A Sweet Surprise

In an effort to post more regularly on my blog, I’ve decided to select a photo each week from my portfolio as a source of inspiration. Depending on the subject, the post may be inspirational, educational, amusing, poignant…or just a photo with a caption.

 

 

My first photographic point of departure is an image I captured with my phone while eagerly awaiting a pot of English breakfast tea and a scone. I was not however in the Cotswolds, the Lake District, or anywhere else in the British Isles. Rather, I was in the heart of the Loire Valley, enjoying a short vacation with my sister and my 15-year-old niece. (More about that in future posts.)

We had just spent an hour or so exploring the Abbaye de Fontevraud, the largest abbey in Europe and burial site of Henry II of England; his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine; their son King Richard I (the Lionheart ) of England, and others. We emerged into a light late-March drizzle, awed and inspired by this spiritually and historically important site, wanting nothing more than a pleasant place to sit, enjoy some refreshment, and share impressions.

That place—just a short walk down a side street from the abbey—was Chez Teresa Tea Rooms & Chambres d’Hotes. Attracted by the cluster of colorful furniture and objet d’art outside, we poked our heads in the door, and said to an apparently empty hallway, “Bonjour.” And from behind a rattan folding screen, tucked under a stairway, a woman emerged. “Do you serve tea?” we asked. “Of course,” she replied, leading us into a room in which Alice’s Mad Hatter would have felt right at home.

From floor to ceiling, the room was chock-full of tea pots, cups, and saucers; British memorabilia and foodstuffs; and bric-a-brac of every possible size, substance, and description. The only unoccupied spaces were the chairs in which we were invited to sit.

Left alone with menus to peruse, we exchanged bemused glances. “At first,” my niece said, “she [our hostess] made me think of the witch in Hansel and Gretel, the way she suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere, and invited us into what looks like a candy cottage. But, actually, she seems very nice (and she's too pretty) and it’s cute and cheerful.”

And the food—from the quiche to the scones to the cake (all homemade)—was delicious! Just what we needed to fortify ourselves for our afternoon agenda.

So if you find yourself at Fontevraud, looking for a place to eat—or even stay—check out Chez Teresa Tea Rooms & Chambres d’Hotes. And if you don’t speak French, don’t worry. It’s owned and operated by English ex-pats Tony and Teresa Dolan, who will greet you warmly and welcome you to their adopted country.

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.

The Miracle of Asha

In animal rescue, we’re always praying for miracles. Sometimes we get them, and when we do, we rejoice. All too often, we don’t. And then we grieve.

But I’m beginning to think that even when we don’t get the miracles we hope for, we sometimes still receive reasons to rejoice…although we may not realize it at the time. Take the case of Asha.

This petite pit bull terrier mix was rescued in 2011. She was found tied up in the basement of a row house in Baltimore, thin and covered with blood and open sores crawling with maggots. Her rescuers believe she was used as a bait dog. For those of you unfamiliar with the term (lucky you), that’s a dog—usually of a more submissive temperament—used as a canine “punching bag” by other dogs being trained to fight.

When Asha arrived at the Baltimore Animal Rescue and Care Shelter (BARCS), she was so severely wounded that she needed emergency treatment before she could even be transported to a Baltimore area veterinary clinic, where she underwent additional surgery involving more than 100 stitches. Then, because of her bite wounds and unknown vaccination status, she was placed in quarantine at the veterinary hospital for 6 months. 

And that’s where Asha’s legacy took root. One caring individual created a Facebook page for her in order to solicit financial support for her care and quarantine costs, and local news media covered her story. Donations and messages of concern began pouring in, and by the time Asha went to a foster home, she had more than 800 Facebook "friends"…far more than most people I know.

But the caring and involvement didn’t stop there. Throughout Asha’s quarantine, a dozen or so people—known as “Asha’s Angels”—visited her at the veterinary hospital regularly.  Others shared their love and support by hand delivering or sending her beds, treats, toys, sweaters, holistic lotions…and her favorite snack, French fries.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to meet—and photograph—Asha during her stay at the veterinary hospital. While still obvious, her wounds were healing and she seemed delighted with her toys and treats. I ended up including a photo of Asha in my dog photo book, Brindled Beauties

It seemed Asha was adored by the world…at least the part of it encompassing the Baltimore, MD, region. People were celebrating her rescue and recovery, and wishing a happy ending for her story.

Sadly, it was not to be.

On January 9, 2014, the rescue organization that took Asha into their care, posted the following message on Facebook: 

It is with our sincerest regrets that we, Baltimore Bully Crew, need to address that we were forced to humanely euthanize a long-time Bully Crew dog, Asha. She began her journey with us over two years ago after being rescued. She went to a foster and eventual adopter and found herself back with us after dynamics in that home did not work out. We knew she had some issues with other dogs when she came back to us. She was placed into a foster home with experienced crew members who continued to evaluate her needs and work on her rehabilitation. In the seven months that she had been back, it became abundantly clear that there were some major behavioral issues that were going to need to be addressed. She clearly demonstrated that living with other animals was never going to be an option. Secondly, she, on multiple occasions, demonstrated human aggressive tendencies with the intent of biting. While we do have dogs in our rescue that sometimes have to be "only dog" dogs, we cannot responsibly and in good conscience place a dog that shows unpredictable signs of human aggression back into society. So, we made what we believed to be the responsible decision to do right by Asha and society. The vets who cared for her for the last two years supported our decision. We are all very distraught at this ending, but feel it is important to be honest with the public, as this is a reality of rescue.

Those of us who had followed Asha’s story and celebrated her milestones were devastated. But as the dozens of follow-up Facebook messages revealed, nobody had anything but respect, support, compassion, and appreciation for members of the rescue organization and the incredibly difficult decision they had been forced to make. In fact, many of these posters shared messages of commiseration, recalling similar difficult decisions.

But while we all grieve for Asha’s failure to get the “happily ever after” we all wanted so desperately for her, there is still reason to rejoice. Like a pebble tossed in a pond, creating ripples that spread ever outward, the life—and death—of this one young, damaged dog has had a lasting positive impact.

People came together for Asha. People rescued her, treated her wounds, cared for her while she recovered, tried to help her overcome her emotional scars, and showed her what love was. People read her story and were inspired to battle the evils of dog fighting through education and political action. People helped pay for her medical and boarding bills or were inspired to donate to shelters and animal welfare organizations. And people connected and became friends with other animal lovers both in person and in cyberspace. 

Given this groundswell of support, I can only believe that many of these people will renew their ongoing efforts to help animals in need, and others—who may have stood on the sidelines—will now enter the fray. And this means there’s hope for the thousands of other Ashas still waiting for their second chance.

Not a bad legacy for one small dog.

Pics of Portuguese Pups

Everyone who knows me knows that two of my greatest passions are travel and dogs. And more often than not these passions overlap. So while most tourists focus their lenses on historic sites, natural beauty spots...and each other, I find myself zooming in on local residents of the canine variety.

And, as these images from Portugal--from small pampered pups to a huge wolf companion--demonstrate, there's never a lack of furry four-legged "models." (Click pictures to view larger images.)


Thank goodness!

A Fair Exchange

Today is beautiful. The snow is falling, there’s a fire in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree lights are glowing. But as I wrap presents, hang “just one more” ornament on the tree, bake cookies, and listen to Mannheim Steamroller and Trans Siberian Orchestra CDs, I find myself getting a bit teary. My own pleasure and contentment remind me of the sense of loss and sadness two other people must be feeling.

Yesterday, a longtime supporter of the shelter where I work—I’ll call her Hope--brought her cat in to the medical center to be humanely euthanized. The cat had found herself at the last year for reasons I don’t recall. Miss Daisy, as we named her, was confused, cranky, and—in her middle teens—not what one might describe as “highly adoptable.” It didn’t help that she rebuffed most people’s attempts to show affection.

Miss Daisy peers suspiciously at shelter visitors.

But despite all this—or perhaps because of it—Hope stepped in to help. She agreed to foster Miss Daisy with the intention of adopting her if she and Hope’s dog got along. Perhaps Miss Daisy knew this was her best chance because while she and the dog never became what you’d call friends, they were able to coexist.

Hope knew that her time with Miss Daisy might be short, but she was committed to making the cat feel loved and cared for. When Miss Daisy’s health began to decline, Hope did everything possible to preserve her quality of life. And when the time came that Miss Daisy’s life no longer had quality, Hope made the difficult but generous decision to let her go.

Miss Daisy rests comfortably in Hope's robe.

When she arrived at the shelter, Hope mentioned that she had no photographs of Miss Daisy. I told her I had taken some when Miss Daisy arrived at the shelter and offered to print them for her. While appreciative of the offer, Hope asked if I would take one more so she could have images to remind her of both the beginning and end of Miss Daisy’s journey with her.

I feel privileged to have been able to do that for Hope…especially after all she did for Miss Daisy, but I have to admit that it wasn’t easy. Just a few short hours earlier, my good friend Sandy had said goodbye to a beloved canine companion.

I’ve known Sandy—and her dog Jocy—for more than a decade, ever since the day Sandy and I met at a volunteer orientation for a county animal welfare organization. Since then, we’ve spent countless hours together…taking foster dogs to adoption shows, veterinary appointments, and home visits; enjoying good wine and good food in bars, restaurants, and each other’s homes; and even indulging our mutual love of travel with travel both domestic and international.

Jocy explores the reeds.

 At least two of our “girls” trips included Jocy. One was a weekend on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, where Jocy indulged her love of the water along the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. The other was a visit to the Poconos, where Sandy, Jocy, my dog Ceiligh, and I enjoyed peaceful walks in the woods and even a quick dip in a cold mountain stream…the dogs, not us. Such are the experiences from which wonderful memories are made.

Enjoying a walk in the woods.

Jocy was a sweet, calm, even-tempered dog who seemed to love everybody and everything, especially her food and her “mom.” She was the benevolent leader of a three-dog pack and served as a great canine “sister” and role model to dozens of foster dogs over the past decade.

Jocy (left) shares a special moment with a new foster dog.

Last year Jocy began showing the signs of age, including a progressive weakening of her hind limbs. Sandy and her family did what they could to make Jocy’s life easier, carpeting first the stairs and then the floors of rooms Jocy frequented to give her the traction she needed. When Jocy could no longer make it up and down the stairs, Sandy and her husband took turns sleeping in the first-floor family room with her so she didn’t feel abandoned by her “pack” at night. They fitted her with a handled harness to help her walk. In short, they did everything humanly possible to make her life comfortable.

But eventually, inevitably, “everything” wasn’t enough. Deciding that existence isn’t “life,” Sandy and her family asked their veterinarian to make a special house call.

And so my pleasure in the joys of today is tempered by other, somewhat intertwined and complicated emotions. I feel sympathy for Hope’s and Sandy’s losses. I feel a sense of melancholy as I remember my own departed loved ones. And I feel admiration for and appreciation of the courage it took these women to ease their loved ones’ passage. Such a decision can be painful almost beyond bearing, but when life has become a struggle rather than a celebration, it is also, I believe, the greatest gift we can give our animal companions...and the price we pay for their extraordinary gift to us: the gift of companionship.

I’d say it’s a fair exchange.

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.