur and he was evil. I think there was something wrong with him, because he would generally "hunt" my brothers and I. He would sneak around corners to find us then pounce, scratch and bite us. We never provoked Arthur (we didn't dare). We were afraid to touch him. Eventually, I became anxious to walk around the living room, the hallway, the kitchen or anywhere Arthur might reside. One night while my then three year old brother was sleeping, Arthur snuck onto his bed and attacked his face.
The cat was out the door after that.

Naturally, we're all still weary of cats, and I know I have a bit of a cat phobia. Took me awhile to realize not all cats are Arthur. You can imagine how fast my heart raced when I walked into this:

Things I've learned about cats:

1) Their faces and body language are an open book to me.

2) I can't tell you what kind of cat any of them are.

3) (some) cats don't like being petted. (found THAT out the hard way)

4) Cats do NOT come when called.

5) Cats do what they want. (see 4)

6) Give a cat a giant cardboard box from Costco and he'll love ya.

7) Catnip is like cocaine.

8) Some cats are awesome and adore you. You just have to figure out which ones they are.

To do this, I entered the cat room with caution, sat in a chair, and waited for them to come to me. (I'd advise you to do this with any animal really, but especially with cats) Some ignored me. Some leered at me. Finally though, three cats came up to be rubbing themselves on my legs and purring in greeting as if to say "Welcome to the cat room." I cautiously petted one, who then jumped in my lap for more cuddles. Eventually, we graduated from petting to brushing, then I placed him on the floor, grabbed a cat wand, and began waving it around to see what he'd do. Turns out, what he did was have a grand old time chasing it, swatting it, pouncing on it, and biting it.

Soon the other cats joined in. Then I left Cat Room 2 (nicknamed "The Fat Cat room") and went to Cat Room 1, where the younger cats were. It was here that I met my favorite of all the cats.

This is Blue:

He's part Siamese, and he's been at the SPCA for awhile. I don't know why, because he really is such a friendly cat. Blue is pretty independent (perfect for people who don't work from home). He doesn't need much and loves to perch on a window sill most of the day. Once he has an audience though (like when I walked into the room) he'll show off for you. He also likes having his picture taken, so of course my camera came out.

Don't mind me. I'm talkin.

I also met Gin:

Gin's another love bug. All he wants is cuddles. He's a tiny cat, with some allergies, so you have to keep his nose and eyes clean. (which I was more then happy to assist with, and he was more then happy to wipe himself on my shirt) He's pretty shy though, so it was hard to get his face.

On Monday, I got to visit my true loves: DOGS! The second I walked into the kennels, I was home. My heart was broken with my dog Noah (long story on that one), but I fell in love all over again with the dog I was assigned to play with.

This is Teddy Bear. His name matches his personalty to a T.

He loves to play. And run. And jump. And bounce. I think he even did a flip for me when we wrestled with his toys. As far as I can tell, he doesn't know how to sit (he might be just anxious though). He does have excellent impulse control. (I hold the toy in my hand towards my chest, and he waits very patiently for me to throw it. I started off making him wait very briefly for the toy--only seconds because that's all he could handle--then rewarding him with praise when he didn't jump on me for it. We're slowly increasing the time. When he jumps or nips, I turn my back on him. He hates that, so he tries so hard to avoid it, bless his little heart. Unlike in Noah, there is no aggression what so ever in Teddy Bear. He wants to please you constantly. The hardest part of our sessions is the end, because Teddy Bear hates it when I leave. He tries to chase after me, he whines for me to return, and he even attempted to bolt out of the kennel after me. (I usually need a second person on hand to assist with Teddy Bear, just in case he gets out to follow me.) I usually try to not look back and tell myself that I'll be back to see him. Helps me get on the bus. If it were up to me, that little dog would be in my arms and on the next plane back to New Jersey with me, but I know now isn't the time for a dog in my life I also know realistically I don't have the energy to keep up with Teddy Bear. My goal is to get him adopted to the family he deserves before I go home.

And that's a little insight over what I've been doing lately. Working at the SPCA has been incredibly humbling and I'm inspired by the good they do. I know some Hawaii residents read my blog, so if you can help out in anyway, please call (808) 754-1519. We're open Tuesday through Sunday, 10am to 3pm if you want to check out any of the pets featured or are interested in adoption. For more information, go to http://www.oahuspca.org/

Childhood furry friends.

I recently read a post on the blog A Punk, a Pumpkin and a Peanut about the blog ower's dog Marley, and it got me thinking about a special dog who entered my life years ago: Happy.

Happy came into my life in a special way. When I was eleven, my back problems began. I didn't know exactly what scoliosis was then. I knew I was hurting quite a bit, but I could still play, and I didn't look any different, so whatever. I knew soon after I began seeing doctors, I was fitted for a back brace. I knew my parents (my mom especially) worried about me. I knew that after nearly a year of missing school days and getting x-rays, all of us knew the back brace was no longer working. I began to get a better idea of what scoliosis was and what the next step would be for me. My orthopedist began mentally preparing me for surgery, but wanted to hold off for as long as possible for my body and bones to develop. Ideally, I believe doctors didn't want the surgery performed on anyone under the age of 16 if they could help it. I don't know if that's true any longer.

By my 13th birthday, I had difficulty running around outside without becoming short of breath. I was on the couch nightly due to pain in my back, but I didn't think about the pain much. In fact, I remembered it then, but can only vaguely recall it now. What did bother me was completely superficial: I was crooked. I hid this as best as I could through baggy jeans and hoodies, told myself that baggy clothes were part of my "style", and rarely looked in a mirror to get me through. When my doctor realized that my surgery couldn't be held off any longer due to declining health, he scheduled it two months after my 14th birthday. My biggest fears during that time: "Would I wake up during surgery?", "Would I FEEL the double rod in my back?" (EW), "Would it hurt more?" My mom told me the surgery would change my life for the better, and that I would FEEL like a new person. I put my trust in her (she was Mom after all....knowing of all things) and left it at that.

As the date loomed closer, I focused on...dogs. I think it was so I couldn't focus on the inevitable, but that's what was on my mind. We had a dog already. Her name was Baby, and she hated our neighbors and my friends. (She was quite territorial) I'll admit that even though my family loved her, I myself didn't feel a strong bond. Make no mistake, I didn't dislike Baby, but I felt like she was more my mother's and brothers dog then anyone else's. I began to think about a dog of my own. I vowed to be able to walk my dog (if I could get one) pain free.

I remember working up my nerve to ask for a dog. It was like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, finding the courage to ask for a BB gun. I decided when Mom and I had one on one time, I'd rack my brain to find the perfect way to bring it up. At some point, it just spilled out to her Ralphie style: "Mom? Can I have my own dog?"
My mother looked a little bewildered at the question.
"Katie, we already have a dog."
"I know. But...she doesn't feel like my dog. I want a dog of my own."
Mom paused. I think she knew what I meant.
"Your father and I will have to talk about it."
I didn't know it then, but many years later, Dad told me I could have asked for a trip to Disney World and a pony and they would have given it to me. "We were in nervous breakdown mode."
All I knew was that I stayed quiet and patient after asking. I didn't have to say much anyhow. The very next weekend, we were at the ASPCA Adoption Day.
"Remember, this is your sister's dog," Mom reminded my brothers. "She gets to pick the dog and name the dog."

Like a kid in a candy store, I hobbled around in aw at all of the sweet animals looking for their forever homes. I came across a dog that caught my eye. His name was Sebastian, and I felt bad for him because he had three legs and was hit by a car. Mom worried about his health problems, and the fact that I seemed to be more in love with him then he was with me. We moved on. Out of no where, Mom spotted a big black dog in a pen. She wagged her tail so hard her whole body wiggled. The dog leaped out of the pen and into Mom's arms.
"Whoa!" Mom gasped and laughed. "I like this dog....Hi there!"

Happy wasn't a smart dog. I struggled to train her, but after 12 years, I gave up. She didn't know how to sit. She didn't come when you called her. She peed and pooped in the house for almost a year after we had her. She ate garbage. But Dad refered to her at "The sweetest thing on four legs." She was a mellow dog that stretched out by my side through thick and thin, including that surgery. She loved everyone, including other animals and children. She even would catch lady bugs, only to let them go. That was Hap.

My parents made the best decision for me in letting me have her.

Happy died when I turned 25. When I decided her arthritis became too much for her to handle, and she struggled to walk just as badly as I used to, I knew it was time to let her go. In her final moments, she was still full of joy. In fact my last image of Happy still had her wagging her tail. I've had many dogs in my life since then. But there's always that one special dog you never forget and you know you'll never meet another. Happy was it.

I don't want to do this, but I just might have to.

Let me start off by saying that I love my dog. I got him as a beautiful ball of white fluff from a breeder, who breeds poodles and cockapoos. I wanted a cockapoo after endless research last year led me to believe that they were great with kids and social dogs. At ten months old, my puppy has been anything but friendly to many. Oh sure we go on nice walks and have our cuddle time on the couch, but ANYTHING could set him off and that mood changes in a bipolar instant. The sweet moments are becoming few and far between. I try to make sure that he has everything he needs. I took him to training class beginning at 9 weeks and continued with it and (still) work on it everyday. I brush him everyday, bathe him regularly, am always trying to play with him. He goes on walks three times a day. I feed him Halo. I take him to the dog park every weekend. I've socialized him with every person within a 50 mile radius. But, I've finally come to the conclusion that something is very wrong. When his agression issues began (gaurding paper, growling and snapping) I worked with a trainer ASAP to try and curb it. But starting last week, it got alarmingly worse.

The first time was when I got on my knees to clip his leash on. Noah bit my hand. HARD. It put a small hole between my index finger and my thumb. I came to the conclusion that it was my fault (maybe I startled him) I told him "OW! NO!" and he backed off. The second time was out of nowhere: He bit me while I was petting him. I put him in his crate to cool off. The third time, he bit my father as he gave Noah the drop it command while Noah grabbed mulch. On Saturday, while I was at a wedding shower my stepsister invited her friend and her little girl over for lunch. Noah let out a low, threatening growl to the 2 year old, (who made no move toward Noah and was just near her mom) and my stepmom quickly put Noah into his crate. But he continued to growl until she put a blanket over the crate. Tonight, I put my hand under Noah's mouth and said "drop it" in a calm, but firm, voice after he got in the trash. He growled low, snarled at me. I smoothed back his hair to look at his eyes, and it was like a strangers dog staring back. They were wild.

At the beginning of last week, I contacted a behaviorist, who is coming to see Noah this week. I've also been in contact with my vet, who will check Noah to see if anything is medically wrong. That's today. Noah is also no longer around children. I can't take a chance with little ones. He is on a leash with adults. I know I need more help with Noah at this point then you anyone can give, but am I doing the right things? I might be missing some steps to take? I just want to try everything I can to help my dog. I'll do so much for him.

That said, If this behaviorist or the vet can't help, Noah might have to be rehomed. I haven't told the breeder the steps I'm taking yet, but I did let her know that there is a major problem.

This is what she wrote:

"Hi Katie, So very nice of you to send me the pics and the update on Noah !
I have never had anyone say anything like this before so i am stumped but your trainer should be able to work on this issue and it does concern me that he bit you as they are very affectionate dogs."

I don't know what else to do. My dogs are my babies, but it's clear that Noah needs more help then I might be able to give.