Adopting a Rescue Dog – The absolute wrong way to do it

What not to do:

~Profess your undying love and devotion for a dog you’ve never met

~Send emails filled with entreaties to God to protect the dog to the rescue volunteers ensuring said dog travels across four states

~Tell the dog through email how much you adore him and are ready to save him (dogs can’t read, and if they could, this one still didn’t have Internet access)

~Generally come across like one of those crazy, pet-obsessed people to the volunteers

~Have the dog less than a week and decide to put it to sleep

~Email the volunteers who have been helping that “someone” needs to “step up and commit” or the dog will die in an hour

Especially those last two parts…we really don’t like those parts.

Three weekends ago now, I spent a Saturday afternoon driving 250 miles roundtrip to meet Buddy, a shepherd who had been surrendered to his vet. The family was unable to keep their three dogs so the trio had been handed over to the vet while a rescue organization started looking for homes for the dogs. The two girls were moved relatively quickly to a new foster home, but Buddy was left at the vet. I went out to meet him and take some photos, hoping that a more personal evaluation of the dog would facilitate his adoption.

Happily, only a couple days later, we got news of someone who wanted to adopt Buddy. The new family lived in northern Ohio and Buddy was stuck in west-central Missouri, so it took considerable coordination to get him transported, but the volunteer network kicked in and we made it happen…with only four days’ notice, to boot!

Buddy was in my SUV for hours that next Saturday – he was excited to be out of the kennel he had been living in at the vet’s office, happy to sniff something new, and completely ready to jump into the back of the vehicle for his next adventure. He rode well and was quiet for the most part. He’d whine for pets every once in a while, but for the most part, he lay quietly in the back with his face in front of the portable fan that helped combat the insane heat of summer.

I dropped him off with the woman who was driving him on the second leg of his trip on Sunday. We stayed for about an hour to be sure he was okay and he exhibited no issues. It didn’t take him long to find the water bowl and he raced through the backyard chasing toys we’d throw. He made himself at home by pulling toys out of the toy box and flopping onto the floor at our feet.

The new family got him on Sunday and he was introduced to his new home. The first email we received said that they were so happy to have Buddy, he was beautiful, they loved him very much.

Then on Thursday night we received an email saying that he had “gone after” their vet (I’m not sure if he actually bit the vet or just struck out at him) and got into a fight with one of their other four dogs. The family was afraid for the safety of their other dogs and grandchildren and didn’t know what to do with Buddy. The rescue network kicked in again and on Friday morning we were notified that the family had been offered information and tips from a well-respected member of our community.

Friday afternoon we were informed that the dog was scheduled to be destroyed at 4:30pm.

I literally read the email and yelled, “What the fuck?!” at my computer screen.

I don’t have all the information I’d like about this whole situation. I’ve formed my opinion about Buddy’s new family strictly through the emails I’ve read and one phone call with the wife. I have no idea if he’s bitten fifteen people over the past five days or if he lunged at the vet once or if he’s attacked their other four dogs consistently every day. I can’t make an informed statement about any of this because I simply don’t know everything.

I know that the dog I met twice and who rode in my car for hours through Missouri was an excitable boy who really needed a good long walk. He bonded extremely fast with new people. He was intact still at 7 years old. The vet I picked him up from let me know that he was territorial and he hadn’t been loose around other animals since he got there, so they didn’t know how he would react to new dogs or cats. The vet tech who passed me his leash said he was her favorite of the three dogs that were originally placed in their care and if she didn’t already have so many pets at home, she would have taken home with her.

So, here are my assumptions. I do think the new family is one of those crazy, pet-obsessed ones that Victoria and Cesar constantly shake their heads at. Dogs are not babies, they are animals and must be treated as such – you can’t reason with a dog. I think they believed that sweet Buddy would be so grateful and happy to have a “real” home again that he would love them and their other dogs just as much as they loved him before they even met him.

However, Buddy didn’t understand what was going on – Buddy knew that he had lost his family and he made some friends at the vet office, though he suddenly had much smaller living quarters. Then he met a stranger who put him in the car for a very long and hot ride. And then he stayed the night with a new stranger whose house smelled like other dogs, but he couldn’t find them to introduce himself (they were kenneled elsewhere that night for his sake), so he drank their water and played with their toys and waited to see what happened. Finally, after another day stuck in a car with strangers, he was introduced to a new dog and two new people and he drove for a very long time with them.

And all of a sudden, he was in a new house that he didn’t recognize, being fed and cuddled by people he didn’t know, and he was surrounded by dogs he had never met though he was clearly in their territory now.

I think this family had good intentions, but they really had no idea what they were getting themselves into. My new cat was locked into a room by himself for the first three days we had him. He was allowed to sniff around the house on his own only when the dogs were locked into a separate room. I can just imagine the chaos if I had tried to bring Buddy in the house with only my two dogs, let alone four.

It’s sad and honestly maddening that the family’s first, last and only cry for help to all of us centered on putting the dog to sleep after less than a week. I suggested putting Buddy into a training program where he would stay with the trainer until he completed the program as well as getting him neutered. Another person stated that it wasn’t uncommon for a rescue dog to need weeks to integrate into the family.

Like I said, I don’t have all the information. Maybe they have been searching desperately for suggestions on how to work with Buddy. But I do know that Buddy has lived with them for less than a week and they planned on killing him. I know that Buddy doesn’t deserve that.

Luckily, one of the volunteers has taken this to heart and has arranged to take Buddy. She’s found a trainer who is willing to work with him – really work with him – and hopefully I’ll have a wonderful update on him in a few more weeks.

This is absolutely how you don’t adopt a dog.

Wanna know how to do it right? Read this very informative article series from our friends at Dogs For Defense K-9.

More Cable Company Shenanigans

I suppose if I'm ever going to return to my lovely blog, I should make it another rant about horrible customer service. So here we go...

Thank you, TimeWarner Cable, for ensuring I will never purchase your services again. I appreciate the fact that you have made this decision so simple for me. I don't even need the $1M quoted in an article I read today about giving up the Internet - I would refuse your Internet services for free. And tell all my friends to do the same. You're welcome :)

I called to schedule a disconnect more than two weeks before we moved out of the NY house on 1 July. I was told that it was too soon to schedule, so I should just return the equipment whenever I was done with it and my service would be terminated at that time.

The final payment for services of $136.88 paid on 21 June to cover cable and internet from 12 June through 11 July.

On 28 June, Pirate returned the cable box. And TWC apparently downgraded us to Basic cable at that point. Because, clearly, with no cable box, I am happy to continue paying for Basic cable access.

On 1 July, Pirate returned the internet modem and we left the state of NY.

On 5 July, I was notified that a technician would be at the house to physically disconnect the line and a representative confirmed that I would get a refund for July 2-11 since we turned in our equipment.

On 21 July, TWC paid itself for another month of cable and internet service. At the original price, I might add, so the rep today who told me we were downgraded to Basic, apparently missed the part where we were upgraded again since this payment was the same as the June one and all the monthly bills prior.

I called Customer Service, angry, but promising not to take it out on the representative. The first person I spoke with made sure to disconnect service - since that had never been done - and then was kind enough to ask me if I wanted to speak with Billing about a refund.

Yes, please.

Billing looked at the account and said, "Oh yes, you will be refunded $93.68."

"How can that be," I asked, "when service was disconnected on July 1st? I'm owed for 10 days of service that I didn't use (approximately $45) in July as well as the $136.88 that just paid on 21 July."

Some more computing, and she came back with "$141."

Again, that doesn't calculate. If one day of service averages to $4 and I cancelled ten days prior to the end of the billing period for which I paid in advance, how is that only a change of $5 from the entire month I was incorrectly billed for plus the ten days I'm owed?

Some more computing, which I've now realized she's not very good at.

And her final answer was that $166.30 will be refunded. By mailed check. In 4-6 weeks.

It was within $20 of what I think we're owed, so I stopped arguing.

She also told me that because *I* didn't personally return the equipment as the account holder, TWC couldn't disconnect the service. Even if the person who was listed as a secondary on the account gave back the equipment. And I guess TWC doesn't call their customers to find out if burglars have invaded their home to steal then return cable equipment when the not-primary-account-holder​ hands them a box and modem. And I guess that first representative I spoke with on 5 July also didn't see that my service had been disconnected when she verified my service had been disconnected and let me know a tech was headed to the house to disconnect the lines and confirmed that I would get a refund for disconnecting service before the end of the billing period.

And what about that downgrade to Basic cable you mentioned when the not-primary-account-holder​ returned the cable box?

Yes, TWC, you have made this one of the easiest decisions of my entire life.

And, oh by the way, the cable connection and service was horrendous throughout the two years I had cable. Buttons on my remote didn't work because "updates" weren't sent to the cable box on time. The DVR service I paid additional for wasn't accessible. Channels froze. The guide froze. The guide completely stopped working so I had to access it online rather than through the TV. And each time I called to complain, I was told it was because I had old batteries in the remote.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Why Do We Have to Pay and Feed You?

I'm planning a wedding. Well, to be completely honest, Pirate and I are planning our wedding and he's happily and motivatedly involved in most aspects of this shindig, including my dress and hair. Bet you didn't expect that from a dude, huh?

For the most part, planning everything has been pretty easy even though we live approximately 640 miles from the wedding location and Pirate is still deployed to the 'Ghan. The internet has been an FSMsend throughout as we can use vendor websites and wedding review sites to peruse and book just about every detail. I even contacted a wedding planner that has done so little work for us that she hasn't charged me.

Here's the one thing I have to complain about so far. Why do bands expect to be fed? We've booked a swing band and they will play for all of three hours - maximum. In that three hours, I'm sure there will be at least two breaks.

In a normal job where you work 40 hours a week, you aren't entitled to a single 15 minute break if you only work three hours. Yet the band is getting two breaks. Now I understand their break schedule - especially if you're singing or blowing a horn for 45 minutes straight, I certainly agree that you deserve a break.

But why the hell do I have to feed you??? I'm paying you to do your job. For three short hours. Can you not spend three hours of your life without food when you're not booked for a gig?

We're feeding the photographers, but they've booked out their entire day to spend with us - from getting ready in the morning until whenever we say, "okay, that's it, the party is over, no more photos, go home," however many hours later everything is wrapped up. I don't mind feeding them. They are at my beck and call for a minimum of six hours. If they were only staying three hours, I'd bitch about paying for their food too.

Now, I will admit that I like this particular band's food and beverage requirement more than I liked the first band we talked to. This band wants sandwiches, dessert and soft drinks before they start playing. (My practical side tells me to add $7 per band member to their contracted rate and tell them to hit Mickey D's on the way in, but I know that won't fly.) The first band wanted to be able to scrounge the buffet line after the guests were done eating, but with a 16-piece swing band, obviously we'd have to add some servings to ensure there was anything left for them at all. I was okay with that (well, as okay as I could be with feeding them in the first place). My biggest issue with them is that they wanted alcohol privileges as well. They didn't explicitly ask to be included in an open bar if we had one, but the band leader did say that some of his players liked to have a drink or two.

No.

I know that I can be a bit prudish when it comes to the alkeehol. But if I'm paying you to perform a professional service for three hours in the early afternoon, I am completely and totally uncool with you drinking on the job. This isn't a concert where people come to see you, this is a job where you're a hired vendor. The photographers aren't drinking, the hall manager isn't drinking, the chef isn't drinking (I hope), you don't drink either. Luckily, the venue manager was awesome and agreed with my prudishness and told me that if we booked that particular band, she'd tell them that they couldn't drink while they were there to perform.

We didn't end up booking them, so that's not an issue now.

And honestly, feeding the band isn't a huge problem for me. I don't like it and I think it's ridiculous that we are expected to do it, but it's certainly not so important that I'd even consider telling Pirate, "No, I refuse to get a band because they want to be fed." It's just something that I want to bitch about every once in awhile.

So thanks for letting me whine! (And if you'd like to leave a comment agreeing with my annoyance, that's cool too.)

Green Mountain Iron Dog Competition - 2010

Since Chris posted about our trip and her fantabulous second place running of the Iron Dog, I suppose I should add Max's story as well.

Max and I met up with our trainer, Chris, and her Malinois, Ronja, a couple weeks ago for the four hour drive to Colchester, Vermont. Each year the Vermont State Police sponsor the Iron Dog for law enforcement and civilian teams with proceeds going to great causes like Lacey's Fund, which provides funds to help defray medical costs for families who adopt retired police dogs. The competition was held on a YMCA Camp property right on Lake Champlain, so we were invited to stay overnight in the cabins with the dogs. Other than squeaky beds, panting and roaming dogs, and the constant (loud!) wind through the trees, we slept relatively well until the dogs started barking at someone walking around the cabin at 6:30 the next morning.

The weather held for us too, luckily. It was cool, windy and sunny this morning, then sunny and cool toward noon, then cooler and really windy, then just cool again. There was no rain, that was the important part!

The competition track was a mile and a half. From the starting point, we jogged downhill (whee!) to the lake and waded through shoe-sucking mud and water to the end of the pier to grab a pencil as proof we went all the way out.

(Photos are completely out of order because Blogger is being a snot about moving them around. This particular photo was taken by Chris Crawford.)

Fortunately, the water was only about calf deep, so no swimming was involved.

The trail then led through the woods and Max and I walked and jogged. He manages to injure me at every event we do, so I wasn't taking a chance on sprinting through the woods with him and breaking an ankle or smacking face first into a tree!

Through the woods and we ended up at the Evil Hill of Exhaustion (despair!) where I tried to convince Max to pull me up it. In his mind, that meant let me take two steps, then lunge forward and jerk me another two steps. By the time we got to the top, my very out of shape thighs were burning and he was just getting warmed up. About that time, we were passed by the team who had started after us. Since I wasn't worried about the competition aspect and we were just there for fun, I waved and smiled and caught my breath as they jogged by.

More trotting through the woods and we had to climb through a horse paddock fence, then walk

through a barn and memorize the license plate number of a "suspicious" vehicle parked near it. It turned out that if you didn't recite the plate number correctly at the end of the trial, you were disqualified. We were disqualified for many things, but certainly not a lack in my memory skillz!

Out of the barn and down another trail where we had to climb through a wire fence that simulated barbed wire. Then we entered the "smoke house," which was a YMCA cabin full of smoke (vegetable oil-based) with the smoke alarm going off. Max did great and seemed to neither notice the smoke nor care about the alarm. Out of the house and a quick sprint to a camo net tied low to the ground between two trees that we both had to crawl under. Max couldn't figure out why I insisted he crawl under it with me when it was obvious we could simply go around the tree and save effort and time. I often wonder just how crazy our dogs think we are.

Next we both clambered through a large culvert and I wished I had a longer leash.

He was in front of me and the leash is pretty short, so I ended up on all fours myself with my head against his furry butt. He quickly learned that he could take two steps, then I had to take two steps for him to get enough slack in the leash to take another two steps. There was a second culvert farther down the trail and by the time we got to it, he knew the pattern.

Out of the first culvert and we jogged to the shooting station, where he conveniently plopped into a down-stay without a word from me (it was shady and he was tired) while I shot two "bad guys" with a little pellet pistol.

We completely skipped the obstacle course because we haven't worked on anything like that. But it contained a tall A-frame, a ramp and walk across a board about 4 feet high, a jump through a window, and a jump over a wall. (We did go back to practice those later and finally got him to go over the wall with four slats in it [six was too high] and through the window.)

After the obstacle course, was another jaunt through muddy woods, the second culvert, and more mud. Mud was definitely a big part of our day!

Our next station was "tactical obedience," which we didn't do so well at. The goal was to down-stay your dog behind the "cover" of a barrel while you moved to the next covered position in the trees. Again, being tired, he down-stayed very well. We were supposed to move from tree to tree like that and stop at four of them. I called him to me at the first tree, and he sprinted right past me to the last tree. Since we had already skipped 7 obstacles and been overtaken by two other teams, I wasn't really worried about properly completing each station, as long as we made

it through the whole course unscathed, so we picked up our two items of evidence, a leash and a frisbee, and headed to the finish line. We went through one more short culvert and walked around another road barrier he was supposed to jump.

Then came the moment I'd been dreading for weeks. You had to carry your dog the last 30 feet or so from the wall to the finish line. I can carry Max, I cannot pick up Max. He's long, he weighs 95 pounds, and he flails maniacally because he doesn't want to be picked up, all of which combine to make lifting him off the ground an impossibility for me. If I have him up higher, like on a picnic bench or if I could have gotten him on top of the barrier, I can grab him and go from there. But directly from the ground...not so much. I tried one grasp and he wiggled out. I tried a second hold and got him up off the ground then managed to stumble about four steps before I conceded. We weren't getting a trophy, so there was no reason to traumatize him and slip fifteen disks in

my own back. He happily jogged over the finish line with a slow 24 minute time. But we finished!

We also did a 100 yard dash and he clocked in at 20 mph. He wasn't really motivated, and it

wasn't too long after the trail run, so I think he would have been a little faster had he been able to run it fresh.
(Photo by Chris Crawford)

Of course, he made a ton of new friends as everyone wanted to know about the shepherd that was so much bigger than the police dogs. He got a free massage from a licensed small animal massuese and I even relented and shared my hamburger with him for lunch.
(Photo by Chris Crawford)

All in all, we had a great time. And we have a lot of work to do (like hill sprints for me and A-Frames for Max) before next year's event!

Welcome Home!

So I've pretty much ignored my poor blog for the past 8 months. I'm sorry, blog! But it's been busy. Pirate went to war and I've been finishing my Master's degree (and have waited a week for my final grade!!! Grrrrr, get on it, prof!) and the boys have kept me busy for the 28 minutes per night that I haven't been stuck working overtime.

I promise to stop ignoring you, blog.

But I'm sleepy tonight, so you may have to wait for more attention until tomorrow.

~Samira, who's getting back to her vida.

From Erudite to Crazy

And then I received this response from the guy below. I don't like him as much any longer...

I do sincierely apologise for not having paid sufficient attention to the true nature of your recruitment policie. As a liberated freelancer, I generically respond to adverts beliving to honesty as the key arbiter making my world go round. Frankly if you chose the title of your job description as " mercinaries wanted ", then I truly wouldn't have responded. From my perspective, I wouldn't even wish to be American citizen. A nation living under constant fear of death. Gun culture is prevalent as every adult American lives with the ominous shaddow of being gunned down by the person next to him. For all the wealth in the world, when you feel insecure, you don't live. I do genuinely feel sorry for the ordinary Americans, they are suffering just because some gangsters believe in fire powers for ruling the world including Americans.

kind regards.

Purple prose much?

This is the most erudite response to an email I have ever received. I posted a job for interpreters/translators that requires US citizenship and this was one reply...

I was convinced the merit of eligibility for cooperation was based on the generic applications of our knowledge apptitudes not the obsolete notion of geographical boundaries unless of course such ominous constraints were imposed by government regulations. Plus this is an international platform encouraging shared universal values as the paramount arbiters.

Let's hope for the more integrated future cooperations.

Wow. I know me some big words and syntax, but I certainly don't know big words like that in a second language!