Confessions of a First Time Foster

I’m jotting down a few notes before we go to our marathon Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) session. Angel is at the groomer’s right now, and I’m eager to see what she looks like after they shave her down. Unfortunately, she’s going to have to spend the D&D session in her crate; there’s just no alternative. I won’t leave her loose in the kitchen with Paris, in case the War of the Bitches breaks out.

The opening salvo may have been fired. Yesterday evening someone peed a big lake in front of Angel’s crate. We’ve got that in the kitchen, so it wasn’t a major hassle for clean-up. But I’d give a lot to know whether it was Cognac being chivalrous (in some doggy fashion) or Paris putting Angel in her place. They say that two females are the hardest combo, and a situation where one is spayed and the other isn’t is the worst. So far, the suspiciously-placed pee is the only indication of hostility; I’ve got my fingers crossed that Paris and Angel will get along okay.

The visit to the vet yesterday went well enough. We have to go back with a urine sample. Otherwise, the vet found a place where the collar had been galling her, so we bought a new collar, and an old scar of unknown origin, and generally sores where her mats have been pulling at her skin. But no open sores, and no horrible conditions like some of the recent rescues from puppy mills have had.

And we got good news, too — Angel weighed 8-1/2 pounds! Okay, the 1/2 pound may have been all hair, but still, that’s a huge improvement over the 6 that she weighed when the mill auctioned her off. It’s like a 5′7″ person who starts out at 100 pounds and gains 40 over 6 months; pretty terrific. That is the one thing that her previous owner gets full credit for.

No, That Woman also gets credit for some important socialization. Angel likes being held, even though she trembles while we’re doing it. By way of contrast, the recent mill rescues have been described as “feral;” they don’t want to look at anyone or be touched. Partly it’s that Angel won her release so young, of course. I’m convinced it was starving herself down to 6 pounds that did it. At that weight she almost certainly wasn’t coming into heat.

Keeping her weight up was looking like it might be a challenge; we went out and bought the food she had been eating, but Angel still wouldn’t eat yesterday’s dinner. But during the afternoon yesterday she did eat the dog-food sausage that we give the dogs as treats. (She wouldn’t take it from my hand, but would eat it if I put it down in front of her.) Lynn, the rescue coordinator, said feed her anything that she’ll eat at this point, so for breakfast this morning she got a mix of the Orijen that we feed the other dogs, the sausage, and her old food. She ate all the sausage and I think half the other stuff, so we have a plan.

Jackson’s showing me a lot of Happy Butt lately, and it’s getting on my nerves.

I don’t mean that basic signal of puppy happiness. Can’t get enough of that.

I mean the Happy Butt that I see trotting quickly down the hallway when Jackson’s once again snatched something he shouldn’t have. The Happy Butt with the tail held extra high and the extra spring in the step. The Happy Butt that means I have to stop what I’m doing, clamber over Brother and Sister and engage in hot pursuit before the prize is swallowed or ruined.

Yes, just like human kids, puppies go through that “Mine!” phase, and Jackson’s case is in full swing. The origin of some of the prizes is easy. My right shoe came from the floor. The banana peel came from the trash. But how the heck did he get the CD with my PDA drivers, that pair of panties, or my Ove Glove? The bedroom and kitchen doors are closed, and the software is in boxes on a high shelf.

The only explanation: There’s a puppy Stargate that I don’t know about.