Yesterday the sun was shining and I knew it was supposed to rain today, so I set about taking care of the gutters and getting the pine needles off my roof, and finally retrieving the squirrel that had languished up there since last summer, due to my errant throw during a game of “Kick the gd toy woman!” with Al.
First I had to navigate the little divots that Waldorama had dug, making sure the leg of my ladder didn’t suddenly collapse into one, and then I started the gross task of getting the moldering leaves and needles out of the gutter. With each handful of gunk, Katie was INCISED! MUST KILL GUNK FROM ABOVE!!! and she attacked every load that splatted on the ground, and on her. She ran around the yard with a slimy leaf (which was then covered by dirt as she sauntered too close to Libby who was digging a quarry from the looks at the size of it) all the rest of the time. I normally use a hose and clean out EVERYTHING, but knew Katie would go nuts for the water stream and I am already nursing a coughy cold so I didn’t want to be wet too.

I finish that, and then head up to the roof. It is easy to clean the stuff off and I enjoy the view, looking into the neighbor’s yards (the pool behind me is DISGUSTING) and some people hang their clothes out on the line (smart…I can’t do that as my yard is peppered with friggin bird poop, you wouldn’t believe the berries these birds are eating!) I watch the dogs, and they’ve got no idea where I am, and no one is looking for me, they’d taken to barking at the ladder when I’d disappeared. So I speak to Darwin. “HI DURWOOD” and he looks all around, and being the smarty he is everyday, he looks up and spies me, and this inspires him to hump Buddy. The other dogs hear me and come looking for me, and I say hi to Scooter and he spots me right away and everybody comes running….OMG MOM IS UP ON THE ROOF AND WE CAN’T TOUCH HER AND WE SEE HER BUT WE CAN’T TOUCH HER OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!
Trudy climbs to the highest point in the yard, atop the lounge chair, and stands up trying to be tall to get to me, and was joined and knocked down by the others, but the most distressed was Sigmund. His cries were distressing, wanting me to GET DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT NOW! I got closer to the edge to get the stuffed squirrel, and threw the sticks that were up there to them too, and they were astounded by the mystical sticks from above. Siggy’s bark was too much for me and I got down, much to the relief of the herd.
My chores were finished and we spent the afternoon napping together.

I have recently decided that Dexter deserves more food at feeding times. So he now gets 3/4 of a cup rather than the paltry 1/2 cup he used to get.

I got groceries today, and had purchased some Swift Premium Brown and Serve sausage patties for me, as I am a snausage fiend. Love those things on english muffies with cheese. I open the truck and start unloading from one of the passenger doors, trying to keep the dogs out and failing. Last week’s unloading had resulted in Kitty being locked in there for an extra hour and canine nose print art everywhere. Of course, Kitty and Ivan both made an appearance in the truck and I was just “eff em” and went about my business of unloading. I had steak for me Gizzards for them and hamburger for them too all in the truck. I leave the hatch open and start hauling stuff in. No sooner had I set the bags on the table (to be peed on by Al) when I hear Dex growling his “I’ve got something you want and you can’t have it” growl. I turn around and see TWO boxes of the snausage patties sticking out of his mouth. He tried bery. hard. to not let me see them by turning around so I couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t succeed. I easily took the boxes from him, one with a lovely tooth hole in it, and put them away. Suddenly realizing that OMG THERE ARE TWO HEATHENS LEFT OUT THERE IN THE TRUCK WITH THE STEAK I rushed back out and they were just bouncing around from front to back, clueless to the find in the back seat. They were promptly removed and Dexter sulked in his crate for the rest of the time.
The rest of unload was without incident, unless you want to count Herman’s uncanny ability to be standing stone still where ever I tried to walk quickly through, and causing me to slam my shoulder into the door frame to catch myself…but that happens all the time.

Mothers get to welcome their baby into this world with promises of a wonderful life, and with every breath of their being, try to ensure that nothing bad will ever happen to them. We know, of course, that is not possible, so we try to ease the pain of heart-breaks, skinned knees, and broken arms with our love. We envelope our children with our compassion and try to heal their aches with the aches of our own desire to make them better.

Like being a mother, what you, as a rescuer do, is special, and often thankless, and it takes a special person to be able to do it. Not everyone is cut out for this job, but you, despite the aches of your own, trudge through to the next soul in need. That’s what makes you a RESCUER.

That was a post from a friend upon the announcement that I had yet again lost another dog that I had tried to rescue.  I did save Sophia from the needle, only to have her taken from me a month later, due to old age.  Her organs just shut down and she had nothing left to fight with.  She passed away in the vet tech’s arms this time, as they were attempting to run tests on her to see what was wrong.  She was the one found in the “Angel” t-shirt, emaciated.  Had she been fed properly through her life, perhaps she may have lived a few years longer, but she wasn’t and it was too late for me to do anything but try to have my vets save her.

My heart gets broken over and over, and many wonder how I can manage the pain.  I’ve got no pithy statements or magic words.  I just go on, trying to love them the way they love me and be a good dog Mom.

Recently, I’ve got a phantom pooper problem. One of my dogs has decided “to heck with that cold weather, I’m keeping my bunghole warm and pooping in the house”
Now, being the savvy animal communicator that I am, I have an idea as to who it is, but will refrain from accusations.
Being the trainable type that I am, I decided to put the rug in the bathroom up on the ledge of the tub and use it as needed, replacing it out of the way of fuzzy little butts. This has worked for a few days. No one even pooped in there at all.
Then, today, I was greeted by a sight: two little pooplets balanced so nicely on the ledge of the tub on top of that rug.
I can’t win.

The shelter in Moblie has my number. And they use it. I got another call to come up and rescue a little silver dapple girl. She’d been found wandering the streets wearing a little pink “Angel” shirt, but severely malnourished. They held her for the required stray hold time, placing her in foster care, and then called me to come and get her. I made the trip, and found the skinniest little creature I’ve ever seen. My question is this: Why the shirt? You gave her a shirt instead of food?

So, as I’m waiting to fill out the paperwork, the director asks if I’m close by, and I tell her no, I make a special trip when they call, and drive the hour it takes to get there. She pauses, and says, “We have a mix….his papers say chi, but I think he’s a dachshund. But he’s sick” I walk back with her and see a little round ball of fur. I tell her I’ll take him, not because he could be a dachshund, but because he needed help. His eyes had no spark, he was clearly in trouble. Not knowing what may be wrong with him, I took him anyway, and the first stop was back at the vet’s office. Dr. Longo took a look at Sophia (named for the one who came here to spare her mom from the pain of her passing) and declared that she was healthy, just super skinny. No worms and no heartworms.
Rooofus, named that because that name had been used by me before on a puppy that didn’t get to keep the name, was in serious danger. He was dehydrated, anemic and again, those eyes told the story: spark gone. They immediately hooked him up to fluids and gave him a good jolt of drugs to help him out. They discovered he had hookworms, a severe infestation, and I truly believe he would’ve died at the shelter had I not gotten him. He wasn’t eating or drinking, and had given up. He had to stay overnight at vet’s office, and when I called the next day, he needed to stay one more night before getting to come home. That next day he was feeling better, but a bit grumpy, as when a tech went to talk some annoying babytalk to him, he bit her. (Can’t say I’d blame him…imagine being at death’s door and having to hear some high pitched nonsense babble. I’d be stabby)
I was instructed to keep him apart from the pack. I tried, honestly, I did. I let him bark till 3 AM Thursday night before he finally gave up. The next morning, I opened his door to feed him and he ate, and I go off to tend to the rest of the pack. The next thing I know, I see Rolfe….wait, that’s too tall to be Rolfe. It’s Rooofus! He’s so skinny, he can get through the bars on the gates. I close the door to the room again, and when I got back from work, I could not take the barking. I caved and let him mingle. He was scared of me, but could not bare to have me on the “wrong” side of the gate, and barks relentlessly when I’m not in the same room. He’s finally given up and sits with his little snout poked in through the gate watching me. In the two short days he’s spent with me, he’s made his move from the floor to the puppy pile on my lap, and to sleep on the big bed.
I am in awe of it, being so instrumental in one little life. I wonder if he thinks it’s too good to be true. Chicken gizzards and hearts with his food, cheese treats, and a warm home to stay in. He gets up from his naps occasionally, just to walk around a little, and I think it’s to check if it’s all still real.

A few weeks back, my furnace stopped working. The blower was no longer blowing. I didn’t suffer much, as living with 30 warm bodies has it’s advantages. But the rain made it a little too warm in the house and alas, the blower also is what blows out cooled air so when payday came, it had to be fixed. The floors were clean (as is a must when ANYONE comes into my home) and the dogs were led into the garage and bedroom, away from the man who came to fix it. He made no bones about it being expensive, and $320 later we once again had flowing air in our home. Any thought of buying presents for anyone was soon tossed out the window, and we were prepared to just enjoy the time off for the holidays.
Work was slow, and when it’s like that, I cruise Petfinder. I saw two pitiful creatures that called out for help and contacted the president of Gulf Coast Dachshund Rescue to ask her to call them so I wouldn’t have to call and sound like a retard, which I am sure I would since I know nothing of just how a rescue works out the details to pull dogs from the shelter. She tries to call and leaves messages, never getting a reply.
I then decide that I will scrape up the money needed to get these girls out. The adoption fee was $30 per dog, and I had access to almost $50. I’d be short on gas money but oh well. I made the decision on Thursday the 17th of December to drive up to the shelter in Mobile, Alabama, 70 miles from my home and get these girls.
Now, fate being what it is, I couldn’t go to McDonald’s for lunch Thursday because I was saving that money for the shelter run. Our office had been invited by the Computer folks on the base to go to their potluck and I told my boss that I was going, and he came too. The food was amazing. Simply amazing. That alone could’ve made my Christmas. Then, one of the ladies who goes to the Thursday department head meetings I go to asked how the rescues were going, and I told her of my furnace plight and how I was going to scrape up the quarters to get these two pups. She told me not to worry and gave me a $20, putting me over the top for what I needed by 10 bucks. I was feeling pretty good with myself and after work, I went home and got my mail and lo and behold, there was a check from my insurance company “redistribution of funds” and I had $51 bucks to do this with! I could actually have a Christmas dinner too and get the dogs!
Friday comes and the day is short, a retirement in the morning and then I’m off to Mobile to pick up the girls. My trusty Garmin leading the way while Bobby Vinton sings about giving a home to orphaned children at Christmas. I walk into the shelter and it is nice enough, bright and cheerful. I’m met first by a woman holding a little black kitten, adopting her, and I’m followed by another woman dropping off dogs. I let them know I’m looking for the dachshunds, and I had their numbers and Oh by the way, there was a little mix I’d seen and wanted to see if she was there too. I told them I had 90 bucks and wanted to bring home 3 dogs if possible. We walked through the rows upon rows of dogs, so many puppies it was sad, and past a dog that looked like his fur was fake (he was so awesome, black fur with silver tips) until we spot the two girls.  This is Mary:

And this is Holly

Poor Mary stunk and barely has any hair, and Holly is thin and nervous as well.  They were able to tell me that Mary had come in with more fleas they’d ever seen on a dog with such little hair.  I assured the staff that I am familiar with hairless dogs and all the plights and sufferings of them.

I then asked to see that mix I remembered seeing on Petfinder.  We look for a while and then she’s all the way down at the end.  I can see she’s not a speck of dachshund, but they took her out of the cage and I held her and knew, that yes Trixie, you can have Christmas.

I left the shelter with all 3 dogs, and the thanks of the staff.  I made sure they had MY number and told them to call me whenever they had a dachshund in need: kid biters, nervous and old, and even injured ones. They got their distemper shots and that was it, and all for only $25.  I had enough money for gas AND to transfer another doxie to her foster home.

I’m taking them to the vet tomorrow, and I am just amazed at how it all fell into place.  I went from being a few dollars short to having plenty, and thanks to a few kind souls, donations to go buy some much needed dog food.

So Yes, Trixie, you can have a Christmas.  Faith restoration at Christmas is the best gift of all.

Last night after the news was on, I decided it would be a grand idea to go up into my attic and see if there was some magical switch I could flip to get the furnace to work again. It’s not cold in the house now, but I need it to work.

Upon inspection and discovering that 1. there is no such switch, and 2. I have no friggin clue what I’m looking at up there, I gave up and was looking at the extra crates I had up there. An idea formed in my noggin….I should take one down and see if I can fit it in the sunroom….and then, my flash light shone on something on the far end of the attic, and like an ADD kid distracted by something shiny, I spied a handle sticking up out of the wall.
I cautiously make my way, half hunched over, precariously balanced on the beams, poking myself on the nails protruding from the roof to the handle. I picked it up and found it to be a GOLF CLUB! Now I have a golf club so
I look over towards the ladder to make my way back and continue on my original quest only to spy I also have a DEXTER cautiously stepping onto the plywood floors, ready to explore this strange new dog free area.
I call him back over to me, and he eagerly climbs into my arms, and I haul him down the ladder.

I go back up the ladder, grabbing my flashlight and the kennel, and head out to the sun room and start rearranging things. I come to the realization that I could fit one more! Back up the ladder, and again, if I move this one here and that over there and put the toys there, YES, I can put out two more and finally one last trip for two more kennels (one which was so narrow that I think it was for a ferret so I decided that goes in the cat’s room for when they need vettin’) The sun room now has 2 dozen kennels in it.

The dogs saw me do this. Each dog watched the whole ordeal, shoot some even participated and rode in and on the kennels as I moved them.
I finish and we head to bed.
Morning comes and it’s puppy breakfast time!
Normally, it’s pupdemonium. Dogs will cram themselves 3 to a crate and generally just annoy the piss outta me as I try to feed them. This morning, they all just filled in the crates one at a time, except for Rue and Rusty. They were confused as to where to go, as their usual spots had been moved. Rue’s crate was two crates over, and Rusty’s HUGE DOG kennel (the one sized for a lab) was over by the door and Rusty was just BESIDE himself about where to go. Rue figured it out when I opened the door and ushered hime in, but Rusty had to be carried to a crate and put inside with the bowl, and was still barking about it before he realized that “oh, the food is already there”

The latest sad tale to come across the rescue wires: a lady put her home up for sale and left her two dachshunds in it and would come by a couple of times a week to feed them.  This went on for a year.  How can she think that is acceptable? And now that she’s sold the home, she has to get rid of the dogs and is looking at the shelters and pounds to take them to. Oh, and one is blind. Nice one lady. Here’s YOUR sign:

Thanksgiving is over and I had a long lovely weekend off to spend with my dogs. Ellie May got adopted by a lovely couple from Florida, and I got to host a friend picking up her adopted dog to take back to Florida. I had time to appreciate my dogs and bless their hearts, they let me sleep in till 10 am on Thanksgiving day, without asking to eat at 6 am. Simply awesome. The weather has turned chilly, and I’ve lived with the luxury of being blanketed by dachshunds. Who needs blankets when you have a living one? Only thing that bites is when you have to get up to potty.
Most of the pups got to have a spoon full of mashed potatoes and gravy and I’d consider it a day well spent.