The First Victories

Today I spent about 40 minutes at the humane society. I walked a new dog for about 30 minutes, then sat with Rufous, an Australian Cattle Dog puppy, for about 10 minutes.

The new dog had just been surrendered on Saturday, and had been quite confused then. He—his name's Skylar—is a beautiful young border collie. He's about a year old, and very sweet-tempered. He's a touch submissive, a little shy, but very affectionate.

His humans surrendered him on Saturday because their landlord had changed the terms of their lease. He switched the entire apartment complex from allowing pets to not. I saw the couple drop Skylar off. They were young, maybe 20-21, and didn't look like they had much money. They definitely didn't have enough to move to another place, so Skylar get given away.

When they left, he was put in one of the cages, and he got very confused and lonely. He was stretching his paws through the chain line door at anyone who came by.

He hunkered down when I put the harness and leash on him, but was very obedient. In fact, he was so malleable that when I gave him slight corrections (pulling him out of traffic), he sat down. He wanted to please, and was kind of scared.
So we walked and we ran and we walked, and by the end of it he was smiling and wagging his tail. It sprinkled while we walked, and I had to towel him off. He cuddled up against me and licked my chin.
Then, when I played with Rufous, Skylar got sort of jealous. He made the first sounds I've heard, tiny little barks, and did a lot of head cocking. When Rufous and I played tug of war, Skylar went and got his toys…which had been sitting unused in the corner. He played with them and tossed them in the air, sort of saying, hey, if you're going to play, I'm here, I'm ready, pick me, pick me.

Skylar was a lesson in the dog bond. He looked so confused and punished when his people left him, like he was trying to figure out what he did wrong. Today, it was like he bonded to me in 30 minutes of attention. He's a dog with a bruised soul.
But…Rufous got adopted! My little buddy's going home.

Yeah!

Greg

The Shed

One of the disorienting lessons from Saturday was about the shed, or as I've started thinking about, The Shed.

The Whatcom Humane Society is out by the airport. It's on a road with light industrial businesses and other odds and ends like the National Guard's station. The building is basic cinder block industrial, and there's a chain link fence around it. Nothing that impressive. I had assumed the shed just inside the gate was storage, and had sort of edited from my mind.

It is storage, but not the kind I thought. It's an after hours pet drop off area, one that can only be accessed from the deposit side, and only once. It isn't just inside the fence; it breaches the fence, so one side of it is on the outside of the fence and one side on the inside.

The good thing about this is, people can drop off lost or stray animals at all hours of the day and night, without worrying about filling out forms. Once the animals have been placed in the metal containers, the doors can't be opened from The bad thing is, it means animals might be put in dark metal boxes at just after the society closes, say, 6:15 PM, and not be taken out again until 8 AM. Is it just me being overly sympathetic to be worried about this? I hear the yips and feel the shivers in my mind.

Greg

Learning to Walk a Dog

So, yesterday I went to the Humane Society for my next training. This one was How to Walk a Dog. It was equal parts very interesting/fascinating and kind of basic.
The basic stuff was things like sign in here, park here, wear this name tag, etc. All important, but all fairly mundane.The interesting to fascinating stuff related to the dogs and the dog/human interaction. For example, while we were standing outside talking someone came in with a big bulldog in the back of a pickup truck. I said hi, and it gave me that big gargoyle grin that bulldogs get: ugly friendly, like a cartoon.
Later, when we were inside, someone came into a room we were being shown and the dog…walked? in after. Limped in? Slid in? She recognized me and tried to get to me, to lick my hand. Her human said, "Careful, she's got blood on her chin." "Oh, what happened?""She got hit."And the person caring for the dog went back to cleaning her up, while the dog struggled to stand on legs that couldn't support her, all so she could get petted. Ye gods.

I walked Gladys, who was officially the smallest dog I've ever touched. Well under ten pounds, the size a cat could slaughter without problem. I've seen squirrels bigger. In her kennel she was yipping a very high pitched yipe yipe yich! It was literally painful—my ears hurt for about 20 minutes afterwards. Outside, though, she was ready to cover some ground. We ran, then walked, and she was ready to investigate. Friendly, moderately smart, and completely unconcerned with weighing about as much as a sandwich.

She's getting adopted.

Greg

Sadness and Learning

Since we lost Oz, Kathy and I have been haunting dog venues. We aren't ready to adopt yet for a number of reasons both practical (we want to take a trip, we aren't sure where Kathy's going to school, etc.) and emotional (mourning). However, we've become regular visitors to the humane societies' sites (local, local alternative, the next county over, etc.), and regular viewers of their shows.

I hadn't known that the local humane societies did broadcasts on public television of dogs available for adoption, but it is a strange blend of treat and torment.


Learning is an odd thing. I've mentioned my stunned disdain for people who give up dogs because they grow up, etc., so I'll leave that for now…but to learn that certain dog types are less adoptable is hard. Black dogs, apparently, aren't adopted as often. This means that when we see a black dog who looks sad (like Amos on the Pierce County Humane Society broadcast), it feels like a glimpse at death row. No! Don't look down or shy! People won't adopt you, and that might mean people run out of room and have to kill you.
Smile or die, doggies. Smile or die.

Wow.
Greg

The Next Steps

So, on Tuesday I went to the orientation for the Humane Society volunteers. It was fun, interesting, and sad. The fun came from meeting these people who live for animals and those who were volunteering. The interesting parts came from learning just how much the Humane Society does (who knew?). The sad came from learning just how much the Humane Society has to do. Dear god, they have to rescue animals? And they have how many people dumping how many animals for what stupid reasons?
I'd gotten a hint of this before, since Kathy and I are now semi-addicted to the animal adoption stories on local cable, but it's still…yeah. A beautiful and loving dog, surrendered because…it grew up and isn't a puppy anymore? Are you freakin' kidding me?

No, apparently they aren't.
In any case, there were roughly 20 volunteers there: about 16 women and 4 guys. That ratio is apparently standard; the organizers were overjoyed to see any men, and especially to see those with facial hair. See, some of the dogs have been abused by men, and they need male volunteers to show them that not all guys are abusers. To be nice to them.
Good lord. I suspect I'm going to be crying a lot from my time there.

My next training is on Saturday. They're going to show me how they want the dogs walked. Greg