Today I’m Thinking Out Loud about rescues. I worked — well, dabbled, really — in cat rescue. I volunteered at the Humane Society when we lived in Austin. My friend had a very small cat rescue and I helped her with that, coming once a week to socialize all the cats/kittens, scooping, and helping out with fundraising things like garage sales.
I get it: rescue work can be very rewarding, but it can suck, too. And people working in rescue burn out, too, because there are a lot of crappy people out there when it comes to animals, folks. So yeah, I get it.
One person suggested we should just drop Bandit off at a shelter if we were going to crate him so much. He sleeps in his crate now, has since last Friday. To protect Lola and Gizmo (it’s really unfortunate that he’s taken to guarding his crate, too, but OTOH, at least that means he also kind of likes it).
And yes, he’s crated off and on throughout the day so I can spend some time with Gizmo and Lola and eat — but he’s probably with me more than he’s crated, more than either Lola or Gizmo get to be, even though I make a huge effort to be with all of them. I’m able to blog because he stays quietly in the office with me.
And if we dropped him off at a shelter? Most likely he’d be euthanized (I’m searching for no kill shelters, but I’m not sure that’s the answer either). And if he wasn’t, no doubt his issues would just worsen in that environment.
Another person suggested that we should just hire a trainer, that she didn’t give up on her own dog that quickly. Well, I’ve called two. And called again. I’m still waiting. And what most people seem to be missing is that while I may have made a commitment to Bandit when we decided to adopt him, the commitment I made with Lola and Gizmo trumps that.
It’s a Sophie’s Choice, people — obviously one his previous owner wouldn’t man up and make. In some ways, I’ve never felt more isolated. All the places that are supposed to help either can’t or won’t.
And after I wrote all that, and left a rather desperate plea with both trainers, one of them did call me back (she works full time, and just does the training on the side, but she also came to me with high recommendations). So we have an appointment on Monday.
Well, not all of this post will be quite this heavy, I promise.
What a difference a week makes
By the time I wrote last week’s TOLT, Bandit seemed to be settling in well and my life was almost back to normal. I guess I should have been waiting for that proverbial other shoe to drop, and boy, it dropped like a sledgehammer. Or is that a wrecking ball?
If you haven’t been following me, what happened last Thursday afternoon and its aftermath is pretty much all I’ve been writing about since, so you can catch up with my previous posts.
Thank goodness for turkey and brisket
Bandit was pretty good about being crated, but he made it clear he wasn’t real happy with it. Until I found we still had some leftover Thanksgiving turkey in the freezer. Now he eagerly goes into his crate, even though he still doesn’t particularly like staying in it.
We grilled Monday night, and I thought we had some pretty old steaks in the freezer, and I wanted to grill those because we were rapidly running out of that turkey.
We didn’t have any old steaks, but we did have a frozen, really old (like a couple of years old), really large brisket in there. I had Mr. Judy throw it on the grill. I swear he practically cried at the thought of just grilling that brisket, but it works as well as turkey and anyway it had been in there a long time already.
But there are benefits to an older dog adoption
Despite all the problems, so far, knock on wood, Bandit is accident free. And that has made a very stressful time just a little less stressful. He also rides great in a car, so much better than Lola ever will. He doesn’t chew (sort of a problem, we haven’t found anything he will work on it a crate yet) and he doesn’t get into things at all.
Which of course doesn’t mean that all older dogs are house trained, but they are far more likely to be. They are often more settled.
But obviously they come with their quirks, too. Usually they’re not that big a deal . . .
And Thank God for Facebook messenger!
Because Mr. Judy and I have been using it a lot to communicate. Because Bandit’s separation anxiety revolves around me, rather than yelling down as I normally would (we have a raised ranch) , we message back and forth a lot so that we don’t have to make Bandit anxious by hearing my voice if he’s with Mr. Judy.
Darlene was the unwitting recipient of one of those messages, since I had just messaged her before trying to message Mr. Judy.
And Mr. Judy and I joked yesterday about handing her Bandit’s leash and running away, which wouldn’t work because:
- She reads the blog and knows what’s going on
- She runs faster than me
Are all dogs Houdinis?
I mean, I already know cats are. Have you ever gone looking for your cat, totally unable to find them, and suddenly turn around and there they are?
The same thing seems to happen when I let the dogs out into the backyard. One minute they’re there . . . and the next they’ve totally disappeared.
You can kind of understand it with Lola, she’s chocolate colored and she blends in well with the trees in the back. But Bandit is a light tan color, for crying out loud, and somehow he still disappears sometimes outside!
I’m getting busy in the kitchen
The first few days AB (after bite) I could barely eat. Where once I was a stress eater, now I tend to lose my appetite when extremely stressed. I’m still not super hungry a lot, but boy that craving for sweets sure kicked in.
So I crate Bandit early morning or midday and I’ve baked cookies, blueberry banana bread, and put together no bake granola bars yesterday. Don’t worry, all healthy stuff and all stuff I actually needed.
My weigh in today should be interesting, however. It’s hot again, I’ve been able to get my runs in but not my strength training, I’m stressed, not sleeping great, and I’m usually up if I do a lot of baking, even if it’s healthy stuff. It is what it is.
And I’m losing my mind again
I had a whole day where I couldn’t find my keys. I just knew they were in the house somewhere. Thankfully I did eventually find them.
I keep leaving my cell phone downstairs when I need it upstairs, or the treat bag upstairs when I need it downstairs.
I think my hair might even be turning whiter . . .
Talk to me. Tell me in the comments:
Do you remember Sophie’s Choice?
Got an amusing furkid story for me — I could use it!?
What would you do if you didn’t have your current job?
There I go, being random again
I’m linking up with Amanda at Running with Spoons for her: