The Right Name

Dog of the Week: Ghillie

Six years ago this month, my husband and I welcomed an adorable, six-month-old, brindled Plott hound mix pup into our home. Although we knew--given her sweet, playful, happy personality--that she wouldn't be with us long, finding the "right" name was, as always, important to me.

At the time, we had two dogs with dance-related names: Tango, named for one of our favorite ballroom dances, and Ceiligh (pronounced Kaylee), named for an exuberant Celtic dance party. With her four distinctive white paws, our foster pup seemed to call for some sort of footwear-based moniker. But Boots, Slippers, and Socks seemed too ordinary for her exotic good looks. So she remained nameless for several days while I pondered and researched.

Finally, I hit upon the word ghillies, soft shoes worn by women in Irish dance. So Ghillie she became.

Less than a month after her arrival, Ghillie found her forever home, complete with a male golden retriever playmate, who she kept entertained (and in shape) with her fancy footwork.

I don't know if Ghillie kept her name...but I have no doubt that she's still dancing her way joyously through life!




 

There's Just Somethin' 'Bout a Hound Dog

Often, when I hear Elvis Presley’s rock-and-roll classic, “You ain’t nothing but a hound dog,” playing on the radio, I find myself substituting the words, “There’s just somethin’ ‘bout a hound dog,” in my mind.

Because to me, there truly is just something about a hound dog, although to be honest, I’m not quite sure why.

As a group, hounds aren’t known for their brilliance, and might even be considered the doofuses of the canine world. Think Goofy, Droopy Dog, Huckleberry Hound, Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy, caped crusader Underdog, and Garfield’s arch nemesis, Odie. Hounds are as likely to follow their noses as any commands you issue. And follow and follow and follow. They’re also pretty vocal, with voices that carry with operatic power.

But…there’s just somethin’ ‘bout a hound dog.

From the familiar beagles, bassets, and bloodhounds to the more exotic Plott hounds and treeing walker coonhounds, I just find hounds incredibly appealing. Certainly, their looks have something to do with it. With their long, heavy, floppy ears and their placid, soulful—and sometimes sad-looking—eyes, hounds definitely exude a certain physical charm.

But it’s more than that.

Hounds may not be the brightest bulbs in the proverbial box, but they are usually blessed with happy, fun-loving, easy-going temperaments. They tend to enjoy company—human and canine—and play well—and joyfully—with others. Basically, they’re just fun to be around.

It seems to me that if more people had qualities like that, the world would be a nicer place.

Although I don’t share my home with any hound dogs, I’ve been fortunate enough to get to know quite a few of them through my work as a photographer. Many of them have passed through the halls of the Washington Animal Rescue League (WARL)or the foster homes of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George’s County on their way to loving forever homes where I’m sure they’re brightening the lives of those they live with. I know mine is brighter for having met them.

My current hound buddy is Mack, a four-year-old brindled boy from West Virginia. It’s obvious that Mack, thought to be a hound/GSD mix, has lived a life of neglect. He arrived at WARL underweight and suffering from Demodex mange and a secondary yeast skin infection, which together make his fur look like a moth-eaten rug. His paws are oversized and swollen, probably from his skin maladies.

Nevertheless, Mack is as sweet as a sunny morning, and I decided that I would invite him to spend time in my office every day I’m at work. But getting Mack to accept that invitation was easier said than done. Although he willingly went outside with me and took care of business (he seems to be housetrained), he was extremely reluctant to climb the stairs to my office…despite the use of treats. I suspect he’d never seen stairs before.

It took two days—and a bowl of wet food—to finally coax him up two short flights to my second floor office. And on the third day, although he went willingly up the first flight, he still had issues with the second. He got two or three steps from the top several times before losing his confidence and stumbling back down to the landing. We went through this several times until the shelter director offered bits of her lunch hot dogs as incentive.

Once in my office, Mack rummaged through a box of dog toys and photography props, happily pulling out one item after another and tossing them around gleefully before eventually settling down with a rawhide and a stuffed Angry Birds ball. His joy and contentment were tangible.

I really love Mack and so enjoy sharing time with him, but I can’t wait for the day that some lucky person sees the same qualities in him that I see and asks to take him home for good.

Here’s to Mack and all the hounds!



Note: If you live in the DC/MD/VA area and are interested in learning more about Mack, go to warl.org or email adoptions@warl.org.

The Complete Package

Although I don't consider myself a superficial person, I admit I can be swayed by a pretty face...especially when that face is furry, is framed by fuzzy ears, and rests on a four-legged, tail-wagging body. And I readily admit to finding some dogs "prettier" than others.

I also realize, however, that good looks don't always mean good--or psychologically stable--dogs. There are plenty of canine Sylvia Plaths hiding behind Audrey Hepburn facades and Charles Mansons masquerading as George Clooney. But still, it's hard not to be influenced by appearances.

So how wonderful it is to discover Mother Theresa in the doggy equivalent of Giselle Bundchen or Bill Gates behind the fido face of Daniel Craig.

Yesterday, I met such a dog. His name is Patrick. He's a 9-month-old Plott hound/Boxer mix currently residing in a foster home of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County (PGSPCA). I had the pleasure of sharing a car ride with him on his way to a TV appearance on WUSA-TV9's "Petline Nine" segment.

Patrick was a perfect gentleman. Although I'd never met him before, he hopped on my lap (yes, he thinks he's a lap dog) as soon as I sat down on his foster family's sofa, ready for a quick cuddle (typical male!). He went willingly with PGSPCA adoption coordinator Sandy Twigg and me to the car and positioned himself on the floor where he could occasionally stick his head up between the front seats for a scratch behind the ears.

Once at the station, Patrick went about making friends with staff, even endearing himself to an on-air guest waiting to film her segment on mint juleps. He sat and shook paws with anyone who asked. And once on air, he calmly received the attention of the news reporter.

What amazed me most about the whole experience was the fact that here was a dog about whose early life we know almost nothing, who was found as a stray, and ended up in the county animal shelter. Yet he exhibited a more adaptable, accepting, good-natured personality than many dogs I know--including my own--some of whom can trace their ancestry back several generations. Like I said, wonderful!

I expect that Patrick's TV appearance will result in lots of adoption applications. Still, if you're looking for a handsome, medium-sized dog who gets along well with dogs and people of all ages, you may want to check him out. If I were in the market for another dog, he'd already be home.

In Theory

I should have known better. There's a reason I don't go to the shelter regularly to assess potential dogs for the foster program of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County. It saddens me to see all the animals that end up there--usually through no fault of their own--knowing that many won't make it out. Plus, given the dog-aggressive tendencies of our dog Tango (which means the establishment of complex schedules when there's a foster dog in the house), I'm trying to limit our fostering role. So avoiding the biggest source of temptation seems only prudent.

But a few weeks ago, I threw caution to the wind and volunteered to help choose some dogs for our program. Following a case of Parvo, a serious and highly contagious canine disease, the shelter had instituted containment measures that included limiting the number of dogs any visitor could have contact with to one. More volunteers on site meant more dogs we could evaluate "up close and personal."

Which was all well and good...in theory, at least. Armed with a list of dogs whose time at the shelter was running out, we found several that were good matches for our available foster homes. But...while there, a 6-month-old brindled puppy caught my eye. To be honest, she was hard to miss. She wiggled and wriggled and play-bowed as I paused in front of her kennel, determined to interact with me.

Although I couldn't touch her (I'd already handled my one dog), I knew she was special. Convinced that other shelter visitors would be as captivated as I was, I was certain she'd be adopted quickly. Therefore, I reasoned, there was no harm--at least in theory--in asking shelter staff to let us know if anything happened to jeopardize her future.

But fate has a way of reminding us that nothing in life is certain, and last week the SPCA/HS adoption coordinator received a call that the puppy's application had fallen through and that her holding time at the shelter was running out. Would we take her into our foster program?

Well, it's bad enough to know intellectually that nameless and faceless dogs and cats die in shelters across the country on a regular basis. But it's absolutely unbearable to know that the life of an animal you interacted with, spoke sweet nothings to, and expressed interest in might be snuffed out. I just couldn't let that happen.

So the sweet brindled puppy is now a guest in our home, where she will stay until the right "forever" family turns up. Given her four white feet, I named her Ghillie--the word for Irish dance shoes worn by women in shows such as Riverdance. My husband had suggested Boots, but even though I grew up with a dog with that name, somehow--in an era of dogs named Abby, Sandy, Phoebe, and Jocelyn--that just seemed too pedestrian for a canine of Ghillie's distinctive looks. So Ghillie she is.

And once again, I'm shuttling dogs from inside to outside and one room to another so that Tango's and Ghillie's paths don't intersect. And I'm feeding in shifts (with Ceiligh eating either with Tango or Ghillie). And my life is a bit more complicated, but also greatly enriched. And not just in theory.