One of My Dogs

One of my dogs died yesterday. It wasn’t Fletcher, Folly, or even almost-16-year-old Ceiligh. And he hadn’t lived with us since early 2006. But he was still one of my dogs.

His name was Cooper and he was the first puppy that my husband, Mark, and I fostered for the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George’s County (pgspca.org) in Maryland. He was just 2 months old when he came to us from the county animal shelter, and he immediately became a part of our family. He was sweet, playful, and eager to please…everything one looks for in a prospective canine companion.

It came as no surprise, therefore, that this precious retriever mix spent just a few short weeks in our care. He was adopted by a wonderful young couple who were thrilled to add him to their small family. Like many first children, their cat was less enthralled at the prospect of a four-legged sibling, but he eventually came around.

When you foster homeless animals, you become something of a way station on their road to a happily ever after. You know your part in their story will be a temporary one, but it’s impossible not to form an emotional bond. So their departure invariably leaves something of a void in your life, and you can’t help wondering about them and if their life is as good as you’d hoped it would be.

I was thrilled, therefore, when a year or so after adopting him, Cooper’s mom brought him to see me at a community dog event where I was working as a volunteer. Not only did I get some good quality doggy loving from—a much larger—Cooper, but I was given a small album chronicling life in his forever home. I felt like a proud grandmother.

Although I didn’t see Cooper again after that, I followed the course of his life through his mom’s posts on Facebook. I celebrated the arrival of two human siblings and felt pride in how Cooper took to his role as big brother. I smiled every time I saw a photo of the three of them enjoying special moments—like Cooper’s 12^th birthday—together. He was a dog well loved.

But every love story comes to an end, sooner or later. Last Wednesday, Cooper began having trouble breathing and was taken to a veterinary hospital, where he was diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia (the same affliction that led to my father’s death last year). The veterinarians tried four different antibiotics but Cooper’s health continued to decline. His mom spent Sunday night in the veterinary hospital by his side, willing him to rally. But on Monday it was obvious that the miracle his family was hoping for was not to be, and they gave him the ultimate gift of a peaceful passing, showing him love throughout.

When I heard the news, I cried as if Cooper were my own. Which, in a way, he was. No, he didn’t live with me, and in the eyes of the law he wasn’t mine. But in my “foster mom” heart, where perhaps it matters most, Cooper—like all the fosters who have passed through our door—was and always will be at least a little bit mine.



Posted with eternal gratitude to Cooper's adoptive family.

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!




 

Bonnie Brings Joy Back

Dog photo of the week: Bonnie

My mother describes Bonnie as a godsend, which for my parents she is. A young adult yellow Labrador retriever, Bonnie found herself in a southern shelter following the divorce of her people at the same time that my parents were looking for a canine companion to fill a very large hole in their lives.

That hole was created by the death of their beloved yellow Lab Abby, who succumbed to hemangiosarcoma at the age 14 years. An energetic, affectionate, loving dog, Abby was in all the ways that matter my parents' youngest child. And when she died, their grief was beyond measure.

It took many months before they were ready to even consider opening their hearts to another dog, but, eventually, they decided the time was right...that they could not continue to live their lives without a dog.

They knew they wanted another yellow Lab, so I helped them find some breed rescue organizations online and encouraged them to submit applications and inquire about specific dogs whose photos and profiles attracted their attention. After a few "close calls," they learned about Abby and after talking at length with the rescue group representative, decided to adopt her.

When the big day arrived, my parents drove to a designated rest stop, where the transport--full of dogs heading for new homes and new lives in the Northeast--was scheduled to stop. The sense of anticipation and excitement was palpable. When the truck pulled in to the parking lot, the waiting crowd burst into applause.

One by one, Labs of all ages, sizes, and colors were walked or carried off the truck. Finally, a large yellow Lab emerged. My parents were stunned. Having raised two short, compact, English-type Labs, they were unprepared for Bonnie's size. "She looked like a pony," my mother recalls. (In reality, Bonnie is an American field Lab...taller and lankier with a thinner face than the typical English Lab.)

Once they recovered from their surprise and brought their new family member home, the process of healing from the loss of Abby began and a new, beautiful relationship blossomed. Bonnie will never replace Abby (as no new companion can--or should--replace another) but she has brought joy into my parents' lives again. She plays ball in the back yard with my mother, takes walks with my father, explores local parks and woods with them, keeps them company when they're on the computer or reading the paper, and climbs into their bed for morning cuddle sessions.

Bonnie adores my parents and they adore her. It doesn't get much better than that!

The Faces of Fostering

As a writer and photographer, I employ both words and images to communicate. For this post—in honor, appropriately, of the dog days of summer—I’ve chosen to rely primarily on images…of some of the wonderful dogs my husband and I have fostered over the years while they waited for their forever homes.

Most of these temporary canine companions arrived in good health; others had health or medical issues, such as demodectic mange or injured limbs that required surgery or even amputation. Some were outgoing; others, more cautious. Some shared our home for mere weeks, others several months. But no matter how short or long their time with us, each and every one of these dogs—from Lab mix pup Cooper, our very first foster, to rat terrier mix Taz to Plott hound mix Darla—found their way into our hearts and left us with wonderful memories.

People sometimes say to me, "Oh, I could never foster a dog; I'd want to keep them all," and ask, "Don't you feel sad when they leave?"

I always explain that we take in foster pups knowing that their stay will be limited and that having our own dogs makes their departure easier. And, yes, I feel a bit sad initially. But on the advice of a wise friend who has fostered many more dogs than I have, I treat myself to a glass wine once they're safe and sound in their new home and toast them and their new families in their futures together.

At the moment, my husband and I have no foster dogs. We're still enjoying the arrival of a new permanent canine family member. But I'm sure the day will come when we decide to once again become a "way station" on the way to a new life for another homeless dog.

Because, seriously, just look at these faces. How could we not?

 

Fostering saves lives and brings great joy! I encourage you to share in this joy by contacting your local shelter or rescue organization and asking how you can become a dog or cat foster parent.

Remembering Tango

Today would have been Tango’s 14^th birthday. I’d hoped to be celebrating; instead, I’m mourning his passing three weeks ago and reflecting on his life with us.

That life began when my husband and I adopted Tango and his sister Samba in August of 1999 at the age of 14 weeks…just one week after the passing of our beloved dog Boris. I remember sitting with Tango on my lap at the adoption show where we met them and thinking what a calm, quiet puppy he was; he hardly moved at all, even though a dog sitting next to me was chewing on Tango's tail. Wow, I thought, this is going to be one easy-going dog. I was wrong.

Our first clue that Tango had "issues" came several days after he and Samba came home with us. Both puppies were sitting in our TV room with me when my husband walked into the doorway from a dark hallway. Tango jumped up and began barking like a banshee at Mark, and it took several minutes to calm him down. Needless to say, we were startled, never having seen such a reaction in a puppy before.

We soon discovered that Tango was also startled and frightened by Kramer on Seinfeld (okay, I can understand that), the sound of the dishwasher, the automatic ice maker in the refrigerator, umbrellas being opened, unfamiliar people, and even familiar people wearing items of clothing that changed their appearance. He also was terrified of Mark's black briefcase and large black plastic garbage bags. I remember being mortified and embarrassed when Tango backed away, barking, from neighbors during walks.  It was like his nerves were perpetually raw, that the world was a frightening place where potential danger lurked around every corner.

I knew we needed help so I asked our vet if he knew of any canine behaviorists in Maryland. He didn’t but he suggested that we enroll Tango in obedience classes, which we did. And Tango excelled in class, although he was obviously uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. He "graduated" from beginning class and moved on to intermediate, where he easily did three-minute "sit-stays" and one-minute "down-stays" with me across the room. The only thing he would not (probably could not is more accurate, given his emotional/psychological make-up) do is "stand for examination," which involves someone—usually, but not always, the teacher—placing a hand on the dog's head and running it down the dog's shoulders and rump. Tango eventually would let our female instructor touch him, but any time she asked a man to assist in the exercise, Tango would back away.

We eventually stopped going to class because around the age of two or three years Tango began displaying dog-aggression tendencies. He would almost always ignore the dogs around him but if one of them broke a sit-stay and came bouncing over, Tango seemed to feel threatened and would respond aggressively. I did my best to keep Tango focused on me and asked other handlers not to let their dogs get in Tango's face. Unfortunately, some people just didn't get it. One older woman with a little Yorkie-type dog would let her dog jump at Tango's face. I told her that Tango didn't like that, and her response was that her dog was just being friendly. I'd explain over and over again that Tango didn't see it that way. Eventually, it just got too stressful.

Over the years, I increased my knowledge of dog behavior issues in an effort to better understand my troubled boy. I read such books as Bones Would Rain from the Sky: Deepening Relationships with Dogs by Suzanne Clothier; Cautious Canine, Feisty Fido: Help for the Leash Aggressive Dog, and The Other End of the Leash by Patricia McConnell; The Dog Who Loved Too Much by Nicholas Dodman; and Aggression in Dogs: Practical Management, Prevention & Behavior Modification by Brenda Aloff. I attended seminars by Patricia McConnell and Sarah Kalnajs, and worked with a local behaviorist/trainer. And I began putting the knowledge I acquired into action with Tango.

The good news is that it did help. Although Tango never became comfortable enough with new human acquaintances or accepting of other new dogs to go to dog parks or for "play dates" with our friends' dogs or to attend "yappy hours" or other "dog friendly" events, I was able to take him for walks without him lunging, barking, and growling at other dogs we passed. Thanks to patient, consistent, positive training—and some really yummy treats—I could turn his attention back to me. In fact, when we passed a neighbor's house and their three dogs ran along the fence and barked at Tango, he would automatically look up at me instead of them. He also became more trusting of new visitors to our home...especially if they were willing to throw a ball instead of trying to pet him. Basically, he became more comfortable in his own skin.

Thanks to Tango, I learned more about dog behavior than I could ever have imagined...information that has benefited not only me but also other people who have sought my input on their own dog challenges. And I have met some amazing people who I never would have met otherwise...people who have enriched my life in many ways. And, most importantly, I had the privilege of seeing Tango mature and develop into a wonderful, if flawed, companion. My mother once said, "It's not easy being Tango." I honestly believe, however, that thanks to the love that we showed him and the work we engaged in together, that "being Tango" grew progressively easier over time.

Interestingly, during the last year or so of his life, as his physical faculties—eyesight, hearing, and mobility—deteriorated, Tango's emotional/psychological stability seemed to grow stronger. For the first time in his life, he actively sought out physical contact and affection…perhaps as a way of reaffirming his connection with us and his place in the world around him.

Nevertheless, his decline was painful to witness. For most of his life, playing fetch was Tango’s greatest joy…one might even say an obsession. My husband can still recall once tossing the ball to Tango from our bed 125 times in a row. But as arthritis caused increasing pain and degenerative myelopathy reduced his control over his hind legs, Tango’s interest in retrieving dwindled. For many months, however, he continued to carry his ball around the house with him and would drop it in the tub when I was taking a bath, sticking his muzzle in the water to retrieve it.

But eventually even this behavior ended. Once in a great while Tango would pick up a ball and carry it briefly as if trying to recapture some fleeting moment from his youth, then drop it as if he couldn’t remember why he was carrying it. It was as if this special connection between dog and ball paralleled a larger “disconnecting” from life in general…a slowly letting go that broke my heart to see.

In some ways, Tango’s passing hit me harder than that of previous canine companions…perhaps because he required so much work and “management.” The bond I developed with him over nearly 14 years was incredibly strong, and the sense of loss I feel now is equally powerful.

As I adjust to a life that will undoubtedly be easier, but far emptier, I can only hope that my beautiful, troubled boy has found true peace at last.

To Rescue Near or Far, That is the Question

A week or so ago, an acquaintance posted the following message on Facebook:

Trying to understand why we have so many wonderful local animal rescue groups that go out of state to save animals when there are SO MANY animals right here that need help AND HOMES. I don't get it.

Her post got me thinking. It was a sincere, heartfelt comment, and one I’ve thought about many times.

For the past 10 years, I’ve volunteered with a county-based animal welfare organization in Maryland. We don’t operate a shelter; rather, we rescue animals from our county shelter and provide them a safe harbor in one of our foster homes until they find their forever families. We are committed to this effort because each year as many as 10,000 animals are euthanized at that shelter.

So when Hurricane Katrina devastated the American Southeast and rescue organizations across the United States opened their doors to thousands of animal victims, we made the decision not to do so. Our reason: For each Katrina dog or cat we took into our small foster program, another dog or cat languishing in our county shelter would remain behind bars…right in our own backyard but out of sight and out of mind.

I also work for another animal welfare organization in the nation’s capital. We take animals from several other local shelters that frequently run out of space, as well as a couple of rescue groups in other states. Occasionally, we are asked by national organizations like the ASPCA or the Humane Society of the United States to take animals they’ve rescued from puppy mills and hoarding situations or that have been made homeless by natural disasters. Most recently, we took in several dogs and cats whose homes were destroyed or made unlivable by Superstorm Sandy. Not knowing if or when they could care for their pets again, their people made the difficult and selfless decision to give their pets a new life by turning them over to the ASPCA.

As soon as the story of these animals’ arrival at our shelter hit the news, people were calling and emailing to ask when they’d be available for adoption…even though they’d never visited—or inquired about—the many other wonderful dogs and cats we have just waiting to go home.

The sad reality is that animals rescued from puppy mills, hoarding situations, or natural disasters generate more public attention than those picked up as strays or dumped like trash on an almost daily basis at local shelters in almost every county or municipality in every state in the nation. Their stories are “sexier” and generate lots of media attention, leading to high demand by potential adopters. In my uncharitable moments, I wonder if people like being able to tell their friends and family that they rescued a “Katrina” cat or a puppy mill survivor.

The fact is that there are no easy decisions when it comes to animal rescue because there are more homeless animals than people who want to give them homes. Fortunately, there are myriad shelters, rescue groups, and animal welfare organizations with almost as many missions and niches to fill. Collectively, we can—and do—make a difference.

And for me, at least, the bottom line is that an animal rescued is an animal rescued, no matter where that animal came from.

Love Song to Sweet Baby Ray

Working and volunteering for animal rescue and welfare organizations, I meet a lot of animals, particularly dogs. Virtually all of them are nice, highly adoptable animals, destined to make some lucky people great canine companions.

But every once in a while there’s a dog that has that “something extra”…at least as far as I’m concerned. Maybe it’s the way they cock their head or a certain look in their eyes or the cute way they place their paw on my hand; whatever the reason, these special canines just strike a special chord in me. I find myself caring deeply about their future. And if circumstances allowed, I’d readily welcome any one of them as permanent members of our “pack.”


Take Sweet Baby Ray, for example. This 5-year-old treeing Walker coonhound is one of 10 hunting dogs rescued from a rural property in Virginia during an investigation into illegal moonshine production and placed into the care of the Washington Animal Rescue League.


Like his canine companions, Baby Ray bears the physical and psychological scars of an unsocialized, neglectful life. The edges of his ears are rough and ragged, he’s missing a couple of teeth, his muzzle and paws are scarred from running through brush. He’s timid and uncertain about the world around him; ascending and descending a flight of stairs yesterday took a fair bit of gentle but enthusiastic encouragement…probably because he’d never seen stairs before. He doesn’t understand toys; no surprise since he’s probably never had one before.

But in my eyes, Baby Ray is beautiful.


Those big, brindled, raggedy ears are soft as velvet, and as I stroke them, he tilts his head back and turns his big brown eyes—eyes that can look surprised, interested, or soulful—upward in an expression of quiet ecstasy. A scratch along his back elicits a similar pose as he stands completely still…as if afraid to break the spell of pleasure. And when I sit or lie on the floor and encourage him, he curls his long-legged body like a corkscrew, head downward, until he rolls onto his side for a tummy rub and places a scarred paw gently on my arm.


Like I said, beautiful, both inside and out.



I’m not quite sure why Sweet Baby Ray has not yet been adopted. All that means, however, is that you still have a chance to make this special boy your very own canine companion. Come meet him at the Washington Animal Rescue League.

Update: Sweet Baby Ray was adopted on 1/20/12!

Third Time's the Charm...I Hope

In the world of animal rescue, some happy endings take a bit longer to achieve...and, sadly, some never happen at all. I am so hoping that my dog-loving friends can help me obtain a happy ending for a special dog I first met back in March.

He was one of several puppies I photographed at the Prince George's County Animal Management Group shelter for my Brindled Beauties and Seeing Spots book. A 4-month-old American bulldog mix, he was a happy, confident, exuberant love bug...and a big kisser! Although we'd never met before, this pup I referred to as Piper, bounded into the interaction room and greeted me like a long-lost friend...impossible to resist.

And he was adopted shortly after the photo shoot. All's well that ends well, or so I thought.

But I was wrong. Piper, renamed Rocky, was returned to shelter just a few short weeks later for being "too destructive" by adopters who didn't believe in using a crate. Come on, now, folks, he's a puppy! Left to their own devices, they can wreak havoc in search of a good time.

Fortunately, this growing boy was adopted again, and I cheered!

But once again, a happy ending eluded this handsome dog, now called Sonny. He was returned to shelter yet again after his adopter was investigated on cruelty charges for leaving Sonny outside on a deck in the heat without food, water, or shelter. Seriously, I could scream!

So now Sonny is once more up for adoption. As an active, energetic 10-month-old adolescent, he's finding shelter life difficult, and I worry that the longer he lingers there, his chances of attracting the attention of a prospective adopter will decrease. Of course, given the current overcrowded conditions at the shelter (thanks to a torrent of pre-vacation owner give-ups this month!), that may not ever become an issue.

So once again I'm appealing to you to help Sonny find his forever home. If you can't take him, please, please, please spread the word to potential adopters and rescue groups. I'll donate 10 copies of the Seeing Spots/Brindled Beauties book to any individual or organization that gets him out of the shelter.

For more information about Sonny (#A346933), call Prince George's County Animal Management Division at 301-780-7200.

The Tale of a Tiny, Timid Tank

Tank can come across like a real tough guy (a sort of canine Jimmy Cagney)…especially when you first meet him. But in reality he’s anything but. The truth is, Tank is a timid, insecure guy who, believing that the best defense is an offense, takes refuge in a tough guy façade.

When I met this tiny Chihuahua/Chinese hairless crested for the first time yesterday, he charged at the storm door, barking furiously. I’m sure he was hoping I would just go away. When that didn’t happen and his foster mom let me in, he kept his distance, still barking at me periodically.

Fortunately, like most males, Tank loves food, so I spent some time just sitting on the floor, tossing treats to him until he gathered up the courage to take them directly from my hand. It helped that the resident Chihuahua, Hector, is a gregarious boy who interacted happily with me.

Once Tank had relaxed and was comfortable around me, we moved outside so I could take some pictures of him. The goal: to help him find a furever home of his own.

Tank is happy in his foster home, enjoys the company of his foster mom’s two small dogs, and obviously adores her, wagging his tail furiously when she talks to him. And she loves him! But her role is to rescue multiple dogs in need, and that means helping Tank achieve his own, personal “happily ever after.”

We don’t know anything about Tank’s background. He was picked up as a stray by Animal Control when he was about 2 years old and then spent some time at the Prince George’s County Animal Shelter before being taken in by the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George’s County (PGSPCA). But his reactions to the world around him suggest that life hasn’t been easy. He ducks his head when someone reaches out to pet him, and sudden movements and sounds cause him to flinch and occasionally even snap. Just as Kermit the Frog sang that “it isn’t easy being green,” you get the sense that it isn’t easy being Tank.

And there’s just something about this unique little guy—including his infectious “smile”—that makes you want to provide him with a safe haven where he can feel protected and loved and come to believe that life can be good.

According to his foster mom, Tank’s ideal home would be a quiet one with a gentle, kind, dog-savvy individual who has experience with small breeds and the patience to work with him to build his self-confidence. Because of his reactivity to sudden movements and sounds, he can’t go to a home with young children, but he’d love the company of another small dog that he could bond with and learn from.

If you’re interested in learning more about Tank…go to http://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/17010671, email info@pgspca.org, or call 301-262-5625 and leave a message.

Canine Cary Grant Seeks Leading Lady...or Man

"Let's see this paragon! Is he as good as you say?" asked actor Cary Grant in his role as Walter Burns in the movie "His Girl Friday."

Well, when it comes to Grant's canine counterpart, I can say with confidence that he is indeed as good as they say.

The Grant I’m referring to is a liver-and-white dalmatian who is looking for a home to call his own. I recently photographed this handsome boy for my "Seeing Spots" photo series and offered to blog about him in an effort to increase his adoption outlook.

While movie aficionados know that the Grant of silver screen fame started life as Archibald Leach, the origins of canine Cary are less clear. He was picked up as a stray on the streets of Baltimore and found his way to the Chocolate Chip Dalmatian Assistance League via the Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter.



When it comes to his life today, Cary's philosophy reflects the words of his human counterpart, who once said, "My formula for living is quite simple. I get up in the morning and I go to bed at night. In between, I occupy myself as best I can." In canine Cary’s case, this involves spending lots of quiet quality time with his person punctuated by periodic belly rubs. (One can never have too many of those!) He’s an equal-opportunity kind of guy who enjoys the company of men, women, older children, and dogs.

Technically a "mature" gentleman, this 8-year-old is just hitting his prime. He has a tremendous amount of energy and enjoys a good walk or run on a regular basis...although such activities must be done within the safety of a fenced yard or on a leash because Cary is deaf. But don’t let that deter you from making him your leading man. Dogs can easily be trained using American Sign Language, and his foster mom will provide Cary’s adopters with an ASL dictionary to facilitate the process.



Lastly, like many movie stars, Cary has to watch his diet, not because of his weight, which is currently a svelte 57 pounds, but because he has had some crystals in his urine. Fortunately, this isn’t a big deal since appropriate dog food is readily available.

In the classic 1959 film "North By Northwest," Grant’s character, Roger O. Thornhill, asked, "What’s wrong with men like me?" When it comes to canine Cary Grant, I’d say the answer is, "Nothing. Nothing at all."



To learn more about Cary, email Jackie Threatte at ccdal@comcast.net.

Seeing through the Eyes of a Rescued Dog

Since fostering rescued dogs has been a fairly significant activity in my life over the past few years, I thought I'd share the following reflections based on my experience with one of these wonderful dogs...reflections that were originally posted as part of the blog of the SPCA/Humane Society of Prince George's County:

Sometimes we forget that the ordinary, everyday world can be an exciting, surprising, and even scary place…when seen through the eyes of a dog just rescued from the concrete confines of the shelter. Objects, environments, and situations that we ignore or take in stride can cause very different reactions in a recently “liberated” canine.

Take Kourtney, one of our recent foster dogs, for example. When she arrived at our home, she was afraid to even come inside, much less go up or down stairs. A couple of days later, having mastered the stairs, she noticed a life-sized statue of a small puppy standing near the wall in our den. She crouched down, belly to the floor, stared, and began to growl. I had to turn the statue on its side and hold it in my lap before she would approach to sniff it. We repeated the process several times before Kourtney was completely convinced that this very still dog who showed no appropriate greeting behavior wasn’t a threat.

One night while I waited for what seemed forever for her to “go potty,” in the backyard, Kourtney spotted a cicada as it flew clumsily onto a low-hanging trumpet vine branch. She watched it intently for a moment and then made her move, knocking it to the ground and pouncing on it with apparent glee.

And the next day was the day of the pinecone. While on a walk, Kourtney suddenly froze in that position that suggests uncertainty about whether to advance or retreat. I couldn’t figure out what had spooked her, but then noticed a pine cone lying in the dirt. She stared, circled it, and stared some more. Tentatively, she touched it with her nose, only to jump back in surprise at the sensation. She circled some more, touched it again, then gingerly picked it up and carried it proudly for a few moments as we walked before dropping it as if it were of no further interest.

Kourtney’s stay with us was characterized by such small but momentous discoveries…discoveries that I feel blessed to have share with her. Ahhh, to see through the eyes of a rescued dog.