Foster kitteh

What have I done??

Approx six-week-old kitten

Yeah, I fell for that little face. Well, Byrd fell for it first.

I was out on the town on Black Friday when I got a text message from Byrd: we have kittens. I called him right then and there. Sometimes it's better to convey one's thoughts directly. Mine were: "WTF do you mean, 'we have kittens'?!?" (My sister and mom, two cat lovers who were in the car with me, squealed in unison.)

The truth was that we had one kitten, and it was hiding in the pipe that went under our driveway, and was unwilling to come out without a fight. Rather than leave it there overnight with the first freeze of the year upon us, I put the live trap at one end of the pipe, and slowly shoved a PVC pipe through the other end. Into the live trap it went, hissing and spitting like a tiny evil demon.

She's significantly tamed down after a bit of food and quiet. And now she's my newest foster.


"Chibi," aka "Tiny" for the U.S. crowd

I gave her a bath on the first day. I was not prepared for the fleas. Do you know what a fire ant mound looks like when you step on it? The fleas swarmed similarly as I rinsed the baby kitten with Dawn. The water ran bloody red. I spent several hours picking off fleas, but she still has tons. (Currently working on securing a better flea treatment.)

My tasks this week are getting her vetted and scheduled for spay. These costs are coming out of my pocket for this kitten because we're doing the foster independent from any rescue group.

Although I prefer to foster for rescue groups, because they cover medical costs, this is not an option for Tiny. The local rescue/foster groups pull directly from kill shelters--they don't take animals from the community. So I cannot "surrender" Tiny to a no-kill group and let them rehome her. I would have to drop Tiny off at the local open-intake (kill) shelter, and hope that a rescue group pulled her or someone adopted her before she was euthed. There's always the chance that Tiny might be killed by the shelter in such a scenario.

So I'm doing the foster, the vetting, the spay, and the rehoming legwork myself this time. Merry Christmas, kitteh. Your vet bills are going to eat up a good chunk of the money I was going to spend on Christmas gifts this year. :P

Oh well. It's a good learning experience for Star, whose only previous experience with cats went like this:

Me: What a nice garden center. Look at all these plants, Star!
Star: Oh yes, what nice plants. I shall smell this big one here. Sniff sniff.
Cat leaps from behind plant and claws Star across the face.
Me: Dear God, the plant is trying to kill us!! No... wait...
Star: WTF WTF WTF WTF!?!? GET IT OFF!!!! AAAIIIEEE!!!
Cat: Nyaaah! Stoopid dog! (runs off)
Star: MY FACE!! I will DESTROY YOU!!! ...Where'd it go?
Me: Too late. You got whupped by a cat. (mops up cat-inflicted wounds)

Star hasn't been too keen on cats since the day her face got shredded by one. I don't really blame her. But I've been looking for an opportunity to desensitize her to cats in a controlled environment. This is a baby step.

"It's one of those evil THINGS! In MY HOUSE!"

"Gee, you sure have a lot of toys in there."

"When am I going to get that many toys?"

Actually, the toys are on loan from my sister's cat.

Okay, I promised a foster puppy update. I've gotten pics from a few of the adoptive families, and I got to see King Louie on Friday. The pups are a little over four months old now. If they're anything like Louie, they must all be total dolls. Louie was a class act.

Momma Nancy was a Boston Terrier x Beagle. Daddy was a mystery. Puppy Louie looks a bit like a Saint Bernard, Chow, Cocker Spaniel, or Dachshund. He's got thick fur, but his body is long and his legs are short. He's the most adorable, friendly, playful little furball... and surprisingly quiet, considering he was the leader of the Scream Team when he was born. 

King Louie, now King Louis

 

Bowser, now Maverick

Princess Daisy, now Sister

That's all for now... I'm hoping to get more updates when they are six months old!

Foster puppies, week three

The puppies are now 18 days old. Here are the updated glamour shots.

King Louie. This guy knows how to play it. He will scream AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until you pick him up. Then he's all sunshine and rainbows and cuddles and sleepy round adorable baby, and you forget why you have a pounding headache.

Princess Peach. Along with Louie and Bowser, Peach is one of the "scream team," though she's a lot quieter now that her eyes are open and she can avoid getting stuck behind things.

Mario. He's a big, quiet, slow fellow. He doesn't do much except sleep.

Luigi. My personal favorite, the most developmentally advanced of the group, and very easy going. He's almost walking on his own now.

Princess Daisy. She chirps like a prairie dog. She's a really quiet, sweet puppy that gets trompled on by everyone else.

Yoshi. The smallest puppy. He likes to sit and stare with HUGE round eyeballs and a bobbly head. Freakin' adorable. He's so dangerously cute, I have to constantly resist the urge to squeeze him until he pops.

Bowser. The BIG boy. His two talents are screaming, and peeing. Once you get him started peeing, be prepared to wipe for about three minutes.

Poor Nancy can't hold up against the swarm of hungry puppies. I have to supplement with formula occasionally.

So that's the crew.

Nancy avoids the puppies whenever possible. I have to make her lie down or sit down to feed them every few hours--and I have to sit there and make sure she doesn't run off while they're eating. I also have to: pee and poop them, bottle feed them, comfort them when they're crying, medicate them as necessary, clean up after them, etc.

I'm going to be SO glad when they're weaned and pottying on their own! No more 2 am / 6 am potty times...

Star and Dozer have taken this invasion in stride. Since the puppies aren't vaccinated yet, we have to keep their exposure to our dogs at a minimum anyway. So the pups and Nancy stay in our guest bathroom, and our dogs are not allowed in there.

Sometimes I will bring a puppy (usually Louie, who is screaming to be held) out of the bathroom with me. Dozer could care less. Star is very curious, but not so much that she's naughty. She likes to gently smell the puppy, then run off and do zoomies at a safe distance. Dozer gives a few sniffs, but shows very little interest in anything more.

I don't mind the puppies myself, but they are SO much work, I can't do this again any time soon; I don't have the time or energy for it. One puppy is a lot of work, seven puppies is truly a full time job!

Anyway, if you live in the Austin area, tell all your friends: these pups (and Nancy!) will be available for adoption in mid-September, from Austin Pets Alive.

Grocery Shopping

As it turns out, Nancy is one of the most detached mother dogs there is. I'm doing everything. Right down to stimulating the puppies to pee. I haven't had a full night of sleep in two weeks. I'm exhausted to the core.

I'll have two-week pictures of the puppies in a few days. Yes, they're two weeks old tomorrow, can you believe it? Some of them already have their eyes half-open in a sleepy, drunk look.

Today I went on a typical grocery trip, but I got a kick out of the list this time. We are supposed to add things to the list as we use up supplies, but Byrd always adds a bunch of stuff at the last minute. So I am sometimes surprised by things on the list when I arrive at the store.

Our grocery list

I walked into the store, unfolded the list, and got stuck immediately at this first item Byrd had written down.

What does this say?

All I could tell was that it is a fruit that starts with the letter "p." I eventually guessed peach, but not before running through prune, plum, and grape (in case he'd gotten the letters mixed up).

I was then startled by this "vegetable" request.

Vegetable-hating man says what?

Until about a month ago, Byrd maintained that the soybean was the devil's bean. When I finally tricked him into eating edamame at a Japanese restaurant, he *gasp* liked it. I then revealed that edamame was soybean. He can't spell edamame, so that's why he wrote "soybean" here. Yes, folks, he's asking for soybeans--hell has frozen over.

And finally, there was this mysterious scrawl for me to decipher.

Lots of juices with orange, p, and m?

Turns out this was orange juice, pineapple-orange, and mango-orange. Why he chose to abbreviate in this particularly cryptic way is beyond me.

The list afforded me some entertainment, but as you can see, there isn't a lot of stuff on it. A little under 40 items, right? And yet, the basket looked like this in the end.

Where did all this stuff come from?

Total tally: 63 items, $206.01, and 1.5 hours.

Then I went home to feed and potty seven puppies...

Puppies, puppies, everywhere

Foster dog Nancy finally decided to have her puppies yesterday evening. We saw the nesting behavior start, and ran out to get a 4' baby pool.

Nancy's digs: our guest bathroom

Byrd and Star napping on the floor outside the bathroom as they wait for the babies. I've been sleeping here at night, on puppy patrol.

Nancy is ready to get those babies out!

Finally, some puppies!

Seven babies in all! That looks like a lot.

Five males, two females.

I wonder what these pups will look like when they're bigger?

Nancy doesn't seem too keen on being a mom to so many puppies. I know she's tired--I've been awake with her all night, so I empathize--but I really hope she stays committed to these little guys.

Postscript: For those of you who guessed Nancy is a Boston/Beagle (aka Boggle) mix, you are most likely correct. Strangely, the shelter labeled her a Pug/Beagle mix, so she's "officially" a Puggle.

New foster

I'm back from a week-long trip to Oregon (visit with family) and will have plenty to share about that trip in a bit... but thought I would share this breaking news since it's way more exciting and a lot cuter.

We have a new foster puppy. This nameless little guy is about 11 weeks old and has some sort of mange. I have just started fostering for a local rescue group, Austin Pets Alive, and when they sent out the alert about him, I went and pulled him from the local kill shelter. At this shelter, most unclaimed dogs with medical problems (esp. mange) are euthanized unless pulled by a rescue group, so this little guy's life depended on finding a foster.

Since we don't yet know whether the mange is demodectic (not contagious) or sarcoptic (contagious), he's in isolation in our bathtub until we find out, presumably on Monday when we can take him to the vet.

Our dogs aren't allowed near him; the bathroom's been closed off with a baby gate to add an extra layer of separation. I also wash my hands every time I touch the puppy, and I have one of Byrd's large shirts in the bathroom, worn like a smock when carrying or handling the puppy. I sure hope the mange is demodex... it'll be hard to keep this up for several weeks if it is contagious.

I've decided to name him Dubby if allowed. This is because, a while back, there was another little puppy at APA that could have been this guy's double, mange and all.

I take him out to potty in the extra dog kennel, the one that previously housed Peepers when he was sick, the one that has also been used for doggy "time out" and for temporary containment of stray dogs and injured wild birds. I remind Byrd about this every time he talks about dismantling "that useless kennel."

Dubby is so cute, sweet, smart, and surprisingly quiet. I don't know how long it will last, but I presume he will start acting a bit more rowdy once his mange gets treated and he feels better. So, of course, I'm taking this opportunity to teach him some basic obedience.

Star would love to play with him, I'm sure, but that will have to wait for a while.

Dozer and the advent of "senior"

According to the chart my vet gave me at the D's annual checkup, Dozer (age 7-going-on-8) is in his early fifties in human years. This, apparently, now qualifies him for senior dog food and supplement pills for his joints.

I guess no one actually told Dozer he needs to start acting his age. Honestly, if we hadn't adopted him when he was a bitty little puppy, we wouldn't believe he is so old. As it is, people think we are lying to them when we say, "He's a senior citizen." I'm not sure why we'd lie about something so pointless, but the fact is that Dozer still reminds everyone of a rather large, awkward, ridiculous, immature adolescent dog. "One or two years, tops," say the disbelievers.

Perhaps it's his big, goofy grin, or the clown dots under his eyes, or his soft, velvety rabbit ears, or his bright white fur that never shows gray. Maybe it's his big paws and gangly body. Maybe it's the way he gargles like Chewbacca, or squeals like a guinea pig, when he's excited.

Possibly it's because he crashes into and over everything in his path as if he were still a small puppy: as if he might be able to squeeze under the dishwasher's open door to retrieve his ball, as if he might be able to push his body between handrailing spindles to avoid climbing the icy back steps, as if he could share the front passenger seat with you on a ride to the drive-thru—if only you'd scoot over a tad. Or it might be because all his thought processes seem to end with the same conclusion: "Throw ball now."

All of these things make him seem like an oversized puppy with an undersized brain. So when the vet said Dozer was now a senior, I had a little trouble keeping the laughter in. Won't we be relieved when Dozer finally does start acting his age!

In the meantime, Dozer takes his joint pills with great reluctance. Though I believe they are supposed to taste good for most dogs, Dozer merely sticks his nose up and licks his lips unhappily. I have to force him to eat the pill, and though I am sure that a bystander might imagine that I am thrusting my tiny pink hand into a veritable alligator's jaws, it is in fact quite easy. Dozer has always been very good at opening his mouth for medicine; he opens as wide as possible at the slightest pressure on the top of his nose, and holds his mouth open for the delivery; I can stick my hand (and most of my arm) in to the back of his throat, drop the pill, and pull my arm back out in a mere second. When I press the bottom of his jaw, he closes his mouth and swallows obediently. Then I just have to wash my hands clean of the dog drool.

Not that he is having any joint problems (that we're aware of, anyway), but we would like to be proactive and build up his joints before they do start causing problems—especially considering all the backflips and other gymnastics that the D so enthusiastically delivers during his daily fetch routine.