Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Animal Hoarding: NPR Interview

On Monday, I drove to Portland to do an interview with Dick Gordon of NPR's The Story, relating my year and a half living in Oregon and Kentucky with anywhere from 75 to 110 animals with my former partner, who was later convicted of 295 counts of animal cruelty when 362 animals were found in the same Kentucky elementary school where we once ran Clean Slate Animal Rescue together.

To say the interview was difficult would be an understatement. To start with, I've been battling a wretched cold for a while now, which meant the hour and a half drive to P-Town was punctuated with bouts of coughing, random panic attacks and crying jags, and a lot of off-key singing along to the latest GLEE soundtrack. It wasn't pretty, in short. Still, I managed to get to the studio in one piece, and was met by a very nice studio tech whose name I have now completely forgotten (I was essentially focused on using as few 'ums' as possible, not choking to death on my own phlegm, and trying to keep from bursting into tears - still, I feel badly, because the tech was (a) pretty darn cute, and (b) a very nice guy).

We went into the studio, and started the interview a few minutes before eleven that morning. It was of course a remote interview - Dick Gordon wasn't there, and so I sat in the studio with headphones speaking into a gigantic puffy mic while the Cute Nameless Tech Man adjusted sound levels and smiled encouragingly. Over the course of the interview, I did have to stop a couple of times when I was completely overcome by coughing fits, but otherwise it went quite smoothly, I think. We basically ran through the entire year and a half, from my first date with Dave to our trek to California to buying the school in Kentucky, traveling cross-country, and then the decline of our relationship and my eventual departure. There were a couple of parts that were especially difficult - definitely talking about losing Benny and Donna to dog fights (the event that was the catalyst for my leaving) was very hard, but the other thing that was difficult was just trying to convey information about hoarding in general while still giving the story: I didn't want it to sound like I was preaching or some kind of expert, but definitely wanted to try and disseminate a little bit of factual information. I'm not sure whether I did that or not - honestly, the whole thing is kind of a blur.

My biggest concern at this point is just that I don't know how Dave will come out looking in all of this. It's never been my intent to make him look like a cruel man or even a crazy one... He loved the animals; that much was always clear. I wasn't a victim in any of this - it's not as though I was some wide-eyed twenty-year-old fresh off the farm, I'd been around the block a time or two. Had I known then what I know now about animal hoarding, I certainly would have handled things much differently. There are many things that I wish I had done differently, in terms of the medical care that the animals did (and did not) receive while I was there, and of course with respect to the unfathomable neglect they suffered after I left. Those are regrets I'll always carry with me, but the writing that I'm doing now, the interviews and the memoir and whatever else (if anything) comes of this, has nothing to do with any bitterness toward Dave. I haven't spoken with him since long before I read the news that he'd been arrested; I have no idea where he is now. I wish him luck. I hope that he's gotten the attention that he needs so that he might gain a little perspective and keep from repeating past patterns, but I don't know how realistic that hope is. I wish him the best.

ANYWAY... That's the stuff I didn't say in the interview, for what it's worth. As I said, I think that it went well. The episode is supposed to air on Tuesday, October 5th, so I'll be sure to post a link when it's available.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Fur n' Foliage in Thomaston

On Saturday, I had the distinct pleasure of being able to wander from my humble home and meander up the road to the old Thomaston Academy lawn, where the Humane Society of Knox County had assembled for their annual fundraiser, Fur n' Foliage. HSKC is our local shelter, consisting of a small but very committed force of staff and volunteers who care for the wayward pets who rely on them for their food, shelter, love, health, and future happiness. Over the course of the day, there was an agility demonstration, there were raffles, barbecues, and of course the ever-popular Fur n' Foliage dog walk. Here are a few snaps I caught over the course of this great, community-centric day.


This little guy just killed me - what a cutie! Before long, the sweater had to be scrapped because it was just too warm... But what a photogenic face!



A couple of lucky pups who make their homes with staff from HSKC. Up top, Moses the wonder dog and Theresa in the agility course. And below, Jen's gorgeous little dachsund.


I fell in love with this sweet old Newfy, who cemented my lifelong dream... The only purebred dog I've ever wanted of my very own is a Newfoundland. Of course, Newfy rescue will be the way I go when the time comes, but... Just look at that face. I love these guys!


Marie Finnegan tries to tempt this gorgeous mastiff, Digger, through the sample agility course. The big guy ultimately decided he'd rather go 'round the obstacles, but sat nicely in the hula hoop and was the sweetest gentleman all day long. I'm such a sucker for those big dogs!

If you're interested in learning more about HSKC, mosey on over to their website. This Friday, I'll be spending a good chunk of the day at the shelter as the first segment in my new weekly feature, Rescue ME Monday. Stop by on October 4 to read the post, complete with pics, video, and a firsthand account of what makes this little shelter tick.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

OKGo - White Knuckles for Cinema Saturday

I know it's everywhere now and it's been shared by every dog-lovin' superfreak from here to Timbuktu, but I still loooooove this video. And, of course, always a fan of OKGo!

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Maddie: Is This Energetic Girl the One for You?


Maddie will have been at the Humane Society of Knox County for a year this October. That's a long time for anyone, but when you consider that for pups, one human year is equivalent to seven dog years, it becomes clear: Maddie needs a home. The reason this sweet girl has been at HSKC for so long is simple, really - she's a high-energy, intelligent dog who would likely do best in a single-dog household with someone who will be around the house a significant amount of the time. She'll need someone who can exercise her regularly, and would benefit from a securely fenced yard. If you're just looking for a hound you can lay around the house with, Maddie's probably not your best match.

So... Who is the ideal match for Maddie? It could be someone who works from home, or someone who travels and is looking for a partner on the road. In "Meet Your Match" lingo, Maddie has been designated GREEN - A Free Spirit. "Intelligent, independent, confident, and clever, I prefer making my own decisions but will listen to you if you make a good case. We’re partners in this adventure. Treat me like one and we’ll both live happily ever after."

Does this sound like the dog for you? Maddie gets along all right with some other dogs, but can't be trusted around cats or other small animals. If you live an active life and are anxious to find a loyal friend to share in your adventures, Maddie just may be the girl you've been looking for. Do yourself a favor: Give this too-often overlooked pup a second glance!

If you're interested in meeting Maddie or any number of other great, adoptable pets, contact the Humane Society of Knox County at 207-594-2200 for more information.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Think Outside the Box: Adopt a Less-Adoptable Pet Week


I only learned of the Blogpaws' Be the Change for Pets challenge yesterday, and was especially excited to find out about this week's big focus: Adopt A Less-Adoptable Pet Week. I've worked and volunteered in shelters for most of my adult life, and so have had the extraordinary privilege of meeting a whole lot of so-called "Less Adoptable" pets: the dogs who've gone a bit grey at the muzzle, sight-impaired cats or hearing-impaired hounds; animals whose devotion will know no bounds, if we can just see our way past that preconceived notion of what makes the perfect pet.

What does make the perfect pet, for you? Adopting a less adoptable pet doesn't mean ignoring your lifestyle or personality just to make a point - if you like to lay around more often than not and your idea of a good romp is a leisurely stroll in the front yard, then probably a pit bull isn't the best pet for you. But, a senior dog may be just the friend you've been looking for. Likewise, if you're on the go and want someone to keep up with you over hill and dale in the wee hours of the morn'... Well, that high-energy dog at the local shelter who's dragging the junior volunteer up and down the avenue? May be just the fit for you. Adopting a less-adoptable pet is about knowing yourself, understanding your strengths and your limitations, and looking outside the box to find the perfect companion for you. It may be that the fluffy puppy with the long line of prospective families won't fit nearly as well into your life as the shaggy dog in the corner with the winsome grin that everyone seems to pass by.

This week, follow Blogpaws' excellent advice: Give them a second glance.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Animal Hoarding and the Adoption Question

Over the weekend, a friend e-mailed me this link posted by Kimi Peck, who has been under investigation numerous times for animal hoarding in southern California. Her questionable activities have been documented on a couple of different sites, most notably the website Save the Chihuahuas. Though the content of Ms. Peck's letter in general is a little, shall we say off-center, it was one comment in particular that caught my attention:

"One of Tufts University definitions of a hoarder
A hoarder doesn't adopt out animals. No one can take care of the animals better than they can."

I was actually unable to find anything on the Tufts website stating explicitly that animal hoarders do not adopt animals out, though the ASPCA does stipulate that with so-called rescue hoarders, "Little effort is made to adopt animals out."

This, to me, is a very important point in the debate over whether or not someone is actually an animal rescuer or an animal hoarder. In this post, I talk about Alice (not her real name), a woman living with over fifty dogs and a multitude of cats and farm animals at her small home in Oregon. Alice was the go-to foster home for an organized, 501(c)3 animal rescue, which meant that many of her dogs were adopted out regularly. However, the fact that they were adopted out had little to do with Alice's efforts; Alice focused primarily on getting more dogs. On more than one occasion, I can remember her contacting Dave and I upon receiving the latest PTS (Put-to-Sleep) list from the California shelter we worked with regularly.

"We want all of them," she would tell us. "We could get homes for every one of them - we don't want a single one of them put down."

Naturally, the rescue coordinator at the Merced County shelter was thrilled to hear this. And it was true that the animal rescue itself had a good adoption record; it was also true that there were a surprising number of dogs at Alice's house that, she assured us, could never be adopted out. There was a compulsive Lab who would fetch from one end of the property to the other for as long as someone would throw for him; there was a mysterious Doberman living inside who had attacked Alice and the other dogs on numerous occasions for taking up space on the bed; there were Pugs with asthma and mutts with allergies. None of these dogs, we were assured, would ever find someone to care for them the way Alice did.

My own experiences with Dave were not dissimilar. Before I came onboard, his rescue partner was an extremely motivated rescuer who was adept at making connections and getting animals adopted out. She was active online, quick to post photos and descriptions, and was a general whiz at the virtual side of animal rescue. Dave did the home visits and got more animals. Lots and lots more animals. The animals' care while at the farm was negligible, something Dave justified because "it's just a quick fix - they come in, they go out. It's better than being dead."

Since that particular rationale never really did much for me, I informed Dave when I came on board that I wanted to be more hands-on than his previous partner: I didn't want to be on the computer all the time. He could handle the networking and adoptions. I did the cleaning, enrolled with Animal Behavior College and started reading up on training, administered medication, developed nutrition plans for some of our more immuno-compromised charges. Our adoption rates were abysmal, though Dave assured me that this was just because we were in transition. We were taking a break; rehabilitating the animals we had. In the meantime, we did a couple of transports and thus could increase the numbers of animals we said we had successfully placed by simply driving them from one rescue to the other, with minimal interaction in between.

I am not an expert on animal hoarding, but in my experience, this is what I have found with the rescue hoarder:

(1) Their successfully placed animals (Kimi Peck claims she has adopted out more than 5000 Chihuahuas in her rescue career) are significantly inflated and corresponding records to back up such claims notably absent;

(2) If adoption rates are high, it is because someone else within the organization is driving those adoptions; were that individual to leave, placement rates would likely plummet;

(3) These placement rates often take into account things with which the actual individual had little involvement: adoption drives by other members of the organization; transporting animals for other rescues; and, in Kimi Peck's case, animals that were actually seized by the authorities and forcibly placed in the hands of other animal rescues;

(4) There are an infinite number of excuses as to why an animal may not be adoptable, and therefore must be added to the roster of permanent charges. Dave had five dogs that he called his own, however we had about a dozen others that were deemed unadoptable, and no efforts were ever made to adopt out the cats, though he would think nothing of bringing in another dozen at a time to live out their lives at the rescue. This may have been admirable had we not constantly been struggling with flea infestations, upper respiratory epidemics, and a complete lack of socialization opportunities.

So, there you have it... The rescue hoarder does adopt out animals, however - in the words of Gia Logan, who runs animalhoardinginfo.blogspot.com, "Hoarders do adopt out, but it may be one every couple of months. (Legitimate) rescuers work at adopting out, every weekend, showing their animals, etc... Even in the book on Barbara Erickson (Inside Animal Hoarding, by Celeste Killeen) she adopted out... But they collect more than they adopt. A (legitimate) rescue keeps the numbers manageable, their animals healthy."

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Cinema Saturday


This has been around for a while, but I just discovered it personally and thought it was a perfect feature for this Cinema Saturday.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Rescue Hoarding: Excerpt from Memoir, Cats in the Cradle and Bullies in the Belfry


The following is an excerpt from my memoir-in-progress, Cats in the Cradle and Bullies in the Belfry, detailing the year-and-a-half that I spent with a man later convicted of animal hoarding, when he was found with 362 animals - some alive, some dead - in an elementary school he purchased in Kentucky when we were still together. It is my hope that by telling some of these stories, other individuals who find themselves involved with hoarders will be able to recognize the signs, overcome the guilt and conflicted emotions inevitable in such a situation, and rise to help the animals locked in such tragic circumstances.

Three weeks after our first meeting through an online dating service in Portland, Oregon, Dave asked if I would like to go with him to California, where he was readying his house for sale. My family was horrified. My Portland friends were likewise appalled. I knew very little about him – the things I did know were certainly enough to give one pause. I’d never seen his place in Oregon, never met any of his friends. I knew that he ran an animal rescue from his home, but had only seen photos from his website. We'd been on dates, talked on the phone, exchanged e-mails... After a lengthy internal debate and an even lengthier external one with all those warning me that I would likely be killed and dumped in a ditch somewhere, I made my decision:

I’d moved to Oregon for new experiences. To be brave, step outside the narrow boundaries I’d set for myself over the years.

I would go to California.

We were to leave on the first of June, 2006 – a Thursday. That afternoon passed with no word from Dave. The evening, likewise, passed. That night, Dave finally called.

“Boarding fell through for the dogs, so we might have to take a couple of them with us.” He sounded tired. My reservations began to fade; I imagined the two of us in his mysterious Marin home with a couple of homeless pooches lying contentedly at our feet.

“That’s all right,” I quickly reassured him. “Take your time getting everything ready, and try to get some sleep tonight. We’ll leave tomorrow. And it’ll be fun to have some dogs around – don’t worry about it.”

The next day came and went. In our next phone conversation, two dogs had magically turned into ten. My reservations returned. Friday night at eleven o’clock, Dave called to say that we would definitely be leaving on Saturday afternoon. Our ten dogs might be as many as thirteen, but certainly no more than twenty.

I went to my cozy little kitchen and began preparing thermoses of calming tea, in anticipation of a long weekend of panic attacks and general insanity.

Saturday night at nine o’clock, Dave pulled up in front of my apartment building in upper Northwest Portland, in his green Dodge van. The Rose Festival had just begun: pretty girls in pretty dresses and trendy boys with hipster hats walked hand-in-hand on the sidewalk. It was a warm evening, the air scented with the blooms of spring: Roses and lilacs, a residual trace of cigar smoke from my upstairs neighbor.

Those scents vanished as soon as I opened the door to Dave’s van, replaced with the overpowering scent of wet dog, a vague undercurrent of eau de livestock to add punch. I handed Dave my backpack, clutched my thermos of calming tea a little bit tighter, and climbed in.

Barks and whines began in earnest the moment I closed the door. A particularly shrill yelp came from a crate closest to my seat – I tried to peer inside, but could see nothing but a pair of shining eyes in the dim light of the van.

“That’s Puppy,” Dave explained. “He doesn’t like crates.”

I hesitated. “Can I let him out?”

Dave glanced at me. Half the neighborhood was blocked off for the Rose Festival; he was having a hard time navigating the myriad of one-way streets to get us back on the highway.

“Once he gets in your lap, he’s never getting out – he’s a big baby.”

That didn’t sound like a bad thing. In my experience, puppies trump calming tea every time when coping with anxiety. I opened the crate, and a wriggling black and tan pup with big ears came leaping out. I scooped up the sleek little man and cuddled him on my lap. Moments later, his nose resting on my arm, the little dog was asleep.

We arrived at Dave’s home, a ranch-style house in the much-sought-after county of Marin, at 10 a.m. the following morning. I’d gotten no more than an hour of sleep during the drive, while Dave hadn’t slept at all – insisting that it was better for the dogs if we drove straight through. Though clearly exhausted, he shrugged off my suggestion of a nap with an eyebrow tipped north and the clear implication that I must be mad.

“Now? But we just got here.”

A nap was out of the question anyway, as we had eleven dogs who’d been stuck in crates for more than twelve hours. Working in tandem, we managed to get all of the dogs out for a quick bathroom break, with Dave providing color commentary and one-sentence bios on each of the residents.

“That’s Stache – hold onto him, we’ll never catch him if he gets away. And keep him away from the other crates, he’ll fence fight with anyone he sees.” This was delivered with a nod toward the charge I held on a short lead: A beautiful, dark grey guy with the softest coat I’d ever touched, and a curly tail. “He’s from Taiwan, so he’s a little shy.”

Dave quickly pulled out Stache’s crate, cleaned it in the driveway, and carried it inside. The front yard was overgrown, and the inside of his home equally neglected. A drum set, guitars, and amps that I later learned belonged to Dave’s stepdaughter, were set up in the otherwise-empty living room. Paint was peeling, and there were stains on the walls and holes in the flooring. An open case of laminated flooring had spilled in the entryway, covered in dust and dirt.

Stache went back into his crate, and was relegated to a room in the back of the house where Dave’s old office had been. A desk and piles of computer equipment remained, along with posters and flyers of political causes I’d never heard of. I tried to imagine this place as a home – the house where he’d been married, raised two kids, run a successful business for nearly twenty years. He told me that when his ex-wife had lived there, the place had been filled with antique furniture, immaculate and tastefully decorated.

Looking around, I couldn’t even imagine it.

As Dave and I cleaned crates and tried to organize the dogs to maximize safety and harmony, stories began to emerge.

Underdog, a lab mix rescued from the put-to-sleep list at a county shelter in California, was thin to the point of breaking, his stomach bloated like the malnourished children in UNICEF ads. “He looks a hell of a lot better than he did, though,” Dave assured me. I wasn’t sure how that could possibly be true. His backside was nearly bald from a case of demodectic mange, and his spinal column stood out starkly against his frail frame. Undie didn’t seem to be lacking in energy or enthusiasm, however; we released him in Dave’s fenced backyard with three similarly-sized dogs – Puppy, Toast, and Emily – and all four pups were quickly oblivious to our presence.

Next came Heffalump. She sat whining piteously in her crate, her wide cattle dog face nevertheless grinning at our approach.

“Watch her,” Dave warned me. “She can be a grumpus bear sometimes.” I raised my eyebrows at his words, but said nothing. In time, I would become well-acquainted with the term – it was something I was accused of myself on many occasions, when the days grew long and tempers proportionately shorter.

Heff came out of her crate like a barrel-chested bullet. Once I had her in hand, I realized that she was missing a hind leg. Despite this, she managed to propel herself with startling speed; I clung to the end of the leash, amazed at how one hind leg could support such a dense little body.

Those were the “easy” dogs. Dave handled the rest while I looked on, watching curiously as he interacted with a class of dog I’d had little experience with: the bullies.

There was Piglet, a scrawny little black pit bull/lab mix who, Dave said, had been chained to a barrel for the first three years of her life. She was finally rescued by the famed Best Friends; from there, she and two of her fellow so-called “pocket pits” were transported to Dave’s place. The others found homes without a problem, but Piglet – with her hyena-like bark, aggression toward all things smaller than she, and lack of socialization with humans – had proven to be a much more difficult placement.

There was Cookie, a beautiful brindle pit mix who loved everyone – dogs, people, the world at large. She had come from another county shelter in California. She came out of her crate and nearly knocked me to the floor; I felt the power in her shoulder muscles, saw the definition in her hind legs, and melted at the wide bully grin I’d soon come to know so well. Cookie quickly abandoned me in favor of Dave, leaping ecstatically in the air with a high-pitched squeal and then barking frantically when we returned her to her crate after her all-too-brief walk.

Next came Jellybean.

“She’s the one you told me about, right?” I looked on curiously, from a distance. Jellybean was black and white, and – though not emaciated like Underdog – was clearly underweight. She panted heavily in her crate, her eyes following our every move.

“Yeah – Jelly here’s been having some trouble lately.”

Dave was master of the understatement. Jellybean had been involved in two serious fights with the other dogs back in Oregon, and had attacked one of the llamas on the farm – clamping on so tightly that Dave said he hadn’t been sure he’d be able to get her off.

With the sound of growls, barks, and whines as background music, we made sure everyone was secure before releasing Jellybean in yet another empty back room. Her tail whipped back and forth at sight of Dave, but she remained aloof when I approached. With time and space, she soon came around. She sniffed me cautiously and nuzzled my hand. Within a few minutes, we were fast friends.

And then there was Cara. Cara was a 60-pound pit bull mix with a skin condition so severe she’d lost most of her hair. Her skin beneath was pink and raw, her ribs showing starkly beneath. She was isolated from the others for fighting issues. She looked at me through her crate door with oversized amber eyes and a wide bully grin.

Dave was quick to explain away the dogs’ conditions: He and his foster partner had taken on cases nobody else would take. They’d come to him this way. Everything would have been fine, the dogs would have been healthy and happy, if his partner hadn’t bailed on him. It was better than being dead, wasn’t it?

I wasn’t so sure.

My final introduction was to Donna – the dog who would change everything for me, from start to bloody finish.

Dave carried her crate inside without taking its resident for a walk, explaining as he went.

“She’ll have to be isolated for now – she’s a fear biter. If she gets out, we’ll never catch her.”

She was another street mutt from Taiwan, completely unsocialized and terrified of humans. We took her to a room with a sliding glass door at the far side of the house, looking out over the little courtyard out back. The room was piled high with boxes, newspapers scattered in every direction. Dave opened the crate and I peered inside.

Crouched against the back wall, a little blonde dog with long hair and a pointed, elfin nose stared at me. Though she had been with Dave for nearly three months already, her hair was matted and her eyes runny.

“I don’t push it with her,” Dave told me. “I figure if it’s not life threatening, it’s better that she gets to trust me first than force the issue just so she looks good. She won’t be adoptable for a long time, anyway.”

We set bowls of food and water in a corner of the room. Donna didn’t move; we stepped back and waited silently. Finally, after a couple of minutes, she hesitantly took her first steps into my world. As soon as she was out of the crate, she looked at Dave and me and raced for the hills. Glancing around at the layers of debris around me, I was convinced we’d never see her again.

Monday, September 13, 2010

EnvironMental Monday: Dogs and Houseplants

For the first couple of years living with my mutts, I avoided all manner of plant life. It just seemed like too much hassle - as border collie mixes, my guys tend to get into anything and everything that seems even remotely interesting. A real live tree growing in our living room? It seemed like a recipe for disaster.

This summer, however, I decided that I'd had enough of my fern-free existence. So, armed with a list of the more dog-friendly houseplants out there and plenty of dogged determination, I set out to put a little green back in my life. Here are a few pointers that I learned in the process.

(1) That list of dog-friendly houseplants I mentioned before - as well as a list of those known to be toxic to pets - can be found through the ASPCA's website, here. Make sure to have the lists of toxic and non-toxic plants with you when you visit your local greenhouse.

(2) Before going out to stock up on foliage, consider the kind of dog(s) you have. Big or little? Wild inside the house or cool as the proverbial cucumber? Do you have a puppy, or is your dog in his twilight years? The answers will play a big part in just how much plant life you're able to spread around your home. For puppies and high energy dogs, you'd be well advised to start with plants that are hung out of reach. Brackets and window boxes are inexpensive, widely available, and can add color and flair to any decor.

(3) If you've decided on plants that are within reach of your dog, start out by monitoring his "interactions." If your pooch - whether adult or puppy - shows interest in a plant, don't shout or make a big deal of things. Calmly say "Uh unh," "Eh-eh" or whatever other verbal cue you give when the dog is doing something he's not supposed to. Then, redirect his attention to a more appropriate focus - a Kong, bone, or other chew toy, for example. Give praise whenever he is focused on the right object, and then calmly and firmly redirect him anytime he returns his attention to the plant.

(4) Watch out for sneak attacks. Be aware of signs that your prized pooch is sneaking midday snacks while you're not around. Chewed or missing leaves, or dirt that's spilled onto the floor could be signs that Fido is taking advantage of your fern while your back's turned. In that case, you can take 1 cup of water and 1/4 cup of Tabasco sauce or cayenne pepper and mix in a spray bottle, and spray the plant's leaves lightly. The taste is offensive to most dogs, who will learn to give the plant a wide berth after that. Stop spraying the plant after a week or so, and see if you're still noticing missing leaves or other signs of covert destruction.

While I'm sure that you, as a responsible dog owner, have avoided any plants that are known to be toxic to our canine companions, certain dogs may be sensitive or have allergies to certain plants. According to a great article at www.flowershopnetwork.com, "Don't panic if you catch your pet chewing on one of your houseplants. Wash out your pet's mouth as most of the plants can cause mouth irritations. If your pet is vomiting or shows signs of distress call your vet. Collect any vomit your pet expels if possible. Give your vet as much information about the type of plant, amount ingested and the ingested parts (roots, bulbs, or leaves). It is a good idea to take a leaf from the plant to your vet." That article can be found here.

If you need more information on toxins or suspect your pet has ingested something toxic but he's showing no signs, you can always go to the ASPCA's Animal Poison Control Center. By using common sense and keeping an eye on your pup's behavior, however, you should be able to integrate houseplants into your dog-happy home with good results in no time flat. Best of luck!

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Woofstock 2010: Animal Rescue Extravaganza

Jen was in heaven today... Yep, it was Woofstock, which is all about animal rescue and earth friendliness and, well, dogs. Pit bull rescue, greyhound rescue, animal rescues in general, Planet Dog, herbal remedies, Maine Search and Rescue Dogs, animal behaviorists, agility, rally, fashion show, dog show, training tips... If it's rescue-friendly and dog-centric, chances are it was represented at Woofstock this year. I'll have a full recap in the October issue of Downeast Dog News; for now, we'll just settle with a whole lotta dog pics to give a sampling of all that was to be had at Woofstock this year.



This sweet pair were SoME Pit (Southern Maine Pit Bull)'s official helpers during a fabulous session on children and dog safety, presented by Jessica Dolce. The handouts and visuals were perfect, and Loki (the pit bull pictured) was a sweetheart as audience members tried out their introduction and petting techniques.



Aside from the many fun events and demonstrations, there were plenty of sweet faces to focus on throughout the day. Here are just a few of the members of the crowd who found themselves on the other end of my camera.









I was able to get plenty of action shots during the agility and rally demonstrations, and met many amazing people who devote their free time to helping animals in Maine and throughout New England. All in all, it was a gorgeous and inspiring day... Considering that this is the anniversary of 9/11, I can't think of anywhere I would rather be than outside with others who are helping one another, revelling in what it means to be a contributing member of a free society. Three cheers for Woofstock, and all those who worked their behinds to the bone to make it happen. I can't wait 'til next year!

Friday, September 10, 2010

Practice Shots: Photographing Dogs


I've been in a very doing mood lately - want to build and cook and climb and jump out of airplanes. This, according to my astrologer aunt, is due to a Uranus transit that makes even introverts like yours truly want to get up in a crowded room and dance the jig. Whatever the cause, I'm feeling the urge to stretch myself in new and creative ways. One manifestation is in my photography. I've always gravitated toward taking photos of landscapes and plant life, primarily because by doing so I wouldn't be rocking anyone else's personal space boat. I know how much I hate having a camera pointed my way, so I tend to avoid doing the same to others. Sadly, I've missed out on many great photo moments because of that philosophy. Now, I'm trying to get past my innate desire to leave folks alone - beginning with dogs. I found this great post the other day at Bad Rap Blog on taking quality shots of pets. Here are a few of the results from my own efforts over the last two mornings. The dogs, of course, are my very own Killian and Adia (Killy's the black-and-white, Adia is the black-and-tan).



The above are based on Lori Fusaro's recommendation to "Zoom in on those things you love." In other words - don't be afraid of the extreme close-up, which is something I invariably fail to do. I love these shots, because they get in nice and tight on the fuzzy faces I love so very much.


My attempt at an action shot - not easy with my digital camera, but I do love the fact that the hounds are caught in mid-flight.


I love taking still lifes, as I mentioned - and particularly those with a natural frame. The white flower framed by the branches above caught my eye, and I love the detail I was able to capture. The beads of water on the leaves below are nice, but I do wish I'd been able to get a crisper image of the berries.


And finally, the obligatory landscape - I love this spot in the woods, as do the hounds. Unfortunately, the light was bad for dog pics; every shot I took of them, they had demon eyes. One of the drawbacks of shady spots and overcast days, I guess.

Monday, September 6, 2010

5 Tips for Creating a Friendly Space for Your Senior Dog


Since I spent Saturday talking about end-of-life and hospice care for senior pets with Dr. Robin Elms, and since my article for Downeast Dog this month is on that very subject, I thought a fitting topic for EnvironMental Monday would be creating a senior-friendly home for the aging dog. Just as with people, senior dogs have specific needs. Here then are a few suggestions to help our guys live out those twilight years with comfort and dignity.

(1) Soft places are key. Old bones aren't compatible with bare floors. There are plenty of great dog beds out there for senior pups, like the one pictured below from Drs Foster and Smith. Be sure to have a couple of beds scattered around the house so your pup can be comfortable wherever he chooses to lay his weary head.



(2) Jumping is a young dog's sport. For arthritic hips and painful joints, jumping onto the couch or into the car can be a mighty feat. To make it easy on your aging dog, invest in a pet staircase or doggy ramp. Watch how your hound navigates the stairs at home, as well - if he's having lots of trouble, consider limiting his trips up and down the stairs or investing in an aid to help him make the trek, and talk to your veterinarian about adding glucosamine to his diet to ease joint pain and reduce inflammation.

(3) Create quiet zones. Your old dog may have been the belle of the ball at one time, but age can change things - aches and pains may make him short-tempered and less inclined to tolerate rowdy children or younger, more playful pets. Don't isolate your senior dog by any means, but watch his reactions - and don't ask him to put up with squealing toddlers pulling his tail or feisty pups chewing on his paws. Have respect for your old dog - remember, he's earned his retirement. Now, it's time for you to do your part by making his golden years a peaceful, happy time.

(4) Consider having a senior spa day. Doggy massage or aquatherapy may sound expensive, but it can be as simple as settling into rub your pup's hips and gently work his leg and shoulder joints, or taking him for a romp in the local swimming hole. If your old dog suffers from joint pain, hip dysplasia, or arthritis, massage and swimming are great, inexpensive ways to work out the kinks. Check out this post from the Senior Dog Blog for the most effective ways to massage your senior dog.

(5) Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate! Senior pets need plenty of fresh water. Consider purchasing a doggy water fountain like the one pictured below from PetSmart, to be sure your pup is getting the water he needs. If you notice that your senior dog still doesn't seem to be drinking as much as you think he should, check out this post for other innovative ideas to get water past your old boy's (or girl's) lips. Be attentive - there are often physical reasons for why a dog is not eating or drinking. Be sure to call your vet if the problem persists.



And finally, don't forget to enjoy this time. Whether you've known each other for years or you're one of the very special people who has adopted an older pet, the warmth and wisdom of the senior dog is a wonderful thing. Take time to relax, go for slow walks, and smell the roses. Every day with an old dog is truly a gift!

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Hospice Care for Pets: Interview with Dr. Robin Elms


Saturday afternoon, I interviewed Dr. Robin Elms, a veterinarian transplanted from New Jersey to the wilds of Camden, Maine. An amazing woman, and an hour-and-a-half well-spent! She and her sons Lars and Cody now inhabit a two-story "upside-down" house (kitchen and living room on the top level, bedrooms on the bottom) on a dead-end road close to downtown Camden. They share their home with an aging iguana, two boxers, and two pampered pussycats - one of which is a senior, while the other is a much-loved tripod. All of the animals are rescues Dr. Elms has taken in over the years.


Elms is in the process of setting up a practice that specializes in end-of-life hospice care and in-home euthanasia for terminally ill or senior pets. It was genuinely enlightening speaking with Elms on the subject of end-of-life care - something none of us really want to think about, but that unfortunately most of us will face at one time or another. Everyone gets old - even our beloved pets.

While we talked, Elms sons milled around the kitchen, adding to the conversation, making their lunches, and generally adding a more grounded feel to the afternoon. At one point, Elms was discussing how deeply some of her clinets have been impacted by their pets' deaths - one of them going so far as to have a coffin custom-made for the animal. I was moved by the conversation and saddened by memories of the pups I have lost over the years, but was happily brought back to Earth by Lars, who interjected skeptically with, "I'm sorry, but that's just creepy." It broke the tension and the house was soon filled with laughter. Both boys are definitely animal lovers, but it's good to have that reliably cynical teenage-boy voice to remind you of the real world when things start to feel a little too dire.

This month's feature story for Downeast Dog is on in-home, end-of-life care for pets, and will covera wide array of topics on the subject of extending a pet's life - and how (and when) to let go when that sad time has come. Look for the story in the October issue of Downeast Dog News.