Help! I don’t want to even admit how many cats I’m taking care of right now. ‘Cause y’all might still be holding on to one last hope that I’M NOT CRAZY, and that would kill the deal.
I have hungry babies and would appreciate your donation, however large or small…
This morning, I drove on over to Sugar’s grooming and boarding business to help out with all the pups. They are boarding, in addition to ordinary boarders, a mother dog and her ten pups, aged four weeks old.
I considered pulling right in front of the front door, because the folks that are going to the spay/neuter clinic next door will many times park right in front of Sugar’s business, and take up a spot that rightfully is not theirs. I thought that I’d claim the spot to save for the first client of the day, but thought better about it because, after all, I’d have to move my car and I might be far too busy helping pups to have the presence of mind to move the car.
So I pulled through and around and parked by the play yard, and stared at the mass of pups already in the yard.
How was this possible? How did those boarding puppies get outside? Why were they huddled in a mass outside? How had they climbed out the window?
Well, this was weird. I went over to the fence, and saw that I did not recognize them.
One of them growled at me. Poor scared pups. I know I look a little rough in the morning, but this was doing nothing for my self esteem.
So perhaps you’ve realized that if I had parked in front of the front door, and not pulled around, I would not have known the pups were in the yard, and I would have let boarding dogs out into the yard. All the boarders are harmless, sweet dogs, but the pups wouldn’t know that.
People worry about stray animals bringing disease. They probably have intestinal parasites, like roundworms, which I learned from an animal rescue specialist about ten years ago – all puppies have worms – but if your dog is on monthly parasite prevention, not to worry. Actually, the bigger danger is to the pups themselves. They are too young to vaccinate, and I estimate their age to be younger than the four-week-old pups that are boarding. I mixed up a concoction of dry kibble, water, and canned food, and they could not eat the kibble at all until it became soft.
After they ate their fill, Sugar and I took them to the animal shelter, and told what little we knew about them, and bade them good-bye.
Far better to fly over a fence than to fly into a river.
Last year I took in 3 cats from the local shelter. Dennis, Carrie, and Ozzier were their names. You can read more about them here: left-click-thingy here and here.
A little bit of follow-up is in order. There’s been a lot that’s happened in the last year. Jopty the gerbil had a stroke and died. Alice the indoor cat’s leukemia took its toll, she started to fail, and she was euthanized. Daisy the Doodle Poodle reached the end of her life, and she was euthanized. Gladys the Guinea Pig had recurring urinary tract infections, which most probably indicated cancer, which these little rodent types can get if they live long enough, and she was euthanized. Precious Paisley the Problem Cat was failing, and she was euthanized. Shenobie’s (Sugar’s dog) bladder cancer was ending his life, and he was euthanized. And the best sister-in-law in the world was diagnosed with aggressive bone marrow cancer, and in spite of remission, the cancer reared its ugly head and took over. She went to hospice, and was gone in one week. One. Week. I get a lump in my throat just rereading all this.
SIL was a hospice nurse. Ironic, no? One of her patient’s had several cats, and she was worried about what would happen to the cats when she was gone. The largest one was a black cat, and for some strange reason, black cats and dogs are the last to be adopted. So SIL took in Big Bubba, who is still living a happy life with SIL’s husband. This makes me reconsider the old saying that cats have nine lives. I always thought that meant that a cat can survive a life-threatening injury and recover. I now think it means, to me in this particular circumstance, that a cat can have a new life with a new situation, like Big Bubba having one owner that died from cancer, then having another owner that died from cancer, then living with my BIL. Hope my BIL takes good care of himself.
All of this which leads us back to Dennis, Carrie, and Ozzie.
After the initial release, I didn’t see Carrie for three weeks, and I didn’t know that Carrie had made her way down Resurrection Road to a double-wide. The neighbor sent me a text that there was a cat under her trailer. When I went to investigate, I was delighted to see that it was Carrie, even though she was emaciated. I scooped her into a crate and took her back with me. The next day she was back at the neighbor’s trailer. While the neighbor agreed that Carrie was a nice cat, she didn’t want a cat, and was worried that Carrie might do some damage under the trailer, like pulling out some insulation, and the landlord would be mighty unhappy. Plus somehow during the night, Carrie had managed to injure her skin, and had an opening the size of a quarter on her flank. I opted to take her back to the shelter. At that time, I had Alice the leukemia positive cat indoors with me, and I couldn’t wouldn’t take Carrie indoors with me. After all, this is a 31′ RV. Two cats inside. I’m a little nuts, but that was even too much for me, exposing an injured cat to a leukemia positive cat, which is probably the subject for another post in greater detail. Carrie was most probably euthanized, for I didn’t see her posted on www.petfinder.com after I relinquished her, damaged and unhealthily thin. Time and care would heal her, but I don’t know if she was afforded that option.
Then there was Ozzie. He was a tease to the other cats. It started off mildly enough, but Sylvia was stalked and injured by Ozzie, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, I knew that Ozzie’s days were numbered here at the Swamped! Plantation and Cat-Cussing Facility. He went to be a barn cat for a vet tech.
And lastly, we have Dennis. With Ozzie out of the way, Dennis took over the position as head stalker. He didn’t care who he stalked. He was the only male in the group of five, and I wonder if he were trying to overthrow the regime. Needless to say, it didn’t work, and I took him back to the shelter. The girls were here first, and I needed to preserve their safety.
Occasionally the local shelter can shift animals to other shelters that have room and resources for them. Today I was looking at petfinder.com to see if Black and Yellow had been listed at the local shelter, then I looked at some of the outlying shelters. I didn’t find Black and Yellow, but I did find Dennis.
I think Dennis is on Life #5 now. Good luck in finding Life #6.
Here‘s the link to the discovery of Black and Yellow in the road in front of the grooming salon in my little town.
Beautiful Black and Yellow were living in my turtle yard at the Swamped! Plantation after they were scooped up from the road. I kept them for 10 days in quarantine, after their 1st booster shot and a dose of Nemex for de-worming those nasty ole roundworms and hookworms. Now it was time for them to go to the shelter.
When we pulled up in front of the shelter, the girls pointed their heads skyward to smell the air and focus on the sounds of the dogs. They were checked-in, where they spent the weekend. The following week, I picked them up at the shelter to transport them for their spay surgery and rabies vaccination. They are now back at the shelter, awaiting their final vaccination in the booster series before they can be adopted.
So many pups, so little time.
Yes, it is.
It’s springtime, alright.
And all the shelters are bursting with baby animals. I heard through the grapevine that a neighboring county shelter took in over 90 cats and kittens from area residents *in ONE day*. Those numbers are simply staggering.
This past Wednesday afternoon, right about closing time where I work, Sugar called me on my cell phone. It seems that there were two puppies in the woods just across from the grooming salon. He and his BabyDaughter were sitting in the woods feeding them.
By the time I got there, the pups had eaten all the food and were milling about, enjoying the day with their new best friends.
These ladies are clean-platers.
I gave the little blonde a chewy toy that I just happened to have in my pocket, and she headed away from us to enjoy her treat in private.
We were all of the same opinion that they could not stay at the grooming and boarding salon. They were very thin, and most probably had parasites, like roundworms, and who know what other problems might pop up. There’s always the danger of parvovirus and coccidia, and it would be irresponsible to expose paying guests to those issues. We (I) *DID* decide that they had to go inside the building for a bath.
First, a CapStar for a quick flea-kill, then a flea and tick bath.
You know where this is going, don’t you? Yes, they are destined for the turtle yard at the Swamped! Plantation and Puppy-Pooping Facility.
Sugar lends a hand.
When we got home, I gave them a Comfortis for 30-day flea prevention, and a Heartgard for 30-day heartworm, roundworm, and hookworm prevention, and they settled into the turtle yard which has no turtles this year, strangely enough.
We’re trying something different with these girls. I took them to the local shelter, relinquished them, and applied to be an official foster home. They received their first booster, and I took them home. There’s a chance that they could get chosen to go to a private no-kill shelter about an hour from here. I’ve already spoken to that shelter, who is also (SURPRISE) full, but could have a possible opening as early as next week.
Until then, cross your fingers. They are lovely girls, and no, I don’t want to keep them. Puppies are adoptable!
There’s a condition that occurs in litters of newborn puppies called “fading puppy syndrome” or “failure to thrive”. You can read more about that there here, and you can also easily get more information by doing an internet search on “fading puppy syndrome”.
They stop nursing, they might develop diarrhea and/or vomiting, and they become lethargic and dehydrated. All these things happened with the newborn litter of four pups that I have been fostering. And I lost them all.
On St. Patrick’s Day, 2012, we celebrated here at the Swamped! Plantation and Puppy-Pooping Facility.
These leprechauns are exhausted from all the drinking.
Clean towels don’t last very long around here.
In these pictures, these guys should be about eight days old. Which would make them ten days old today. No one’s eyes have begun to open, but the ears look like they are developing and getting ready to become real puppy ears, not just little flaps of cartilage.
Puppy cuteness on the way!
Left to right: Male, female, female, female. There, that should clear things up.
Animal control showed up at the shelter yesterday with a mother(less)lode. Ten puppies, approximately 4 days old, 4 males, 6 females.
The call went out for volunteers to bottle feed. I really only intended to take two. Really I did. But best laid plans and all, another foster didn’t come through, so what’s two more? For you math-challenged, it’s a whole big bunch. But the big take-away lesson when fostering puppies or kittens is to never take only one. They need a companion to wrap themselves around, and if they don’t have a companion, a human will fill the bill.
I fed them last night about midnight, and they slept until 3:30 AM when they got another feeding, then they went back to sleep for a couple more hours. At 5:30 AM this joint was rockin’. Ah, good times.
Puppies are definitely easier than kittens, because kittens have shorter digestive tracts that must be filled more often. However, with either puppies or kittens, you have to massage their private parts to get them to urinate and defecate. I had the happy occasion of being the recipient of the first poo session last night. It takes a while for the stool to form, but don’t worry, it smells as sour as you might think it would. And the urine just squirts right out. Quite charming.
The best trick I ever learned was to take a sock, fill the foot part with uncooked rice, tie off the leg part, and heat it in the microwave for 30 seconds at a time until the rice gets nice and warm. Those motherless babies will snuggle right into the sock, and the warmth and cushiness will lull them into contentment.
The nicest, snuggliest dogs and cats are bottle-fed. They are used to being handled by people, and they know how people smell, taste, sound, look, and feel. All five senses come into play, and the babies know that good things come from humans.
If any of you folks have insomnia tonight, give me a shout. I might just be awake. I’ll bring you a puppy or two.
The holidays are hard for lots of folks. I’m glad the holiday season is over. I get so stuck in the mud that I never get the Christmas cards out until after Christmas, if then. I haven’t had a tree since I moved into the RV Palace and Cat Hoarding Facility. Cat, RVs, and Christmas trees – never a good combo. But mostly I’m just over Christmas.
I wonder if any local folks read this blog. I try to be careful and not announce anything too opinionated or degrading, just in case the locals read this stuff. There’s some annoying crap happening in this town, which you can read in the online newspaper, and a lot of people are trying to push their agendas down your throat.
So I just toddle around and take pictures of porta-cockers and gravestones and cats. It passes the time, keeps my mental health number lower than it could be, and most of the time, makes for a satisfying life. I don’t have to get all wrapped up in what to cook for supper, is the laundry done, and how to keep that marriage partner happy and satisfied. Ain’t happenin’.
This life is not how I thought I’d live my life. But this life is the one I have, so I have to make the best of it, and really, it’s a pretty good life. I’ve learned to be stronger, and not to worry about what people think about me, even though sometimes I do. The internet has helped, for it keeps me connected with people and events, and I can see that I’m not the only one living an unusual life.
*****
Last week, a young single mother called the vet’s office where I work. I answered the call, and she described that her puppy was very sick. Usually with puppies, we worry about intestinal parasites and parvo, which I’ve written about before. I described some symptoms of both, and she said that the puppy had none of those problems. She also said that she didn’t have very much money, and asked how much the office visit could cost.
A general office visit is $42 which might as well be $420 for some folks, because we live in one of the poorest counties in South Carolina. I told her that if medicines and/or treatments were required for the puppy, I couldn’t estimate how much that could cost, because I didn’t know what was wrong with the puppy, but it sounded like this pup was going to need more than $42 worth of care.
So she brought the puppy in, along with her two little girls. One looked to be three-ish, but small enough to be carried on the woman’s hip, and the older girl was perhaps 8 or 9. The puppy was wrapped in a fleecy warm blanket, and lay deathly quiet. It was alarming. The pup was wrapped up like a burrito, and did. not. move.
I showed them into the exam room, and the vet entered to do the exam. I left the room to go back to my work station at the reception area, for it was the last working day of the year, and my co-worker was taking vacation time that day that would otherwise expire.
Shortly thereafter, I heard loud wailing and crying in three-part harmony from the exam room. I went to the door of the exam room, and it was a scene from a movie. The woman, with baby on her left hip, was hugging the older child, and all three were sobbing, and the vet was standing there holding the puppy, still wrapped up like a burrito. When I asked what was going on, the vet said that the owner just got bad news, that the puppy had strangles, and they would need to euthanize.
I looked at the sobbing trio, and in particular the older child, who was insisting on taking the puppy home to die. She refused to leave the puppy there, and then the mother had to pull out some tough-love, and demand that the child listen to her, and that they were going to leave the puppy there. The smaller child wailed along with the other two. It was horrible to see and hear.
I asked the vet what could be done, and he said she was a single mother and couldn’t afford treatment, plus then the puppy would need vaccinations, and this was the best course of action.
Best? For whom? Is this what Jesus would do?
I asked if the puppy needed heroic efforts to save it, and he said no, just antibiotics and steroids and fluids. I said that I had cephalexin and fluids, but I would need steroids, and I took the puppy, and told the poor sobbing family that I would try to get her better (although I had no idea what “strangles” was), and I asked the older child her name. She hiccupped out, “Eh-eh-emily”, and I told her to stop crying because it just wasn’t helping and all she was doing was giving herself a headache, and scaring the puppy and the little sister.
Long story longer, I took the puppy to the grooming salon to stay and be treated, because, really, how can you let a Christmas puppy be killed? Seems wrong somehow.
And if Christmas is just going to be about giving presents made of plastic crap from China, then that seems wrong somehow, too.
Just ask Sophie. Or just watch her video.
This post is a continuation of an earlier thread that actually began about a year ago.
Sugar was feeding a dog on his postal route. She looked like she could have been a hunting dog that got lost, perhaps, and delivered a litter of pups in a rural neighborhood. The dogs were living in a culvert at an abandoned house.
He has not seen the mother dog in months, but one of the puppies has stayed in the general area. We’ve gone over and over a plan for catching her before she becomes a mother herself, and we couldn’t hatch a viable plan. What to do with her when we catch her? Where to keep her? Will she go to the shelter? Will she even be adoptable? Will the shelter perhaps put her down? When can we possibly make all this happen? The variables were too great and too many, so he just continued to feed the dog by putting food out on the roadside, not knowing if she was going to eat the food before the wildlife got to it.
He came up with the most recent plan out of concern for her health. We’ll take the ancient trap, set it, go off for a bit, and then come back and remove the trap whether she’s in it or not.
We found her lying in the sun enjoying the warmth, or at least that was what we hoped she was doing, because she was laid out on her side like she was dead. She didn’t move when we pulled the van in the abandoned driveway and got out the trap. She still didn’t move when we moved the trap under the trees and set it up.
Suddenly she jumped up and ran off like she was completely spooked.
Empty house beyond. The dog just lives in the neighborhood, mostly in the front yard of this house.
Then Sugar baited the trap with some canned food, and we left her, in hopes that she would go into the trap, because canned food is irresistible to most dogs. To most dogs, except this one, at this particular moment.
Fearful, fearful.
We left her for about 20 minutes, mostly as a test to see it she would go in the trap. We drove out of the neighborhood entirely. When we returned, she was close to the trap but completely ignoring the food. We reloaded the trap into the van, trying to be quick and cautious because people were out and about and we didn’t want to draw any undue attention to what we were doing. But really? White folks in a mostly black neighborhood trying to trap a wild dog? It’s a pretty tolerant neighborhood if they tolerate this dog living there. No one has shot at her or tried to harm her, and it appears that some folks might be putting out food for her.
So we’ll try again another day, and we hope that day comes before there’s another litter of pups in the culvert…
Ruthrawls’s BlogIn which there are cats and yarn. Oh, and dead people.
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