Sunday, May 7, 2017

Help Baby Dog Walk Again

Baby the night I brought him home. Photo by D.S. Dollman.
Baby was rescued from the New Mexico desert, and like all rescue animals, he rescued me during a frightening, painful time in my life he stayed by my side. His loyalty has cost him the ability to walk. This is his story. At the bottom of the page there is a link to a campaign to help Baby walk.

When I lived in New Mexico I drove Buddy and Holly (my two chocolate labs) and my chihuahua, Chewy, out into the New Mexico desert so they could run free. There was a reason why we went to the desert, which I will explain in a moment. One day I kept seeing this image in my mind, the word "dog." I don't pretend to be a psychic. I have no idea why I saw this word, but I had run-ins with coyotes recently and my first thought was that this was a warning that my dogs were in danger.

Coyote watching us from a distance when I was walking one of my dogs on a street near the desert in New Mexico. 

When I pulled up to our usual spot the image in my mind was so strong that I panicked. I apologized to my dogs and started to turn the truck around. That's when Baby crawled out from beneath a sage brush. He was covered in sage. His ribs were showing, and he could barely stand.

I left the other dogs in the truck, grabbed their water dish and a water bottle and walked over to Baby. I poured water into the dish. He looked up at me as if he was afraid I was going to hit him, then he slowly approached the dish and began to drink. 

Baby

Baby the day I found him in the New Mexico desert. So beautiful. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

There is a city ordinance in the town where I lived in New Mexico and people cannot have lawns due to constant drought, so they often take their dogs into the desert for walks. We watched out for each other, keeping our animals in separate territories, picking up "runners" that strayed from their owners and returning them. The desert holds many dangers for dogs, including humans. There was a section of the desert that we always avoided because hunters would go there and I was certain I'd heard them shooting and shouting about trying to hit a "dog" a few days earlier. (Baby has scars on his arm that look like he was whipped, or tied and tried to get away). 

The night I met Baby another dog walker came by and asked if Baby belonged to me. He said he was watching from a nearby hill as Baby approached me and he wasn't sure if Baby was an abandoned animal because he appeared to be familiar with me. 

Abandonment is another problem in New Mexico. Most towns kill animals after two days in the shelter, but it is also against the law to surrender your pet. I once interviewed the employees at the local Humane Society and they said it was an ongoing issue they had fought with the counties for years, begging for more time, trying different ways to discourage animal abandonment, which happens often when the economy goes down and people can't afford to feed their pets--they take them out to the desert and leave them to the coyotes. 

Baby playing in the sand in the desert. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

The other dog walker told me he saw Baby the day before and was fairly certain Baby was abandoned. He felt relieved when he saw me. Then, of course, as he came closer he realized I was trying to help Baby, so we spent the next four hours making phone calls, trying to earn Baby's trust, and discussing different ways we could convince him to climb into the back of my truck--I already had three dogs in my back seat and he had four.

It was growing dark in the desert, but I refusesd to leave Baby there alone! 
Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

We stood in the desert debating our options. No one likes to make decisions about strays in New Mexico. There are so many illogical laws when it comes to animals. For instance, if a dog even looks at you in a strange way you have the right to shoot it in self defense. In many states, compassion, caring, and random acts of kindness toward animals are discouraged.

We decided to call the Humane Society and find out if Baby was reported missing, and if he wasn't, then one of us would take him home and try to find his owner to avoid having him killed. I discussed this policy in depth with employees at the local humane society once and they disagree with it completely. They said it is heartbreaking for them to collect animals because they know that most of them will be dead within a few days, and the employees will be the ones doing the killing. Most humane society employees in New Mexico are actively fighting for more "humane" treatment of animals in shelters.


Do you see the coyotes? I didn't, either, until I downloaded the photo onto my computer. There were four coyote standing in the sage brush, watching me take this photograph. 
Photo by Darla Sue Dollman. 

The man in the desert tried to convince Baby to jump into the back of his truck and Baby refused. I had a spare collar and leash in my truck that I slipped around Baby and the man drove slowly to the road where the desert meets the city roads with his arm out the window leading Baby along as Baby walked beside his car. We finally reached the road where we were told to wait, and we waited. 

The man had to leave for work so I volunteered to stay. I called animal control again. Dispatch said they were still coming and I should wait. I explained that I was now alone, in the desert, in the dark. I waited until 11 p.m. They never arrived, leaving a woman and four dogs alone on a street corner across from where the open desert begins. 

I finally opened the door to grab my phone and check in again and when I did Baby jumped into my truck and sat down on the back seat between Buddy and Holly, my chocolate labs. Buddy looked down at Baby and Baby looked up at him then they both looked at me as if to say, "What are you waiting for?" I knew then that they would be best friends, and they were best friends to the day Buddy died. 

Holly and Buddy. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Buddy

So, this is where Buddy enters this story. Baby saw Buddy as his protector. Every animal in the house considered Buddy their protector. All of the animals considered Buddy their protector. When he got into trouble, Baby would actually run for Buddy and try to hide behind him. 

I took Baby home that night and he climbed onto the dog beds. He later moved closer to Buddy and Holly and slept by their sides. I went to my room and turned on the television confident that the dogs would be just fine until I found Baby's owner. Needless to say, I never did find his owner. He is still my fella. 

Buddy, Baby, and Holly. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Evan Almighty

That night, Evan Almighty was on television. If you haven't seen the film--spoiler alert--at the beginning, Morgan Freeman, who plays God, is trying to convince Steve Carell, who plays Congressman Evan Baxter, to build an ark. At the beginning of the movie, Carrell moves his family into a new home and a stray dog walks onto the lawn and pees. 

As I watched the dog I thought of Baby lying on my lvivngroom floor, and how he so confidently walked into my home as if he had been a part of our pack for years. What would I do if I couldn't find his owner? I thought. I already had the two labs that we rescued from a farmer that had nearly a dozen dogs in the back of a hot pickup truck, and a chihuahua that someone abandoned on our property in Texas. As my ex-husband used to say, I don't rescue animals, they literally seek me down, and on that night I was already one animal away from my limit. I walked each animal every day, paid the vet bills, licensing, vaccinations and insurance on my own--it wouldn't be easy!  

Morgan Freeman, Photo by EJ Hersom. 2016. Public domain. 

I was still watching the movie, Steve Carrell tells his children repeatedly to ignore the dog and refuses to even offer the dog a drink. Finally, Freeman, or God, appears and convinces Carrel that he is truly God and that Carrel must build an ark. Carrel refuses. Finally, God pours water into a dish for the stray dog and the dog begins to drink, just like Baby in the desert.

Well, that was it for me--no more questions. I left the room to check on the animals. They were huddled up as if they'd spent years together. I stood and watched them for awhile. They were so comfortable together. Baby acted as if he hadn't slept for weeks, which may be true. 

Dog pile. Buddy, Holly and Baby snuggling up for the night. Photo by D.S. Dollman. 

The veterinarian told me later he was amazed that Baby survived the coyotes in the desert. I asked the vet why Baby insisted on relieving himself on my scented herbs. It didn't make sense--his stomach and the inside of his thighs were scratched and bleeding. The vet said Baby used the scented herbs, like sage brush, while he was abandoned in the desert to hide his scent from the coyotes. He is a very intelligent dog.

A Bowl of Water as an Act of Random Kindness

I returned to the movie. I was in the living room much longer than I thought. The film was almost over. Toward the end of the film, God prepares to say goodbye to Evan, and of course he leaves Evan with a message. The entire conversation suddenly became a metaphor for my situation. 

God: How do we change the world?

Evan Baxter: One single act of random kindness at a time.

God: [spoken while writing A-R-K on ground with a stick] One Act, of, Random, Kindness.

At that moment, I knew Baby was mine for life. With a bowl of water and a simple act of random kindness I changed his world forever and he changed mine. He is sleeping at my feet now with Holly. They sleep together every night, cuddled up tight the way Buddy and Holly used to sleep as puppies. Holly lost her brother, and gained a new protector. Perhaps it was all part of God's plan.

Still too Painful to Explain, but I'll try... 

I recently experienced extreme, organized harassment, or what is also called "mobbing" in my neighborhood. Tyrants always lose eventually, but this one man and his friends, who psychologists refer to as "flying monkeys,"(a reference to The Wizard of Oz and the flying monkeys who don't think for themselves and do what they're told),  became bored by the fact that I continued to ignore them, refused to make eye contact or speak to them, kept a smile on my face to show they could not change me and instructed my grandchildren--who knew what was happening and refused to leave my side--to do the same. 

"The monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and flew away with her"—illustration by W. W. Denslow in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (1900).

The instigator was violent from the start, pouring toxin all over my garden and the children's playset when I told him I would not hire him to mow my lawn (I wasn't trying to be mean. I owned a lawnmower and the day after he asked me my daughter arrived at my house to mow my lawn. The instigator spent the day drinking in his garage and kicking the walls--our driveways were connected--then pounded on my door that night, accusing me of hiring someone else for "his job." Then he suddenely stopped in the middle of his tirade and asked if my animals ever eat my plants. I told him that was a very strange question and he left. The next morning, my plants--over $200 in garden plants-- and the playset were covered with orange toxin. 

The night Buddy died my granddaughter and I came home and a group of young men, including the son of the instigator, were parked in front of my house barking at us, shouting "How's your dog?" and calling me "Dead Dog Darla!" a phrase the instigator's youngest son continued to shout at me until the day I moved out, three months after I moved in, and all because I said I would not hire him. 

That night, as they shouted at us, I wasn't sure exactly what they meant, but I knew it wasn't good. My granddaughter and I ran inside the house. Buddy was sick. My granddaughter held him in her arms whil I called the local emergency clinic. I was unable to convince the vet tech to wake up the veterinarian. I called every half hour until around four in the morning when the veterinarian arrived for her shift. She chastised me for not bringing him in earlier and forcing her staff to call her. "Seriously?" I asked her. "If I stormed into your office your staff would have called the police and had me arrested in front of my grandchild!" 

I called everyone I could think of to try and get help lifting Buddy into my truck--I have a spine injury and Buddy was huge. My granddaughter and I together could not lift him. Buddy raised his head and looked at us, and all the animals around him, let out a loud sigh, and as he did so the animals became frantic. He closed his eyes, dropped his head onto his bed and died. I later verified through his records that he was 15 years old when he died. He gave me 15 years of love, affection, complete dedication, never left my side, and died a slow, painful death at the hands of my neighbors because I politely explained that I couldn't afford to pay someone 160 dollars a month to mow my lawn and could mow my lawn myself. 

When we took Buddy into the vet, the veterinarian claimed I only called their office once, but I had a list of the times I called on my phone. She finally admitted that she had refused to come in because she didn't realize it was serious. She said, "It's always hard on staff when an animal dies." It was hard on her? It was hell on Buddy. 

When I brought Buddy in I told the vet I wanted an autopsy and she agreed, then she had me sign a paper for his cremation. When my daughter and I returned for the results of the autopsy the veterinarian claimed I "signed away the rights to an autopsy by agreeing to a cremation." Did she think we were going to take Buddy home after the autopsy? It was one lie after another and the stress was unbearable, knowing these sick, cruel people got away with murder, literally, over a lawnmower.  

There is so much more to this story, but it's stuck like a ball in my throat.

The "pack" waiting at the door when they heard my ex-husband's truck. They were all surrounding Buddy when he died, along with the cat. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Since that night I've read many articles about animals and grieving. When Buddy died, Chewy the chihuahua howled and jumped on Buddy's chest. Holly lay down beside him and wrapped her paws around Buddy's, the cat curled up against his back, but Baby was in a panic, frantically butting Buddy on the head, trying to wake him up, crying, crying real tears. After Buddy died, the cat developed a strange disease (the vet never could figure out why he died), Holly developed cancer, Chewy developed heart disease (now there's a metaphor) and Baby, who was afraid to go outside again, developed a tumor beneath his arm preventing him from walking. 

Baby's tumor. The link for the fundraiser to have Baby's tumor removed is at the end of this post. 

Buddy died in his bed surrounded by his family. He was the gentlest, kindest animal I have ever known. He lived a good life, a happy life, never barked or growled or showed a mean moment toward anyone, but no animal deserves to die at the hands of an abusive bully and his flying monkeys.

Buddy a few days before his death. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Veterinarians will claim that dogs do not cry real tears. They will also admit that they learn they are wrong about one assumption or another every day. Dogs cry real tears. My dogs cried that night. They changed that night. They were all deeply traumatized. 

The Mental Illness of Bullies

Sadly, the person who poisoned Buddy will never shed a tear. People who kill animals are psychopathic or sociopathic. They are mentally ill and studies conducted at the University of Chicago have shown their brains are wired differently. They feel pleasure when others feel pain. I pity their families--they will never know true  compassion or love, and the people who pretend to be their friends, their flying monkeys, are friends of fear--they already know the instigator is mentally ill, but they're afraid to admit it, and even more afraid to stand up to him. They know he is capable of doing anything to harm others.

Big-Nosed Kate, the Leader of the Bunny Pack

A few weeks later my rabbit, Katie, was also poisoned. She had seen the vet the day before and that night my granddaughter woke me up to tell me she was certain someone was walking around in my garage. The lid to her hutch was open--something I'd noticed often in the last few weeks before her death--but I knew that if I called the local police to ask for help they would do nothing. The dogs alerted me to Katie's death by howling and scratching at my legs. Chewy jumped on my chest, crying. Katie was paralyzed and there was a green, gooey substance in her cage--antifreeze, something I never keep in my garage. 

Katie and Layla Lou. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

All of the animals adored Big-Nose Kate. She was the bunny version of Buddy. My rabbits, dogs and cat all get along and spend warm summer afternoons together in my yard.  I had moved the rabbits inside when I became aware that a neighbor was watching me through the slats in my fence. There was a mysterious fire in the garage and I took the rabbits in to the vet to make certain they were okay. The vet ran a series of tests and took x-rays, so we know she was fine when I took her home that night. All night long we heard banging sounds on the walls and doors of the garage--typical flying monkey mobbing behavior according to psychologists. 

After Buddy and Katie died, when I took the animals outside they walked around in circles as if they were looking around for Buddy and Katie. They knew, and they were afraid. Baby was afraid. He was already traumatized and suddenly his place of rescue was no longer safe. My family and friends arrived late at night and packed everything I had in their trucks, then moved us to a safe house. It didn't take long--the mobbing started so quickly after I arrived that I never even unpacked. Everything I owned--exvept my clothes and bed--was still in the garage.  

Katie, my Flemish Giant, was also poisoned according to the vet. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Recovering From the Loss of a Friend

We moved into a new home temporarily. Baby slept snuggled up with Holly and Chewy every night, but he was afraid to go outside anymore and would cry when I made him go out after eating. He just wanted to sleep. We noticed that when we talked about Buddy the animals would wake up and start wagging their tails, so we stopped talking. We didn't want them to hurt anymore. 

One night, my granddaughter and I noticed Baby had developed a fatty tumor beneath his armpit. I repeatedly took him to vets--four times--and they all diagnosed a fatty tumor and told me his leg would eventually deform and he wouldn't be able to walk, but he couldn't lose weight if he didn't walk, and he couldn't walk because his foot was curving inward due to the tumor. 

Finally, I called a vet and asked if he could do a surgery to remove the tumor. He said yes. I then asked why Baby had to go to four different vets before someone suggested helping him--I could have used the money I spent on Baby's vet appointments and x-rays and tests to pay for the surgery! He agreed this was very wrong and offered to do the surgery at a discount. I lost so much, moving three times in a year, so much damage to my house and property from the mobbing, so much money on vet bills, and Baby is still waiting to walk again. I am praying for the day that I once again see him dance for his food. 
Baby sunbathing. I know Baby misses Buddy, but he'll be okay. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

I think Buddy would have wanted Baby, his sister, Chewy, the cat, me--everyone to feel safe and happy, and every day Baby finds some way to show me that he is, indeed, a happy dog in spite of his inability to move much further than his bed. 

And it all started with one act of random kindness--a bowl of water offered on a hot summer day in the New Mexico desert. 

Baby always finds some way to let me know he is a happy boy. He was playing with his blanket one day, tore a hole in the middle then stuck his head through the hole so it looked like he was wearing a poncho, then he curled up for a nap. Photo by D.S. Dollman.


On the recommendation of my veterinarian, and with the help of a friend, I now have a campaign set up to help pay for Baby's surger and help with Holly's cancer medication and Chewy's heart medication until Baby recovers: https://www.gofundme.com/help-save-my-aging-furfriends


"The indifference, callousness and contempt that so many people exhibit toward animals is evil first because it results in great suffering in animals, and second because it results in an incalculably great impoverishment of the human spirit." --Ashley Montagu





Friday, November 25, 2016

Snow Leopards: Beautiful Big Cats!

Snow Leopard at the Albuquerque Zoo. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

My granddaughter loves snow leopards, so this post is for Layla Marie. The first time I saw a live snow leopard was at the Albuquerque Zoo in New Mexico. I fell in love--they are beautiful big cats! However, I did wonder why I didn't see them more often, which is most likely because they are an endangered species. 

Snow Leopard at the Albuquerque Zoo. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman.

They are fascinating animals, though. As far as scientists can tell, they are not particularly aggressive toward humans unless threatened. They generally travel alone, and raise their cubs alone until the cub is 18 months. Like most predators they travel at dusk and dawn. They live in the mountains and live Ibex and Blue Sheep--I've only seen an Ibex in the zoo and I've never seen Blue Sheep! They are found in 12 countries, including Tibet. 

According to the World Wildlife Federation, they are endangered because they are killed for their lovely coats. They are also killed by farmers who believe they are preying on their farm animals. 

If you want to support the Snow Leopard they can be "adopted" through the World Wildlife Federation: https://donate.wwf.org.au/campaigns/adopt-a-snow-leopard/?&gclid=CIKblITpxNACFQ6CaQodwi8LeQ

and the Snow Leopard Trust: https://www.snowleopard.org/snow-leopard-facts/

Juvenile Snow Leopard Twins at the Albuquerque Zoo. Photo by Darla Sue Dollman


Saturday, May 21, 2016

The Haunted Sliding Cabinet Drawer

What appears to be a lump of fur lying on the top cabinets beneath a ten-foot ceiling is actually a very mysterious cat who somehow manages to leap onto the kitchen counter, then the top of the refrigerator, then the top counter where he hangs his tail over the edge and flips it back and forth, taunting the many dogs in this house. 

I first noticed Chewy the Chihuahua staring at the kitchen cabinet drawers shortly after we moved into the house. He wasn't barking or growling. He was staring, as if he was confused, or perhaps even frightened. We were new to the house, and I have read that animals are very perceptive to paranormal activity. The children suggested that perhaps there was a ghost in the kitchen. Then I saw the drawer slowly slide open then close again and I began to wonder...

I tried to push the drawers closed, but they seemed to be pushing against something soft. Chewy was even more confused. He checked the floor for clues. We were both at a loss, and it was very late, so I decided to go to bed. 

Later that night I walked upstairs for a bottle of water and noticed Chewy was still guarding the drawer. I finally convinced him to come to bed and as we left the room I heard the drawer slam. I glanced around the corner and noticed to drawer was completely open now, but the room was empty. 

I decided it was time for a stakeout. I left the dog in the basement and crept up the stairs. I discovered my daughter's monster cat, Samson, also standing near the drawer. I wasn't sure if he was searching for clues or involved in the mystery. I decided to stand quietly in the doorway, camera in hand, and watch to see what happened next. 

Samson heard the click of the camera and my cover was blown. However, I did notice he was standing suspiciously close to the drawer. I ducked around the corner and crept through the hall to another doorway.

I could only assume that Samson was also searching for clues to the mystery of the sliding drawer. Considering his massive size, I didn't expect that he would be capable of finding anything in or behind the drawer. 

Was he still searching? I couldn't tell! I will say this--I was NOT expecting to see him climb into the drawer! How could this massive 25 pound cat  possibly fit the front half of that body in such a small space? I was stunned...but Samson had even more surprises in store, or, um, drawer!

Samson started nudging at the top drawer, then sliding into the bottom drawer, working on both drawers at the same time to create space--this is one clever cat!

So, he was in the drawer. Or, partially in the drawer. Could he possibly stuff that huge bottom into the drawer?

He was trying! He seemed to know exactly what needed to be done. He didn't hesitate, he knew where to place his paws, when to move the top drawer out, when to push it in. I still don't know how the drawer above him works with this trick, but it does seem to be necessary for him to move the second drawer while sliding his body into the first. 

He did it! I almost wanted to clap, but I still couldn't figure out why the empty drawer would slide in and out! I had to figure this out. It was after midnight and I'd already wasted two hours watching this sneaky creature. There wasn't a chance that I would go to bed before figuring out the mystery.

And like the snap of my fingers, the drawer was empty. I didn't even see it happen. One second I was staring at his huge bottom stuffed in the drawer, the next he had completely disappeared...and the bottom drawer was slowly sliding in and out. I pushed it in, he pushed it back out. 

So, part of the mystery was solved--this gigantic feline somehow manages to climb behind the drawer and taunt the other animals by pushing the drawer in and out. I still don't know how he gets back out of the drawer, or even why he does this, but anyone who is owned by a cat knows that there is no explanation for their behavior. 

However, I did show the pictures to Chewy and explained to him that the kitchen is not haunted. When I told him he was being tricked by a cat, well, let's just say he was not amused...



In memory of Samson. You will always be a part of our family and your playful soul will always be a part of my treasured memories. May you rest in peace. 











Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Chihuahuas in Winter

Chewy the Chihuahua in his cool-weather sweater. Photo by D.S. Dollman. 

Chihuahuas are one of the oldest and smallest dog breeds known to man. They are believed to have originated in Mexico and are named after the State of Chihuahua in Mexico. Even when they are born and raised in northern parts of the world, chihuahuas still require special care during the cold. 

Chewy the chihuahua participating in his favorite pastime--sleeping. Note the size of his paws--they are dangerously small. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Keeping in mind that their paws are the size of bird feet, it's important to keep those tiny chihuahua paws warm and dry. If you live in a cold weather state, try to find little booties for your chihuahua. You may need to search for these online--to be honest, I've never found them in a store. 

Chewy the Chihuahua in his "Born to be Bad" hoodie. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Chewy the Chihuahua spent most of his life in Texas and the desert of New Mexico, but now that he lives in Colorado he always wears a sweater or jacket and is carried outside when he needs to go. If possible, he is placed on a dry or cleared spot for just a minute so he can get the job done, then carried back inside and wrapped in a blanket until he is warm again. 

Sweaters and jackets, like the one Chewy the Chihuahua is wearing in the above photo, are very important, even when the weather is slightly cold. It doesn't matter if the chihuahua is only outside for a short period of time. Even a few minutes in the snow and ice is too much for a chihuahua. It is much easier to find sweaters and jackets for chihuahuas than it is to find booties, but if you know of a source for small dog boots or shoes, please share the information in the comments section. 

Chewy the Chihuahua in his Pink Cadillac. Photo by D.S. Dollman. 

When walking your chihuahua during the winter season, you can also wrap him or her in a dog blanket as shown above. If you already own a chihuahua, you know they can be a bit stubborn. For instance, although Chewy the Chihuahua is sporting his favorite blue leash, he has refused for six years now to learn how to walk by my side. When I try to walk him on a leash he falls onto his back and makes pitiful howling sounds, drawing a huge crowd of neighbors who stare at the poor creature as if he is being abused. So, Chewy takes his walks in my granddaughter's old pink stroller, and in the wintertime he "walks" with a sweater or jacket and double blankets. 

Chewy the Chihuahua tucked in for his afternoon nap. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

If you keep your house at a temperature lower than the recommended 68 degrees your dog will burrow beneath the blankets. You may want to consider providing your chihuahua with his or her own blankets if you're uncomfortable having a mouth full of dog hair. 

Chewy the Chihuahua in his favorite blanket, which I purchased in Cancun, Mexico. Although it is doubtful that Chewy ever vacationed in Cancun, he does prefer this blanket. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Chewy prefers the warm, heavy blankets from Mexico--his country of origin--as shown above, but if there's a warm blanket available he will burrow all the way to the foot of the bed, regardless of where it was made.

Chewy the chihuahua burrowing. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Chewy the Chihuahua demonstrating the Chewito. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

In the above photos, Chewy the Chihuahua demonstrates what is known as "burrowing," or in my family, what is know as creating a Chewy Burrito, or Chewito. Burrowing is part of their nature. They were bred to burrow and kill rodents. 

Chewy wrapped in a matching yellow sheet ensemble. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

It is pretty much impossible to keep chihuahuas off the bed unless they are kenneled, and they do train to kennel quite easily. I prefer to use my chihuahua as a foot warmer, but he does have a habit of stealing my warm spot on the bed--as shown above--as soon as I stand up. 

Keep in mind that there are other odd habits that may develop from allowing your chihuahua on the bed. Chewy will only eat at night, after I have gone to bed, and he will only eat on my bed--gross as that sounds, I think this is because the larger dogs in my house tend to eat his share of the food. I've tried feeding him on the floor, but he is not the Alpha animal in our pack and will he walk away from his food to allow my female chocolate lab, Holly, to eat it instead (I think he has a crush, but that's another story). 

When Chewy does eat, he picks one kibble out at a time out of the bowl and drops it on the bed. Then he attacks the kibble; sometimes growls at it and scratches at it until it starts to roll on the comforter, then chases it or jumps on the bed so it pops up in the air so he can attack it again. If he loses that one kibble during the process, in spite of the fact that there's still 20 more kibbles waiting patiently to play in his bowl, he will desperately search the bed; or the floor; or nudge me out of the way to search beneath my pillow or dodge the slap of the cat and nudge the cat out of the way to search beneath the cat until he finds that one precious missing kibble. There's a lesson in there somewhere about gratitude.

Chewy showing his smile of gratitude. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

This is one grateful dog. As a child, when I refused to eat my liver and onions my mother often reminded me of the starving people in foreign countries. One of the interesting aspects of rescuing an animal is you don't know anything about its past, but it is highly probable that Chewy's mother was equally conscientious about the hungry pups wandering the streets of this world--Chewy knows the value of those tiny pieces of kibble!

Chewy the Chihuahua napping. Again. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Once the chihuahua learns he or she is allowed on the bed you may find it difficult to get the dog back off the bed. They are territorial animals and they love to sleep. In spite of his small size, and my king size bed, I often wake up in the middle of the night to find Chewy comfortably ensconced on my pillow while I am clinging to the mattress with my fingernails so I don't fall on the floor. 

Chewy the Chihuahua responding to a polite request to move over. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Of course, you could politely request more bed space from the chihuahua, but don't expect an immediate response. As I said before, they do love to sleep. 

Chewy the Chihuahua still contemplating the request to move over. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

No matter how much your chihuahua may love you--and I'm certain he or she loves you deeply--when it comes to getting out of bed, especially during cold weather, they are rarely responsive. Chewy the Chihuahua has been known to spend the entire day and night in bed when it is snowing or when the harsh spring winds blow, and he must be lifted and carried outside at appropriate times. 

Chewy the Chihuahua responding to a third request to get out of bed. Photo by D.S. Dollman.

Depending on how cold it is outside, as the pet of a chihuahua one must always be prepared for the response shown in the photo above when repeated requests are made to move from the bed during cold weather. Sometimes it's best to let sleeping dogs lie. 








Monday, November 16, 2015

Buddy

Buddy, the most compassionate animal I've ever known. 

It has taken me forever to write this, and I still don't know what to say. 

Two months ago I started working on a very long post about Buddy, the most compassionate animal I've ever known. Three weeks ago, around bedtime, Buddy started acting strange. 

I Googled his symptoms and the only posts that came up, time after time, were poisoning. I called the vet and the vet tech agreed that he most likely was poisoned--accidentally or intentionally--but without the poison there was no way to test him and find out how it happened or how to help him. The vet tech repeatedly told me--every hour until 4:20 a.m.--that she did not want to wake up the vet, and that Buddy would most likely vomit the toxin and "he will be just find in the morning" due to his large size. Finally, at 4:02 a.m. another vet tech told me that there would be little they could do for him, that he would most likely be fine in the morning, that "everyone likes to think of their animals as family, Honey," which naturally rubbed me the wrong way as I am a educated, intelligent grandmother who was watching my best friend die in my granddaughter's arms, then he told me that if I insisted I "could" bring Buddy in, but it would be up to the vet whether or not she would do anything to help him. 

Twenty minutes later he fell asleep, sighed deeply, then died. He was in his bed, at home, surrounded by his pack who all ran to his side. His sister licked his face and cried. The chihuahua nudged his back. Baby, the desert dog, head-butted him, trying to wake him up. 

This is all I can say for now. Buddy remains in my heart, and right now, everything I have to say about him is twisted in a tight ball of pain in my throat. I am working on his story, which I will share at a later date when I can bear the pain. 

Buddy's sister, Holly, is still fighting off cancer after two years, which is fantastic for a 17 year old dog, and the pack is comforting each other in their loss.