Foster Pooches

The canine population of our home increased by one last weekend. We're now up to three Boxers. Before my daughter was born, I had two dogs of my own and two or three foster dogs at any given time. After she arrived and our house suddenly got much smaller (I'm not sure of the exact mathematical calculation whereby an eight-pound person takes up 1400 square feet*, but it seems to be accurate), we opted just to take one foster dog at a time. After Karl passed away in December, however, I agreed to take on a second foster dog. (I say "I" because P tolerates the foster dogs but . . . just barely sometimes.)

Brin arrived on January 17th and Fritz arrived on January 25th.

Brin napping with Giddy.

Fritz-a-million

Brin came into rescue after I got a call from a concerned shelter manager. It seems Brin had been abandoned in a house for at least two weeks with no food or water. The shelter lady told me that she cried when she saw how emaciated Brin was. And let me tell you, it takes a pretty severe case to make a shelter employee weep. They've seen it all.

Apparently Brin's owner had some sort of half-assed plan for someone to feed Brin, but it didn't happen. I don't know all the specifics, but eventually Brin was rescued and the shelter then held this brindle girl for two weeks until they could obtain legal ownership of her. The shelter manager told me that she suspected that Brin's owner was going to come looking for her, so she wanted to get Brin moved out of the area (we've seen cases where a dog has been seized from one moron, and that moron sends a brother/cousin/whatever to adopt the dog from the shelter under false pretenses). I live on the other side of the state, so I agreed to take her.

Another rescue volunteer held her for a week until we could make transportation arrangements. By the time I got her, she was still very, very thin so I can only imagine how skeletal she must have been at first. She is a sweet little girl, full of wiggles and kisses. She is also full of . . . urine. I have been fostering for nine years now and have never had a dog I couldn't housebreak, but some are harder to crack than others. Brin, as it turns out, is a tough nut. Hope springs eternal, though.

The other new kid is Fritz, who turned nine on January 14th (which is also my mother's birthday - she says that Fritz must indeed be a spectacular, highly intelligent Capricorn as well). He was surrendered to rescue because his family was moving and said they couldn't take him along. We are starting to see more financial hardship cases, where people are losing their homes and having to move into apartments and such. I have seen surrenders where I felt like the family could have tried harder to find a rental property that would allow dogs, but it is really not my place to judge so I try not to.

Fritz looks remarkably good for his age. If I didn't know his date of birth I would have guessed him to be something closer to six. His teeth are in good shape and he seems healthy. Poor Fritz is also a bit bewildered. I can see it in his eyes, like "Wha' happen?" Older dogs are not as resilient when it comes to sudden homelessness as the younger pooches are. He didn't eat for three days. Finally, I fed him some kibble by hand and then held the bowl in my lap for him and he agreed to eat. I would love to find Fritz a home where he can go back to a quiet, only-dog sort of life. He is fine with the other dogs, but I think he would love to have a soft spot of his own on a couch somewhere. I picture him lying between some nice older couple, watching CSI.

As for Brin, if I can convince her that doggies that pee outside have a better chance of getting adopted (maybe even by me), we'll be in good shape. I should write an ode to my carpet steam cleaner.


*I have no earthly idea of the square footage of my home.