tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21156600768327072112024-03-13T08:26:43.945-04:00Life In DogsDogs fall into my life like accidental blessings. These are their stories.Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-51358568265432619572022-09-17T16:05:00.009-04:002022-09-17T16:16:12.263-04:00And then there were five. Dag, Winter...<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQY3ZKsIoLS--yj2ynP8SWzs346MQotFWH3xbbW7PiauYZspHN7Ew5vtXMr07CO2Tje_ZvvPamKDFl_FEQSxd8x1Z9B8XZhR7iQhSvreDWK-TRBabg6Cw59qRSBWLHG3PZtYoZSs7bb0pca2RVk5L0wf05zftKzj0832cD5n1hvjJCTLaCAfi0rVWfA/s3264/20160619_142003.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQY3ZKsIoLS--yj2ynP8SWzs346MQotFWH3xbbW7PiauYZspHN7Ew5vtXMr07CO2Tje_ZvvPamKDFl_FEQSxd8x1Z9B8XZhR7iQhSvreDWK-TRBabg6Cw59qRSBWLHG3PZtYoZSs7bb0pca2RVk5L0wf05zftKzj0832cD5n1hvjJCTLaCAfi0rVWfA/w640-h360/20160619_142003.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">The family, as it once was. From left to right: Rusty, Sam, Panchita, Sasha, Benny, Duncan, Winter.<br />June 19, 2016. <br />Only <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-cast.html" target="_blank">three of them</a> are left today. </span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />When she came to us, the whole lower half of her body — from her waist to the toes of her hind legs — was completely bald. Her tail was a mess of scabs and patches of long, matted hairs. Of course, no one in the building wanted to pet her, or even feed her; unlike the other occasional strays that had wandered onto the company's parking lot lately, most of them recently abandoned and still looking good, no one wanted to encourage this raggedy mutt to stay.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUIFRcYnOHF5332Fk1k6T_2OTEM7LBgqE2v3SP7Ymlhi10X630R0eXXy3OpfO6rjUCaBPjkrDEUitAXRzgewhwVudcpdzQla0z7OMu8YgVnQy7VOyl1hOOhMcUxrx4Vy00Dz7crYyYtZEYyoLyqAGpBUs5hB5Xgzz1jWCQphcAj_QcIz_n2sdgvfUSA/s1024/IMG00152-20100826-1747.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdUIFRcYnOHF5332Fk1k6T_2OTEM7LBgqE2v3SP7Ymlhi10X630R0eXXy3OpfO6rjUCaBPjkrDEUitAXRzgewhwVudcpdzQla0z7OMu8YgVnQy7VOyl1hOOhMcUxrx4Vy00Dz7crYyYtZEYyoLyqAGpBUs5hB5Xgzz1jWCQphcAj_QcIz_n2sdgvfUSA/w640-h480/IMG00152-20100826-1747.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Winter at the Amicorp building, August 26, 2010.<br />(Note that I framed the photo just so, in order to avoid showing her bald half. I posted this on Facebook that evening, captioned as "I need a home." Nope, no one was interested.)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>So, on the evening of September 13th, having witnessed one more disgusted cringe at these intensely eager brown eyes, I let heart overcome reason and brought her home. She needed no encouragement to climb into the car; I opened the rear and called her ("Baby", or "doggie", or some such; she was still nameless then), patting the seat, and she jumped right in. </p><p>Temporary, I repeated to myself as I drove. We'll get her healthy, and in a few months she'll be ready for a forever home. Once her hair grows back — her skin issues, as unsightly as they might seem to the untrained eye, probably weren't all that serious — people would see what I already knew, that this was a gorgeous dog, remarkably smart and with a sparkling personality, who would make a family somewhere immensely happy. All she needs is a few weeks of good food, good shampoo, good meds. </p><p>After all, wasn't this the very reason why we had, just a few months before, bought our own house? So that we could provide a safe haven for dogs without pesky landlords giving us the evil eye? Yes. Yes, it was. </p><p>She was mostly healthy; no heartworm, thank the dog gods, just a bit of <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-health-issues.html#more" target="_blank">tick fever</a>, and the skin problem turned out to be a flea allergy — anti-flea shampoo was all she'd need to get rid of those. But it took <i>months</i> for her fur to grow back. Even three years later, her back end was still kind of scraggly. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8clTTYBoDL9x8qKI2pQRjUpEYD8WYUVkwa3eyfJ6wVDcXNbPXdFoYQynvnxUJuldonlDmwz2WuqNvuk_qMPxMbLMQ9rY4wloSALvMvM1iL1egPTnQGHJluVL43myC-D3dpHXB0tYpiO0tdMZAT71JCzCTzSagFviTxNGkVz43rkDJdSVLSV-4WEW_nw/s2896/DSC_0026.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2896" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8clTTYBoDL9x8qKI2pQRjUpEYD8WYUVkwa3eyfJ6wVDcXNbPXdFoYQynvnxUJuldonlDmwz2WuqNvuk_qMPxMbLMQ9rY4wloSALvMvM1iL1egPTnQGHJluVL43myC-D3dpHXB0tYpiO0tdMZAT71JCzCTzSagFviTxNGkVz43rkDJdSVLSV-4WEW_nw/w640-h430/DSC_0026.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Winter (with Duncan and Rusty making faces) at the doggy beach in Jan Thiel, August 2013 — three years after she came to live with us. You can see how thin her fur was still then.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>And by then, well, we were attached.</p><p>She was a difficult dog. A larger-than-life personality. And stubborn to match. She was the most aggressive of our dogs — up to that point, anyway. She bit the gardener once. She hated strangers. Taking her to the vet was an exercise in saintly patience. She bullied other dogs, stole food, even provoked a reactive and highly aggressive pitbull at the beach one day. (And barely escaped with her life. Did she learn from it? No, she walked away from that one — after the owner had managed to restrain her dog; I, of course, was useless — with head held high, ears perked up happily, and with a look in her eye that said, "Ha. You should see the other guy.") </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxncRpyox55UbZGaYoBEuJBLhp3Dtkxc4Olu1yDGitH8JL_cOpIdjVODcwvfgFN06Q0FF3Trj_II8vifBWnJGV3cT_Lf59enEC4Ei_78mDZh_PvIh4se7w93G74nabAtMWgtsl5IT_8qR5FULJhN3swA9LMOuxCEKeh27dKPZIFMPj4YRRba6xpqA18g/s3264/20171128_105724.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxncRpyox55UbZGaYoBEuJBLhp3Dtkxc4Olu1yDGitH8JL_cOpIdjVODcwvfgFN06Q0FF3Trj_II8vifBWnJGV3cT_Lf59enEC4Ei_78mDZh_PvIh4se7w93G74nabAtMWgtsl5IT_8qR5FULJhN3swA9LMOuxCEKeh27dKPZIFMPj4YRRba6xpqA18g/w640-h360/20171128_105724.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Winter at St. Joris with Benny and Jopie, November 28, 2017. This was the spot where that Pitbull encounter happened. Might even have been this same day.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>She was better off here, with us, where she wasn't judged, or punished; where she'd be loved anyway, in spite of her misbehaviour — maybe even because of it. And she seemed to fit in the pack, somehow; <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/Panchita" target="_blank">Panchita</a>, always the Alpha, seemed to know how to make her authority stand even for Winter. And <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/Rusty" target="_blank">Rusty</a>, always calm and playful, became Winter's favorite sidekick. </p><p>We didn't know how old she was. Throughout those first months of frequent vet visits, we came to the conclusion, based on her general health, that she must be around 5. She had obviously had several litters of puppies — who knows what happened to them — and her teeth were in terrible, terrible shape. A few were missing already, and several others so damaged they needed to be extracted. She probably has another five years, we were told. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0Un4xzPKeTMls5qjCaElF7vmVRjSmPY9_5lvcpovvG2lBwEEaxuea9iRW4BvYz-FcDlH19rHQ6j66toPxFcx1petcd3XbWiiX47ZPb2jNm1MA1-zZi3W7o6yAeT1ArbDZvhwOXY-Nuul_Yl9UWtJbGfQMJW7whhbOQyL8NBBHSw9P8h8923XMqZduA/s2560/20161027_170611.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH0Un4xzPKeTMls5qjCaElF7vmVRjSmPY9_5lvcpovvG2lBwEEaxuea9iRW4BvYz-FcDlH19rHQ6j66toPxFcx1petcd3XbWiiX47ZPb2jNm1MA1-zZi3W7o6yAeT1ArbDZvhwOXY-Nuul_Yl9UWtJbGfQMJW7whhbOQyL8NBBHSw9P8h8923XMqZduA/w640-h360/20161027_170611.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">On the front porch, October 27, 2016. Clockwise, starting from bottom left:<br />Benny, Rusty, Winter, Sasha, Panchita, me.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Five years passed, and she was still going strong. We congratulated ourselves on a job well done. After another three, she started showing only faint signs of age. A bit of stiffness in the joints after walks, some more teeth that went missing or had to be taken out. And we suspected she might be losing her eyesight somewhat. But she was still feisty, full of life, and stiff joints or not, she still seemed to believe the world was hers and the rest of us just lived in it.</p><p>And then, about 2 years ago, Rusty had a seizure — and a week later, Winter had a suspiciously similar one. We did all the tests (the ones available here on this island), but couldn't find a cause. No damage done, it seemed; they were both fine afterwards, as happy and healthy as before. Phew, we thought, having no idea that it was the beginning of the end. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4p-H0JqEXZAb8SOIIzGIvnkIXKBL7vJMBfjrCGPvDrtTKLursm05l2gdDXw_QdB9M2RMye4SpP7WyMakAL1-PQPhEim8LTdAJw-eXRrVOQMgm1Ia1Ib3RxZHd11ZcNTyu3yMBEKvsypNt3o0Ku_2WL7zKkJqr8_aaQYXzhd739jM8Y7jBLqfffSoGug/s918/IMG_20190530_142823_632.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="918" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4p-H0JqEXZAb8SOIIzGIvnkIXKBL7vJMBfjrCGPvDrtTKLursm05l2gdDXw_QdB9M2RMye4SpP7WyMakAL1-PQPhEim8LTdAJw-eXRrVOQMgm1Ia1Ib3RxZHd11ZcNTyu3yMBEKvsypNt3o0Ku_2WL7zKkJqr8_aaQYXzhd739jM8Y7jBLqfffSoGug/w640-h640/IMG_20190530_142823_632.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">The last time — according to photo record, anyway — that Rusty and Winter managed a hike.<br />St. Joris, May 2019.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Back in June this year, kidney failure was determined. For both of them. Rusty's was acute, but Winter's wasn't quite so bad, so we hoped — especially after Rusty declined so fast, and we had to put her down in July — that Winter would give us a few more months. Six, maybe. Maybe even a year (though the vet kind of winced at that). </p><p>She didn't. Not because she didn't want to; she was feisty and full of life till the end. But that was her; we couldn't expect anything less. She hated weakness, and she was loath to show any herself, even when she should have. For her, it was always death or glory.</p><p>There was this one time, some five years ago, when I took her on a walk to this new beach I had heard of and wanted to find. (That's Curaçao, full of secret little coves everywhere.) I miscalculated the distance and parked way too far. We did find the beach, but by the time we started making our way back to the car, it had been over 2 hours — in the searing island heat. I was running low on water both for me and for the dogs, and we were all exhausted. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXO8xR_SVjdhrzVMMJwDM20x26YpC_cWiktp9pl2XwT9RKfhYqu3MLFuH5XlkkNuShV9KRf_bYc_c2sbPT_czsJvQkjU4LojWiJqyGGwUb2N2z4p9SlZgCkAd_LHxZgQ5u2dTHpaLfkz9B38nHuhAw2PdX7ryNGeBMMyeGHOYWPrIKMw3oCzSvtjEQkw/s2046/20171130_COLLAGE01.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2046" data-original-width="2046" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXO8xR_SVjdhrzVMMJwDM20x26YpC_cWiktp9pl2XwT9RKfhYqu3MLFuH5XlkkNuShV9KRf_bYc_c2sbPT_czsJvQkjU4LojWiJqyGGwUb2N2z4p9SlZgCkAd_LHxZgQ5u2dTHpaLfkz9B38nHuhAw2PdX7ryNGeBMMyeGHOYWPrIKMw3oCzSvtjEQkw/w640-h640/20171130_COLLAGE01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Secret beach finding mission, November 30, 2017.<br />Gorgeous place, but the water was too rough for the dogs to do anything more than soak their paws in the surf. Which meant they didn't cool down much by the time we started back on the 1.5 hour hike to the car.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>About halfway to the car — still about a kilometer left to go — Winter finally sat down in a scrap of shade from a thorny bush and refused to keep going. We rested for a bit, but with little shade available for the rest of us bigger folk, and with water down to the last inch in the container, the other dogs were eager to keep moving. So I picked her up and carried her. Oh, no, she was having none of that. She wriggled and bit until I put her down again. But she really just couldn't walk. So we did that dance — pick her up, struggle with her in my arms for some twenty steps, then set her down — almost all the way back. When we were close enough, maybe three hundred meters or so, I left her in a shady spot and power-walked with the other dogs to the car, then drove back to get her. Did I find her waiting? Nope. She was sauntering, at her own short-legged pace, down the blistering red earth of the path, towards us. She must have thought I was abandoning her (which broke my heart), but did she show it? Fear? Relief? Not at all. She acted like it was all good, this was the plan all along. Nothing to see here, move along. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuONliWiSZ_W9CI-W9JxsYsy2zpHR9UjHbeiA9iGrRXSYYeQY8RN8RaXxQy-wH4rYINP2s1w4wOO0VOdhQo5oSoiBQZNqwyf7vTPrnfcLyeaKwBaWwk1i0gtuIhzr-IqcfjLWwnAzOHjhjNIkvJbQY2qaULSX9-TudxCALxwARPacIS2_n2ly_UOhFZw/s3264/20171130_142323.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="3264" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuONliWiSZ_W9CI-W9JxsYsy2zpHR9UjHbeiA9iGrRXSYYeQY8RN8RaXxQy-wH4rYINP2s1w4wOO0VOdhQo5oSoiBQZNqwyf7vTPrnfcLyeaKwBaWwk1i0gtuIhzr-IqcfjLWwnAzOHjhjNIkvJbQY2qaULSX9-TudxCALxwARPacIS2_n2ly_UOhFZw/w640-h360/20171130_142323.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">The car was parked at that far-off first windmill — or the last one, from the perspective the photo was taken. No shade anywhere from here on, so this is the spot where I left Winter and dashed ahead to get the car. When I drove back, she'd made it just past this clump of cacti.<br />November 30, 2017</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>That was Winter.</p><p>So, as she became more and more blind, as her body began to fail her more and more, she refused to give in. She put up a brave front, and wouldn't back down. But the joy was seeping away, and no matter how lionhearted she tried to be, things were slipping out of her control. Her bladder, for instance, demanded she go out in the middle of the night — sometimes multiple times — to empty it. With all the dogs sleeping in the bedroom with us, and with her poor eyesight, that caused problems. After waking up to a few skirmishes (and a few puddles on the floor), we decided she was better off sleeping out in the hallway. She seemed fine with that — the hallway had become her safe spot during the day, too. But, as months went by, that hallway became her whole life. We noticed she was going outside less and less, and often requiring assistance to navigate the other dogs lying along the way to the patio door. In a combination of her loss of sight and the kidney failure, she was becoming more and more disoriented, more and more prone to bump into another dog — and, if this was Benny, for instance, or Jopie, the consequences could be painful. </p><p>So it became a self-fulfilling prophecy: she was afraid of going outside, so the other dogs saw her less and less, and would attack her more, so she became more afraid and went out less. In the end, she slept maybe 22 hours a day. She flinched every time another dog passed by. She couldn't find her way to the patio. She couldn't negotiate the three steps on the front porch. Her hips weren't cooperating. Her eyes weren't, either. </p><p>Was she in pain? Maybe. We wouldn't know it, because she wouldn't show it. But, after discussing all these symptoms with the vet, we agreed that she was definitely living in fear if not pain. And, inescapably, we grudgingly came to the conclusion that had been staring us in the face: her time had come. If we waited for her to show real feebleness, then we'd have waited too long: she was simply too plucky, too unshrinking, to do that. It was up to us to stop her suffering before it became so intense that she simply couldn't hide it any longer.</p><p>And so we did.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxPiZGKZaOtRfBP1Lo9wwQ-Iix7w9pKD3vNHg7CnFPnVR-zfmMZ0k3xqq8NK_57Qsdp-hK8MABByu8nxia-oqSxpdpQ2b9lYm17jULbcR14UYvb9biq2z6JppfMgvbkhTfAAQI0ZM6tMzsaNtVh1OlG_fC1_RbGFYHmGkAPwBJIvQvV5rR-UP9gBRAA/s2896/DSC_0299.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2896" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxPiZGKZaOtRfBP1Lo9wwQ-Iix7w9pKD3vNHg7CnFPnVR-zfmMZ0k3xqq8NK_57Qsdp-hK8MABByu8nxia-oqSxpdpQ2b9lYm17jULbcR14UYvb9biq2z6JppfMgvbkhTfAAQI0ZM6tMzsaNtVh1OlG_fC1_RbGFYHmGkAPwBJIvQvV5rR-UP9gBRAA/w640-h430/DSC_0299.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #666666;">Rest easy, beautiful girl.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Grief is the price we pay for love, so we're doing our best to embrace it, to celebrate her life and, in gratitude for the time she gave us, cherish the hole she leaves behind. She was the last of our first generation of dogs: Panchita, Frida, Rusty, and now Winter are all gone. Each of them taught us so, so much. Each of them changed our lives in ways we never even considered possible. They put up with our ignorance, patiently repeated the lesson again and again until we learned it. Their love was pure and unconditional, and we barely deserved it — but, by the time they began to leave us, they had prepared us enough to deserve the love of the other four-legged bundles of joy they left behind to keep us on the straight and narrow.</p><p><i>Dag</i>, Winter. Maybe we loved you "in spite of" — but you loved us "in spite of", too, I think. Thank you so, so much for that.</p></div>Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-14350643309546827942022-07-02T01:16:00.003-04:002022-07-02T01:19:06.034-04:00Some things must be written about...<p>The sun is setting, and all I can think about is that she'll never see another sunset. Or another lunchtime. Or another walk in St. Joris, or Ascension, or Boka Sami. Tomorrow, you see, the vet is coming at 10:00 am to put Rusty down.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdnExjMJkbgZe34IPWxLip3_CMqyW6h_HWFIoWKWrK9uH-x-4jlTACFd-7kvtItriuaseiWTmjwK7_5VZoMNizR4hqQZhsjnP5x3xpd52QuE4Ez2fOdLaqVf8eoYwPmxunklexzwlCCV2ldnIuhgRwWsjMcqAvT51LUZXFtX7R0XUtcxv6Ehy_Yjs3g/s1125/Carf%207%20feb%202013%20small%20(32%20of%2041).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Rusty, always beloved" border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1125" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdnExjMJkbgZe34IPWxLip3_CMqyW6h_HWFIoWKWrK9uH-x-4jlTACFd-7kvtItriuaseiWTmjwK7_5VZoMNizR4hqQZhsjnP5x3xpd52QuE4Ez2fOdLaqVf8eoYwPmxunklexzwlCCV2ldnIuhgRwWsjMcqAvT51LUZXFtX7R0XUtcxv6Ehy_Yjs3g/w400-h266/Carf%207%20feb%202013%20small%20(32%20of%2041).jpg" title="Rusty, always beloved" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rusty, always beloved.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>She was so alive, so full of j<i>oie de vivre</i>... and then she wasn't. She lies on the living room floor, unable even to shake off the occasional fly that lands on her decaying body. Yes, decaying. I'll spare you the particulars — I can hardly bear them myself — but suffice it to say that we should have made this decision a week, at least, ago.</p><p>How could we, though? No, seriously. Look beyond the fact that Rusty is <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2013/02/how-i-became-homeowner.html#more" target="_blank">the reason we bought this house</a>, the house we live in, the house that we've turned into our home. That she's been the sweetest, most gentle dog we've ever had the privilege of making a part of our family. That, for over a decade, she's been the calming force in our oh-so-not-calm pack — and that, no matter how hard I try, I can't imagine a single outing without her. How could we decide to end her life, even after the vet told us, in no uncertain terms, that at 14 years old her kidney failure wasn't a matter of treatment or medication but of time — measured in days and hours, not months or even weeks? How could we make the choice, a conscious choice, to end to a life so full of joy and love and sheer delight at the miracle of being alive?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXL76u7Q-Uc7AhM5jKclxJiKe0oZrdrIgWKOzts7g3Q0nxwU_HawjSp1UU4o6J-_vtjEwW0mYqsTbkpCVZUaVlN9BWNRxUibDkocrYF-0WFFoBThR5jZVumtsquJq7q9iyW4c-jPHBoRG84KWJobowF62OpnoU3Dw7ds6D_jqiIo6BcTulKWDDUfuJg/s1280/20100814%20Rusty%20&%20Cor%203.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUXL76u7Q-Uc7AhM5jKclxJiKe0oZrdrIgWKOzts7g3Q0nxwU_HawjSp1UU4o6J-_vtjEwW0mYqsTbkpCVZUaVlN9BWNRxUibDkocrYF-0WFFoBThR5jZVumtsquJq7q9iyW4c-jPHBoRG84KWJobowF62OpnoU3Dw7ds6D_jqiIo6BcTulKWDDUfuJg/w400-h300/20100814%20Rusty%20&%20Cor%203.JPG" title="Rusty and Cor at the hammock, 2010" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rusty & Cor at the hammock, 2010</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We did, though. Too late, almost certainly. She responded well, at first, to treatment: a course of antibiotics and prednisone, three days of IV fluids to help take a load off her kidneys... but her downward spiral was too obvious to ignore. (Believe me, we tried.) We had to help her get up, and she seemed disoriented when walking around. She wasn't drinking enough water. All of which we, in the hope she might give us another month, another week even, might have neglected — until she stopped eating. Rusty. Refusing to take food. <i>Any </i>food. </p><p>And then we knew.</p><p>Oh, Rusty. I'm so sorry we waited this long. You've given us so, so much over these 13 years we've had you with us — love, certainly, and laughter (you are such a silly, lovable dog!), and hope... We found you on the streets, never had the intention of making your stay with us permanent, and then, somehow, you not just wiggled your way into our hearts but also wrangled us into buying a house. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJRlyoegVqYo3dugUIP27PDmT1Hnqy4scXBFRF-tAc9M5py6M_p3rhoNrtIaFvCMM7U1B9LMZTAb-sSkSIUhA_77sWVsWVjAGHfNybtYpiZOGfr54asV2iPaElrc-0ERnDBB5k7DLqcembHgMIMvGy_gA2tiohiQ5p8kXAOKefCfTsd4OLhxgZvZz9Vw/s1280/PICT0052.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJRlyoegVqYo3dugUIP27PDmT1Hnqy4scXBFRF-tAc9M5py6M_p3rhoNrtIaFvCMM7U1B9LMZTAb-sSkSIUhA_77sWVsWVjAGHfNybtYpiZOGfr54asV2iPaElrc-0ERnDBB5k7DLqcembHgMIMvGy_gA2tiohiQ5p8kXAOKefCfTsd4OLhxgZvZz9Vw/w400-h300/PICT0052.JPG" title="Rusty & Panchita exploring their new home, April 2010" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rusty & Panchita exploring their new yard, April 2010</td></tr></tbody></table><p>You became best friends with <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2013/02/panchitas-story.html" target="_blank">Panchita</a>, you educated the fosters and the puppies we brought into your space, and you never complained, never acted out, always remained the ever good-humored, ever playful, even keel of the pack.</p><p>How can we ever live without you, baby girl?</p><p><br /></p>Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-50897930513893417642018-05-25T00:05:00.002-04:002018-05-27T18:28:41.706-04:00The #DogBookBlogTour Giveaway — Announcing the Winners!Wow, what a month it's been! Hectic, but really <i>really</i> good. <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-dog-book-blog-tour.html" target="_blank">The tour</a> was fabulous, full of so many people who love animals and care about their well-being—and of incredible bloggers who made room for me & <a href="https://everytimepress.com/everytime-press-catalogue/how-to-books-and-resources/its-about-the-dog/" target="_blank">the Dog Book</a> in spite of busy schedules and computer issues and personal stuff. And, as if that wasn't already above and beyond, they took the time to write lovely introductions, beautiful words in favor of rescue and animals in general, and some really really beautiful (and totally undeserved) things about me as well. I have the greatest blog friends, y'all. I can't thank you enough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOCJcuRH9eq71NL4cEaNqgOJOnMryUs71fFbpZ_tbhdB9yoZEy6v6lq6dNmW_IGSUrr5U8k32y394rYpF5OEWmNJu63GPwEKdE95Naf8qGbK1-MXPP87mMbTqAm48Zzuq-ee6eOuzFFT_/s1600/Dog+Book+Blog+Tour+badge+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1486" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOCJcuRH9eq71NL4cEaNqgOJOnMryUs71fFbpZ_tbhdB9yoZEy6v6lq6dNmW_IGSUrr5U8k32y394rYpF5OEWmNJu63GPwEKdE95Naf8qGbK1-MXPP87mMbTqAm48Zzuq-ee6eOuzFFT_/s640/Dog+Book+Blog+Tour+badge+01.jpg" width="594" /></a></div>
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Okay. The giveaway. I'm sorry for posting so late; there was a certain writing deadline I missed (by, like, three weeks) and that piece absolutely <i><u>had to</u></i> go out today. Also, I wanted to include the commenters on Birgit's post, which she worked so hard to get out yesterday—technically no longer part of the tour, but... well, I thought it was only fair to include her readers.<br />
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With no further ado, here are the results:<br />
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We had a grand total of 130 entries for the <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-dog-book-blog-tour.html" target="_blank">Dog Book Blog Tour Giveaway</a>. I included the comments from all the tour posts, starting with the <i><a href="https://freezerburned-suddenlysusan.blogspot.com/2018/04/guest-post-by-guilie-castillo-author-of.html" target="_blank">Checklist for Adopting a Rescue Dog</a></i> at Susan Arthur's 'Freezerburned' on April 24th and ending with Birgit's dog movie post yesterday; officially the tour closed on Monday, with Debbie the Doglady's post "Many Ways to Help", but Birgit really went to incredible lengths to get the post out as soon as she possibly could, so—yes, her readers were included. (And thank you, Birgit. You're a star.)<br />
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I included multiple comments from the same person (replies, for instance, counted as an extra entry). I did <i>not</i> include the host blogger's comments, though. I hope I can be forgiven for that... It would've tipped the scales unfairly, I think. (Yes, the host bloggers <i>will</i> receive a special gift all their own.)<br />
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So I put all these 130 commenters in an Excel spreadsheet, went to Google's random number generator, and asked it to give me three numbers between 1 and 130. These are the numbers it produced:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKU6kt9tjEZmsxwALgiD2V_EC3AfNIx9X-RCsPq0WNOMasE9489eYo7uL-8SuabtLnPr_F3imjRb2xy3XhXvVQHSVWpwSQ5Zxd2FDtvaCSYIL5qxERjb02PvJxPMqiMeZCH6GvZgzz99o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.29.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="813" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKU6kt9tjEZmsxwALgiD2V_EC3AfNIx9X-RCsPq0WNOMasE9489eYo7uL-8SuabtLnPr_F3imjRb2xy3XhXvVQHSVWpwSQ5Zxd2FDtvaCSYIL5qxERjb02PvJxPMqiMeZCH6GvZgzz99o/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.29.58+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Number 7 corresponds to none other than <a href="https://mythsofthemirror.com/" target="_blank">D. Wallace Peach</a> (of <i>Myths of the Mirror </i>fame), for one of her comments on <i><a href="http://www.damyantiwrites.com/2018/04/27/dog-rescue-guilie-castillo/" target="_blank">A Tale of Two Puppies</a></i> (chez Damyanti, April 27th).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwosFBNi0A88dEl-fwrqY4F1IQd3VIa9jaXOljQdbI4I89DFGcH0kmPjcA0WI_MP5dwvOD2v5XGSwBMQ3y4qJfsNJ5RQEAZrov6CPyNc9UNn24JPpTHFNvIRLTIPkSFT16x6HVriTaauYY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.34.53+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="798" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwosFBNi0A88dEl-fwrqY4F1IQd3VIa9jaXOljQdbI4I89DFGcH0kmPjcA0WI_MP5dwvOD2v5XGSwBMQ3y4qJfsNJ5RQEAZrov6CPyNc9UNn24JPpTHFNvIRLTIPkSFT16x6HVriTaauYY/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.34.53+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Number 121 belongs to <a href="http://catsruledogsdroole.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Cat</a>, for one of her comments on <a href="https://thedogladysden.com/its-about-the-dog-book-blog-tour/" target="_blank">the closing post at Debbie D. Doglady's</a> this past Monday.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqM4b0CbHiCGMRBXy6x02iuoQIvIQyouv74JIfdr9owjTYb6T-SkEqvBFjtBjIJYlkaCsaQXTB-WxVnIz_d1jvqrDX5slE9sRJf5T1lPt9FAtQPb5gpQwZfh0ph-Xg3gK0XgDRu8HQwte8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.37.40+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="791" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqM4b0CbHiCGMRBXy6x02iuoQIvIQyouv74JIfdr9owjTYb6T-SkEqvBFjtBjIJYlkaCsaQXTB-WxVnIz_d1jvqrDX5slE9sRJf5T1lPt9FAtQPb5gpQwZfh0ph-Xg3gK0XgDRu8HQwte8/s640/Screen+Shot+2018-05-23+at+9.37.40+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Number 97 is none other than <a href="https://thebelgianreviewer.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Inge Jacobs (aka The Belgian Reviewer)</a>, who commented on no less than six of the tour posts! Inge, thank you so much for your warm comments everywhere. I'm so glad we met through this tour, and I look forward to staying in touch with you. (Oh, #97 is for her comment on <a href="https://helpingpartnersofsexaddictsheal.org/blogposts/2018/3/29/im-being-stalked" target="_blank">Elsie Amata's lovely May 10th post</a>.)</span></div>
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There you have it, folks: D. Wallace Peach, Cat, and Inge, if they choose to accept the <strike>mission</strike> prize, will be getting a signed copy of <i>It's About the Dog</i> in the mail soon—well, soonish. I ordered said copies just under a month ago, and I expect it will be another two to four weeks before I receive them. (Island life... ) But as soon as I do I'll be signing them and sending them out.<br />
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Tomorrow morning I'll troll the net to find email addresses for these luckiest of lucky winners, or leave a comment on their sites (that should probably be the first option, eh?), to notify them. In the meantime, if any of you three see this, please email me at guilie (dot) quietlaughter (at) gmail (dot) com and send me your mailing address. Pretty, pretty pleeeeeease :)<br />
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<i>(Full giveaway rules and guidelines can be found <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-dog-book-blog-tour.html" target="_blank">here</a>.)</i></div>
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All my gratitude to everyone who participated, everyone who hosted me, everyone who commented and shared and sent good vibes our way. The blogosphere is a wonderful place, but you make it special beyond words.<br />
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<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-57160390272417768512018-05-09T00:34:00.001-04:002018-05-10T12:34:36.953-04:00Book, Tour, Dogs, and Gratitude for Everything #GratitudeCircle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Release day came and went, and it's been so hectic that I haven't even had time (or energy) to post an update. <a href="https://vidyasury.com/" target="_blank">Vidya</a>'s <i><a href="https://vidyasury.com/2018/04/wallpaper-mind-gratitude-circle.html" target="_blank">Gratitude Circle</a></i> linky for April is still open, and I've been wanting to join that hop since forever—<i>and</i> right now there is so, so much to be grateful for, especially this month, so I'm going to combine both.<br />
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<b>First</b>, one of our dogs, Panchita, had surgery last week and is healing marvelously. Some three years ago she was diagnosed with skin cancer, so two or three times a year the vet removes whatever growths she's sprouted in the hopes of preventing them from metastasizing. She's on the elderly side, though (turning 13 this year), which means that any surgical procedure, especially with general anaesthesia, is a risk. This is why we celebrate her coming through each surgery like it's 1999.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtFVfDvyQNWxMZ6BNIdmdYOxi-gojLgTjTaq3Ln_dO7jxuqvxNCdU8leSMOna-728I3f4Rj2lthgpzMyuwZTUeGWAgnRrz36jVs4Gs8v1VkGhLyMSN_ryxV3N63MJDvOZ2tFVhhfcREYb/s1600/DSC_0292+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1019" data-original-width="1600" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtFVfDvyQNWxMZ6BNIdmdYOxi-gojLgTjTaq3Ln_dO7jxuqvxNCdU8leSMOna-728I3f4Rj2lthgpzMyuwZTUeGWAgnRrz36jVs4Gs8v1VkGhLyMSN_ryxV3N63MJDvOZ2tFVhhfcREYb/s640/DSC_0292+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panchita. Still going strong at 13.</td></tr>
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I'm also really grateful for the wonderful group of vets our dogs have. The surgeon has opted to do Panchita's last two surgeries with a mild sedative and local anaesthetic, which reduces Panchita's risk (and increases the level of difficulty for the surgeon; she has to work faster). And I'm allowed to assist in the surgery. I know several people would find this daunting, freakish maybe, but if anything is going to happen to Panchita I want to be there. I trust the surgeon with my own life, so I know she'd do everything to save her, but if she's going to die, I want it to be with my hand on her head.<br />
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<b>Second</b>, for a lovely, lovely walk we did last week with some friends and the dogs. (Three of ours, one of theirs.) Curaçao is full of these hidden gems, locations totally out of the mainstream—even for locals—so beautiful they take one's breath away. I'm so lucky to live here, and to have friends—and an extraordinary life partner—willing to go exploring in the wilderness, who put up with dirt and thorns and heat, and who dig me out of the mud when I don't watch where I step.<br />
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<b>Last, but certainly <i>not</i> least</b>, I'm super, super grateful for the incredible response to <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-dog-book-blog-tour.html" target="_blank">the dog book blog tour</a>, and the warm welcome I've received from both bloggers and their (your) readers. Wow, guys. I'm blown away. We always knew this book would have a (very) limited audience; the subject of dog rescue — actually going out into the street, risking life and limb, to catch a dog and bring him/her to safety — appeals to few. It's too sad, maybe too confrontational, I don't know.<br />
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So the fact that so many bloggers have not just been willing to host me and the book, but have welcomed us with open arms. And I'm grateful for their audiences, who have reacted so positively. For everyone who has shared, and tweeted, and commented. For everyone who has bought the book—I don't have any official numbers yet from the publisher, but I checked <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/guilie-castillo-oriard/its-about-the-dog-the-a-z-guide-for-wannabe-dog-rescuers/paperback/product-23601112.html" target="_blank">the current rank</a> a little while ago and it went from 93,000 last week to 20,182 today!<br />
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So far, we've had <a href="https://freezerburned-suddenlysusan.blogspot.com/2018/04/guest-post-by-guilie-castillo-author-of.html" target="_blank">a checklist for adopting a rescue dog</a> (via <a href="https://freezerburned-suddenlysusan.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Freezerburned</a>) and two rescue stories; the first, <a href="http://www.damyantiwrites.com/2018/04/27/dog-rescue-guilie-castillo/" target="_blank">A Tale of Two Puppies</a>, via Damyanti's <a href="http://www.damyantiwrites.com/" target="_blank">Daily (W)rite</a>, and the second, just published yesterday via Julie Flanders of <a href="https://julieflanders.blogspot.com/2018/05/dog-rescue-with-guilie-castillo.html" target="_blank">What Else is Possible</a>, a tribute to five rescuers who refused to give up—and the dog they saved because of it.<br />
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There was <a href="http://www.writer-in-transit.co.za/insecure-writer-no-77/" target="_blank">a nonfiction mini-rant cameo</a> for the <a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/p/the-insecure-writers-support-group.html" target="_blank">Insecure Writer's Support Group</a> at Michelle Wallace's <a href="http://www.writer-in-transit.co.za/" target="_blank">Writer-in-Transit</a>. And there was <a href="https://vidyasury.com/2018/04/the-zen-of-being-more-dog.html" target="_blank">The Zen of Being More Dog</a> at the lovely Vidya Sury's <a href="https://vidyasury.com/" target="_blank">Collecting Smiles</a>, which was a huge hit among my non-blogger crowd—and which I hope has inspired others to live the Dog Life :)<br />
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We're just under halfway through the tour. Coming up this week is a stop at wonderful <a href="https://helpingpartnersofsexaddictsheal.org/" target="_blank">Elsie Amata's place</a> to talk doggy quirks and quirky dogs, and later at <a href="https://dbmcnicol.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Donna McNicholls'</a> to talk more writing (and nonfiction). The week after that will have an interview care of Susan Brody at <a href="http://theartofnotgettingpublished.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">The Art of Not Getting Published</a>, more rescue stories at <a href="https://www.wagnwoofpets.com/" target="_blank">Wag n' Woof Pets</a> and <a href="https://ourprimeyears.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Donna McNicholls' personal blog</a>, and even a stop at Birgit's <a href="http://createdbybb.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">BB Creations</a> to talk dog movies.<br />
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The closing post, on the 21st, will be at <a href="https://thedogladysden.com/blog/" target="_blank">The Doglady's Den</a>—of course :) I had originally planned to announce the giveaway winners on that post, but then I realized that would mean people commenting there wouldn't get a chance to enter... Pretty shortsighted of me. So I'm changing the rules. The drawing will be held not on the 20th but on the 23rd, so comments on Debbie's post can participate, and the winners will be announced that same day here on this blog. That sounds more fair, right?<br />
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Thank you, everyone. From the bottom of my heart. Hope to see you on the tour trail!<br />
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<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-3580412332021039052018-04-04T21:04:00.002-04:002018-04-16T11:44:24.251-04:00The Dog Book is a GO!After almost exactly two years (off by 19 days) since I started writing it, we finally have a publication date for the 'Dog Book' (aka <i><a href="https://everytimepress.com/everytime-press-catalogue/how-to-books-and-resources/its-about-the-dog/" target="_blank">It's About the Dog: The A-to-Z Guide for Wannabe Dog Rescuers</a></i>):<br />
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FI-NA-LLY! Nigh on two whole years after <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20of%20Dog%20Rescue%20%282016%29" target="_blank">the fateful April A-to-Z</a> that led to a dog rescue how-to series, which led to late-night conversations with my publisher (he's in Australia, so the 'late-night' bit only applies to me; for him it was probably like lunchtime, or something), which led to months of revisions to the original blog posts and research and interviews, both formal and informal, which produced a full manuscript, which then the publisher reviewed, which led to more revisions, which led to more changes, which then led to Proof Copy One, which led to more tweaks, which led to Proof Copy Two, which led to—<br />
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<a name='more'></a>You get the idea.<br />
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A manuscript that began as a draft for a blog post and the crazy hubris of thinking that maybe non-rescuers would be curious to know more about dog rescuing. One that's been pored over (not just in content but in f*cking formatting—that nearly killed us) and reviewed and fact-checked and foot-noted and read and reread for typos and inconsistencies and repeating language and lack of clarity and unintentional condescension (the intentional kind, we agreed, is okay), and, finally, deemed ready for publication.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqaYJ1XU4SXBm7pyhEe0tfLby7suut-0Fh-rq4V_rWmAS0znPoRJHQZ7djyP1-gq2M_6zaCy3k-XPwyNCPttIdT3N5hgTaaYPU5dz_3tFH8H5MYlnHMG9-ONg_8Iq3Pg7mGcKcXe2cIOE/s1600/20180404_181030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqaYJ1XU4SXBm7pyhEe0tfLby7suut-0Fh-rq4V_rWmAS0znPoRJHQZ7djyP1-gq2M_6zaCy3k-XPwyNCPttIdT3N5hgTaaYPU5dz_3tFH8H5MYlnHMG9-ONg_8Iq3Pg7mGcKcXe2cIOE/s640/20180404_181030.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof copies One and Two</td></tr>
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I don't want to give the impression that the last 2 years were a 24/7 non-stop editing and revision process. Part of the delay, in fact, had to do with me missing not one but <i>two</i> deadlines with the publisher. My publisher (Matt Potter of <a href="https://bequempublishing.com/" target="_blank">Bequem Publishing</a>, which includes<a href="https://bequempublishing.com/our-imprints/truth-serum-press/" target="_blank">Truth Serum Press</a>, <a href="https://pureslush.com/" target="_blank">Pure Slush Books</a>, and <a href="https://everytimepress.com/" target="_blank">Everytime Press</a> among others) is a guy far beyond nice, and has been a lot more than patient with me and my subconscious boycott of every deadline that even looks my way, but... well, his project pipeline is rather <i>full</i>. Which meant that, once I missed the window allotted to my dog book, I had to wait until there was another opening.<br />
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And I didn't miss this window just once, mind you. I did it <i>again</i>, just six months ago, when you would think the manuscript would be more than ready to go. Yes, but I still had some bits to change and add and take out, some bits that didn't make me as happy as I wanted, and... Well. So instead of having a December release date, we had to wait until now.<br />
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The good news is there are no more deadlines I can miss. The manuscript has been deemed Ready, by both author and publisher. The final version has been approved. Contracts have been signed and scanned and returned. The file that will be uploaded to Lulu.com (the website Matt uses for publication) is, I hear, finished and ready to go with one click. Even the e-book version is near completion (that one always takes longer than the paperback because of different requirements at each website—Amazon likes it one way, B&N another, iBooks yet another, and so on and so forth).<br />
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The not-so-great news is that the work isn't done yet. Yes, the book is done—<i>overdone</i>, even, haha—but now, with publication, comes the bit that no writer likes: the marketing. The 'putting it out there'. Which, honestly, feels like shameless self-promotion. <i>Hello! Here's my book. Take it. TAKE IT!</i><br />
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Yet it must be done. If we want readers, there's no two ways about it. And it really is about readers, especially in this particular case. Rescue isn't a popular subject, and it becomes even less so when the focus is to get <i>you</i> to do it. So back when Matt said yes to publishing this book, we agreed it was a project that would make no one even marginally more affluent. Matt's response to all my caveats and Be Warned advisories regarding what I consider to be this book's very limited audience was, "I publish books I want to publish. I want to publish this one." Over and over, he's renewed his commitment to the book, reaffirming how much he loves it (and reassuring my fragile author ego in the process).<br />
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Thank you, Matt.<br />
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So, as I count down the days to April 20th, I'm keeping busy (and attempting to keep my sanity) by trolling the web in search of dog- or rescue-related blogs and websites that might be interested in hosting me (and the book—<i>here it is, TAKE IT!!</i>) for a blog tour during the last ten days of April and the first two weeks or so of May. Some of my writer friends have already offered, which is most appreciated, but for many of them, the topic here really pushes the boundaries of what their audiences expect or are even interested in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvuW38EGhJDkx96Yudf0VSTgx8xJffv-Eai4q_RkL3oKhtOz0g2yclNV4_i9v_AapgDuIxWhix1nNAhR_Qo4EGlllLUOWaPFMk1CAA6Q3xfnb618bjGBaKNvq_ILUiw59w1U9oPMJSqwOV/s1600/Dog+Book-Cover-BACK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1058" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvuW38EGhJDkx96Yudf0VSTgx8xJffv-Eai4q_RkL3oKhtOz0g2yclNV4_i9v_AapgDuIxWhix1nNAhR_Qo4EGlllLUOWaPFMk1CAA6Q3xfnb618bjGBaKNvq_ILUiw59w1U9oPMJSqwOV/s640/Dog+Book-Cover-BACK.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The book's back cover, featuring three more of my ever-patient dogs (you may recognize the image from the blog's cover photo), and the kind, kind words of two of the best writers I know. Thank you, Lynne and Robin!</td></tr>
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This blog, sadly (can't blame anyone other than myself), has lost most of its audience in the two years it's been (mostly) silent, so I'm also preparing several posts here, related to rescue but not necessarily about the book (trying to balance the <i>TAKE IT!!</i> bit), as well as more regular posts in the foreseeable future, to try and get it back into the swing of things.<br />
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And then there is the non-web-based stuff. I'm planning a book launch party here in Curaçao, but that can't happen until the second half of June or thereabouts. It takes at least 6 weeks after I order from Lulu.com for the books to get here (it's even been 8 weeks; mail is rather unreliable here), so I have to plan enough time... Having a launch party without books might be innovative, but probably not in a good way :)<br />
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I'm also working out a way to pair the book launch with rescue organizations. Because they don't all get along with each other (see Ch. 18, <i>Q&A on Rescue</i>, and Ch. 27, <i>Zealots</i>), I'll probably end up doing several events instead of a big single one. I'm still brainstorming on this one... I'd like for it to be some kind of fundraising—goodness knows all rescue organizations can use it!—but, as the profits are not all mine to give away, and as I'll have to pay for the books upfront myself when I order, I'd end up donating only a little under a dollar (that's US) per book sold. Well, maybe it could work. And maybe, with the 'lure' of the book, I can organize other merchants to contribute, to sell their wares at the event and also donate part of their profit.<br />
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Hmm.<br />
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Anyhoo. That's where things are at on this side of the blogosphere. To close, please consider this an open invitation to join the blog tour! I'm still working out exact dates, and I'm super flexible. If you're interested, or if you know any blogs and/or bloggers who might be, leave me a comment or drop me a line via guilie (dot) quietlaughter (at) gmail (dot) com. It would be an honor for me to include you in the 'victory lap' around the web of a project that would never have come about if it hadn't been for you. For without you, this blog wouldn't exist.<br />
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Thanks for reading this far! I promise to keep future posts at more manageable lengths :)<br />
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<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-31907803106888619502018-02-16T11:56:00.000-05:002018-02-16T11:56:30.302-05:00Best Response *EVER* to Idiots Who Want Purebred Dogs!A friend just posted <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/susanacristalli/recusou-viralata-tomou-resposta?utm_source=dynamic&utm_campaign=bffbbuzzfeedbrasil&ref=bffbbuzzfeedbrasil&utm_term=.cemB6P7Lqm#.fl2RVD3LPO" target="_blank">this article</a> on Facebook, and I had to share. All rescuers are intimately familiar, unfortunately, with those racist bigots who only want to have 'purebred' dogs—yes, racist bigots; what else would you call someone who exhibits overt and shameless prejudice towards race, country of origin, or ancestry?<br />
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So... this happened in Brazil. One of these racist bigots was interested in adopting a dog—but it had to be a purebred, "preferably an English Cocker [Spaniel]", because she didn't like "vira latas" ('mutts') due to "aesthetic reasons".<br />
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(The story is in Portuguese, but I've translated, loosely, the gist here.)<br />
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Magno's response, in green: "Hi! Yes, I do have one available."<br />
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Racist bigot Claudia, probably feeling all warm and fuzzy at the prospect of soon having her purebred puppy at home, goes on to ask what the adoption requirements are.<br />
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And that's when the dream shattered.<br />
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Magno: "Claudia, are you English? English Cockers [<i>sic</i>] only want to be adopted by people of pure English backgrounds, they don't like people of mixed ancestry due to a matter of aesthetics."<br />
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(Give me a second. I need to collect myself here.)<br />
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Understandably, Claudia is somewhat taken aback. Surprised, she replies, "Wow. What?!"<br />
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And Magno, hero that he is, replies, "Yeah, just like you! I'll be waiting to receive the documents that prove your English background in order to proceed with the adoption of the English Cocker. Good day."<br />
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I can't stop laughing. And the next time I get one of those racist bigots in my face about 'purebreds' and how mixed breeds can never match up, yadda yadda, I'll know <i>exactly</i> what to say.<br />
<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-53373403391960108282017-12-21T15:52:00.000-05:002018-03-17T10:41:26.211-04:00The Thing About Goodbyes...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the predawn hours of Thursday, July 27th, our little <a href="https://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/Sasha%20II" target="_blank">Sasha</a> died. Tiny Sasha, scared and shy Sasha, big-brown-eyed Sasha, fluffy toy-sized Sasha. I've been unable to write about it—hence the hiatus in posts. This is the fifth attempt at a draft, and quite honestly I'm not sure if I'm going to finish this time, either. Yes, of course it was my fault—isn't it always?—but I don't think that's the reason I find this so hard. Or not all of the reason. Maybe it has to do with the impossibility of quantifying loss. In a weird way, paying tribute to her like this, by writing about her death, by "announcing" it, so to speak, so publicly, feels like a lie. There is no way that the huge ways her little self impacted our lives can be translated into words. No way that I can capture the joy she gave us, the bottomless pit her absence left behind... No way I can do any of it justice.<br />
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But I <i>must</i> write about it. Until I do, I can write nothing else. Not on this blog, not (really) on the other one, not in my notebooks, not in my journal, not even a short story. I can't, no, because what happened to her left not just a hollow emptiness in the house, in the family, but also wreaked indelible, irreversible change on those of us still here. Powerful lessons that need to be assimilated. Learning on managing the ways our dogs relate to one another, and even to me. Observation skills that need to be developed. So, so much learning. And all of it needs to be processed and mulled over and, eventually, written—<br />
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But I cannot write about this, either. That is where every previous draft has fallen short. Fallen flat. Fallen away from the intention I set out to achieve, without ever taking the trouble to define it, even to myself. Every word I write, that is not about Sasha, feels like I am moving away from her. Every word I have written, that <i>is</i> about Sasha, feels like I'm reducing her death into a lesson, something practical and mundane. Every word I write, about or not about Sasha, has felt like I'm leaving her behind—without saying goodbye.<br />
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That is the intention I had, when I began that first draft two days after she died. That was the purpose. But in telling the story of her death, in explaining the hows and the whens and the (stupid, stupid) mistakes that led to it, the Goodbye fell further and further behind, until it shimmered so distant in the rear view mirror of the words as the mirage of water on a hot summer highway at noon.<br />
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Here it is, then. Goodbye, little Sasha. I did love you, much, much more than I was able to convey to you. And I'm glad you came to our lives, and to our house. I'm glad we didn't give you away back then. Maybe you would have lived longer if we had, so it's selfish of me to say this, but I really am glad you stayed.<br />
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So, we'll go no more a roving<br />
So late into the night,<br />
Though the heart be still as loving,<br />
And the moon be still as bright.<br />
For the sword outwears its sheath,<br />
And the soul wears out the breast,<br />
And the heart must pause to breathe,<br />
And love itself have rest.<br />
Though the night was made for loving,<br />
And the day returns too soon,<br />
Yet we'll go no more a roving<br />
By the light of the moon.</blockquote>
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<i>(<a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43845/so-well-go-no-more-a-roving" target="_blank">So We'll Go No More A-Roving, Lord Byron</a>)</i><br />
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<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-84175112419517020732017-10-06T09:39:00.000-04:002017-10-06T09:39:02.915-04:00If a Dog Was Your Teacher...Posted at the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LessonsTaughtByLife/" target="_blank">Lessons Taught By Life</a> page on Facebook. It echoed so much of my <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/AtoZ%202014" target="_blank">Lessons In Life From Dogs</a></i> series for the April Challenge in 2014 that I simply <i>had</i> to share.<br />
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The secret, not just to happiness but to fulfillment and serenity? <i>Be more dog</i>.</div>
Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-60052620956104661852017-05-29T22:45:00.001-04:002017-05-30T10:36:35.275-04:00The Chihuahua Who Became ChuchoThe name his rescuer gave him was Everest, because she found him in Montaña, a neighborhood in here in Curaçao, which translates to "Mountain"... Personally, I might have gone with Kilimanjaro, or even Blanc (you know, for Mont), but—well, naming is the rescuer's prerogative. Either way, this first name wasn't going to last, because a couple of months later, when a fabulous woman adopted him—only temporarily, as it turned out, but I'm getting ahead of myself here—she decided that, him being a (sort of) Chihuahua and all, he needed a more Mexican name. One of the most common appellatives in Mexico is Jesús (pronounced <i>heh-SOOS</i>), and every Jesús I know gets called, for unfathomable reasons, <i>Chucho</i> for short.<br />
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So Everest became Chucho.<br />
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Chucho (even before being called Everest) came to us on October 5th, 2016, and it was thanks to Facebook. I belong to several animal rescue groups (surprise, surprise), and on this particular fine afternoon a post popped up on my timeline from a fellow member asking for advice. She'd found this tiny dog on the side of the road, walking in tight, tight circles and acting disoriented. She didn't know what to do. I was probably the third person to reply, and echoed exactly what the other two people had said: <i>Take him to the vet. ASAP.</i> And I added that I'd be happy to do it myself, if she wanted. People not intimately familiar with rescue have no way of gauging what the veterinary 'damage' will be, so sometimes they hesitate to take an animal to the vet out of fear they won't be able to afford the bill. Plus, not everyone can drop their lives at a moment's notice in order to rush a strange dog to the ER. In this particular case, the rescuer said in her post that she knew next to nothing about dogs, that she'd always been more of a cat person; I felt she had done enough by picking up the dog to begin with, so it seemed only reasonable to step in and offer help.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the home of his rescuer while they waited for me. All he wanted was to sleep. No water, no food, just... sleep. Yep, not a good sign.</td></tr>
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I arrived at her door about a half hour later, after a few wrong turns but not nearly as many as I expected; it was Election Day here, and a voting location had been set up just a block from her house, so the crowd and the lines of parked cars were hard to miss. She helped me load the dog—who really was tiny; he'd looked rather larger in the photo she posted—into the car, and I promised to call as soon as I had some sort of diagnostic. I did warn her that, from the behavior she'd described—the walking in circles, the disorientation, the lack of appetite or energy—the prognosis would probably not be very good. "There's a chance he'll need to be put down," I told her, as kindly as I could. She nodded, reached a hand in through the open window to pet the tiny head again. "I understand."<br />
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But it was not to be; Everest would live. The vet that afternoon couldn't find any obvious injury or clear signs of disease that warranted ending his life. "Let's keep him in observation for 24 hours," she suggested—which, of course, meant I had to bring him home. That hadn't been the plan, especially since my pack at home is notoriously averse to newcomers (canine or human). But Everest's rescuer worked full-time, and had a small daughter; no way she was going to stay up all night to monitor the dog. We had no right to ask her to, even.<br />
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So Everest came home with me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chucho (aka Everest), on his first night with us, curled tight in the smallest dog basket I have. (And he still manages to make it look huge. He was so, so small...)</td></tr>
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After an uneventful night (which I spent on the couch next to him, just in case), he began experimenting with leaving the basket. He didn't seem able to walk in anything other than circles, which was worrying (to put it mildly). I carried him out to the backyard and let him wander, hoping that in the open space he'd finally find his bearings... But no luck. He basically walked, always in tight circles, until he exhausted himself and laid down, where he stood.<br />
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Yeah. Not good.<br />
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For a good seven days, we—I mean the vets and I—were convinced the kindest thing would be to put him down. Sure, he had no obvious injuries or any signs of neural disease (such as, say, distemper), but—the circles. The disorientation. He had to be freakin' <i>hand-fed</i>. He wouldn't even drink water on his own for the first two or three days, and when he did it was basically by taking a swim in the water container.<br />
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But... how does one give up on this face?<br />
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So I got in touch with my dog network—behaviorists, vets, owners of multiple Chihuahuas, the most experienced rescuers, anyone I could think of, really—and told them about Chucho. The idea, initially, was to gather input from multiple, and independent, sources in order to work up the courage to put him down. This video was filmed on Oct. 13, eight days after Chucho was rescued, and the original, unedited version was meant for a behaviorist friend who lives in Germany and had asked to see him 'in action', so to speak.<br />
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Who was going to adopt this dog? Who has the time, or the inclination, to hand-feed a tiny Chihuahua twice a day, to give him even water by hand, too? No one, that's who. And, if you're any good at reading dog body language, you can see that this disorientation was causing him stress, too. Was he in pain? Was he suffering? All we could do was guess, but at the time this video was made, and shared with people equipped to judge, the consensus was that this was not a happy dog, or—more practically speaking—an adoptable one, either. Best to let him go.<br />
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But Chucho had other ideas. On the same day the video was filmed, I brought him to the vet for a check-up—and he surprised us all by walking more or less in a straight line in the examination room. We had thought he might be blind, but after multiple tests (the vet stood in his way, put obstacles in his path, changed items of furniture around) we were convinced that he could see perfectly well. We were still no closer to figuring out why the walking-in-circles or the disorientation (painfully evident in the video), but it was clear that a) he wasn't blind, and b) he was improving. No way to know how much he'd improve, or whether he'd ever be completely normal, but it was only logical to give him the chance to recover as much, and as far, as he could.<br />
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We all breathed a sigh of relief.<br />
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And then, two days later, <i>this</i> happened.<br />
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Did he sense, somehow, that we were on the verge of making the decision to let him go? Did that last visit to the vet work some kind of all-is-well spell? Could it have been blue-harness magic? He seemed to like that harness. Bottom line, your guess is as good as mine. The point, however, is that as of that day, he improved by leaps and bounds. Three days later (the day after video #2), he was eating from a normal dog bowl. Unassisted. And there was no more of that walking-in-circles spooky crap. When I called him, he turned <i>toward</i> me (instead of toward the wall, or the sofa, or the <i>kenepa</i> tree), and actually <i>came</i> to me—in a straight line.<br />
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And so we began to look for a home for him in earnest. Yes, he'd probably need special care all his life, but—well, a dog that can eat and drink without physical assistance has a much better chance of being adopted versus one that can't.<br />
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So it was. After a halfway stop at a pseudo-foster (who had every intention of keeping him), he met the (human) love of his life and now lives in the Netherlands. He is feisty and doesn't allow his miniature size to limit him in any way. He shows no signs of reverting to his circle-walking days, except when stressed; he did it a little bit after his castration surgery, but once the anesthetic wore off completely, he was back to his normal, straight-line self.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chucho in the Netherlands, at his forever home. Yes, on the bed, <i style="font-size: 12.8px;">heel graag</i><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> ;)</span></td></tr>
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<i>All we need is love</i>. A flurry of miracles that converge on a single point, and—tah-dah! The rescuer—who wasn't a rescuer at all, just a normal, non-dog-loving person who saw a dog in distress and simply couldn't drive on, couldn't turn a blind eye. The vets who saw him—who could very easily have recommended euthanasia on the first day. The foster-slash-adopter who gave him a chance. And the adopter in the Netherlands, who gave him a home to belong to, and a life worth living.<br />
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I love this story. Chucho, you make me believe in miracles.<br />
<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-81891575291664654332017-04-22T18:06:00.000-04:002017-04-22T18:06:13.948-04:00A quick & dirty rescue storyI know, I know—I'm behind on rescue stories: the blind Chihuahua, the puppies... But this one happened just recently, and it has a gorgeous happy ending, too, so... Well, happy endings are too few and far between to postpone sharing, right?<br />
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Right.<br />
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So back in January I got a job. Yeah, a real one (albeit part-time), involving actual paychecks. And it didn't really work out the way I expected—I'll get into that some other time—so I quit. But, being the responsible human being I am, I didn't just <i>quit</i>; I gave a three-week notice. And over the course of those last three weeks, on my way to and from work, I kept seeing a rather large black dog, all matted fur and pointy ribs, on this one street. A rather busy street. I didn't see the dog every day, but whenever I did, traffic simply didn't allow me to stop. By the time I'd turned around and gone back, s/he was gone. Now, this dog looked skinny and in need of help, but s/he also looked street-smart. S/he wasn't panicky, dashing in front of oncoming cars or acting freaked out. (If she had, sorry, everyone, but I would've put the car in Park right there in the middle of the street and stopped traffic bodily if need be. I actually did that for a kitten, probably around a month old, that dashed out into the street right in front of the car ahead of me. I screeched to a stop, got out, ran out to stop the cars in the next lane, and herded the kitten—who was, miraculously, fine—back to his panicked owner on the sidewalk.)<br />
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This dog was different. S/he wasn't in any immediate danger. S/he needed food, certainly, and shouldn't have been on the street at all... But in this land of irresponsible owners who refuse to spay/neuter their dogs, who refuse to ensure their yards are properly enclosed, who throw away dogs like trash, you can imagine that not just the shelter but all animal welfare organizations and even homes of kind-hearted people are full to bursting with rescued dogs. My intention wasn't to pick the dog up, but only to give him/her food and water, and check out how friendly s/he was, maybe get close enough to assess his/her overall health. If there was an injury, or signs of any severe conditions, then I could ask for help. Until then, well. Just food.<br />
<br />
On my very last day at work, I drove home late (tying up loose ends, you know how it is), and so it happened that, when I drove down the street where I'd been seeing the dog, traffic was non-existent. <i>And the dog was there</i>. I didn't even take time to think about it: I had food in the car but no water, I wasn't really wearing rescue-friendly clothes (or shoes), I didn't have a big enough kennel with me, or even a leash. (Remember that <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-dog-rescuers-kit.html" target="_blank">dog rescue kit</a> we've talked about? And how important it is to always <i>always</i> have it with you? This is what happens when you get a job that requires you to act as if dogs don't rule your life.)<br />
<br />
Too late. I was already there. And you know it was a dog rescuer* who came up with <i>carpe diem</i>: no time like the present. I'd just have to make the best of it.<br />
<br />
I turned on my hazard lights and swung onto the shoulder, about ten meters from where s/he was sniffing at something in the grass, so as not to scare him/her away. I got out of the car, slowly, as silently as I could—a car door slamming would probably not be the best introduction—and walked around to the passenger side to get the food.<br />
<br />
The dog looked up when I opened the passenger door. Alert, but—maybe, hopefully—not scared. "Hey, baby. Hi, sweetheart. You want some food?" And, unbelievably, she approached me. Yes, this was a dog used to humans. She would've eaten directly from the container in my hand if I'd waited a second longer before putting it down on the ground. And eat she did, ravenously. Two container-fuls, then a third over which she finally seemed to slow down some. I kicked myself mentally over the lack of water, but—well, nothing to be done. And I had bigger problems.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
This dog was naught but skin and bones. But she was a purebred, or close to one; up close she looked like a Belgian shepherd. And she was human-friendly. That combination could only mean one thing: she had a home. She belonged to someone. A collar but no tags, though here in Curaçao that doesn't mean much; only about 20% of the (non-rescuer) people I know put tags on their dogs. Even fewer chip them. So the lack of ID didn't necessarily mean neglect, or abandonment. That could still be the case, of course, but... Bottom-line, this dog didn't belong in the street. As smart as she seemed, she was having a hard, hard time of it—those ribs told a story of hunger and fear that I didn't even want to contemplate. And much less contemplate the idea of leaving her there.<br />
<br />
But where could I take her? Not home; we are at a population of 9 canines at the moment, and although two of those are foster puppies (the last two out of a litter of 5; story to follow soon), the other 7, permanent, residents aren't exactly lovers of new additions. So, no, home was not an option. All the other rescuers I know had recently acquired new members, too, so also overflowing... Not an option, either. That left the shelter. But if rescuers are overwhelmed, the shelter is way, way beyond that.<br />
<br />
<i>Crap</i>.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Cars drove by. The dog sought out the last of the kibble from among the tufts of grass. I racked my brain for a solution. And then I caught a glimpse of metal peeking out from under the passenger seat—a stray leash! Would she let me put it on her? She seemed friendly enough, but up until then I'd been a fairy godmother of food. A leash was a wholly different scenario. And even if she allowed it, would she get into the car?<br />
<br />
I left it to fate. I'd try the leash. If she allowed that, I'd try to get her into the car. And if she did get in, well... Then I'd drive her to the shelter and beg for mercy. Maybe buy her some time, at least.<br />
<br />
Of course the stray leash wasn't a lasso leash, but it was still thin enough to make an efficient loop. When I approached the dog, she didn't back away, not an inch. Instead, she sought my hand. When I petted her, on the side of her face, behind her ear, down to her neck, she wagged her tail. Oh, man. No, honey, of course I won't leave you.<br />
<br />
I slipped the looped leash over her head, tightened it slowly, and braced for her to bolt. Nope. As soon as I stood up, she heeled. She walked right beside me to the back of the car, and when I asked her to jump in, she did—she tried, but she couldn't. She was too weak. She looked up at me, asking for help.<br />
<br />
Now, it's one thing to pet a strange dog, but to pick one up in your arms... If she freaked out, if she had an injury I couldn't see under all that matted fur and by picking her up I hurt her, my face—my jugular—was really, really close to her teeth. And this is a dog that, when healthy, should weigh upwards of 45 pounds.<br />
<br />
I crouched down beside her and explained what I was going to do. Not that I believe she'd understand; it was probably more for my benefit than for hers. Either way, it worked. She couldn't have weighed more than 20 lbs, she was that thin; when I lifted her up she didn't even twitch, just waited for me to set her down inside the car. And when I did, she stood still and looked at me as though waiting for permission to lie down. Yes, sweetheart, it's okay, you're safe now.<br />
<br />
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<br />
She rode like a champ, even—eventually—sticking her face out the window. She rode quietly, no fuss, no drama at all. At the shelter, when I opened the door for her, she waited for me to get a hold of the leash before jumping out. She walked neatly next to me, not pulling on the leash once. This was a well-trained dog. Someone had invested a lot of time and effort in her. Please, please let them be looking for her.<br />
<br />
The shelter turned me away even before I finished explaining where I'd found her or why I couldn't keep her. "I understand," I told them. "I'm a rescuer, too. I know you guys—and everyone else—is beyond capacity. But... what do I do?"<br />
<br />
So we got on the phone. Me, to a rescuer friend with a huge network in the hopes she could help me find a spot somewhere, somehow, for this Belgian girl. And the shelter volunteer to—well, I couldn't really tell, since it was all in Dutch, but she came back with a smile. "There's a family that lost a black shepherd a while back. I just called them. They're coming over now to see if it's her."<br />
<br />
In the meantime, they told me, she could stay in the quarantine kennel. Not the nicest place (it's meant to be isolation, so the cages are rather dark and, well, isolated), but we hoped she'd only be there briefly.<br />
<br />
And... she was. The shelter volunteer told me (the next day when I called) that, yes, it had been an ecstatic reunion. She and her brother had been missing since the end of December. Back in January, another dog rescuer spotted them (a few blocks from where I found her) and managed to get the male, but the female ran off and no one had seen her since. The owners had given up all hope, I'm sure—I can't imagine how horrible it must have been for them. And for her, the dog.<br />
<br />
So there you have it. Rescue stories rarely end well, let alone with a reunion like this one, the long-lost dog reunited with her family. It made my year to be a part of that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>*I totally made that up.</b></span><br />
<br />Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-8820202371361798562017-01-04T12:45:00.001-05:002022-07-02T19:28:40.731-04:00And so it begins, this year 2017...I hope you had the most wonderful beginning to the new year. May 2017 bring you naught but positivity and hope. (I know, for all us progressive, liberal types hope seems a tad out of reach, but remember <i>all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing</i>. It's easy to feel hopeful when things are going well; it is in dark times, though, when the light of hope is most needed. Keep the flame burning.)<br />
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<br />
I'm sorry for my absence. I haven't posted for over a month, and haven't written a serious post since the A to Z Challenge ended. And I'm sorry about that. You deserve better—and there's been plenty to write about, just... not enough time to do it, I guess. Speaking of time, I won't be joining the Challenge this year, by the way... A multitude of reasons, but mainly because the rescue book—the one that began in said A to Z Challenge—will be coming out within the next couple of months, and promoting that will probably overlap with April in some way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEl11NLH3iYlb0HvuiQffcwwjc4ENUreIk7aMXioOptpL-iZrjJB8vMBv_lrANfg3XOxiV6D7_1q_Al51OgbPQg3sDmzGA68gnuELqWvarZep1A8UnY3cSHhvHGUw_4oRcrHfZkSGU4-f/s1600/itsabouthedog_cover01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEl11NLH3iYlb0HvuiQffcwwjc4ENUreIk7aMXioOptpL-iZrjJB8vMBv_lrANfg3XOxiV6D7_1q_Al51OgbPQg3sDmzGA68gnuELqWvarZep1A8UnY3cSHhvHGUw_4oRcrHfZkSGU4-f/s640/itsabouthedog_cover01.jpg" width="418" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cover for the rescue book. Photo by yours truly (yes, that's <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/p/the-cast.html" target="_blank">Sam</a>),<br />
and design by Matt Potter, publisher extraordinaire at <a href="https://truthserumpress.net/" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Truth Serum Press</a>.</td></tr>
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<br />
A shame, really. I had a theme all planned out. <i style="font-weight: bold;">The A to Z of Fostering Rescue Dogs</i>, ha. A good follow-up to <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20of%20Dog%20Rescue%20%282016%29" target="_blank">the Rescue posts of last year</a> (and my publisher wants to work on a follow-up book, too, so... two birds, one stone, all that). In October I got involved in fostering again—which is part of the reason I've been so freaking busy. I'd been unable to foster since 2013 because three of my own dogs have 'issues' with new dogs, but... Well, the way things worked out, we didn't get much of a choice. (More on that later.) But, hey—perfect, right? I mean, this is all fresh material that will bring the whole fostering thing much more alive for strangers to the 'craft'... Yes, I'd have had some excellent A to Z posts. And I still plan on writing them, and certainly on writing the Fostering book, but... No, it won't happen this April.<br />
<br />
I may do something in April anyway, just to avoid losing the habit, but it won't be an alphabet thing. I'm thinking maybe a music thing. Maybe on <a href="http://guilie-castillo-oriard.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">the other blog</a>. I saw <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=30+day+music+challenge&espv=2&biw=1134&bih=1273&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiProz9g6nRAhXLOCYKHSODBRMQ_AUICCgB" target="_blank">this 30-day music challenge on Tumblr</a> a while back and, with some tweaks (additions, deletions, combinations, etc.), it might be fun. Maybe, if you're not an A-to-Z-er yourself (and if you love music), you might want to join me. We'll be the rogue April Challengers—ha!<br />
<br />
Anyway. I wanted to keep this short, but I promise to be back soon—like, within the week—to tell you about these fosters we've had. The first was a little Chihuahua mix that seemed to have some severe neurological issues; so severe, in fact, that he had us (heartbreakingly) convinced the kindest thing we could do was put him down and end his suffering. Then, a month later, he went to the best of the best forever homes—and we got a litter of five puppies, about 6 weeks old, who'd been abandoned in a plastic carry-all on the side of the road to die. One did, in fact, in my arms two weeks later, but the other four are doing great. The week before Christmas—the day of the winter solstice, actually (which I found beautifully coincidental)—they were declared healthy enough to receive their first vaccination.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5icsnMOIFdidzEjndCQqDWFyRZFyCnzbxu-jCj2nNmLX0TBJXqmCPPenWlvtiXWdGP_dNJmyp3EiAsB34XalsywLcOkcThPJC7at_xHsv2ET1CQIes1P732qIpH5brszzodql1DENRI5/s1600/20161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5icsnMOIFdidzEjndCQqDWFyRZFyCnzbxu-jCj2nNmLX0TBJXqmCPPenWlvtiXWdGP_dNJmyp3EiAsB34XalsywLcOkcThPJC7at_xHsv2ET1CQIes1P732qIpH5brszzodql1DENRI5/s640/20161.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The puppies! Clockwise from top left: Bowie (F), Jopie (M), Lemmy (M), <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Harper (F).</span></td></tr>
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<br />
So. More on the foster stories, puppies and Chihuahua, coming soon. I promise. One of my resolutions for 2017 is to <i style="font-weight: bold;">never</i> abandon this blog (or the other one) for more than 2 weeks. Yes, you can hold me to that :)<br />
<br />
Thanks for sticking with me, y'all.Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-41921211903329734302016-11-30T23:18:00.001-05:002016-11-30T23:18:33.034-05:00Because Nothing Connects Us With The Good Like A Puppy Coming HomeI don't know about you, but I needed this.<br />
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-57294948445253656692016-08-10T11:29:00.000-04:002016-08-10T11:29:04.277-04:00Your Feel-Good for the Day. Or the Week.How cool is this?<br />
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<br />
High school cross-country team take shelter dogs out for a run. Read the story <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/high-school-cross-country-team-shelter-dogs-run/" target="_blank">here</a>, and watch <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Luisescobar150/videos/10154319729111635/" target="_blank">the video</a> the team's coach (and mastermind behind the whole idea) posted on Facebook.<br />
<br />
Kudos, St. Joseph High School. Here's to more kids (and adults, and schools, and offices, and... well, <i>people</i>) following your example.Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-55821148390896181362016-07-18T12:04:00.001-04:002016-07-18T20:15:12.129-04:00"My Dog Has A Job?" — Guest Post by Lynne Hinkey (@LMHinkey)<div class="p1">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="http://www.lynnehinkey.com/" target="_blank">Lynne Hinkey</a> is a marine scientist by training, a writer by passion, and a curmudgeon by nature. An Olympic-caliber procrastinator, she honed her skill through years of practice and dedication to life on island-time. She uses her experiences living in the Caribbean to infuse her novels with tropical magic, from the siren call of the islands to the terror and hysteria caused by the mysterious chupacabra. </span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">P.S. from Guilie: And she *loves* dogs.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"He really, really likes his job."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Huh? I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe I was just skeptical of everything this woman said. I'd only come to the "Doggy Psychic" because it was a fundraiser for a dog rescue organization. I happily paid the $25 to sit in a room with this woman for 15 minutes to hear some broad generalizations that could apply to any dog since the money would help other dogs. But this didn't sound like a generalization. For starters, I was pretty sure Muggle didn't have a job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've had enough terriers and pit bulls to know it's important for some high-energy breeds to have enough physical and mental stimulation so they don't become destructive out of boredom or frustration. Those dogs need a job. Muggle is not that kind of dog. He came to us, a rescue from a kill shelter, with no training. He'd needed some obedience, but otherwise was perfectly content to lie on the sofa all day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"What job is that?" I asked. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">She sat quietly, eyes closed, one hand on my dog's head. "He really loves that you make him think and learn new things. He sees it as his job." Muggle had entered the room with me only minutes earlier, walked directly to her, and rested his chin in her lap. He'd sat there ever since. After a long moment, she opened her eyes. "You do agility with him, don't you? He's thinking about weave poles." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We had just started learning the weave poles in our agility class. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we took our first obedience lesson at the local agility club, I had no intention of ever doing actual agility. Like most people, when I thought of agility I envisioned wild-fast, crazy-smart Border Collies, and brilliant handlers with years of experience who clearly needed infinite free time to train their dogs to do such amazing feats. That wasn't me! Yet here we were, ten months later, doing agility. How did that happen?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We went to the local agility club because their obedience classes were at a convenient location. Since they are an agility club, all of their obedience classes include agility foundation skills. So, we learned some basic handling and even a few obstacles like jumps, tunnels, and the boggle board (the start of learning to go over a teeter). Then we kept on learning because we were having fun and becoming a team.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muggle and his trusty biped teammate.<br />
(Photo credit: Matt Drobnik)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Muggle learned obedience commands and how to navigate the obstacles. I learned all about positive reinforcement and the use of shaping. He learned to think and solve problems. I learned how to give him the information he needed and to trust he would do what I asked. He trusted me to reward him for doing what had evidently become his "job." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Agility is a great way to go beyond just meeting a (rescue) dog's physical needs of food and shelter, and provide them with mental stimulation. The thinking part of an agility class can use up excess energy more effectively than a long run. It gives dogs a job to do—one that will satisfy them (and you), and leave them fulfilled and tired. Agility builds their confidence and trust in you, and minimizes the difficulties that can come with any new dog, especially rescues that may have unknown trauma in their past. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Agility isn't only for Border Collies, Aussies, and herding dogs, and it isn't about winning ribbons and titles (not that those are bad things—we've earned a few ourselves!). First and foremost, it's about spending time with our dogs and the bond that forms and strengthens when we work as a team. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muggle and Lynne. Impossible not to feel the sheer joy here.<br />
(Photo credit: Matt Drobnik)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's about giving them a sense of achievement.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Whether you aspire to compete, or just have fun, agility is a great way to build a strong bond with your dog, rescue or not. It's easy to get started, even if you don't have a local agility or dog sport club. Any dog trainer who uses positive reinforcement, clicker-training, and/or shaping can help with the obedience portion (a simple sit, stay, and down). Then you do want to make sure to train your dog to safely perform the obstacles. There are also loads of helpful videos on YouTube to help get you started in your own house or yard. I guarantee, you'll have a lot of fun, and your dog will love his or her new job. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muggle, in absolute-focus mode<br />
(Photo credit: Matt Drobnik)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here are a few videos to get you and your agility teammate started: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ How to Make a Pet Agility Course ~ </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ Shaping Behavior ~ </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ Teaching Basic Jumping Skills ~ </span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ Teaching Left and Right to Your Agility Dog ~ </span></h2>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">~ * ~</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Lynne's short stories and essays have appeared in a number of print and online publications. Her debut novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Marina-Melee-Lynne-M-Hinkey-ebook/dp/B005W3X6WE?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc#nav-subnav" target="_blank">Marina Melee</a>, follows George Marshall as he trades in the corporate rat race for life on a tropical island only to find the easy life is hard work. In her second novel, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ye-Gods-Demons-Chupacabra-Stories-ebook/dp/B00K1N8VAM?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc#nav-subnav" target="_blank">Ye Gods! A Tale of Dogs and Demons</a>, Jack Halliman is looking for a cure to his writer's block but instead finds a dead body and becomes one of two suspects in a murder investigation. The other suspect is <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chupacabra" target="_blank">the chupacabra</a>. The mythical monster returns in book two of the chupacabra trilogy, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Familiar-Lynne-M-Hinkey/dp/1934081523?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc" target="_blank">The Un-Familiar: A Tale of Cats and Gods</a>. This time, he's brought along some friends—and a few enemies.</i></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-N9thxZ9c25_4UVScIVTexOoQh_13gyyUcsppFSxMJswx0JDkS5FWaJWXis5_WHG6XAQHJWL_7-dXMt5eNL5CTCpMaYcYm6PV4tyiDaQOrfpsZKdh6hlo2R-20ecD_79VQHNLL431o_D/s1600/un-familiar+cover+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ-N9thxZ9c25_4UVScIVTexOoQh_13gyyUcsppFSxMJswx0JDkS5FWaJWXis5_WHG6XAQHJWL_7-dXMt5eNL5CTCpMaYcYm6PV4tyiDaQOrfpsZKdh6hlo2R-20ecD_79VQHNLL431o_D/s640/un-familiar+cover+01.jpg" width="430" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casperian Books, 2016<br />
Available in paperback at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Familiar-Lynne-M-Hinkey/dp/1934081523" target="_blank">Amazon</a>; e-book coming in September</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>When not busy writing or procrastinating, Lynne is an adjunct associate professor of biology. She lives in Charleston, SC with her husband, cat, and two dogs, where she is an avid—but not particularly accomplished—agility competitor. You can find all her books at her <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lynne-Hinkey/e/B0052DMD7S" target="_blank">Amazon author page</a>.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lynne, it was lovely to get your outlook on agility and its benefits for our four-legged friends. I'm one of those who—until very recently—had an entirely wrong idea of what it actually was... But I've since become a convert. You say you're "not particularly accomplished" but, having seen the photos you post on Facebook, I'm your fan. And thank you also for the videos! I've already started working on the left and right one... Will post progress once we get it right (tee-hee).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'd love to know if anyone else has any agility experiences or insights (or questions). Did you watch the videos? Does it look impossible? I know it did to me before we tried it... Let me tell you, it's way <i>way</i> easier than it looks.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And do yourself a favor: read Lynne's books. She not just writes exceptionally well in terms of craft and story construction—her latest, <i>The Unfamiliar</i>, had me reading all night and well into the next day until I finished it—but, especially in the chupacabra series, she does an excellent job of shining an incisive, although subtle (and non-preachy, which I love), spotlight on the issues of animal welfare. <i>And</i> she regularly donates proceeds from her books to rescue organizations. (You can <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MarinaMelee/?fref=ts" target="_blank">follow her on Facebook</a> for updates.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thanks again, Lynne! Always a pleasure to host you on the blog. And thanks to everyone who's visiting and commenting... I promise to post more often :)</span></span><br />
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-25322797830688728562016-05-22T10:08:00.001-04:002016-05-22T10:08:11.363-04:00The Divide Between Animals & Humankind (or: Where Myth Meets Truth) — Guest Post by Ann Bennett<div>
<i><a href="https://plus.google.com/+AnnBennett/about" target="_blank">Ann Bennett</a> is out to give science a good (and fun!) name at <a href="http://scienceladybug.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Science Ladybug</a>. A</i><i>t <a href="http://annbennett2.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">So Much To Choose From</a>, s</i><i>he blogs about writing, her thoughts & experiences, and so much more. Welcome, Ann!</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes, late in the evening, I can hear my father’s voice. Playfully he spoke in rhymes and shared beloved stories. The ones I loved best were stories from his memory which had been passed down through generations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is one of my favorites.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">W</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">hen the world was young, all the animals got terribly mad at humans for killing them for food and never thanking them. So great was that anger, they decided to never speak to humans again. The Earth began to separate between them.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The humans were so sorry. The animals weren’t. They were furious with the humans. But the dog remembered their friend. So before the divide was too great, bravely they leapt to stand with humans. It was a risk. They may not have made it. But they did and were so happy, although they could no longer speak the same language as the humans.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Cats were also fond of humans. Seeing what the dogs had done, and being able to leap much better than the dog, they too made the jump. There was a greater loss of communication, but they were together.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Plants also felt much sympathy for people, and created remedies for their afflictions. </span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> In time, most animals forgave but did not forget to be cautious of people. They left people alone if the people left them alone. Some of the larger, powerful animals have no patience with humans. Only some of the smaller ones continue the fight today. When a spider bites for no reason, it still has the anger of its ancestors.</span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This story, deceptively simple, holds several truths:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> 1. The dog is a loyal, dutiful companion for humans. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dogs historically were used for protection and hunting. The relationship between dogs and humans has been mutually beneficial. The scientific proof is both species have had brain loss from their reliance on one another. Dogs have had a twenty percent loss and humans have had a ten percent loss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A terrier mix of mine who was named Muffin was a better mouser than any cat I have owned. All of my dogs are mousers; a few have been good at it. A yellow lab which I named Matilda would bring home rabbits she had caught. We all loved how she would pick a pear from a tree for a good snack. She loved it when you peeled a banana and gave it to her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">After taking her in, I had heard she had been traveling up and down the road in which I live looking for a home. She was in pretty good shape when I got her, so her hunting skills must've been quite good. What I have learned from rescuing dogs is that dumping dogs affects their mental health. Like humans, they suffer terribly from deprivation, abandonment and abuse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never thought Matilda would stop her constant whining to pledge her fealty to me. It was about five years before she was confident that she belonged. I had someone who was a pureblood fan who wanted her. I did not give her to them in that I never wanted Matilda to be abandoned again. Matilda was a noble dog who was a humble boss of my pack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Matilda was a friend and companion to my dog Partner. Partner was incredibly afraid of hands, probably due to abuse before my father rescued her. Partner was odd and the other dogs knew it. But Partner had a good friend in Matilda. He would lick the back of my legs on our daily walks. Matilda also trained my Pitbull puppy with a broken leg to become the kind dog she was born to be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I adopted a pregnant Chihuahua mix. This dog and her puppies have been boon companions to elderly and handicapped family members that live with me. Their antics bring much cheer, and no one sneaks up on us. Our house is in the country and not visible from the road. These dogs warn potential bad guys from the house.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> 2. Dogs communicate with their body language and vocalizations. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dogs do have a limited understanding of our conversations. My dogs all understand the word walk. One time when I wanted to disguise my intent to take them for a walk in a few moments, I used the word walk-walk real fast. Their eyes got big and they were watching me; they'd heard their favorite word.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dogs also are keen to recognize our emotional states. Part of training a dog is to project a confident energy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Dogs are so attuned to us, in fact, that they can predict low blood sugar levels in diabetics, and potential seizures. They're also trained as assistance dogs for the handicapped.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> 3. Dogs have stronger communication skills and are more domesticated than cats. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Dogs were domesticated around 10,000 years ago, and the cat about 7000 years ago. When man began to rely on agriculture, cats became useful in dealing with mice that fed on stored foods. The relationship with cats can be quite intense, but cats retain a much more wild nature than the dog.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> 4. Many pharmaceuticals are plant-based. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My great-grandmother had various cures based on wild and cultivated plants. My mother remembers her making a tea from roots as a child for health benefits. Many medications we take today originated from plants. Biochemists learned to synthesize these compounds in the lab and similar compounds that derive the same result.</span></div>
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<a href="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1417533366444-43834ad6b3bb?ixlib=rb-0.3.5&q=80&fm=jpg&crop=entropy&s=9c0429f0bdad3c98c5a7494e0c1754b5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1417533366444-43834ad6b3bb?ixlib=rb-0.3.5&q=80&fm=jpg&crop=entropy&s=9c0429f0bdad3c98c5a7494e0c1754b5" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"> 5. Wild animals avoid humans. </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">During hunting season, we know what is being hunted. They show up on my property. It is interesting how the deer and turkey know that no hunting is occurring on my property. Animals can smell us and instinctively move away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You read stories of an animal attacking a human. They only attack when they have been cornered, or when protecting their young. In North America, we have venomous species of snakes. But none of them will seek us out. It is important to note that there are aggressive animals and/or species. I have read the black mamba in Africa is aggressive. You always have to consider the temperament of the individual, the temperament of the species, and respect the fear response of a wild animal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> One huge tragedy in teaching children that snakes and other animals have value is the unwitting teaching children to not using caution. I had two four year old boys run to my dogs. Luckily, the Pitbull and terrier mix loved children. They stood there gently and allowed little hands to pet them. I did caution them (and Mom) that it is not good to pet strange dogs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes what is considered aggression is misinterpreted. The Coach whip snake is very nosy. If it sees you, it will chase you to keep looking at you. The story is they will wrap their bodies around you and whip you to death. I have encountered these snakes in a peach orchard. Yes, they are nosy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> The adage of making a lot of noise to scare snakes is a lousy way to run off a snake. Their sense of hearing is terrible. The best way to avoid snakes is to look carefully for them. Wear appropriate snake-proof footwear when moving through heavy brush. I use a walking stick to check out heavy brush. When clearing heavy brush, I wait until after the first freeze of the year if possible. I don’t like to accidentally kill snakes with my machinery. A good snake is not dead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But back to my dad’s story. Many folktales pass on wisdom and are relevant. In school, a visiting nurse related how some people in the country had placed spider webs on a wound. She talked about how unsanitary it was. When I proudly told the story at the dinner table, my dad said he remembered that done as a child. The spider web was used to stop bleeding. Spider webs are rich in vitamin K to stop bleeding and were used like gauze to help wounds heal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br />Certainly modern medicine is much better than folk remedies. But these folk remedies and stories carry much wisdom and truth that should not be discounted.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YnEothx-IzLmYCfFpCk0FCssO8T3ZLZL8VKBVZm3C1-KVbVWLMJVbqsmv6jZMiu0UDDJ0UNgFdgSV7onYiB60S8Tw9-uCOo13vM_aomS1pOz5tnm-ztVdDfYZJgNNZMu4684NHMu14vU/s1600/AnnB_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-YnEothx-IzLmYCfFpCk0FCssO8T3ZLZL8VKBVZm3C1-KVbVWLMJVbqsmv6jZMiu0UDDJ0UNgFdgSV7onYiB60S8Tw9-uCOo13vM_aomS1pOz5tnm-ztVdDfYZJgNNZMu4684NHMu14vU/s640/AnnB_04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ * ~ </span></h2>
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Thank you so much, Ann, for sharing this story and its wisdom, passed on through your father to you—and now, through you, to us. I love how it underlines the truths hidden in myth and legend... Seems to me that's always the case, isn't it? Then again, in Mexico we're pretty big on folk 'medicine'; I have absolute faith in teas and infusions, and herbal remedies for pretty much anything. (Disclaimer: my great-grandmother was a <i>curandera</i>, a medicine woman. Yeah.) </div>
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It's a hard line to walk, though. How to balance science with myth? When do we listen to Grandma (or Great-Grandma, as the case may be...)—and when to the doctor? Sometimes they might be saying the same thing with different vocabulary, but... what if they're not? </div>
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What say you, readers? Do you have a herbal first-aid kit at home, or is your faith more at home with modern medicine? What folk tales do you remember being told as a child? Was your father a storyteller? </div>
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Looking forward to hearing your thoughts and feedback!</div>
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-44479094933044930552016-05-15T00:53:00.001-04:002016-05-15T00:59:44.766-04:00The Story of Little Leo (and How He Adopted Us) — Guest Post by Susan Brody @unpubYAIt all started when cancer took our beloved Murphy from us in February. He wasn't quite 11 years old.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHDh-jj0NA6ZN8MirprYYJwBv-8knfGar_pMUYqpB7gGAhxa_yYQd16saKW2OgPsHJUjSnB1W_FEqmCkxXQljWpARt6XsVwBcMyRaqcUitbK8z0lcW1zoR4wmYsk1X9K7YCckszKwR5c-/s1600/Leo_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHDh-jj0NA6ZN8MirprYYJwBv-8knfGar_pMUYqpB7gGAhxa_yYQd16saKW2OgPsHJUjSnB1W_FEqmCkxXQljWpARt6XsVwBcMyRaqcUitbK8z0lcW1zoR4wmYsk1X9K7YCckszKwR5c-/s640/Leo_01.jpg" width="562" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Murphy & me</td></tr>
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We'd had three months of warning that this was coming. In November, he had collapsed. I was the only one home. I scooped him up and drove like a lunatic to the vet. The vet did a sonogram and showed me the unmistakable outline of the large tumor on his spleen. He could probably save him this time, the vet told me, but it would only be a matter of weeks or months until the tumor ruptured and no one would be able to save him. Every day from here on in would be a gift.<br />
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The vet did save him that time, and then performed the same miracle once again in December. But in January Murphy began steadily losing weight and becoming weaker, despite his six daily medications. When he collapsed again on February 6th, we knew it was the end. Despite all the time we'd had to prepare, once he was gone no one in my family could imagine what we would do without him.<br />
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But we still had another dog at home that we had to take care of: 8-year-old Finney, our younger Goldendoodle, who from the age of 8 weeks had never known life without Murphy. And, unlike us, he didn't understand what had happened.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Vzy4xHdc6A-VbeRh61OORXCjZd-7pZZC_1hVS5-lkGtLtRqKe9TMbQWjKNvIlgPnrymC7cbQ53yOkmn_nrAL5TMKHHeR9Fh0ucMNJj4oQ5hmu4F9cfDGibbwhc48yRpLB-pSQXs4s9Vg/s1600/Leo_02_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Vzy4xHdc6A-VbeRh61OORXCjZd-7pZZC_1hVS5-lkGtLtRqKe9TMbQWjKNvIlgPnrymC7cbQ53yOkmn_nrAL5TMKHHeR9Fh0ucMNJj4oQ5hmu4F9cfDGibbwhc48yRpLB-pSQXs4s9Vg/s640/Leo_02_A.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finney (left) and Murphy</td></tr>
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The month of February passed in a blur of tears. But at some point along the way, my 19-year-old daughter began campaigning for us to get another dog. It wasn't that she imagined we could ever replace Murphy; it was that she was very worried about Finney not having a companion. Gradually, my husband and I began to think about it, and we both came up with the same idea: that the best way to honor Murphy's generous spirit would be to save a life by adopting a shelter dog.<br />
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By the end of March we felt ready to begin our search. My daughter insisted that we look for a dog close to Finney's age, so that they would have roughly similar life expectancies. My husband and daughter both have pet allergies, so we tried to look for poodle mixes, but they were few and far between. And possibly the hardest part of all this would be that Finney has always been very selective about other dogs, and not in the least shy about making his preferences known.<br />
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We hit our fair share of bumps along this journey. Then, on April 12th, my husband emailed me at work: "Is this Cockapoo worth inquiring about?" It was a little guy, about 7 years old, who when rescued had been so neglected, his hair so hopelessly filthy and matted, that he had to be shaved down to the skin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGLFHGMyKzkMuWavwCAB0PUReEZVk2tdnGCXG8BizVAeyAXj22of7lsWtz02mC-jpGCdpvpYc6k82fDNy4eSokRTMdGjtY9hDJdfueXzs7oFNxStmc-r4tenJOVoPqwAgQfWRjmAXKo5u/s1600/Leo_03_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGLFHGMyKzkMuWavwCAB0PUReEZVk2tdnGCXG8BizVAeyAXj22of7lsWtz02mC-jpGCdpvpYc6k82fDNy4eSokRTMdGjtY9hDJdfueXzs7oFNxStmc-r4tenJOVoPqwAgQfWRjmAXKo5u/s640/Leo_03_A.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo, when he was rescued...</td></tr>
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But he was described as friendly and affectionate, and we decided it was worth the hour-long trip to the shelter to see whether he and Finney could get along.<br />
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The two of them seemed perfectly comfortable together right from the start of our meet-and-greet, and the three of us humans all fell in love with the little guy, who had recently been given a name at the shelter but who clearly didn't recognize it. When we signed the adoption agreement that day, the woman at the shelter urged us to give him yet another name, and we came up with Leo.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREpkdIAau2Gokojk0vE22-TCqJngxOvO5b8cFj8-9XiRLp1T5VY-P5YUmFD-X23Ttt_0oqJrL_Djh9i40hBCi9gHNRg4DdpFL6hkzZ3aOSOemOZY_KJEYZi8s5jNZaK-dnLPBZ0lWCmDB/s1600/Leo_04_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREpkdIAau2Gokojk0vE22-TCqJngxOvO5b8cFj8-9XiRLp1T5VY-P5YUmFD-X23Ttt_0oqJrL_Djh9i40hBCi9gHNRg4DdpFL6hkzZ3aOSOemOZY_KJEYZi8s5jNZaK-dnLPBZ0lWCmDB/s640/Leo_04_A.png" width="486" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At our meet-and-greet. (The white furry cutie in the back is Finney.)</td></tr>
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We didn't bring Leo home that day because the following weekend we were going to take a long-planned trip to Washington, D.C., visiting our adult son and his girlfriend. We weren't staying at a pet-friendly hotel, and we couldn't leave little Leo in a kennel his first weekend with us, so we arranged to pick him up the following Sunday on our way back from Washington.<br />
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Everything went smoothly that day. Leo didn't display any recognizable emotion—not fear, not excitement, nothing. He sat straight up on my daughter's lap in the back seat the whole way home, looking out the window. He didn't make a sound during the hour-long drive, and it was impossible to tell what was going on in his mind.<br />
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When we got home and out of the car, my daughter and I immediately attached his leash and took him for a walk around the block. That seemed to go fine. Meanwhile, my husband left to go pick up Finney from the kennel where he had spent the weekend.<br />
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We finished our walk and brought Leo into the back yard, and that was when I realized how freaked out he was. He wouldn't go farther than a small corner of the yard, no matter how much we encouraged him to explore. And when I brought him inside the house and put him down on the floor to sniff around, he went right back out to the yard again. I finally put his leash back on him, which he seemed to find comforting, and walked him around the house a little before bringing him back outside.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4Zk741DCgXblhH06fm_9y2FZRi_riA4PZaL-k9PKC7pZnBVZQzGJQmqCcaPm-VeEZ6rcc4l8WwCaYPLS566PJFw-2MNKYpNIZ2Oa2RrBy2smuZltL5jGeKM93hiXDIF3m1n5n7QgPgR5/s1600/Leo_05_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4Zk741DCgXblhH06fm_9y2FZRi_riA4PZaL-k9PKC7pZnBVZQzGJQmqCcaPm-VeEZ6rcc4l8WwCaYPLS566PJFw-2MNKYpNIZ2Oa2RrBy2smuZltL5jGeKM93hiXDIF3m1n5n7QgPgR5/s640/Leo_05_A.png" width="508" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo in the backyard, the day we brought him home.</td></tr>
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And that was when my husband pulled up in the driveway with Finney in the car. I panicked. If Leo was so traumatized by his new surroundings without another dog there, what would happen when he encountered Finney, who is three times his size? I instinctively scooped Leo up in my arms and braced myself for Finney to come bursting into the yard and finding the little intruder. A few seconds later, Finney did burst in, but the strangest thing happened. He walked right past me and Leo as if we weren't there. No reaction whatsoever. Had all the dogs in my life suddenly turned into zombies?<br />
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I figured that the two of them were going to have to meet sooner or later, so I put Leo down on the ground. Finney continued to act as if Leo were invisible, and Leo didn't show a whole lot of interest in Finney, either. I couldn't believe how nonchalant they were both acting. In fact, Finney's arrival seemed to make Leo feel more comfortable; he willingly followed into the house and started checking the place out.<br />
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That night, and the next day, I kept waiting for the shit to hit the fan between them, but it never did. And it still hasn't. Finney has been a saint about this attention-grabbing little interloper, and Leo quickly started acting as if he'd known Finney his whole life.<br />
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Things weren't perfect. Leo pooped in the house twice. It's been very had to convince him that whatever food is in Finney's bowl is the same as what's in his own bowl, not some magical elixir. But, overall, it's been a smoother ride than we ever imagined it could be. When we took them for a hike the following weekend, Leo just followed Finney around like an old pro.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFu8gyJPUctHEWVbVzimufWlyF-A6OO_kGrd4kYFREpma5lBsYlxr3QfZ_uhXqQ7CQR44kRefhKK0QKNHpbk-k7RhdgeX-ONv7O9iXSFKRmPpwrAY1pyWrhJYgxKJk5Gh0DmlavJqxStZI/s1600/Leo_06_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFu8gyJPUctHEWVbVzimufWlyF-A6OO_kGrd4kYFREpma5lBsYlxr3QfZ_uhXqQ7CQR44kRefhKK0QKNHpbk-k7RhdgeX-ONv7O9iXSFKRmPpwrAY1pyWrhJYgxKJk5Gh0DmlavJqxStZI/s640/Leo_06_A.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leo's first hike</td></tr>
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Leo's hair is growing back, and he's a healthy little boy who would be happy to sit on his new people's laps 24/7. I would have to say that, after 10 days of living together, we've all really adopted each other.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28YBHw7aD3JScfXUxkNmEowU89J6ww_Tjr57dKYx-SmeWar7Pqls074GzIfThq6nEFppaulErTMNK-Wm5iCc7h0Q3jz_LP89xggIMwNf_DOw5HByWn0RouQ9H3DFI2_YCxeQ7WvquAApR/s1600/Leo_07_A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28YBHw7aD3JScfXUxkNmEowU89J6ww_Tjr57dKYx-SmeWar7Pqls074GzIfThq6nEFppaulErTMNK-Wm5iCc7h0Q3jz_LP89xggIMwNf_DOw5HByWn0RouQ9H3DFI2_YCxeQ7WvquAApR/s640/Leo_07_A.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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And I feel sure that, somewhere, Murphy is watching and smiling.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGyk3t7bArFqbNRoMKb3ugPhhV_w4mxM29-DAWBfrIdJmc71YcGPP3jqN1r13SgnVe7b0GIxqf0Jihzcg8C9Ty319OgFAmsHKBR0gaym1xhpgG9koZCWvaMiPxGQES-z2XlGTn7dH84Oqi/s1600/Leo_09+%2528Murphy%2529-3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGyk3t7bArFqbNRoMKb3ugPhhV_w4mxM29-DAWBfrIdJmc71YcGPP3jqN1r13SgnVe7b0GIxqf0Jihzcg8C9Ty319OgFAmsHKBR0gaym1xhpgG9koZCWvaMiPxGQES-z2XlGTn7dH84Oqi/s640/Leo_09+%2528Murphy%2529-3.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ * ~ </span></h2>
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Thank you so much, Susan! Yes, I agree; wherever Murphy is, he must be so happy that you opened your home, and your hearts, to little Leo. There's so many positive things about this experience... You did a fine, fine job at all sorts of levels. I'd love to get into the details of how this magic happened—Finney's reaction, for instance, is a lesson in itself—so here's the plan: I'd like to invite this little community to join me in assimilating the learning here, and in a few days, once people have had a chance to read, comment, ask questions, mull it all over, I'll put up a follow-up post on bringing rescue dogs home using your story as illustration. Sound like a good idea? Oh, I hope so!</div>
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Thanks again for sharing this here. Much love and light to your beautiful family!<br />
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<i>Susan Brody blogs at <a href="https://theartofnotgettingpublished.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">TheArtofNotGettingPublished</a>, tweets as <a href="https://twitter.com/unpubYA?lang=en" target="_blank">@unpubYA</a>, and can also be found <a href="https://plus.google.com/107986701152542475329/posts" target="_blank">on G+</a>. </i></div>
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-12418777873296563232016-05-12T12:53:00.001-04:002016-05-12T12:54:46.418-04:00#AtoZChallenge Reflections on the #Dog Rescue Series<div class="p1">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduey7TYIKAxP7mCeHRvn36owL-zciXPIzLOL_l2XfrvX9-cmU_xLKcbrFAa0Kpth1fBZ9kW9kNcCZP6wiT__oF4kBSzrB1CjDNkyr12_B58JuDZuqoERzzGNU9_CkPfhzvECpR8sRwNLn/s1600/reflections02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduey7TYIKAxP7mCeHRvn36owL-zciXPIzLOL_l2XfrvX9-cmU_xLKcbrFAa0Kpth1fBZ9kW9kNcCZP6wiT__oF4kBSzrB1CjDNkyr12_B58JuDZuqoERzzGNU9_CkPfhzvECpR8sRwNLn/s640/reflections02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
It’s been 12 days since the last A2Z post went up, and I’m still in full-out PTA2Z (aka <i>post-traumatic A2Z disorder</i>). Even the sporadic <i>like</i> on FB feels like lifting a bag of cement. Twelve days and the house is still a mess. The dogs still need baths. We still haven't returned to our regular treks-and-hikes schedule. Twelve days, and my brain still feels fried. Twelve freakin' days <i>and I still haven't finished replying to comments!!!!</i></div>
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Seeing as this happens every single year, the question’s just begging to be asked: <i>Was it worth it?</i></div>
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One hundred percent. <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/p/what-is-blogging-from-to-z.html" target="_blank">The A2Z Challenge</a> is <i>always</i> worth it—the increased audience, the exciting new blogs we find to follow, the new friendships that bloom and enrich our blogging lives. But, for me, this year, on this blog, the Challenge was particularly special to me. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ FIRST ~ </span></h2>
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This blog had fallen into abandon. Before <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/03/atozchallenge-2016-theme-reveal-a-to-z.html" target="_blank">the Theme Reveal post</a>, I’d only published twice this year. <i>Twice</i>. And in 2015, I posted only six times. Even at <a href="http://guilie-castillo-oriard.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">my main blog</a> I post pretty sporadically, but… <i>six times</i>? In <i>one whole year</i>? That hardly qualifies as blogging at all!</div>
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It’s never been about having a huge audience here; dogs are a personal thing for me, and when I started this blog back in 2013, I was quite content to keep it low-profile. It's <i>my</i> Life In Dogs, after all, and probably of not much interest to anyone beyond other dog lovers, and then only some of those (I, for instance, don't follow a lot of pet bloggers). </div>
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But, small audience or large, the intention of this blog was always to chronicle life with my dogs, to keep track of their development, and of the learning they bring to me. How each of them has shaped my life. In order to do that, I need to post at least semi-regularly. I need to create the habit. The Challenge helped me not just get back into the groove of dog-writing, but also sparked all sorts of ideas for future posts—and connected me with some truly lovely blogger dog & rescue lovers who have succumbed to my arts of persuasion and will be guest-posting about their own stories here soon. This Sunday, for instance, we'll have Susan Brody of <a href="https://theartofnotgettingpublished.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">TheArtofNotGettingPublished</a> (I love that title!) with the story of Leo, the rescue dog she adopted <i>during the Challenge</i>—and which serves as perfect illustration of what it's like to bring a rescue dog home. And next week Ann Bennett, of awesome blogs <a href="http://scienceladybug.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Science Ladybug</a> and <a href="http://annbennett2.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">So Much to Choose From</a>, is coming by to share a story her dad told her a long time ago, a sort of fable about the rift between animals and humans—and how to breach it.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ SECOND ~ </span></h2>
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I never expected a theme as obscure as <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20of%20Dog%20Rescue%20%282016%29" target="_blank">Dog Rescue</a> to have the reach it did. Visits to the blog skyrocketed last month, way above visits in April 2014 (the last A2Z Challenge this blog participated in).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhSl0GeDgEjBThc5RcrR2yu1WtqiARRUzV2ZMNYSZEqYg1Ucg6zPEhrA-g3Y8Nty8MI01n6iCQBY_18EnGcjAj17AIZxjzai7Ssc_7VdWV2xq-66qELTIk4X7JjX8zMJMrJZ-Y6AVCwsT/s1600/Screenshot+2016-05-12+11.48.29.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhSl0GeDgEjBThc5RcrR2yu1WtqiARRUzV2ZMNYSZEqYg1Ucg6zPEhrA-g3Y8Nty8MI01n6iCQBY_18EnGcjAj17AIZxjzai7Ssc_7VdWV2xq-66qELTIk4X7JjX8zMJMrJZ-Y6AVCwsT/s640/Screenshot+2016-05-12+11.48.29.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Over 6,000 views last month! April 2014, t<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">he other, earlier, spike to the left, had only</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> 2,579 views.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">(Which back then, seemed like <i>OMG, so many!</i>)</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf48_UVCcgntBXOMBOdPs8_SRl3JYhC3zpKvLVEkjESFhfJxHw3sbVvnK5BAo6-UXcn4JFqjHGURiLCVmGehLJvVNfhorgbXdeplBN0cAhr1ugRwTOS3klKqO6o1GD0qmCw1Nfo5Yx1tyI/s1600/Screenshot+2016-05-12+12.09.40.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf48_UVCcgntBXOMBOdPs8_SRl3JYhC3zpKvLVEkjESFhfJxHw3sbVvnK5BAo6-UXcn4JFqjHGURiLCVmGehLJvVNfhorgbXdeplBN0cAhr1ugRwTOS3klKqO6o1GD0qmCw1Nfo5Yx1tyI/s640/Screenshot+2016-05-12+12.09.40.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The blog's top five all-time most popular posts—since the beginning of time. All from this April's Challenge.<br />
(Please note No. 5 is <a href="https://angelsbark.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Michele Truhlik</a>'s guest post for <i>W</i> — congratulations, Michele!!! And THANK YOU!)</td></tr>
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And not just visits. I mean, if you signed up for the Challenge, visits to your blog <i>will</i> skyrocket; your link is in the A2Z list, and at least a fifth of participating bloggers will click on it. But <i>commenting</i>… that’s another story. And I’m happy to report that those didn’t just reach all-time highs, but <i>showed a huge increase in repeats.</i> Over 70% of the people who commented once came back to comment again. And over 30% of them became regular visitors (3x a week or more) during April.<br />
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I’m… honored beyond what any words can express. Thank you.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ THIRD ~ </span></h2>
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Urged by several of you lovely readers who said (and said again, and again) that this series on dog rescue should be a book, I worked up the courage to mention it, totally nonchalant and as if in passing, to my publisher. I even qualified it with a, “… but it’s probably not your cup of tea, right?” Well, guess what? It <i>is</i> his cup of tea.<br />
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<i>Yay!</i><br />
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Therefore, coming soon to your favorite online retailer: <i>The A-to-Z of Dog Rescue</i>, book version.<br />
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<a href="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1455651264681-40d634a35ce4?ixlib=rb-0.3.5&q=80&fm=jpg&crop=entropy&s=3de37168fcdb12412a4245d8e1e0a0e1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1455651264681-40d634a35ce4?ixlib=rb-0.3.5&q=80&fm=jpg&crop=entropy&s=3de37168fcdb12412a4245d8e1e0a0e1" width="640" /></a></div>
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Well, soon-ish. There's still a lot of work to be done before these posts are print-ready... Edits, expansion on topics, add-ons (thanks, Jeffrey, for the brilliant suggestion about adding rescue stories to illustrate... real-life examples will make a world of difference, I think... and maybe also help the book reach a larger audience).</div>
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So, again, thank you—this time for pushing the issue of the book. Never would have happened without you. And I look forward to sharing the progress with you… It’s something you helped to create :)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbiDygV5_HcKTcU3CEBJiLVlyIv9KdpGCPBnePR-YtPeislIsNRKOoqWt_gjgymPI-ZYqpah7qeC62jyrdY7fx_610_5104BxnFICOv8GMGhyphenhyphenVG_5-eoLgelIlNCyOxBTuO37nHTTjF3t/s1600/dogs+2016+cover+photo+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbiDygV5_HcKTcU3CEBJiLVlyIv9KdpGCPBnePR-YtPeislIsNRKOoqWt_gjgymPI-ZYqpah7qeC62jyrdY7fx_610_5104BxnFICOv8GMGhyphenhyphenVG_5-eoLgelIlNCyOxBTuO37nHTTjF3t/s640/dogs+2016+cover+photo+05.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A huge <i>Thank You</i> from the whole Life In Dogs family.</td></tr>
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How about you? Was your April successful? Any powerful lessons you want to share? Join <a href="http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2016/05/2016-to-z-challenge-reflections.html" target="_blank">the Reflections hop</a>—and, if you already have, I’ll see you at your blog soon!</div>
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-13126652149801859172016-04-30T22:01:00.001-04:002016-04-30T22:12:45.524-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Zealot — #AtoZChallenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPK7yVzrFeRmb02-jCgWPqWxmSQOgpYxHJOmw330tLakUuQ9CZKfFoCQjoPMdkji73OYdgRHD4v6LevaQc2pyWmhabHaqLcnMx9oMZt7aLmmOovYtrArLDQ-c-6XqbDzb4HNzvyttXFmr/s1600/zealot_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPK7yVzrFeRmb02-jCgWPqWxmSQOgpYxHJOmw330tLakUuQ9CZKfFoCQjoPMdkji73OYdgRHD4v6LevaQc2pyWmhabHaqLcnMx9oMZt7aLmmOovYtrArLDQ-c-6XqbDzb4HNzvyttXFmr/s640/zealot_04.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As defined by the wise folk of <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/zealot" target="_blank">Merriam-Webster</a></td></tr>
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Animal rescue, like anything that involves intense emotional involvement—religion, politics, vaccines—has its share of zealots. <i>I am the sole possessor of Truth. Righteousness is mine.</i> (You know the drill.)</div>
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Look, I have nothing against deep convictions, or the passion to defend them. But there’s a fine, and murky, line between that and bigotry.</div>
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You’d think rescuers, being so compassionate, would extend at least some of that compassion to fellow humans, even to the ones who aren’t quite <i>there</i> yet in terms of illumination, those whose understanding of the stuff that really matters (<i>It’s About The Dog</i>) is somewhat under-developed. </div>
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Alas, no.</div>
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You want to make an enemy for life? Piss off a rescuer. </div>
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Granted, we probably won’t get pissed at any of the ‘normal’ stuff, like you standing us up for a date, or posting an unflattering photo of us on Facebook; it’ll be over the fact that <i>You bought a puppy WHERE???</i> Or because you moved and, instead of bringing your dog along, you rehomed him. Or maybe you happened to mention in passing that you’re looking for a purebred male to breed your pedigreed Afghan hound.</div>
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Whatever it is, chances are you won’t understand what you did wrong. But the consequences will be swift. <i>And thus the fierce hand of god smote the heathen heretic in holy righteousness.</i></div>
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I am not free of sin, so this isn’t about throwing stones—or, rather, if any stones need to be thrown, this is me volunteering as target practice. The truth is that it’s this zealot attitude of rescuers that gives all of us, even large-scale organizations like PETA and Greenpeace, a bad name. </div>
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If rescue is about improving the quality of life for animals, those of us involved in making it happen <i>need to rethink our strategy</i>. I don’t mean that we all need to become fake-smiley PR-ey lobbyists, but… Maybe just, you know, tone the bigotry down a notch. </div>
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It is, after all, About The Dog.</div>
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(And, one of these days, I’ll start listening to my own advice.)</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ * ~ </span></h2>
This has been an amazing month, and an amazing Challenge. You know, I almost didn't do this <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20of%20Dog%20Rescue%20%282016%29" target="_blank">A-Z of Dog Rescue</a> </i>series. I spoke to a few (non-blogger) people about the theme, and none seemed thrilled. Up until <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/03/atozchallenge-2016-theme-reveal-a-to-z.html" target="_blank">the Theme Reveal</a> in March, I was still debating... Should I, shouldn't I. In the end, it wasn't conviction that won out but a lack of any other alphabet-friendly ideas—and never have I been happier that the brainstorming failed. I knew the series would appeal to only a select group, but I never imagined the group would be so large, so diverse, so warm, so full of intelligent input and marvelous stories to share and enrich these posts with. It has been so rewarding to have so many repeat visitors; it feels like we've built a little community here, and I'm honored by that. I look forward to staying in touch, both here and at your own blogs—I've discovered so many fabulous ones this month!—throughout the year.<br />
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For a wonderful month. For all your encouragement (it's thanks to you that these posts will soon be collected into a book!). For the love you give, have given, and will give to your furry four-legged family members, if you have them. For the interest with which you've followed this series if you don't. For every comment, every share, every suggestion. For... well, <i>everything</i>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMmxV_oFvPRe_gsqcB9JaXYd0OAcou37BaBHVSpYPf14AjH29neNJ4T0rfNtXFvL5Q493OBf-059Dnw0o9S5_PZfhP_-rb2Ty604hNQhcsTGTGLu7tLu0ChSPLuZRUTVq-gklt4rWlatO/s1600/thankyou_neon01-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMmxV_oFvPRe_gsqcB9JaXYd0OAcou37BaBHVSpYPf14AjH29neNJ4T0rfNtXFvL5Q493OBf-059Dnw0o9S5_PZfhP_-rb2Ty604hNQhcsTGTGLu7tLu0ChSPLuZRUTVq-gklt4rWlatO/s640/thankyou_neon01-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Masha danki</i> is 'thank you very much' in Papiamentu, the language of Curaçao.<br />
And it's never been said as heartfelt as today, to you.</td></tr>
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See you soon!</div>
Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-39446798869211378672016-04-30T14:04:00.000-04:002016-04-30T14:04:09.887-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Youth vs Age — #AtoZChallenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What are the pros and cons of rescuing older vs. younger dogs? Is it really easier to rescue a puppy than a senior? </div>
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Puppies <i>can</i> be easier. They tend to follow Mom’s example, and if Mom is approachable, chances are the puppies will be, too. Even if she isn’t, though, if the puppies are young enough (under 12 weeks), their natural curiosity might still work in your favor. A good rescuer can take advantage of it, and turn the whole rescue into a game. </div>
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In a puppy, also, the natural affinity dogs have for humans might still be unchecked by negative experiences (which produce fear), so although they might be wary at first (they’ve never seen one of us), the domestication gene may be a good rescue ally.</div>
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<i>But</i>—you knew there was a <i>but</i> coming, didn’t you?—not all is peaches and cream with those cuddly balls of fur (i.e., they’re not always quite as willing as we’d like to be cuddled). Some of those fear-producing negative experiences seem to be passed on genetically; we fostered a dog once who turned out to be pregnant, probably had just become so a couple of days before we picked her up, and although her puppies were born at home and never knew a bad experience (trust me, we kept three of them and they’ve been as spoiled as any dog ever could be), they’re still fearful. </div>
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If Mom isn’t around, and especially if the puppies are under 8 weeks, their instinct is to hide… Which makes them incredibly hard to find. (Remember the <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-botched-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Botched</a></i> post?) Also, they rarely come singly—there’s usually a litter—so you’re going to have to deal with several of them at once. Pick carefully which one you’ll get first: if that intrepid explorer gets spooked, cries out or fights you as you pick him/her up, chances are the rest of the litter will run and—yep, hide. </div>
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And you also have the mom to contend with. Even the most docile of dogs will become a lioness when her babies are in (what they perceive as) danger. </div>
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Adult dogs, on the other hand, may <i>seem</i> like a tougher job for rescue—but they don’t have to be. If they’ve survived on their own for however long, it means they’re street-smart, which may mean they’ll be warier of humans, but may also mean they have the necessary experience to make judgment calls: is this a <i>good</i> human, or a <i>bad</i> human? </div>
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Don’t misunderstand me; these judgment calls don’t happen overnight, certainly not in a few minutes. What I mean is that these dogs will be willing to give you the chance—they’ll stay at a safe distance, and watch you from there—to show your true colors. But that is one chance, and <i>one</i> chance only. Squander it at your own, and the dog’s, peril.</div>
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Because of these street-smarts, adult dogs may also fall easier into a feeding routine than puppies, and, through it, into a relationship with you. Adult dog brains (just like adult human brains) are already wired to look for the pattern, to understand cause and effect, to analyze possible outcomes. If you are constant and consistent, if you follow the <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-trust-quadre.html" target="_blank">Trust Quadre</a>, you have a good chance of establishing yourself in their good graces. </div>
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The truth is that, like with everything else concerning rescuing, the issue of age cannot be taken as hard and fast. The only rule, when it comes to dog rescue, is that every dog is an individual. Every situation is unique. </div>
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As they’re so fond of saying in investment disclaimers, <i>past behavior is no indication of future results</i>. No truer words…</div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ * ~ </span></b></h2>
My apologies on the late posting, guys... I'm about ready to drop, haha. The <i>Z</i> post will go up soon... well, soon-ish. Sometime before midnight :D And, once again, thank you so, so much for all the love you've showered this blog with all month. You've been an amazing crowd, and I'm beyond grateful for your readership. And to celebrate you—and the end of the Challenge—I leave you with this... (No, no Kleenex needed. Unless you're the type that cry when you laugh too hard ;) )<br />
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-89871288801786062732016-04-28T15:12:00.002-04:002016-04-28T15:12:37.145-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: The X-Factor — #AtoZChallenge<div class="p1">
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So what is it, once all is said and done, that makes the difference between a successful rescue and a failed one? All month we’ve been talking about what to do and how to do it, but—really, does this all add up to a fail-safe recipe for success in dog rescuing?</div>
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Short answer: No.</div>
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(Wow. Shortest post I’ve written. <i>Ever</i>.)</div>
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No, of course it’s not that simple. There are too many variables in dog rescue. Too many unknowns. Too many <i>X</i> factors.</div>
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Beginning with the dog, of whose history you know nothing. You may assume and deduce and guess, but… no, not <i>know</i>. Same goes for his/her character. And these two things, their history and their character, are a huge factor. How skittish is s/he? How responsive to the lure of food? Plenty of strays and ferals prefer the safety of distance to the reward of even the tastiest morsel. </div>
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The location also plays a role: is the dog in a trash dump, in an abandoned lot, out in the street close to busy intersections? Any of those will require a different rescue approach. The clothes or shoes you’re wearing, the equipment you may (or may not) have in your car, the time of day, the people you’re with (or without)… </div>
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Regardless of the integrity of your intentions and your own preparation and experience, any number of things over which you have absolutely no control have the potential to affect the result.</div>
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Sometimes these variables play right into the plan. Sometimes everything just falls into place. Sometimes what seemed like a disaster ends up being a most unexpected windfall.<br />
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And sometimes… well.<br />
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It can be something as idiotic as your phone ringing just as the dog is coming closer. Or a curious stranger approaches and scares them off. Or workmen nearby start up their hydraulic drill. </div>
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It can be something as unforeseeable as the dog having negative associations to the food you’re using as bait—or, on the other hand, maybe your scent is similar to someone’s that the dog loved once, and your fellow rescuers will watch on in amazement as this frightened, catch-me-if-you-can dog approaches you with ears down and tail wagging, and begs for a belly rub.</div>
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When stuff like this happens, you realize that your role in this whole thing is actually very, very small. Rescue truly is about being the right person at the right place at the right time. And that <i>rightness</i>… well, it just can’t be predicted. Rescuers differ from other animal lovers in that they’re willing to put in the effort—the chase, the weeks of building a feeding routine, the counter-intuitiveness of approaching a snarling dog to slip a leash around his/her neck—to find out. And willing, also, when the <i>rightness</i> simply isn’t there, to try again. And again. Over and over.<br />
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The difference between a successful rescue and a failed one is <i>blind, cosmic luck</i>. You can get the odds to lean in your favor if you’re prepared, if you have some experience, if you’re in the right mindset. But, bottom line, what will make you a successful rescuer is perseverance. <i>Stubbornness.</i> When everything fails, you don’t give up.<br />
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Because you have the absolute certainty that, sooner or later, that unknowable, unforeseeable, uncontrollable <i>X</i> factor will be in your favor. And you have the patience to wait for it.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> ~ * ~ </span></h2>
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Can you believe we're two posts away from the A-to-Z Challenge finish line? Kind of bittersweet, isn't it? On one hand I'm looking forward to the end of my sleep deprivation... But on the other, quite honestly, I'm going to miss this daily interaction with you all. It's been such an enriching month, at so many levels. So, please, let's stay in touch, yes?<br />
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P.S. for those of you who so generously insisted these posts should be turned into a book: I mentioned the idea to my publisher—and he's interested! Sight-unseen as yet—and maybe, once he reads all this, he'll feel differently—but if he does like the posts, there will still be a lot of work ahead to build a book worthy of calling itself such. Sooooo... if you have any suggestions, topics that we didn't touch on in the series, or ones you want more of (or <i>don't</i> want more of), please let me know. Your feedback has been instrumental in the success of this series, and will be even more so for the book.<br />
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In advance, a <i>huge</i> hug of gratitude :)</div>
Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-69178611628741132142016-04-27T12:14:00.000-04:002016-04-27T12:14:08.060-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Who Rescues Who? — #AtoZChallenge<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> BELLA </span></h2>
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<i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By </span><a href="https://about.me/greyzoned" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michele Truhlik</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> at </span><a href="http://www.angelsbark.wordpress.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Angels Bark</span></a></i></h4>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-large; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> is something known as the “potato chip syndrome” to those of us in the greyhound communities. The famous Lay’s Potato Chips line, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>You can’t have just one</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, applies also to greyhounds: you simply can’t have just one! Many of us end up adopting a second greyhound, and then a third… and, for me, a fourth and a fifth. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella was my second. She joined me and Maggie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.295; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella’s story is heartbreaking, from her unfortunate beginnings and then her tragic end.* I first met her back when she was known as “Carol” (because that is the name of the woman who found her wandering around in the fields of her property), when she came into the foster program with the greyhound adoption group. And she was a mess! She had been out in the wild so long that she had developed a horrific case of mange. She literally had no fur! Her whole body was bald. Only her face had some sketchy patches of hair left. No one even knew what color she was going to be when her fur came back in. Yet, when I looked at her face, I saw an incredible beauty. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing much was known about this naked dog except that she was a former racing greyhound (as evidenced by the NGA** tattoos in her ears). But, from the condition she was in, everyone believed she had been relegated to the world of underground racing after her career was over. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(Some greyhounds are lucky and get put with adoption groups when their racing days are over. In these parts, others are not so fortunate and they end up in the seedy world of “rabbit runners”—the name for people who take greyhounds for illegal gambling purposes. They call them rabbit runners because these horrible criminals use live rabbits as bait for running. The dogs receive very little food—if any—and very little water, absolutely no veterinary attention, and they’re usually abused). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For some reason, I just couldn’t stop thinking about this dog! I called Beth, the adoption coordinator, and inquired about her status. Yes, she was still there, she had been spayed, was fattening up and her fur was finally filling in. So I let Beth know that if it was okay, I would give that dog a home and she could come live with me and Maggie. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The adoption was quickly finalized. I wasn’t crazy about the name </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Carol</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I renamed her </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Bella</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> because that Italian word for</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> beautiful</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> so suited her. Boy, was that ever a long settling-in process. Bella was a very frightened dog. So frightened that she was reluctant to even eat! I had to gently pull her up to her food every day and let her know that it was okay to indulge in that big bowl of kibble and mush in front of her. It was so obvious that she had suffered abuse at the hands of those who had once held her captive. When I’d reach down to pet her, she’d cower. Every time I’d move, she’d shrink down, with head bowed and tail tucked. I knew instantly that she had probably been hit or kicked…and probably both. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaKWo8p_Y2t4P3ZeRRaN0xP_tQ1Rg6B0-D4-O6FoDJXyudTRmVKmWCEAtXbD_krsdkujRZBkAO9Yu6WZSoB8yF04ZCn3HK_F4uAbAApdB5_ynbtECIsdFwJa8SsSFB7HU7xg_ot2G_VWUV/s1600/Bella_silhouette04.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaKWo8p_Y2t4P3ZeRRaN0xP_tQ1Rg6B0-D4-O6FoDJXyudTRmVKmWCEAtXbD_krsdkujRZBkAO9Yu6WZSoB8yF04ZCn3HK_F4uAbAApdB5_ynbtECIsdFwJa8SsSFB7HU7xg_ot2G_VWUV/s640/Bella_silhouette04.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: calibri; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.295; white-space: pre-wrap;">I would lie on the floor next to her, stroking her gorgeous golden fur. I felt her heart beating nearly out of her chest she was so scared, eyes wide with panicked uncertainty, always on the ready to flee. I worked with her every day to let her know that she was safe with us, and nothing bad was ever going to happen to her again. It took a long time — nine months in fact — before that angel girl would even allow me to stroke her face without flinching. She always did continue to keep her head down when approaching people… and she always approached with caution. Then she’d go off to a quiet place in the house, away from the activity. So came her nickname, compliments of my dad: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Lonesome Dove</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Over the years, Bella blossomed into one of the most trusting and sweet dogs. It was a process in which we both flourished. Bella was actually teaching me to trust as well. You see, I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>got</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Bella. I understood her fear and apprehension. Through her, I saw my own fears and insecurities. She was afraid of being hurt by people. So was I. She was afraid of being abandoned. So was I. She was afraid to love. So was I. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella taught me many things. She taught me that even though I’ve been hurt in the past, not everyone in the world is out to hurt me. When someone extends kindness toward me, I take one step closer to trust. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella grew to love and be loved. She grew to trust, and with that trust came security. Through her, I learned that when I trust and let people in, although a bit hesitant, I gain a sense of connectedness and security. Surprisingly, I feel safe. Bella taught me to have an open heart, knowing that even though the pain of the past never quite goes away, I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>can</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> get past it to live a full and happy life.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAd1u5_jnFB30nJ4IkMh_L3Bdc8UXkoFFchjZ9nWQ7SH9GW2KF8Uz-KqOhp3RH-bF89e3CBKtOyLX6U66Rp2Jl3pPMzOGPW6cU3qb44lXWSYMWmaJArOgFdnUps2NLzTcDvlLfYErrq60/s1600/bella+collage+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAd1u5_jnFB30nJ4IkMh_L3Bdc8UXkoFFchjZ9nWQ7SH9GW2KF8Uz-KqOhp3RH-bF89e3CBKtOyLX6U66Rp2Jl3pPMzOGPW6cU3qb44lXWSYMWmaJArOgFdnUps2NLzTcDvlLfYErrq60/s640/bella+collage+01.jpg" width="381" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This beautiful fawn greyhound enriched my life beyond measure. Like Bella, I still find myself going to my quiet place sometimes. But, in the silence, when I curl up to go to sleep, I have nothing to worry about. I know I am loved. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although Bella was considered the rescued one, I have to argue that it was I who was rescued.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">*I wish I could say that Bella and I had many years together. Sadly, she died on the table getting her teeth cleaned due to a reaction to the anesthesia. She was only 8. I was robbed of her physical presence, but the lessons she taught me and the love she shared with me live on forever. Until we meet again, my sweet girl…</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">** The National Greyhound Association (NGA) is the primary registry body for racing purebred dog Greyhound pedigrees in the United States.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: white;"> ~ * ~ </b></span></h2>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14.6667px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Michele, thank you so much for sharing Bella's story—and yours—here today. It's an honor to host you both. Although I'm still in tears that you lost her so soon, I have no doubt at all that the time she spent with you was the happiest of her life. You say she enriched your life beyond measure—but you enriched hers just as much. And now both of you have enriched mine :)</span></div>
Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com67tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-31218035614878451632016-04-26T16:37:00.001-04:002016-04-26T18:26:05.924-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Vets, Unsung Heroes — #AtoZChallenge<div class="p1">
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So you think rescuers have it bad? Putting their lives on the line with strange, scared dogs capable of anything? Yeah, it’s a rough life. But you know who else does that? <i>Every</i> day? </div>
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Vets.<br />
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In fact, vets may well be the most undervalued of animal welfare heroes. They do so much, and get so little recognition. </div>
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Being a vet is kind of like a mash-up of all the negative aspects of being a doctor (for humans), without any of the pluses. Think about it. Veterinary med school is just as hard, takes just as long—but with one crucial difference: you can count on one hand the ones who’ll ever come close to making the big bucks people doctors make. Their patients can’t talk, can’t say where it hurts or what they last ate. At least pediatricians have a parent to fill in the blanks—and a mom or dad can usually be trusted to follow instructions, call if something looks or feels wrong. (You wouldn’t believe how many dog owners don’t.) Also, people doctors restrict themselves to either general medicine (for anything more complicated than the common cold they’ll give you a referral) or to a particular specialty—<i>and</i> only for a single species (humans). But vets are expected to cover <i>all</i> the specialties, from reproductive health to ophthalmology to X-ray technician to pathology to diagnostics to odontology—even surgery! <i>And</i> they’re expected to do all that not just for dogs and cats but for <i>all sorts of species</i>.</div>
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Try asking your ophthalmologist about your digestive problems. Try asking him about your <i>dog’s</i> digestive problems.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcxsZy9eDRUbXycJyf2uxv8ZsEJCKLUmjYWkDtFt8DktDsFkFXl5DuZ5cqaeXjjwLz5hBjjYbi6FwksFDir3scaLj-LvkWydWs1E9Api6rWXlZor6voy-KnakmuluYjB372yXG7GEMGbj/s1600/man-1283235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcxsZy9eDRUbXycJyf2uxv8ZsEJCKLUmjYWkDtFt8DktDsFkFXl5DuZ5cqaeXjjwLz5hBjjYbi6FwksFDir3scaLj-LvkWydWs1E9Api6rWXlZor6voy-KnakmuluYjB372yXG7GEMGbj/s640/man-1283235.jpg" width="532" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You small, pathetic piece of feces. I am a </i>doctor<i>. I don't poke around in—in </i>animals<i>. Take it back before I sue you.</i></td></tr>
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No, <a href="https://thestagecoachroad.wordpress.com/2013/11/26/a-veterinarian-and-a-lawyer-walk-into-a-bar/" target="_blank">being a vet isn’t easy</a>. And, as if all of the above weren’t enough to qualify them for <i>most challenging profession ever</i>, they get all sorts of crap over their fees. You’ve no idea how often I hear people—<i>smart</i> people—complain about the vet bills they have to pay. Not long ago, at the vet’s waiting area, I witnessed a woman who refused to pay her bill. She’d brought in a puppy who had been diagnosed with parvovirus, too advanced to do anything but give him a painless way out. But his owner, this woman, didn’t want to pay for the euthanasia. “Why do I have to pay? He’s going to die anyway, right?” </div>
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<i>She preferred, rather than pay a measly 50 bucks, to take the puppy home and let him die on his own, in pain.</i></div>
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(The vets waived the fee—which is to say, they paid for it themselves—and put the puppy down anyway. The woman left happy.)</div>
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This is why, back when I was around 15, I decided against becoming a vet. This situation, with me as the medical professional, would’ve ended in a lawsuit. Or me in jail. And this is, too, why vets are my heroes. The idiocy they put up with, the costs they absorb, the strength of character and the patience they exhibit to educate the more-often-than-not clueless, and only sometimes well-intentioned people that walk through their doors… </div>
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And then there’s the actual patients. A vet’s physical integrity is on the line with every single animal they see, Chihuahua dog or Arabic stallion. We rescuers talk about building trust and taking our time, we talk about <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-dog-rescuers-kit.html" target="_blank">kits</a> and <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-catch-me-if-you-can.html" target="_blank">traps and tranquilizers</a>, and then we <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-immensity-of-it-all.html" target="_blank">celebrate</a> when, after three weeks, we finally get a dog into a car. The vet? S/he won’t get time to <i>make friends</i>, or to <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-trust-quadre.html" target="_blank">earn the dog’s trust</a></i>. S/he’s got a job to do—and that job means putting fingers and even noses closer to those unfriendly and very strong canine jaws than any rescuer. Do they balk? Do they say, <i>Ah, well, let's try again tomorrow</i>? </div>
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No. They GET THE JOB DONE.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Comics got it wrong, y'all. Clark Kent wasn't a journalist. He was a </i>vet<i>.</i></td></tr>
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Oh, and then there’s the rescuers themselves. “But this is a <i>street</i> dog. You should be doing it for <i>free</i>.”</div>
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Look. Vets volunteer enough of their lives to animal welfare already. They’ve committed <i>their entire careers</i> to low wages and the hardest, broadest, most challenging of medical professions <i>because they care</i>. No one becomes a vet for the money, or for glory, or even for academic recognition. No one’s going to win a Nobel for veterinary medicine.<b>*</b> No one’s going to name a hospital after you. No, if you chose to become a vet, it's because your desire to help animals trumped everything else. </div>
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Compared to vets, then, us rescuers are nothing but dilettantes.<br />
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Seriously. Hug your vet today. Bring them some coffee next time you visit. Some homemade cookies. And, please, don’t complain about your vet bill. If you have reason to believe you’re being overcharged—I won’t deny it happens; there’s unscrupulous people everywhere—then change vets (because, if their ethics are faulty that way, then your dog isn’t in safe hands anyway). But do your research. And check <i>why</i> a certain vet might be more expensive than another. If it’s talent, or commitment, I suggest you pay up. </div>
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<b>*</b> <i><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><a href="https://www.avma.org/News/JAVMANews/Pages/111201o.aspx" target="_blank">This guy</a> actually did win a Nobel. Even if the research that earned him the prize had to do more with human well-being rather than with animals', it gives me hope that maybe the world is beginning to realize we owe veterinarians huge, and long-overdue, recognition.</span></i><br />
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<b>Coming soon (in May, after we've all slept a week): HOW TO CHOOSE A VET</b></div>
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<b>Hint: <i>not</i> because they treat you nice.</b></div>
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Thanks for the visit, everyone! This has been the most rewarding A-to-Z I've done (it's my 5th)—and it's all thanks to you. Your comments, the stories you've shared, the insights you've provided... It's been one heck of a special April. <i>Masha danki!</i> (That's <i>thank you</i> in Papiamentu, the language of Curaçao.) Tomorrow there'll be a special treat waiting here for you: Michele Truhlik, of <a href="https://angelsbark.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Angels Bark</a>, will be here to tell the rescue story of one of her own dogs; it's guaranteed to stay with you for the rest of your life. (Bring Kleenex.)<br />
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-91646960004745185562016-04-25T19:00:00.000-04:002016-04-25T20:59:13.366-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Universality (The Price of Compassion) — #AtoZChallenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfQAm6BX0PYm6o4xzZ299wCwoatF3IhRVzYY9S6TRmtshPIMQHv7z5otZuXfVy177jRoaDeDuDGuvCluI9E9bVMyB0GTr-HOEn4KesvjJ_0tdTTLTSL8IKfwMj8oIPF4iPQatETf7MgAB/s1600/universality_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyfQAm6BX0PYm6o4xzZ299wCwoatF3IhRVzYY9S6TRmtshPIMQHv7z5otZuXfVy177jRoaDeDuDGuvCluI9E9bVMyB0GTr-HOEn4KesvjJ_0tdTTLTSL8IKfwMj8oIPF4iPQatETf7MgAB/s640/universality_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Dog rescuing comes with lots of consequences. A houseful of dogs, for instance. An ever-growing dent in the balance of your bank account. A fast-track education in veterinary medicine—and the basics of Zen philosophy. Some of these consequences you might expect; many you probably don't. Like how you'll start judging others by their attitude toward dogs. Or how your priorities will shift... All of a sudden those <i>when I win the lottery</i> dreams become less about yachts and round-the-world trips and more about buying a piece of land and turning it into a dog sanctuary.</div>
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Most of all, though, you’ll begin to notice a broadening of your perception. A certain <i>universality</i>. </div>
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Rescue, at its core, isn’t about a love of dogs. That might well be what brought you to it, but, once you’re in it, you’ll realize there’s a weird alchemy at work in your soul. Rescue, you see, is about compassion. And compassion is universal. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prince said it best. (Bon voyage, Your Majesty.)</td></tr>
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Compassion doesn’t restrict itself to a certain breed or a certain size or even a certain species. Compassion for one is compassion for all. It will happen before you know it; maybe your vet will raise an eyebrow the first time you show up with a pigeon or lizard or hamster, but by the time you start coming in (or calling them out to the middle of nowhere) with a horse, a goat, a deer, a… well, whatever form of life needs your help (and theirs), they’ll know to expect you with the broad-spectrum vet kit. </div>
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The thing is, not every vet can deal with any animal, or any emergency. And your local dog shelter will probably balk at housing a raccoon with a broken leg. So here’s my advice to you, dear Rescue Padawan. Do some research on the wildlife in your area. Are there any species that, like raccoons or possums, might be considered pests? Those are the most likely to cross your path in need of rescue. There might even be organizations devoted to their protection and welfare; many offer brief trainings or information sessions, even online.</div>
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Your focus might well remain on dogs (or cats, or whatever started you rescuing), but consider this your fair warning: even if it does, it won’t be <i>only</i> there. Prepare yourself.</div>
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P.S. — The rescue yesterday went... well, <i>okay</i>. The plan was to get two females to bring them in for sterilization, but we only managed to get one. Like I said before, though, one really does need to celebrate every little thing, so I'm looking at this as a 50% success rate :D I'll write more about it, and share more photos, later. For the time being, here's the little one we did catch...</div>
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-34963932996770458512016-04-23T13:29:00.000-04:002016-04-25T21:02:14.813-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: The Trust Quadre — #AtoZChallenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx1ZO4mMQHRq9FQ5SZwnH9yx1q25Cm7eN5CJWvwS2vRN5oYxZmBZ51H_a5vD_hNfqfUl-Itki3BtZ9PWDEEeNqXhr-y5eUuA8l2hngswxKaJoCOuFv6ITpxnhS9OtCQQpalehcqBCz4_D/s1600/trust_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx1ZO4mMQHRq9FQ5SZwnH9yx1q25Cm7eN5CJWvwS2vRN5oYxZmBZ51H_a5vD_hNfqfUl-Itki3BtZ9PWDEEeNqXhr-y5eUuA8l2hngswxKaJoCOuFv6ITpxnhS9OtCQQpalehcqBCz4_D/s640/trust_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Throughout <a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/search/label/A%20to%20Z%20of%20Dog%20Rescue%20%282016%29" target="_blank">this series</a>, we’ve been throwing around the word <i>trust</i> like a pinball. Getting the dog to trust you is, after all, the cornerstone of rescue. So maybe it’s time to talk about what <i>trust</i> means to a dog—and how you go about getting into their good, trusting, graces.</div>
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Dogs are, by nature (and by human domestication) not leaders but followers. They don’t want the Alpha role—and they’ll take it on only when they have no choice. Which is often the case on the street: through abandonment or abuse, a street dog’s covenant with humanity has been broken, and so they’ve had to rely on themselves to survive. But, at the core of every dog, is a nugget of instinct and desire to find safety—in the form of a pack, and a strong leader. </div>
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<i>That means you</i>.</div>
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Humans, being the clueless idiots we are, tend to equate leadership with loudness, strong personality, even violence. Dogs, being so much more intelligent than us, see this for the bullying it is—and the weakness it exhibits. For a dog to sense you as a leader, you’ll need to show four things:</div>
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Balance</h3>
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You can’t be nervous. You can’t be excited. You can’t be angry, or sad, or frustrated. Okay, let me rephrase: you <i>can</i> be any of these things, but <i>you can’t let them control you</i>. If you’re not in control of your emotions, how could you ever be in control of the pack? Get in touch with your Zen. Breathe.</div>
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Assertiveness</h3>
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Assertiveness isn’t dominance. It’s not a “my way or the highway” thing; your way <i>is</i> the highway—to safety, to a happy ending for the dog. Believe it, and the dog will believe it, too. </div>
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Respect</h3>
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Don’t just look at the dog; <i>see</i> him/her. Observe their attitude, their body language. Seek to understand them, and—more importantly—their needs. Establish a line of communication, but not of the <i>here boy</i> kind; your body speaks volumes, much louder, and more effective than any words. Avoid looking them straight in the eye; dogs read eye contact as aggression. Don’t move so fast; give them time to get used to you, to read you, to understand what you want. Bring your hands in from below, never from above. Always keep whatever you’re offering—food, your hand, a leash—under their nose. (Remember the <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-botched-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Botched</a></i> post?)</div>
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Use your body language to make it clear you understand what they’re saying to you (<i>I’m afraid, I don’t know what you want</i>), that you respect that, and that you have something important of your own to say (<i>I’m here to help, You don’t have to be alone anymore</i>).</div>
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Honesty</h3>
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Dogs can read you better than a gypsy palm reader at a state fair. (I mentioned that in the <i><a href="http://lifeindogs.blogspot.com/2016/04/a-z-of-dog-rescue-food-atozchallenge.html" target="_blank">Food</a></i> post—oh, by the way, remember that awesome video of the two-dog rescue on that post? it’s gone now, sadly…) Dogs sense ulterior motives, so honesty really is your best policy. Keep your bag of tricks, such as traps, for the very last of recourses—and prepare yourself: you’ll have a hell of a time gaining that dog’s trust afterwards.</div>
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Balance, assertiveness, respect, and honesty. The Trust Quadre.</div>
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Thank you so much for the visit! Tomorrow, Sunday, some of us are getting together to try to bring in a group of dogs wandering around Curaçao's World Trade Center. Wish us luck, please... I don't know these dogs, and I'm hoping they're not too skittish, but... well. Luck always comes in handy :)</div>
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Have a wonderful day off, A2Z-ers! See you Monday—for the last week of the Challenge! (Phew. Like <a href="http://jeffreyascott.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jeffrey Scott</a> said at the beginning of this week, when it's over I think I'll sleep for a whole week :D )</div>
Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2115660076832707211.post-59010504679415811392016-04-22T01:04:00.002-04:002016-04-22T01:19:50.327-04:00A-Z of #Dog Rescue: Sterilization — #AtoZChallenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7HGFygBXGndO4OjtNhs4puNnvIh9hHC92Je1EIh9ZLuqvicmEEaFHIc6RvN9c2PrcJ1OQxMxuJWI8M-Uh67Dm9fHFRT4WEr_nHvay7jQ6fj9wk4KZxhH-n0UFD-NWwIzwkdsjvrs5dgo/s1600/sterilization_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja7HGFygBXGndO4OjtNhs4puNnvIh9hHC92Je1EIh9ZLuqvicmEEaFHIc6RvN9c2PrcJ1OQxMxuJWI8M-Uh67Dm9fHFRT4WEr_nHvay7jQ6fj9wk4KZxhH-n0UFD-NWwIzwkdsjvrs5dgo/s640/sterilization_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We dog people often say <i>sterilization</i> when we mean spaying and/or neutering. But, actually, <i>sterilization</i> encompasses an entire gamut of procedures—and a pretty broad gamut it is, from surgical to non-surgical, and from permanent to temporary.</div>
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A quick overview:</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-large;"> NON-SURGICAL STERILIZATION (or CONTRACEPTION) </span></h2>
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Calcium chloride injected directly into the testes kills the tissue and causes sterility. If done properly, may be permanent—but it's impossible to know for sure. </div>
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Females receive a hormonal implant that regulates fertility. Risks are serious, though, and require careful monitoring. Few vets will recommend this.</div>
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Females are injected with a vaccine that produces antibodies, which attach to her eggs (<i>ovum</i>, if you want to get all technical) and prevent sperm from fertilizing them. Effects are only temporary.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://veterinarymedicine.dvm360.com/nonsurgical-methods-contraception-dogs-and-cats-where-are-we-now" target="_blank">Image Source</a></td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Fallopian tube ligation / Vasectomy</span></h3>
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Very rare; only a few vets will (can?) perform it. Just like in humans, this procedure involves tying off the conduits of eggs (fine, <i>ovum</i> then) and sperm to avoid reproduction—but, because no organs are removed, it is, at least in theory, reversible. (And, in more than just theory, also pretty unreliable. Just like in humans.) </div>
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The big guns. (The ones that get the job done.) In females, the removal of the ovaries (and sometimes the uterus); in males, the removal of the testes. Surgery is simple and fast, pain is minimal, speedy recovery. And sterilization is permanent. (What's not to like?)</div>
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Oh, I know. It's such a harsh word, isn’t it? Sterilization. <i>Sterile</i>. Makes one think of moonscapes, cold and barren. Of merciless sun on endless dunes. Desolation. Despair.</div>
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And yet, when it comes to dogs (and many animals), <i>permanent sterilization</i> is how we spell <i>hope</i>.</div>
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An estimated <i>three-quarters</i> of the world’s dogs are unwanted. Homeless, surrendered to shelters, abandoned, living in the streets. An overwhelming majority won’t get a happy ending; there simply aren’t enough homes. </div>
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And most of these dogs are fertile. They’re reproducing. Non-surgical options for population control aren't practical; they're either too expensive or not reliable enough. Which leaves us with—yes, <i>spaying</i> and <i>neutering</i>. </div>
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But why should you, a responsible owner, have to spay or neuter your dog? (I mean, <i>puppies!</i>) Plus, <i>you</i> would never abandon your dog. Your dog will never know a homeless life. </div>
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Think about this for a second. Can you really—absolutely, without any question at all—guarantee that your dog will never end up in the street? What if s/he gets lost? What if s/he’s stolen? Oh, and don’t forget Mother Nature. Hurricanes, earthquakes, fires—they shatter more than just human lives. Katrina left over 250,000 animals homeless. That’s <i>a quarter of a million</i>. And I bet none of their owners were prepared for that. (If they had been, they would’ve chipped them. And they would have <i>spayed</i> or <i>neutered</i> them.)</div>
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And then there are the marvelous side benefits:</div>
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<li>A non-spayed female has <i>seven times</i> the risk of getting breast cancer than a spayed one. And, in spayed females, the risk of ovarian cancer is <i>zero</i>.</li>
<li>A neutered male’s risk of testicular cancer is also zero, and his chances of developing prostatic cancer go significantly down.</li>
<li>Intact (non-neutered) males often escape to follow a female in heat. Neutering your male dog keeps him safe from getting lost, fighting, getting hit by a car…</li>
<li>Intact males will mark their territory (read <i>piss all over your house</i>) much more than neutered ones.</li>
<li>In a multi-dog household, hormones are the original apple of discord. If all your dogs are spayed and/or neutered, conflicts defuse much faster.</li>
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RESOURCES:</div>
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<a href="http://www.whole-dog-journal.com/issues/7_9/features/Spaying-and-Neuturing_15649-1.html" target="_blank">Spaying or Neutering — The Risks & Benefits (Whole Dog Journal)</a></div>
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<a href="http://veterinarymedicine.dvm360.com/nonsurgical-methods-contraception-dogs-and-cats-where-are-we-now?id=&pageID=1&sk=&date=" target="_blank">Non-Surgical Methods of Contraception in Dogs and Cats</a></div>
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Thanks for the visit! </div>
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P.S. — Happy <a href="http://www.earthday.org/" target="_blank">Earth Day</a>! Here's an excellent post on <a href="http://scienceladybug.blogspot.com/2016/04/sustainability-and-soil.html" target="_blank">Sustainability and Soil</a>, by superstar bio-wizard Ann Bennett of Science Ladybug, to start the day right. As for me, I'm taking three of the dogs for a celebratory walk in the Kabouterbos (literally, <i>dwarf forest</i>), a wooded area close to the house. (So I might be late with replies and visiting back... To make it up to you, I'll share the photos on tomorrow's post.) And you? Any special plans? </div>
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Guilie Castillohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09006999087139126972noreply@blogger.com30