The Heralding Hound

Squirrel! Amazon Truck! RABBIT!!!

I started running with Ricochet. Looking back, I may have set the bar a little high. I figured he was a bigger dog so he would be able to run pretty fast and, as a herding dog, he was born to work with people and would do everything that I wanted to do. These things were not true.

It started off well enough, Ricochet paced himself well and ran slightly ahead of me. Perfect, I thought. I just knew he would be a natural. Fast forward to thirty seconds later when a squirrel had the audacity to climb a tree. Ric stops dead in his tracks to stare at it and I almost go flying right over him. Let’s keep going, no big deal…until there is a rabbit. He lunges and pulls trying to get at this sweet little bunny. Come on!!! Let’s just GO. We move along and we are having a really nice time for almost two streets. Then it happens. An Amazon delivery truck. There is a big truck, in my neighborhood, in broad daylight and Ricochet determines that it MUST be destroyed. He lunges, jumps, and starts running all of these obnoxious circles around me until I am fully tangled in his leash. Oye. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Then I think back to my first run when I started running with Waffles. I wasn’t fast. I had to stop constantly. I needed training before I did well. Waffles was patient with me and just seemed to say, “but isn’t it great that we are together? Stop worrying, let’s have fun.”

This time around, I would need to be the coach and the cheerleader. This time, I was the one who knew what I was doing. I stopped and turned off the running app on my phone. This wasn’t going to be about pace, distance, or time. This was going to be about becoming a team with Ricochet and teaching him that running together is fun. I turned off my music and focused on what Ric was doing and seeing. I said “come on Ric, let’s have some fun.” He stopped sniffing for little woodland creatures, looked at me and seemed to say, “well…..oookay. I like fun.”

We started on our run again. This time I paid more attention to what Ricochet was seeing and experiencing. I praised and encouraged him. When a little animal came around I would say, “yup! there’s a bunny, leave it and let’s keep going.” Sure enough, he did. He still perked up his ears. He still definitely knew exactly where that little critter was, but he kept going. Soon enough he was running ahead of me, doing little jumps, and looking back at me every thirty seconds or so. He was having fun. I was doing for him what Waffles did for me (I don’t think that little dog will ever be done teaching me). I took off the pressure and expectations and focused on having a great time. It’s going to take some time, it won’t happen over night and I know we have a lot of practice ahead of us but I also know that Ricochet and I make an amazing team. Eventually, we are going to be great.

Running Buddies

Waffles and I connected through running. I always loved Waffles. He was always my charming little scamp but there were times when he had…excess energy. This abundance of vivacity was never more apparent than during the beginning of COVID when the whole household was together. All. The. Time. He would chew the kids’ school materials, zoom back and forth across the room, and just brought a certain level of mayhem to an already new and chaotic situation.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, I’m going to start running with Waffies. First thing tomorrow at Dawn ‘O Clock.” I told Mez. He looked at me… probably supportively but I had said this type of thing before, “that sounds like a good idea, I think it would be nice to get some time to yourself, especially since we are all together so much right now. It might also help Waffles be less…exuberant.”

I said, “then it’s decided. I am a runner and Waffles is my running dog.”

Our first run was laughable. The dog did great, but I have never been much of a runner and hadn’t even made any attempts at running in over two years. I was always the person who liked the idea of running. I thought it always seemed like it would be meditative, peaceful…and give me some good leg muscles; however, I always quit. I would go three times one week and then stop for the next two months (or longer…). I was never consistent…until Waffles became my partner. There was just something about running with that dog. He was the ultimate coach and cheerleader. He didn’t worry about pace. He didn’t worry about distance. He didn’t care about beating his personal best. He cared about being with me, enjoying the moment, and just moving forward.

I will always be happy that the last thing Waffles and I did together was go for a run. It was how we truly came together as a team. It was our thing. The link between our hearts. Also, yes, it also helped to calm Waffles down so he stopped eating all of our stuff. I know that Waffles would be so surprised that I didn’t keep running after he was gone. It just felt so wrong. So empty. It made him being gone too real.

Now there is another dog in my house and I know that Waffles is over the rainbow bridge still acting as my coach, champion and cheerleader and he is saying, “Come on Ricochet! Get that girl off of the couch. It’s time for a run!”

Let’s Ride!

Ricochet got his first road trip under his belt this week. Let’s just say that Ric and I learned a lot about each other during our 12 hour adventure…

I had it all planned out. Nothing could go wrong. I had purchased one of those really handy safety restraints that clips into the seatbelt and laid a blanket across the backseat. Ricochet was going to lounge and be comfortable. I had looked ahead to where all of the travel centers were so that we could go for nice 20 minute walks every couple of hours to stretch out and burn some energy. I brought water, food, and his travel dishes to keep him fat and happy. It would be perfect.

We left exactly when we wanted to without a problem. Ricochet was stretched out and belted in the back seat and looked rather content. So far so good…until we reached the first roadside oasis.

I put Ric on his leash and started off for, what I thought would be, a peaceful and relaxing walk. It was this day and this time when I found Ricochet’s fear (or excitement? It’s hard to tell if he wants to attack them, run from them, or eat them). Semi Trucks. They were everywhere. Every time a truck would move, Ricochet would bark incessantly, lunge forward, and jump four feet in the air like a demented kangaroo. There would be no leisurely walks to be had.

No big deal, no big deal. I could still work with this. He seemed to be enjoying himself in the back seat so I would just stop for quick potty breaks and not do a walk if there were a bunch of trucks (which is every roadside oasis…). Keep going. Ricochet was happily riding, looking out the window, and sleeping. Suddenly, I had to break a little harder than I would have liked (of course while driving through Chicago) and that sweet dopey dog comes tumbling into the front center console looking both confused and proud of himself. What? How? His belt is only like 18 inches long!? He should be secure. Did I forget to buckle it? I grabbed his leash attachment…or at least what was left of it. The little bugger ate right through the leash! So here I am driving through traffic with a loose dog barking at 18 wheelers that he could now run across the car to fend off.

I gave him a quick push to the back seat. Luckily, I had a bully stick in my purse (what? You don’t carry a dehydrated bull penis around with you? Why not?). This would be a perfect distraction. I tossed it back to Ricochet and kept going.

This worked well for about 10 mins. You see, Ricochet still isn’t used to having nice things and often will only enjoy a toy or bone for about 5-10 mins before he gets nervous and goes and buries it outside for safe keeping. However, he had no access to the outside so that shouldn’t be an issue , right? Wrong. After about 10 minutes, he jumps into the far back and begins digging into the back mat cover and throwing it around to hide his precious resource.

After this he went back to his seat and fell into a lovely and peaceful sleep. We made it to our destination safely and with the wisdom that, on the way home, Sir Ricochet will certainly be riding in his crate.

Why Should I?

I love rescue dogs. Mutts are great and, truly, a lot of the “mutts” are no different than the designer dogs that you can end up paying a lot of money for. It’s fun to set aside breed expectations and take a chance on a pup that is really in need of a second chance.

Truth time. When I found out that Ricochet was a border collie I got SO excited. Border collies are geniuses! I could teach him to do anything. He would love to learn and be quick to master whatever I threw at him. I had instant visions of dog agility and fancy tricks. He would also be an excellent frisbee player. I just knew it.

Fast forward to reality: Ricochet is a lovely and adorable mutt (a designer dog!). He is over a year old and seemingly has never lived in a house before. He was found as a stray so I have no knowledge of his history with humans.

Ricochet didn’t know any commands, tricks, or house skills. The tasks that I thought he would attack with vim and vigor he approached with caution and reluctance. He is smart. Oh so very smart. Unfortunately, this means instead of excitedly awaiting my next instruction, Ricochet cocks his head to the side and looks at me seemingly saying, “aaannd why would I want to do that?”

This can be frustrating but it certainly doesn’t stem from lack of intelligence or potential. Ricochet just doesn’t know what it means to have a relationship with humans, to trust them and be a team. I know this relationship will take time. It will take time for him to fully bond with my family and me but, when he does, all of the work an effort will be worth it. This is part of the challenge and fun of adopting a rescue dog. You are taking a chance on them and working with the dog that you get, not the dog that you expect.

Gotcha Day!!!

I have had to remain a little quiet on the details of my mystery border collie (whom I don’t really think is a border collie, but no matter) because he could not be officially adopted until after his neuter date. I don’t like to count chickens until they hatch.

The foster dog came to us as a stray. He had been living in the streets for a while and did not have luck finding a home in the shelter. The shelter was incredibly overwhelmed with dogs and could only give each dog so much attention with the resources they had. Luckily, they have connected with out of state rescue groups that transport dogs and place them in foster homes so that the dogs can enjoy living with people in a home instead of a shelter.

When our dog came to us he was scared. He was lethargic and exhausted after being transported in a van with about 20 other dogs on a 16 hour trip. The poor guy looked rough. He has a double coat and hadn’t been brushed since he had started blowing coat probably months ago. He was scrappy looking to say the least.

When we got him home I sat on the front steps with the dog next to me. I scratched his ears and couldn’t help but look to the road where Waffles had died. I started tearing up and told the dog (if you don’t talk to your dog you’re missing out on some great conversations), “I’m sorry, I’m happy to have you here. It’s just been a rough few weeks.” I kid you not, the dog looked into my eyes, then laid his head on my shoulder, and let out a big dog sigh. I knew that he was communicating “me too.” I said, “maybe this will work out, it’s okay that we are both bouncing back from something hard.”

In that moment that foster dog became, “Ricochet,” and we are going to be great together.

Can Everyone PLEASE Stop Peeing?!?

Our foster dog seems to be getting much more comfortable. He has been so gentle and sweet with my kids and seems to have a wonderful disposition. Is he still sleeping all day? No. He loves to run and can apparently jump about 4 feet when he gets excited. Picture a funny looking kangaroo.

His house manners have been pretty good. I’m not sure if it’s that he doesn’t have experience being in houses or if perhaps a previous owner was unkind to him. He tends to either Velcro to one of our sides or lay quietly in a corner at this point. Oh yes, there is also the other thing. He keeps peeing…everywhere.

He’s so casual about it. Just lifts his leg and goes where he pleases. No remorse. No understanding of how the smell of pee can affect home value. And certainly no offers to clean it up himself. To top it off, I am also in the process of potty training my two-year-old. He also remains uninterested in the process and has no problem peeing on the floor. I am surrounded by un-housebroken males. We’re going to need more Resolve and Lysol wipes apparently.

The doggo isn’t neutered yet. I am hoping that this marking behavior minimizes once he is fixed. Until then, it’s taking him outside for potty breaks every hour or so and we also bought him a belly band. The belly band is a Velcro diaper-type-thing that goes around his waist and covers his manhood. It doesn’t stop him from marking but it catches the urine so that it isn’t getting all over the house and I can just toss the band in the wash. He seems to be getting the general idea and is having fewer and fewer “accidents” each day.

Still no progress on the two year old though. He is more than content to continue with his untrained and feral ways.

Expectations Managed

When I found out that we were able to foster a border collie I was beyond excited. We are not able to officially adopt him until he has been neutered, this is why he is starting as a foster. I just knew the dog would have tons of energy. I had been reading up on border collies and would need to start training him immediately. He would need no fewer than a billion toys to keep him busy. He would love running with me and be able to keep going all day. We would instantly love each other and everything would be great.

It was time to pick up the dog from transport. It was my first experience seeing dogs transported from a shelter in one state to foster homes in another. The dogs crates are stacked on top of each other in the back of a large truck and they drive for hours upon hours not knowing what is happening or where they are going. The whole experience is probably very scary and traumatic for the pups, but at least they are going somewhere safe. Then I saw him. Our foster. He was walking with a man slowly off of the truck. He was a border collie…well…at least there was probably something to do with a border collie somewhere in his DNA. He is definitely what one might call a “mixed breed.” No matter, my favorite breed of dog is a dog so I’m not hard to make happy.

When we arrived home I suggested that we go in the backyard with him since he would probably have a ton of energy to run off. I released the dog into the yard and he…turned three circles and plopped down on our deck. He laid there and slept…and slept for most of the evening. When he woke up I grabbed some training treats to get an idea of what he had learned in the shelter…nothing. The dog did not even know “sit.” I suggested that we take him inside but he looked at the stairs like they were some type of mountain formed from lava. It was then that I remembered he had been found as a stray. He may have never even stepped foot in a house for all that I know.

The dog went and laid back down on our deck. He was so gentle and I could tell that he had a wonderful and sweet disposition. He was just scared, unsure, and completely out of his element. I had done all kinds of research and preparation but had failed to remember the most important thing. Relationships and trust are not formed instantly. This was going to take time and we were all going to have to be patient.

The Paw Print

“Your items are ready for pickup.” That was all it said. It was a text from the veterinarian’s office. I couldn’t remember ordering anything and kept looking at the text trying to decipher the meaning. Then I realized, the “items” were Waffles’ ashes and paw print.

I called my husband and asked if he could swing by the vet office after work to pick up the “items.” He said that he would and I spent the rest of the day telling myself that it wouldn’t be that bad. It had been a couple of weeks and I felt that I could handle it.

My husband (let’s start calling him Mez. This is getting redundant) came in with a little bag and showed me a beautiful card the veterinary office had written for us. I pulled a small box out of the bag. Waffles’ ashes. It was really beautifully done and I knew that we would find a nice place for them in time.

I said to Mez, “I was dreading this all day, but that wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

He said, “that’s not the one that hurts.”

He then pulled a small white imprint of Waffles’ paw from the bag.

It felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Oh, that paw. There was a little bit of dirt in the print from the morning run we had taken together just before the accident. It was so real. All of these memories just came flooding into my mind.

Taking his paw in my hand the day we adopted him. “Nice to meet you Waffles.”

My kids teaching him how to “shake.”

Him stretching out and reaching up his until his paws were resting on my leg (he wasn’t big but he sure knew how to take up room on the couch).

He would always know when I was having a bad day. He would sit by me and I would rub that paw.

The sound of his paws when we ran together in the morning.

Holding his paw and telling him he was going to be okay. Even though I knew he wouldn’t be.

Taking his paw in my hand and saying. “I love you, goodbye.”

He was so real. So important. Then he was gone and the only thing left were the “items” in my hands and the paw print that will forever be on my heart.

“MUST be Under 30lbs”

I reached out to a dog rescue group. The woman who runs it said that their process was to come do a home visit (my guess is to make sure that I don’t already have a bunch of uncared for animals). After the home visit we are preapproved to adopt when a pup comes along that we like.

The woman at the rescue (that’s a lot to keep typing. I’ll call her…Candace) asked, “so, can you tell me a bit about you and your family?”

“Sure, my husband and I have three kids. We are active. I like to go running. As a family we like to camp, hike, go to parks, and we travel quite a bit because my husband is in the military.”

“Oh my goodness! I have a border collie mix coming in from a shelter. Those dogs aren’t for everyone because they are energetic but it sounds your family could keep up with one”

I was so excited. “That sounds so perfect Candace, do you happen to know how big he is?” (clearly I am having a hard time letting go of my list).

“Um….let me see…he’s 45lbs it says here.”

“Oh, bummer. I think that is just too big for us. You see, we are looking for a dog that is under 30lbs. We travel and drive a lot so I need a dog that’s not too little but also doesn’t take up too much room in the car.”

“Okay, that makes sense. How about I just send you some pics of the dogs we have coming in?” She suggested.

“Yes, that would be wonderful, I can’t wait to see them.”

So there I am scrolling through the pictures of the dogs. They are all adorable but I remain pretty neutral. Then, I just couldn’t resist, I sent Candace a message asking to see a picture of the border collie mix…just out of curiosity.

His face just hit me. He looked so smart and so happy and was just radiating good vibes. But…he weighs 45lbs. The 30lb max rule was one of the more logical qualities on my list…but that face, that energy…ugh. How do I get around this??

I’ll tell you how.

I immediately went downstairs and said to my husband, “you know…I’ve been thinking…I think it would be great if we bought a car topper. You know? Because then, when we do our road trips, we could just throw all of our stuff up on top of the roof. So much foot room and increased visibility!”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Bec…are you just trying to get a bigger dog?? Or are we talking 5 little dogs now?”

Dang. He’s good. I thought I had presented my case pretty casually. Guess not.

Did he think I was crazy? I mean…probably. Luckily though, we embrace each other’s crazy. Heck, we even encourage it. I truly believe that our purpose for finding one another in this universe was simply to double check each other’s parachute before jumping into our next crazy endeavor.

Suffice it to say, we now have a car topper and are going to be fostering this mystery border collie.

I can’t wait.

This Ain’t E Harmony

I’m a Type A personality with a touch of chaos and impulsivity thrown in for good measure. The joy that a label maker or a freshly laminated sheet of paper brings me can not be described. Making lists is fun to me. A plan. A thoughtfully organized (and likely color coded) sense of direction. Because of this, I decided that, if we are going to bring a new dog into our lives, I needed to make a detailed list of must-have qualities that we are looking for.

I sat down with my notebook and started listing everything that I needed in a dog:

friendly

likes to cuddle

no bigger than 30lbs max

Loves to go running

House broken

Great house manners

Loves children

Silly

Good in the car

Floppy ears a bonus

The list went on and on. I just kept writing quality after quality, demand after demand. Then, all of a sudden, I realized I was crying. Did the thoroughness of my list bring me to tears? No. I was crying because line by line, I was describing Waffles. My requirement for my new dog was that they be an exact replica of my old dog.

I showed the list to my husband and he said, “you know, if this had been our list when we were adopting Waffles, Waffles NEVER would have made the cut.”

Oh my gosh. He was right. It was then that I remembered what Waffles was like when we first met. He was not potty trained, he chewed everything, he took food directly out of my kids’ hands, and he constantly ran away. In fact, we were not his first or his second home. He had been surrendered twice. We were his THIRD home. He had been described as “completely untrainable.” I saw his face and saw intelligence and potential. My husband had asked why I thought Waffles would be any different for us and I had responded, “he probably won’t, but we could be different for him.”

Waffles became Waffles because he was shown love, consistency, and tons of patience. I had opened my heart to him and given him a chance.

I cannot bring Waffles back. I am going to need to love and accept my new dog for the unique little soul that they are. Adopting a dog means welcoming them into your home, showing them love, and seeing the potential that another person may have missed. It’s taking a chance. With that, I tore the list out of my notebook and threw it away.