The Wormlips Scrapbook

February 2, 2007

Lynne called mid-evening to ask if I could possibly foster Ranger that night. Since he looked almost exactly like my Birdie, I dropped everything and went to get him. He’d been mostly in kennels for a couple weeks and was in desperate need of exercise and attention.

Poor Ranger. He was relentless in his demands for affection. Worse was that he stunk — not like a dirty dog but like a long-unwashed person. You couldn’t tell he’d just been bathed by a professional groomer. I sprayed him all over with hippie deodorant a few times but the smell was still enough to make you gag.

So he stayed mostly outside with Stella. They ran around a lot, he wagging and she yelping in pain. It was nighttime and dark at the edges of the yard so I couldn’t see what was going on, but I expect he was herding her with his teeth.

He was the first visiting dog that she didn’t like. He was the first I didn’t take a picture of. He was the first I wasn’t very nice to. He didn’t do anything wrong. He just didn’t do anything right.

I feel horrible that I didn’t show him love when that’s all he was asking for. I couldn’t do it.

I took him back the next day. That night Milo called and asked if I could foster him one more night but I didn’t get the message till too late. The day after that someone adopted him. The following day he was returned. I don’t know what happened next.

Sometimes this foster stuff is just too sad.

Bookmark this post to...

January 30–31, 2007

There’s a risk in taking your out-of-town guests to visit all the cute little puppies and kitties at Milo. Before Karen, Jane and I could slip out unnoticed, the Milo people asked if I could give Sissy an urgently needed overnight home. What could I say?

Karen and Jane were remarkably tolerant of this little habit of mine. In fact, Jane (who’s nine) suggested we bring home the two puppies, but I decided that option wasn’t an option.

I took a nap with a dog for a blanket while Karen and Jane made my dinner.

I am a very gracious hostess.

Karen is knowledgeable in the ways of Golden Retrievers. “Be careful about leaving things on the floor,” she said. Five minutes later, here came Sissy with a tie-dyed sock draped from her lips.

A while later, when I found Sissy with head thrust deep into the kitchen trash, Karen said, “Yeah, that’s a Golden thing. That, and watch out for the cat poop.”

Karen said, “Are you sure you want to let Sissy up on the sofa with that stick?”

Golden Retrievers are fine in the evening when everyone’s lying around sleepily in front of the woodstove, but 70 pounds of enthusiasm in the morning before coffee is more than I can handle. Sissy was wagging things over, left and right, as I hauled her out the door and back to Milo.

Bookmark this post to...