The first walk today was Angus, Sarah, Willy and Vito. They were supposed to be my serenity walk. Not too fast and everyone stays together. The perfect group for walking when I’m barely awake. The route was a 12 foot track through the desert, up some relatively easy slopes, leaving little need for very much thinking.
Willy was about 100 feet in front of us when he crested the ridge. When we reached the top, Willy was nowhere in sight. So I called him, for more than 40 minutes. First in a normal voice, then in an angry one, then in desperation. My sight distance was pretty far, and Willy was nowhere to be seen. Even when he finds a bone and ignores me, Willy always returns by the 3rd call in the Angry Voice.
Sarah, Angus and Vito (Gimpy, Stumpy and Little Guy With Legs Screwed on Backward) could not bush whack through the desert with me to search for Willy. Neither could they walk very long distances. That ridge was our turnaround point. It was the maximum distance I could take them where they wouldn’t get over tired. I couldn’t go any farther without endangering them.
I made the decision to take them home and return for Willy. All the way back to the Waggin’ Wagon, I called and kept looking for him, in case he had doubled back. He was nowhere to be seen.
We had been gone an inordinate amount of time, so Crabby called to see if we were OK. My response: Get the Search Dogs ready, Willy is missing.
Thing about Willy, he has no dog sense. It never occurs to him to put nose to the ground to search for us by scent. If he hears me calling, unless he sees me, he just runs in a random direction, hoping I’ll be there. To go back to the spot he last saw us never occurs to him. In short, if a tree or other screening obstacle gets between Willy and the group, Willy is essentially lost. Stopping to think about his predicament is the farthest thought from his mind as Willy then runs in random directions, wondering where we are. The trick is, keep Willy in sight at all times, or stay higher than him in the landscape. If a bush gets in the way, and Willy gets ‘lost’, I just need to break into the Come Back Willy Dance, which involves gyrating excessively, to give him a visual to hone in on.
What this translated into today was: Willy could have been 100 feet or 10 miles away by the time I returned to the Waggin’ Wagon.
Anyone else, they would have loaded up Angus, Vito and Sarah, then drove the track, calling for Willy. But if Willy was far off trail, it would have been a waste of time, ergo the Search Dogs.
Thing about Morty, Marcy and Emmi – but especially Morty – they can cover some serious ground. Where a mere human can only move so fast and far across the desert, the Search Dogs move on turbo thrusters.
I took Sarah, Vito and Angus home, picked up the other 3 and Crabby, and returned to area Willy was lost in.
The plan: I would get out with the kids earlier on the track and work my way North. Crabby would drive the Waggin’ Wagon ahead. The track went many miles, much easier to search by motor vehicle.
Once released, the Search Dogs ran down a ridge into a familiar field.
Then things changed drastically.
Morty, Emmi and Marcy were at the bottom of the ridge, in the wash, when Crabby pulled away. I was still walking down after them.
The desperate scream came immediately after.
I looked down toward the kids and saw Morty in full alert, still shrieking, looking at the Waggin’ Wagon pulling away.
He immediately went into turbo speed, not retracing his steps to get up to the track, but diagonally across the wash, and through the desert, in hot pursuit. At one point, he blasted through a tangle of trees.
A split second later, he emerged on the other side, and up to the track, at a blinding speed chasing the Waggin’ Wagon. My calls fell on deaf ears. Morty was gone. The Waggin’ Wagon was gone…
Oh, I forgot to mention – back when Morty blasted through the tangle of trees, only to reappear on the other side a split second later – well, in hot pursuit of Morty was Willy.
One would think at that point I would be filled with relief. That wasn’t the case. It was a split second! One dog ran in, 2 ran out. I was more in a state of “What just happened?”
Crabby had moved out of cell phone service mere inches from where he dropped me off, so I couldn’t reach him by phone. A short time later, he saw Morty, in front of him on the track. As he slowed to stop, he noticed, in the side view mirror, Willy, running after him.
According to Crabby, Mortimer knew the goal of the trip was to find Willy. To that end, Morty did his job with great swiftness. Using his Morty Senses, he noticed Crabby did not have cell phone service and my attempts to tell him Willy was found would not get through. Crabby could be driving for hours without knowing the search was over! Mortimer did what any brave and intelligent dog would do, he pursued and overtook the Waggin’ Wagon and began signaling (crossing back and forth on the track) to Crabby to stop. Understanding Morty’s signal, Crabby then began scanning the area, and found Willy in the side view mirror. Moral of the story: Morty is a hero.
What actually, happened, however, is Morty saw Crabby driving off without him and it put him in a panic. Leaving his Mom and sisters to who knows what dangers may have been lurking, Morty shrieked “Paaaaaa!! Don’t leave meeeeeee!” and ran after the Waggin’ Wagon. By sheer dumb luck, he happened to run through the tree snag where Willy had taken refuge and was clicking his heels together repeating “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” Morty didn’t even notice Willy as he blasted by. His single-minded goal was to catch the Waggin’ Wagon, and that Willy was struggling to keep up, Morty was oblivious. Moral of the story: Morty is a woosy Daddy’s Boy.
I do agree with Crabby that Morty’s positioning himself in front of the moving Waggin’ Wagon did take strategic thought, but it was actually a case of Morty wanting Crabby to stop and let him in rather than to tell Crabby Willy had been found.
All’s well that ends well, and everyone made it home safely.
Crabby believes Morty deserves a medal for his ‘deed’. Me, I don’t think so.
Sarah and DASH! both faltered on the same day, back in February. It was a Saturday. Our regular vet was closed. Our back up vet was booked solid. Both ER’s had busy waiting rooms, both ER vets in emergency surgeries, and the estimated wait times were at least 2-3 hours.
Let’s all sing the Happy Happy Joy Joy song, shall we?
In the case of Sarah, we’d been there, done that, on many occasions. We’ve gotten so good at home treatment, and in her condition, she wasn’t even a consideration for an ER visit at the time.
DASH! was another story altogether. Rather than stress him further in a crowded ER waiting room, for who knows how long, I decided to test what we’ve been rehearsing at home, while periodically calling the ERs to check on wait times.
I’ve gotten several phone calls and e-mails of late, concerning dogs in similar circumstances, and figured maybe I should write about what we do in case someone outside personal contact might find it of use.
DEHYDRATION HAS MANY CAUSES, AND IT IS NOT SOMETHING TO MESS WITH. 10% dehydration is enough to kill a dog. If you are facing your first dehydrated dog, read no further and go immediately to your vet. It’s incredibly important that you observe the effects of dehydration, as well as signs given by the dog that he or she is or isn’t rehydrating. If you don’t know what you’re watching for, or know when things are going from bad to worse, you are risking your dog’s life.
How do we know what we know? Sarah.
As I’ve mentioned before, Sarah blesses us from time to time with bouts of uncontrollable regurgitation. Regurgitation is different from vomiting – look them up to learn the difference. Back in the beginning, Sarah would be admitted to the hospital on IV fluids. As time progressed, we learned a few tricks to avoid those costly visits.
If Sarah starts an episode in the middle of the night, or while we’re at work, chances are, by the time we get up, or get home, she is in need of sub-q fluids, in addition to our little routine which I will describe here shortly.
To tell just how bad off Sarah is, I grab some skin at the back of her neck and pull it up. If it doesn’t even try to snap back at all, or snaps back very slowly, we immediately go to the vet for sub-q fluids. This does not require hospitalization. We then take her home and begin At Home Rehydration.
If her skin snaps back slowly (as opposed to very slowly), we still have time, and I start the aforementioned Procedure.
If we happen to be home and catch the ‘episode’ when it starts, we go straight to At Home Rehydration because even at the first time Sarah regurgitates, she is already dehydrated, just not seriously so. At this point, if I pull her scruff skin up, it flattens out slower than when she is hydrated.
Please note: We have learned where the thresh hold is as to where we can treat Sarah at home vs. the need to take her to the vet. It’s not guess work, it’s that we know Sarah and how she responds. We don’t take chances with our girl.
OK Everyone: Stop reading now and do the scruff test on your dog. Learn what normal is so you don’t have to wonder later. Do this occasionally, and forever, so you can learn what is normal for your dog. We caught Sarah once, when we didn’t see her regurgitate, far along in her dehydration, just from a random scruff test. There’s also an indicator from a dog’s gums, but I’ll leave that between you and your vet.
When Sarah used to go in for IV Fluids, she would receive between 1000 and 1500 ml over a period of 8-12 hours. This calculates to approximately 4-6.35 cups. Please read again the volume and the time frame it was administered. Rehydration is a SLOW process. If you try what I’m about to describe, but rush it, you will cause more harm than good.
Since Sarah’s regurgitation episodes are sporadic, and each one requires intervention to rehydrate her, we started practicing between episodes to get her to drink when we want her to. Yup, we trained her to drink on command.
I would put a dollop of her most favorite food, a pretty wide selection for Sarah, at the bottom of a bowl, and fill the bowl with water. She would drink to get the food. We got her to the point of knowing, if ever a bowl of water was deliberately presented to her, it meant something good. We conditioned her to drink when we asked. Even a sick dog will follow commands – drinking is the only command Sarah, and the others, for the most part, has ever been asked to obey.
Now let’s fast forward to the day she and DASH! woke up dehydrated:
I dropped a very small dollop of Vito’s home made food in 1/4 cup of water and gave it to Sarah. Of course she slurped it. She’s been conditioned to do so. Only 1/4 cup – we didn’t want her to overdo it and throw it up. As a reference, Sarah is 70 pounds.
An hour later, same thing, 1/4 cup.
The next hour, same thing, 1/2 cup.
The next hour, same thing, 1/2 cup.
Notice the trend? Very small amounts, an hour apart. We have to make sure it stays down. If Sarah had vomited or regurgitated after a drink, (she didn’t do it this time, incidentally) we would try again in a few minutes, offering a lesser amount of water. We want her to drink , and give her body time to absorb the water before giving her more. Too much, too fast, even if Sarah didn’t vomit it up, can shock her system and cause more problems.
At the 4th hour, we increased it to 3/4 cup, but moved it to 2 hours apart.
This is Sarah when she was up to a cup, every 2 hours. (Note it’s dark outside - this was an all day and into the night process. ) We did not feed her that day, other than the small amount of ‘bait food’ at the bottom of the bowl. We needed her stomach settled, and fluids were more important than food. Her scruff had already been snapping back normally for a few hours. Still, we kept up the drinking into the next day. She was also fed a small and very wet breakfast the next morning.
I put a little Pedialyte in the water. Pedialyte provides electrolytes for human children. I learned recently that even performance dogs don’t require electrolytes as they don’t lose minerals (through sweat) like people do. In the future, I’ll just skip the Pedialyte since it serves no purpose.
OK, that’s Sarah. What about DASH!? It appeared he got a hold of something in the yard that made him very sick. He had vomited all over the house (caused his dehydration) throughout the night. Our first thought was a potential obstruction. Unfortunately, both ER vets were already in emergency surgeries with other dogs. There would be no immediate attention for DASH!, even if an obstruction was found, for some time. Our best bet at that point was to keep him calm, and hydrate him until a vet was available.
DASH! is our problem child. We can’t coax him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do. But he does have one quality about him: He’s pretty selfish, and we use that to our advantage. If we want him to eat something or do something he doesn’t want to do, we use another dog to make him do it, and that includes drinking. Know your dog, know how to get him to do things he doesn’t want to do, even if he doesn’t feel well.
Turns out, all our practice paid off!
This video was taken later that evening. Unlike Sarah, who would drink on her own, DASH! would only drink if he thought a sibling wanted what was in the bowl. The bait food in the bowl was not for DASH!‘s benefit, but for the benefit of whoever we used to make DASH! think wanted it more. Yes, we tormented Hector, Franky, and Vito throughout the day, for the sake of their brother’s health. A necessary evil, but the boys were rewarded for their efforts.
Like Sarah, DASH! received very small amounts – in his case, we started at a tablespoon of water, working up to 1/4 cup – all day. By the time this video was taken, he was already re-hydrated, but we continued making him drink, until bed time, then I got up twice in the night to do it again. He also received a smidgen of pumpkin, but also had a Peanut Butter Run A Munchie, his favorite food, crumbled in the water. We did not feed him that day (fluids more important than food). The next morning, he had a very small, wet breakfast.
KEY POINTS TO REMEMBER!!!!
1. Practice while your dog is healthy. Condition him or her to drink. If you wait until your dog is sick, you are left with a sick dog who won’t drink. If you have to be creative (like we are with DASH!), figure it out before you need it.
2. Re-hydration does not mean get as many fluids down as quickly as possible. Too much too soon can lead to vomiting, and yet further dehydration. Too much water too soon, if not thrown up, can shock the dog’s system and cause more harm than good. The key is small amounts given at regular intervals.
A little math for you to keep in mind:
A 1 Liter IV bag is equivalent to 4.23 cups
The last time Sarah (70 pounds) was hospitalized for IV fluids she received 1500 ml (1.5 L) over a period of 12 hours. This equates to approximately 6.35 cups – again over 12 hours.
GO SLOW! I can’t stress that enough.
3. If your dogs does not drink, and you can’t get him to drink within a couple hours, go to the vet immediately.
4. If your dog drinks but throws up repeatedly, no matter how little you give him, go to the vet immediately.
5. If your dog does drink, but does not urinate (within 8-12 hours), or strains to urinate, go to the vet immediately.
6. If your dog drinks, but refuses to eat, and this continues to the second day, go to the vet immediately.
7. If you have second thoughts or get nervous when you try to rehydrate at home, go to the vet immediately.
8. These little tricks are not a replacement for vet care. It wasn’t until mid afternoon that I stopped calling the ERs for wait times for DASH! . If there was an empty waiting room at either facility at any time during my earlier calls, I would have taken him in, despite the fact he was drinking. But he had had a normal bowel movement, was urinating, and had not vomited since early morning. I knew we were out of the proverbial woods, and a vet visit was not necessary at that point. With 12 dogs, we’ve been around the block a few times. We know when we can intervene and we know when not to be too proud. The ultimate goal at all times is the health and happiness of The Hoard. It doesn’t matter who gets us to that point, it only matters that we get there.
Due to the “All for One and One for All” belief at Run A Muck Ranch, in solidarity for Hector after the loss of his right eye, the directional definition of the word “Right” will no longer exist.
When referring to the direction opposite left, it shall herein, forever be called ” 180 degree left”, “the other left”, or “that direction that shall not be mentioned”.
Run A Muck Ranch would appreciate it if all world dictionaries would make the appropriate corrections.
In the Summer of 2013, a ground breaking study was published in the world-renowned, peer-reviewed journal Frontiers in Zoology. In the study, it was discovered that dogs align to the North/South axis when relieving themselves. If you click Here, you too can read the 12 page, double columned journal article, complete with graphs, diagrams, statistical analysis and of course, the ever important photo of a dog relieving himself, with over-layed directional axis. It is unknown how much in funding was secured for this research.
All research is but a stepping stone to yet more research. On a much smaller budget, as in no budget at all, Run A Muck Ranch set out to do a duplicate study. Using the Nim Wits at The Ranch, careful observation was made, and notes taken, over the course of several months. During that time, it was only a chance occurrence that any of the dogs aligned along the North/South axis to perform any excretory duty.
According to the Frontiers in Zoology study, electromagnetic interference would cause dogs to mis-align during excreting episodes. That the dogs of Run A Muck Ranch only occasionally align properly can only mean one thing:
The Polar Shift is Nigh!
You heard it here first, and no taxpayer money was needed to provide the proof.
The end of March marked 3 months since William has been weaned from his Fluoxetine, and so closes that chapter of his life.
New Readers are directed to read Why Willy is Medicated to learn why Run A Muck Ranch had to break down and use pharmaceutical assistance to help Willy adjust. Medication was only a last resort, and even then, it was only ever a temporary ‘assist’ while Run A Muck Ranch worked with Willy to help him overcome some of his problems.
The New and Improved Un-Medicated Willy is still grumpy, but grumpiness runs in the family (he gets if from Crabby’s side). The most important thing now is, Willy is comfortable in his own skin and his surroundings. Episodes still exist from time to time, but they’re nothing that can’t be worked through.
A few months ago, the world was made aware of a horrifying and extremely dangerous scourge that exists in the Maryvale section of South West Phoenix. That scourge is packs of wild Chihuahuas roaming the streets and striking fear in the hearts of residents.
For those who believe this to be a story of fiction, here’s the proof: Click on the link to hear the terrifying, and REAL news story.
That the Chihuahuas of Maryvale only relatively recently began to take their ruckus activities into the public eye can only mean one thing:
Vito was the last in a line of powerful Chihuahua Lords, said lineage enforcing, with a heavy paw, order among the rival Chihuahua gangs of Mayvale. Vito was probably known as El Loco, until the time a two-bit Chihuahua gang turned on him, in the same spirit as The Rogues murdered gang leader, Cyrus, in the movie, The Warriors. Where murder was the method in the movie, the Maryvale Gangs set up a parley with El Loco which was clearly a trap and a date with The Dog Catcher.
Once El Loco was removed from Maryvale, there became and remains, chaos among the Chihuahua gangs.
Given El Loco’s, I mean Vito’s, complete fearlessness when he arrived at The Ranch, more particularly, after surveying the dogs in residence at the time, he decided to immediately go for Sarah’s jugular, it is pretty apparent the boy had some street fighting experience about him.
That, in the nearly 2 years Vito has lived at The Ranch, there have been no reports of Chihuahua packs terrorizing the vicinity can only mean that El Loco still has the power, and is preventing the Chihuahua gangs from staking territory in the Desert Hills/New River area, north of Phoenix.
After having to play the crazy human card, making herself so annoying, giving her her money back was the only way to get rid of her, Crazy was able to get away from a Canine Nutrition certification “Course” offered by a “School”, said course turning out “Canine Nutrition Certifications” of the kind PetMD warns readers about.
That particular course was nothing more than reading a series of off the shelf books and answering questions, in chronological order as presented by the book, little more than fill in the blanks. Given the poorly worded, repetitive questions, where apparently the writer didn’t know how to use spell check, Crazy began to wonder if perhaps a high school student wrote the ‘course’ as a school project.
Crazy then asked pointed questions of other Schools before deciding on a different program.
Assignment one, though causing a slight implosion of the brain from the math involved, seemed easy enough, and much was learned.
The tears began at assignment 2.
Instead of going up against what appeared to be a high schooler who read a few books, Crazy now has to answer to a degree holder with 2 decades of experience in practical and applied canine nutrition.
The current course does not ask the student to finish the sentence or recite lists as written in books, it demands the student be able to discuss intelligently, whatever subject matter is being studied, said studies from University level text books.
As an additional kicker, all further assignments involve independent study essays to show proficiency in what is learned. Try doing that while working a day job, caring for 12 canines, 2 equines and 1 man!
It had been Crazy’s intention to finish both the Basic and Advanced Nutrition Courses in 6 months or less. Turns out, there’s a reason each course has an 18 month time limit – it may very well take that long to finish!
All that whining aside, in just 1 week, in just 1 assignment, and the preliminary reading for the second one, Crazy has only this to say about the course: “Wow!”.
Fingers crossed that Crazy does well in the Basic course, and is then able to finish the Advanced course in good standing. There is so much to learn and share.
Several months ago, Run A Muck Ranch did a pretty pathetic Product Review of Sisu Beads Memoral Keepsakes. At the time the review was written, it had been our hope we would not be in personal contact with Sisu Beads for a very long time.
With the passing of our Forever Loved and Treasured Maude, that tearful contact was made much too soon.
After ordering our Memorial Bead, we received a package with ash collection instructions and a return envelope. Yes, there were yet more tears, but the process was very easy.
Shortly after sending a portion of Maude’s ashes to Sisu Beads, we received the most beautiful memorial bead, made from some of our Maude’s ashes. The ashes not needed were also returned to us.
We can’t get a picture that does justice for the beautiful bead we received, and I won’t post a bad one. Just know, it means a lot to us.
The excess ashes were buried with the rest of Maude’s ashes, next to her sister Stella. The bead is too precious to wear, so it hangs, safely out of reach of The Hoard, in the bedroom, where Maude spent her days ruling over her minions known as The Bedroom Dogs.
Gina and Julie from Sisu Beads, ‘Thank you’ just doesn’t seem enough to say.
Please visit Sisu Beads Memorial Keepsakes at http://www.sisubeads.com/.
I can’t stand people who aren’t responsible enough to maintain (register, check, update, etc.) microchips on their dogs!
All the Run A Muck Ranch dogs are chipped to Home Again. In order to make sure I don’t forget to renew their subscriptions (we have the premium service for added protection), they are all on Auto Renew. Every once in a while, the company informs me it takes money from my account. All is swell. I don’t even read the e-mails to see which dog they are referring to.
For some reason, this year, Sarah’s chip did not auto renew. Instead, I received an e-mail saying she was about to expire. With great haste, I logged on to renew her. At that time I learned:
Morty, Marcy, Franky and Emmi’s chips are not in my account. How could that be? I’m a responsible person! Then comes the realization:
Marcy was never supposed to stay. When she was spayed, I’m pretty sure she was chipped, but the chip was registered to her rescue, not us. We never updated.
Franky was already neutered when he followed us out of the desert. His circumstances were such that we knew no one was looking for him, so we never checked him for a chip. Honestly, I don’t remember if I chipped him at his rabies shot or not! If he was, apparently I didn’t add him to my Home Again account.
Morty.. I could have sworn he was one who was chipped not once (at his neuter), but twice (they can migrate, and Morty is pretty active after all), but without the number(s) I can’t be sure.
Emmi was in isolation foster care when she was spayed. I would think, since I was careful enough to get Slugger chipped when he was neutered, I had the same forethought with Emmi. But then why isn’t she listed on out account?!?!?!
Turns out, as I sit here right now, I have no idea if Marcy, Morty, Franky and Emmi have the protection of a microchip. They may be chipped, but is our contact information on the chips? This whole situation is irresponsible, and there is only me, myself and I to blame. How could I be so careless!
This week, they all go in to be scanned. If there is no chip, they will get one immediately. If they are chipped, I bring the numbers home and immediately register them to Home Again.
The moral of the story: Check your micro-chips people! Go to the nearest vet or shelter and ask that your dog be scanned. Confirm the chip is there, and then confirm whatever contact information connected with the chip is correct.
Do it now!
When your dog gets lost – that’s not the time you want to find out you screwed up!
It was a brutal day. By the time it was over, I just wanted to sit down, but there was work to do in the back yard, which had become overrun with weeds.
Hal and Charlie had been moved to their stalls, and the dogs were loose in the yard.
I didn’t realize Vito had gotten into Charlie’s stall, and was precariously close to Charlie’s back feet. It wasn’t just that Vito was in Charlie’s stall, and close to Charlie’s back feet; he was also pinned in a corner.
I didn’t know. I was too busy, trying to finish the yard chores so I could, selfishly, sit down.
Then I heard the blood curdling screams. Vito’s screams.
I threw down the hula hoe and ran to the sound of the screams.
I was near the horse stalls, so it was only a second or two after the screams started,
and I found,
in Charlie’s stall,
pinned in a corner,
inches from Charlie’s back feet….
covered in fresh pile of horse manure.
Since Charlie is on watered down food, his manure has a tendency to be a little watery too.
Now before anyone mocks our Brave Vito for screaming like a little girl when the bombs started falling, please keep in mind, a normal Charlie road apple is about 1/3 the size of Vito’s head. Imagine about 20 of them clocking Vito in various parts of his body, and he can’t get away.
No worries to those who don’t know the mechanics and gravitational properties of a horse turd. Only Vito’s pride was injured, mostly because I couldn’t stop laughing.
But if it had been an actual life ending event, I think we can all agree, that would be one obituary that would be hard to write.
With the never-ending ‘adventures’ thrown at us by 2014, Marcy’s Trick-a-versary slipped right by, unnoticed.
Why are we calling it her Trick-a-versary you might ask? Because Marcy is an evil little Sorceress who called upon the Dark Forces to get her a ticket to Run A Muck Ranch, and once here, she morphed into a Chigger, digging so deep into the skin of The Ranch, to remove her would have caused great systemic injury to all residents.
Think I’m exaggerating?
You be the judge:
1. After Morty planted himself in our driveway and refused to leave, (Memorial Day weekend 2012) we installed safeguards and designed an emergency response plan to prevent any other dog from entering Run A Muck Ranch. Morty was #12. That was an INSANE number of dogs!
2. On February 19, 2013, Run A Muck Ranch agreed to foster Sampson, a stray on the streets of South Phoenix, for Save Our Strays, a segment of Pittie Me Rescue. Sampson already had a family to adopt him, but he needed to be neutered first. I was to pick up Sampson on February 20, take him to be neutered on February 22, and sometime the following week, he would be delivered to his forever family.
3. On February 20, 2013, I finished work early and was preparing to drive to South Phoenix to pick up Sampson, when suddenly and without warning, Run A Muck Ranch, and the whole of North Phoenix, and parts farther north, were hit with a deluge of sleet and snow. Though the accumulation was not ‘significant’, neither snow nor sleet is a normal occurrence in these here parts. Couple that with the fact that Arizona drivers are not known for their rational driving ability on dry roads and are down right imbeciles on wet roads after a simple rain. Therefore, driving on the freeway was not a good idea.
Neither sleet nor snow fell upon South Phoenix that day. The following is the ‘evidentiary’ video I posted to show Pittie Me Rescue that I was in fact, ‘snowed in’, and was not playing games with them.
Sampson was placed in a different, emergency foster home.
4. On February 21, 2013, I received a request from Pittie Me Rescue to foster a 3 month old, very cute puppy, who had wandered into a trap. With that request, came this photo:
Run A Muck Ranch couldn’t get a reputation as a welcher, and luckily, the puppy in the photo was so darned cute, he would be easy to place! Sure, we’ll take him!
Later that day, Larry (puppy was believed to be a boy) was transported to a more northern location where I picked ‘him’ up.
Fun fact: Larry turned out to be a Larri, but Crabby decided he didn’t like the name for a girl. Instead, he chose Marcy because the ‘cute little puppy’ had the eyes of a Bush Baby, Crabby believed Bush Babies were marsupials…Marc-upial, Marcy. Get it? (Psst. Don’t tell Crabby about the non-marsupial status of Bush Babies!).
The horrible truth came soon after:
a) Marcy was not a cute little puppy, she was ‘at least’ 8 months old, per the spaying vet. Her age was confirmed several times thereafter.
b) From her behavior and postures, it was clear Marcy had no, or very little, human interaction during any of her imprint periods. Translation: she was absolutely and completely feral.
c) It took weeks before I could even touch her. Even then, Marcy made it quite clear to me, and anyone in a 20 mile radius, she was not pleased.
Conclusion: Oh Crap! WE REALLY DON’T WANT 13 DOGS!!!!!!
(This video was taken 2 months after Marcy came to us. We still couldn’t touch her without her screaming.)
Marcy’s contempt for the company of humans, the confinement of a building, and rules in general was offset by the fact she was surrounded by other dogs, more particularly the Stupid Ones and Emmi. That they (The Stupid Ones and Emmi) found wisdom in keeping humans as pets clearly mystified Marcy. That didn’t mean she couldn’t still spin her evil web of manipulation.
That Marcy was the ‘baby’ of the pack ticked her pink. That the other dogs, especially The Stupid Ones and Emmi, had clay to mold in their own images pleased them very much. As a result, the strong, mutual affection between Marcy and the Run A Muck Ranch dogs was nearly instantaneous.
Uber bad sign: From the day Franky the Favorite entered the gates of Run A Muck Ranch, he never once played with his siblings – but he played with Marcy, a lot.
All the dogs played with Marcy! Watching the relationships between Marcy and her, sigh, siblings grow, one thought came to mind for Crabby and me: This is NOT good!
That Marcy showed no interest in human contact other than to demand doors be opened and food to be put down, for months, the human thoughts became thus: Oh $#!@@@!!
And now you know the rest of the story.
Marcy could never be an only dog, it would break her heart. Though she would always look like a cute, cuddly puppy, a cuddly puppy* she would never be. If she were to get loose in the City (the probable residence of anyone daring enough to adopt her), the chances of retrieving her – slim to none. If she was trapped and turned in to the pound, she would be immediately e-listed for fear. Our options were very limited.
But when push came to shove, of all the homes in the world Marcy could have gone to, she came to us, the one home where we gave up trying to shut bathroom doors long ago lest one of the beasties break it down. The one home where a dog, any dog, who wasn’t attached to one of our body parts at all times was but a wistful dream. The one home where Marcy’s very presence gave amusement to the other dogs, the Stupid Ones and Emmi in particular, which actually made it possible for us to walk a straight line from time to time because the dog population at our feet was reduced – said reduced population busy playing with Marcy.
Marcy ended up in probably the only home where her evasive Marcy qualities were actually appreciated by the humans. Marcy actually fit.
Marcy’s been with us more than a year now. She still has issues with strangers, even some strange dogs, but we’re working on it. I’m not so sure it’s fear anymore, though. Marcy likes things just so and to tell her it has to be any different is met with protest. If the strange person or strange dog has something Marcy wants, poof! there goes the previously existing ‘fear’.
Her fear and her reactions were real when she came to us. Now they appear to be selective, thus, I think we have a brat on our hands. I tell people when they get a rescue dog that the first couple of months – it’s all on the dog. After that, it’s all on the people. If our Marcy is indeed a brat, it’s the doing of Crabby and me and it is our problem to fix.
Crabby still can’t walk up to her. Up until, kid you not, last week, if Crabby was in the kitchen when Marcy’s bowl was down, Marcy would leave the room without eating. Last week, Marcy decided Crabby was simply un-trainable. If he hasn’t learned to stay out of the kitchen when she’s eating by now, he’ll never learn. She may as well just stay at her bowl and eat.
Despite not being permitted much physical contact at home, Marcy allows Crabby to take her on the trail, and she listens very well. Crabby is going to try her as a camping dog soon. The first trip will be close to home just in case they have parting of the ways and I have to go reel her in. I think after a few camping trips together, Marcy will follow the tradition of all “M” dogs at Run A Muck Ranch and decide Crabby is her favorite.
Did you happen to notice that asterisk a couple of paragraphs earlier? The one I put after the phrase “cuddly puppy’? Well, turns out Marcy is pretty cuddly, to me, at least on the people bed. Sometimes she’s like a brick, sleeping half on and half off me. Sometimes she does the ever popular Puppy Cuddle, sleeping with her head on my neck. More often than not, she tucks herself up as tight as she can in my arm pit.
Doesn’t matter where we are, the yard or on the trail, if I call her, Marcy runs at me as fast as she can, and throws her front legs around my neck in a hug. She’ll then bury her face in my neck and hold me tight for a little while, then go off on her way. Marcy is the only dog who has ever done this to me. I used to think it was an accident. I now think it is a deliberate and conscious act. It gives me a new punch in the Mom Card every time.
In the end, Marcy has decided human pets actually have value.
For our part, we’re pretty happy the Marcy conjured a snow storm to prevent us from picking up Sampson. We’re OK with the fact she portrayed herself as a very young puppy, making us believe she would be easy to re-home, the only reason we agreed to take her. And we’ve forgiven her for for immediately going for the jugular of Run A Muck Ranch, stealing the hearts of the other dogs almost immediately. When push comes to shove, Marcy was always one of us, we just took a while to realize it.
Happy belated Trick-a-versary Marcy! We couldn’t imagine a life without you. Even though you ARE evil.
It’s time to make dog food again! Yippee! (Not). The mess in the kitchen, the mountain of dishes, the smells… not something I really look forward to, but hey, it’s for the kids, and they’re worth it!
With limited refrigerator/freezer space, preparations are a 2 day process. Yesterday was the meat phase. Today was the fruit/veggie phase. (Tomorrow is the mixing phase, not part of preparations).
After work, I went to the grocery store. At the time I was grabbing my cart, a couple was getting theirs.
The Produce Section is just inside the door.
As I was slowly making my way through the produce, I noticed the woman of the couple looking at me several times. I assumed it was due to my ‘after work’ appearance, today being a particularly grubby one, and didn’t pay her any mind. Instead, I continued to study the produce, thumping this, smelling that, and pinching a few of those, inching my way around the Department twice before making my selections.
I ran into the couple again in the canned vegetable aisle. As I was carefully reading the labels looking for specific out of season veggies, sans salt, I noticed again, the woman looking at me, this time, quizzically.
By the time we met the third time, in the frozen vegetable aisle, my cart was awash in fresh produce and several canned vegetables. Noticing the one canned veggie I had with salt, was available without it, frozen, I removed the offending cans, and started to make my way back the aisle to put them back . In doing so, I nearly ran smack into the woman. All I could think to say was “Frozen has no salt!” as I passed her. In retrospect, perhaps “excuse me” would have been a better statement.
Our final meeting place was at the check out line. I had just put my plethora of nature’s bounty on the conveyor when the couple arrived in line, directly behind me, the woman looking righteous, the man looking dejected.
Suddenly getting a serious case of grumbellies, I added a snack bag of potato chips to my purchases.
“Look, she’s getting chips!”, piped the man.
A little shocked that people I don’t know had apparently been talking about me, and clearly without thinking, I replied “Those are for me, the rest is for my dogs.”
The woman assumed a look of shock.
The man a visage of triumph.
The cashier broke out in rather loud laughter.
I lost what might have been my only chance to be a role model.
Can we all agree that if Willy were to get snarky at Crabby, Crabby had it coming?
To those who are wondering why I let Crabby torment Willy so: The evil doing goes both ways. The winner gets to sleep with me on the people bed. The loser sleeps on the couch. Crabby has spent a lot of time on the couch over the last few months.
The bummer about having so many great kids is that we end up taking more pictures than we have time to look through. Seeing Maudie in this one caused a tear. But she’s with Stella now. She’s OK.
Rural Australian life
grab your Sisu Bead and continue the adventure
Changing minds about the bully breeds.
Two canines. Two humans. Too Farfetched.
"Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by." – Robert Frost
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