Welcome to the Land of Misfit Toys (Toy Breeds, That Is)

Minion is doing his best to distract me. He is indignant and seeking revenge after being crated for a few hours while I ran errands, so this six week old kitten is alternately attacking my clothes, biting my nose, and swatting at my eyeballs as if to say, "If you aren't going to look at me, then I'll make it so you won't see at all." He's my precious pearl of a fosterling. Very charming. And lonely. His two siblings passed away within a couple days of each other this week. If you ask me why, you'll hear me say, "Because people don't fix their pets." It's nearing the end of what has been a very long year of trying to save cats and kittens...of trying to make people care about saving cats and kittens. I'm not sure where we are with that.

The Jackson County Animal Shelter has continued to be full to bursting with purrballs, and I'd like to see the community care more about that. I'd like to see my community stand up against that. We need a new shelter. And people need to spay and neuter the animals in their care. Indeed, yesterday a woman took turns pleading for help and screaming at me because I wouldn't take her two 'very unique' kittens. She'd couple that with how irresponsible people are when it comes to fixing their pets. I admit, I'm confused. And as for 'very unique,' well, all kittens are unique. Every kitten in animal shelters across the United States is UNIQUE. Unique kittens die every day in numbers the general public doesn't want to digest. And since the general public isn't facing the reality in Jackson County, NC, very little is being done to change it. The work that is being done is being carried out by a handful of taxpayers who work jobs, raise families, and fight tirelessly to make a difference. I'm one of those.

Last night I spent a few hours of one-on-one time with my son Eli. I took him to the State Fair. It was actually our second time, but the first was marred by our watching a newly hatched chick drown in its water dish behind the glass panel of its hutch. Sure, Universe, just wait for the gang of animal advocates to show up to have the chick take its last breath a few seconds before we finally got help (slow, plodding help). Eli even snuck behind 'enemy lines' so to speak to make sure it was dead, because the attendant seemed dazed about the whole thing. Eli, who has witnessed enough of animal welfare struggles this year, deserved a fun trip, so I tried to make that happen by returning to the fair with him for Mommy-and-Me time. I have to say, the results were impressive.

So impressive that after an enormously heavy work load this past week, I was beat by the end of our night out. My eyelids kept closing, and I finally pulled over at a gas station to catch a few zzzzzz's, setting the timer for an hour. Nine minutes later, I kid you not, I bolted awake certain that I was asleep at the wheel and careening off the highway, with the green grass right in front of my eyes. I wasn't. I was safely parked. But I was awake after that. I hadn't been that wiped out since working overnights as a critical care veterinary nurse in California. I can remember those days of leaving work at 7 a.m. and having to pull into a drive-through's parking lot or off the road by a cow pasture to get a little sleep before finishing the trip home. It's all good, though. It's just been a busy week.

Haywood Spay/Neuter had its largest spay/neuter day yet on September 11th, sending out ninety dogs and cats between trap-neuter-return and owned pets. And, yes, September 11th. That loaded date where time seems to stop and the air seems to be knocked out of one's lungs. That was the date for our spay/neuter trip. We commemorated the day by tying memorial ribbons to all the crates being loaded to go to Asheville Humane Alliance. For a couple of weeks beforehand we would say over and over again throughout the day, "Our next spay/neuter trip is on September 11th." We just had to do something. Sometimes when there seems to be nothing one can do to make something better, a small act, such as tying ribbons on crates, becomes significant, especially when owners of dogs and cats want to participate, and we join together to be a community in the wake of sadness.

 So that's a very brief synopsis of my week. Very brief and incomplete. And it is just a lead-in for the rescue magic I was able to partake in today. Rescue magic coming on the tails of exhaustive diligence is the most rewarding magic there is, I believe.

From Left to Right: Eli, holding Rae, Kessa with Rock Star,
and Sandy with Blue, her new foster.

If you'd come in my office today, you would have seen three adults all wrapped up in helping three little dogs. First, there was Blue, the little middle-aged dachshund with the nose that goes on for forever. We jokingly referred to him as a pelican, for when you'd hold him in your arms, it was as if he were perching, bird-like, his nose a loooooong beak. We pulled him from the Jackson County Animal Shelter this morning, thanks to a foster coming forward to give him a place in their home while we figure out where he will go rescue-wise.

Blue, the Dachshund

Kessa was calling me, so I knew it had to be important. Kessa goes up to the Jackson shelter about once a week to take photographs of as many animals as she can. This was something I used to do, and I'm thrilled to have her taking a lead role in it now because there don't seem to be enough hours in a day. And pictures save lives.

Rock Star after bath & trim

Rock Star's wounds, front right shoulder/leg

Rock Star is all of 11 pounds. He is a miniature poodle mix, though it was hard to tell under the matted hair, gloppy goopy eyes, and, well, the malodorous (okay, ahem, Reeeeking) wounds under his one front leg. She wanted to know if there was anything we could do for him. Meanwhile, my dogs all heard the phone ring and were expressing their excitement through barking, whining, and general tail-beating-against-crates. Eli slept through the whole thing.

We put our heads together, and we decided to call ARF Jackson Humane, so I hung up and called our go-to gal in the organization to see if we could get them to take on the little bugger and get him medical attention. It was a go. Kessa drove him to Sylva Animal Hospital, had his wounds assessed, medications dispensed, and then brought him to the office. You wouldn't have known he was grossly injured, the way he toddled around the back office, happy-go-lucky, content to go sit in a crate or be petted.

Christy Swanton showed up with toy dog number 3. In fact, this dog even has numbers...in its ear. Rae is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who was at Haywood County Animal Services. Supposedly she was 'found in a barn.' Who knows what the reality is. But she does have a tattoo with letters and numbers in one ear. She has obviously had litters of puppies, and her eyes have that cloudy misty appearance that comes with advancing age in dogs. She is also darling. Absolutely endearing. Three people, three toy dogs.

Sweet 'Baby' Rae, upon arrival at rescue, before grooming/bath

Thankfully it was a fairly low-key day in the office, and Christy brought clippers. Rock Star and Rae each received their trimmings, followed by major baths. Rock Star has a thin coat and flaky, icky skin, plus he has those big wounds. Rae, well, she just smelled. Blue, Rae, and Rock Star are all about eight years old, and both of the boys are neutered. Just goes to show that small dogs do end up in our shelters...more often that we'd like, most certainly.

Blue left with his foster family. Rock Star left with Kessa, and he'll be bounced around a couple foster homes until he settles in with a longer-term ARF foster to heal from what looks like abscessed bite wounds, judging from the four deep punctures. He's receiving antibiotics and pain medication, as well as eye ointment. It looks like he has vision problems and is hard of hearing too.

Rae is with me. She will be dropped off with my landlady in the morning. My landlady is a hobby breeder of Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. Fancy that. No one is allowed to criticize her in my presence for being a breeder. For three years she has allowed me to freely foster cats and dogs out of my rental. She never complains. Her dogs are healthy, beautiful, and receive excellent veterinary care...what a breeding program should be. She raises Cavaliers because she grew up with them in Ireland, and you basically have to work from home to own one of her pups. She knows the breed. She loves her dogs. And I thought I'd ask for her help on Rae's behalf.

Sweet Baby Rae will either stay with my landlady permanently or be worked into one of our transport programs. Only time will tell. The important thing is that she, as well as Blue and Rock Star, are safe. Because people were motivated, creative, and willing to work together, Blue, Rock Star, and Rae are SAFE. That's what it takes. We have to move beyond being a community in name only to being an active and responsible community that wants to change our reality. The animals deserve it. Assuredly so. But so do we. Our shelters reflect us as citizens, as taxpayers, as human beings. The way we treat our animals reflects humanity, or the lack thereof.

I don't mind a stretch of lack of sleep. I don't mind answering the phone call from a friend. I don't mind finding a space for a fifteen pound dog to spend the night so she can get out of a shelter and feel loved again. That's what it takes. I wouldn't trade it for the world, and I wake up every day grateful for my life and the people and animals in it. I know each day is an adventure, even if just a virtual one, such as dreaming I am careening off the road. More often than not, though, the adventure is real. There is a lot of work to do in Western North Carolina to make our Community better, and I'm game for that adventure. You can bet on it.

Love from the Tailroad,
Chandra