When I was little, I didn’t have imaginary friends. I had imaginary dogs. Eight of them. One for each day of the week plus an additional for Saturday (because Saturday was twice the fun.) I’m pretty sure psychologists would say this was the culmination of my love for dogs, the Monday’s Child poem my Grandmother had read to me, and the fact that my mother was going to school to become a teacher at that time.

The other night, as Tucker and Ruby sat before me in the kitchen, anxiously awaiting a new trick to learn and thus earn the scrumptious piece of chicken in my hand, I realized how much our childhood imaginings shape our adulthood.  I don’t think I could handle eight dogs in reality, and although I was teaching more practical canine skills like Sit and Down now instead my childhood curriculum where the dogs learned reading comprehension, I was still living my childhood fantasy.

The dogs of my imagination were a motley crew, named the days of the week. I had fleshed out the one-liners from the original two hundred year old poem, and of course, amended them for canine likenesses. The delight in Ruby’s eyes every time she fully grasped my intent lit up the room was much like the quiet Monday did in my childhood classroom. As Tucker bowled over Ruby to prove he knew Down, it struck me that I had actually adopted Saturday II, my favorite imaginary dog who was a little too cool for school and always proving his witty brilliance given the chance.

Despite what professionals might theorize, I don’t believe my imaginary classroom was based solely upon my mother’s career choice. Although training a dog has practical implications and is always a good idea in general, it goes deeper than that. Teaching a dog something—anything—is the clearest way for you show him that you love him.

Imagine living in a place where you don’t speak the language or understand the culture. The people you live with are constantly yelling at you for you doing what you think is perfectly normal behavior. But they ever teach you what they want. And other than the obvious signs of discontent that you’ve learned to decipher, you don’t know a single word of their language.

That’s how a dog begins life with us.

So every time you take five minutes of your day to teach him the word Sit, or show him how he should greet guests, you’re proving to him that he matters. You’re showing him that you love him. You’re including him in your life, which is all he ever wanted.

Every time Ruby dug into my yard, ate my shoes, pulled the eyes and nose off a stuffed animal, I got angry. (Thanks to Ruby, I now have a special needs stuffed animal.)

But I wasn’t really angry at her. I was mad at whoever she lived with before that didn’t feel that she mattered enough to teach her anything.

Ruby learned Sit in five minutes. She understood the concept of Down in another five minutes, and in another ten minutes, she mastered it completely.  In just five to ten minutes a day, right before dinner and again once before bedtime, the girl learned Sit, Down, Paw, Freeze (both paws in the air—but we didn’t get to Bang! where she has her dramatic collapsing scene), Watch Me, and Touch. The sparkle in her eye when she understood Paw made my heart smile. Every day when it was learning time, she sat down nicely, tail wagging, ready to learn more. In the moment of silence while I contemplated what to teach, she’d offer up all she knew so far, so proud of herself for having knowledge and the ability to use it.

Ruby didn’t need to get a home now because I was rapidly running out of hats and footwear for her to destroy; she needed to get a home now because she was at the prime of her learning life. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but teaching a young one is even more rewarding. Her forever family was missing out on these precious moments as I taught her the basic requirements of living among humans. It was like someone missing out on their child's first steps and first crawl and first word. Ruby needed her forever family to start teaching her so she could see how much they loved her.

Saturday morning I awoke and said, “Today, Ruby is going home.”

I had no knowledge of any applications on her; I just knew she needed to go home. Aside from being primed and ready for her home, I was beginning to think that although Tucker enjoyed her company, it was a bit like leaving my boy with the stalker chick who was so in love with him she came across as a little crazy. That’s fun for a guy—for a little while. Then he needs to stop being sexted eighty-seven times a day.

Tucker seemed exhausted. He did seem to like her, but her morning perkiness was a bit much for either of us to handle, and sometimes Tucker needed his alone time.

So, I did my best to erase any doubt in my heart and as I took Ruby out to the store, I said to Tucker, “Did you say good-bye to Ruby, Tucker? She’s going home today.”

He seemed to understand. He looked surprised. The rest of the morning I was a bit sad for Tucker. Stalker-chick attention is still attention, and although he needed a break from it, I think he would miss it.

At 2 p.m., Shelly called me to ask if I could do a homecheck for Ruby. A couple with a  two-year old little girl had seen Ruby a couple weeks earlier, but went home and thought it over, read about pit bull mixes, and wanted to make an informed decision. I said I would go, but needed Shelly with me. I never want to be the ultimate decision maker when it comes to deciding a dog’s life.

I met up with them at 4 p.m., and headed over to the family’s house. I hadn’t seen Ruby with children, so I was a little hesitant. I know Tucker is okay with everyone, but I also witnessed him with my friend’s three-year olds and have concluded that he thinks anyone under four feet high is another dog. He would never hurt them purposely, but he’s twice their gravitational pull, and has the balance advantage of four feet on the ground. In a bodily collision, he’s the only one left standing—and not crying.

Ruby seemed at ease in the house and yard. She didn’t stick by me but explored confidently. The child was calm and polite, offering Ruby water in bowls that were already in the kitchen. They had even bought her a bed. The mom said that they had seen other dogs like Ruby in the shelter but they immediately got so excited that they knocked her little one down. I explained that Ruby could do the same. Ruby had the advantage of being properly exercised and therefore could be a civilized canine in the presence of young ones. Shelter dogs don’t always get the walks they need and certainly are cooped up and overjoyed when someone finally shows them attention. Their over-exuberance isn’t necessarily an inherent trait as much as a circumstantial state of being.

The couple of was ready for Ruby. They knew Ruby had chewed some things, they knew she was in training, they understood what they were getting into when they adopted a dog twice the weight of their child. There was a calm and peaceful energy about them and their house. Although it would have been nice for Ruby to have a canine sibling, this was by no means a terrible place. Tucker probably would have preferred a canine family too, but such is life. I make up for it in other ways. I hoped this family would do the same for Ruby, giving her playdates and daycare and training classes.

Saying good-bye to a foster is tough. Most of my fosters know they’re fosters. They somehow understand that I’m their temporary person and when they see their new home, they give me a big dog hug, thank me for the laughs, and are ready to start their new life.

But Ruby didn’t know. She was blind-sided.

I could see she was comfortable here. She didn’t even spend much time with me while I talked to her new mom. She was outside with her new dad and little human sister. But when Shelly told them to hold her leash and I kissed Ruby good-bye, wishing her well and made for the door, she balked at the leash and puppy-screamed for me. That high-pitched, “Mom! Don’t leave me behind!” was abundantly clear in that one syllable screech. Shelley and I walked out to the car and my eyes welled up with tears.

I know she’ll be fine. She’s got a human sister her exact age, and they’ll grow up together. I envied the little girl. I wondered if she had her own imaginary dogs and now she got to have a real one, as I did when I was four. She seemed like a gracious, kind soul, wanting to care for Ruby. I hoped she would take over the classroom for me. Her parents knew the importance of teaching their human child, and I had no doubt they would do the same for their new canine family member.

In my imaginary classroom thirty-five years ago and my real kitchen-classroom just two weeks ago, the lessons may differ but the intent has always been the same: to love. My childhood fantasy wasn’t about teaching dogs at all. It was about loving them. And as it turns out, childhood dreams do come true, as not only am I able to love every foster who shares my home briefly on their life’s journey, but I am blessed to love my souldog every single day of his life.

Ruby, Tucker and I loved sharing our home with you and loved getting a chance to love you. You have a beautiful new family who will love you beyond comprehension and you'll know it by all they teach you. We wish you the best in your new life, and will miss your sweet snuggle-butt.

There are two principles that I hold dear in my life:
1. I will help any animal in need regardless of breed or species, and
2. People shouldn’t dress their dogs up in people clothes.

I never fathomed that these two ideals would be at odds with one another. And then last Halloween happened.

I took a moratorium on fostering when Tucker joined my life so we could spend time building our relationship. I don’t regret that decision in the least, but as I was coming up on one year without being a part of the rescue community, it was starting to really eat away at me. The only way I contributed was by attending dog-centric fundraising events with Tucker. I enjoyed those a lot, as did Tucker, but it didn’t feel like I was doing enough.

Last October, in my search for something for Tucker and I to do one weekend, I found Pet Orphans of Southern California was having a Halloween party in which you could bring your dog, but dog costumes were mandatory.

Ugh.

I don’t like dressing myself up let alone a dog in costume. But it was for a good cause and maybe Tucker would enjoy himself. Holding as close as I could to my standard of not dressing up dogs in clothes, I put together a costume for Tucker that was accessories only: a hat, a scarf, and a pair of glasses--Where’s Waldo.

It turned out better than expected, and Tucker didn’t seem to mind wearing the items—especially since he got lots of chicken for doing so.

I sent this photo to my friend Carolina in San Francisco, whose beagles wear hoodies on a regular basis. (She and I differ on our stance about canine fashion.)

This was our conversation:

My immediate impulse reaction was of course, “No!” but before I could reply with that definitive response, a little voice of inspiration spoke up from the recesses of my mind: This might be an amazing fundraising project for rescues.

 I had no doubt that there was a market for a calendar featuring a pit bull dressed up as classic literary characters. That night at a human Halloween party, I showed my friend Amy who had done Tucker’s glamour shots a year earlier (back when I was under the delusion of just fostering him) the Waldo photo and asked if she would take the photos for the literary calendar. She was totally in.

And then she added another level to it.

Her Chihuahua/Jack Russell, Odie, enjoyed playing with Tucker, and what if the two of them were in some of the shots together? As my friend Ben said, “My guess is any photo of a pit bull and a chihuahua together where the pit bull isn’t eating the little dog is excellent publicity.”

And so began making into reality a simple yet brilliant idea first expressed in a text message. Keeping the literature to public domain only for legal purposes, Carolina, Amy, and I came up with a over a dozen options. I then set to work producing the scenes. After fifteen years in Hollywood, the first thing major I produced isn’t a movie, but twelve photo shoots that involve dogs in costumes. Not exactly what I expected for my life.

Since we were all volunteering our time, we had zero dollars for the budget. I hunted on craigslist for fabrics and invested in a sewing machine. I was trying to keep most of the costumes to accessories still—capes, hats, scarves. Not only did I feel it stayed more true to my principles, but it stayed true to my crafting abilities. I’m pretty sure my seventh grade Home Ec. teacher would be shocked to know I pulled this off at all.

I failed a number of times, and even gave up on some concepts when they didn’t come out right. I was measuring and making on the fly. Each new cape or jacket or hat took many hours as I made them through trial and error rather than set patterns. Given Tucker’s proportions, even his everyday harness had to be custom made. He wasn’t fitting into any store-bought items. Even the wire-rimmed glasses were hand-made using copper wire.  The only real dog accessory product straight out of the box is featured in the Frankenstein layout: Doggles. You can buy these UV-protector glasses for your dog too!

I honestly thought I could get it out for Christmas 2014, but by mid-November reality set in. Despite having all the time in the world since I was unemployed, I didn’t have all the talent and skill in the world. I also was always trying to find free or close-to-free props as much as possible—which meant making them myself or utilizing an old product in a new way.

Carolina offered support from up north with ideas, props, and my favorite contribution: her laughter, which was always a sign that we had hit the mark. Amy and I alone set up the locations and wrangled our stars. In hindsight, it would have been easier to have a third person there, but not only would it have been difficult to find someone to help, as independent women we generally believe we can handle it all ourselves.

The boys were amazing. Shoots with just Tucker were a lot easier since Odie was a distraction for Tucker and while Amy had the lens in her hands, it was up to me to direct their attention.

Since I had broken my principle about dressing up dogs, I set in stone another rule: if anyone at any time stopped having fun, the project would come to an end. If Tucker or Odie no longer considered treats and attention worth putting on poorly-made custom costumes for, then we would stop doing it.

Luckily, morsels of chicken outweighed minutes in silly costumes, so we did all twelve scenes. We only did two or three at each session to not burn them (or us) out. We never pushed the dogs beyond their means, and always let them be in control of breaks and play time. It had to be fun, or it wasn’t worth doing.

It took a whole year—mainly because I had a seven month gig in the middle, but also because I had to make costumes and then arrange times in Amy and my schedule to fit in the photo shoots. Once Amy did her finishing touches on the photos, I laid out the designs, chose the quotes, and hired Patterson Graphics in Burbank to come up with a grid design and manufacture and package the product.

Since Amy is on the Board of the Volunteers of the Burbank Animal Shelter and The Animal Protectorates (TAPS) is the rescue I do 99% of fostering and volunteering for, profits from our Amazon.com sales will be split between the two organizations.

Retail price is $13.50, and I’m wholesaling to non-profit rescues for $5 (the cost to manufacture) so they can make the most amount of profit from it at their holiday events and fundraisers.

Because I chose to professionally manufacture them in bulk rather than do a print on demand from a stand alone website, I could have a lower price, but I had to make quite a few of them. I feel like I signed up to sell too many boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. However, the quality of the finished product far exceeds anything we could have gotten on line. If we sell every single calendar we will raise between $3500 and $8500 for rescues (depending on the price they sell it at and and the venue where people buy it.)

I think that’s worth compromising my morals about canine fashion.

And honestly, although it was a lot of work, it was a lot of fun. I think it shows in the end product, but you be the judge. Here it is, the most ridiculous, hypocritical thing I’ve ever done to help animals:

You can buy one locally in Burbank at Operation Adopt at 3318 W. Magnolia Blvd, Burbank, CA during their normal business hours, or you can get one right now without even moving from your chair!

The direct link to purchase it on Amazon is http://www.amazon.com/The-Literary-Canine-Presents-Dog-Eared/dp/0996925619.

Since they’re in stock and Fulfilled By Amazon (I’m not shipping them directly), they’re eligible for Amazon Prime and ready to ship today.

Take a look, buy one for yourself, buy some for your friends. It’s a great way to contribute and you get a cool product you can enjoy all year round. Once we sell out completely, we’ll begin work on the next year's layout, which I think is a fitting genre for a pit bull like Tucker: Banned Books. Perhaps I’ll only sell it in Denver or other cities with Breed Specific Legislation.

But before we get ahead of ourselves, pick up Dog-Eared Classics, and please leave a comment on Amazon to let everyone know what you think. The more comments we have, the better. It’s already been the #1 New Release in Dog Calendars on Amazon; let’s make it the #1 Dog Calendar for the entire holiday season!

When you love someone, all those annoying habits you find in other people become endearing. The unforgivable becomes cute. When you love someone, you put up with a lot more of their shit than you do with the average acquaintance.

So it is with dogs.

Two years ago, Tucker was a mildly unruly canine who hadn’t been taught much in his life. He destroyed two soft-sided crates, shit in the house once, pissed in the house twice, ate my hat, and did things generally annoying to others. As much as I was angry at the time, I forgave him quickly because I loved him. That’s how love works. I wasn’t getting rid of him because of a few minor indiscretions.

Perhaps that’s why so many people surrender their animals to shelters. They don’t love them enough to forgive and to work through the awkward age and teach them to be civilized adults.

Tuesday marks two years since I met Tucker, then named Bruno, at the NKLA Super Adoption. I’ve spent countless hours and unknown amounts of dollars on training and learning with him and developing our relationship. It’s all been worth it and continues to be worth it. He is my soul dog. He’s stuck with me—whether he likes it or not—for the rest of his life.

Ruby, on the other hand, is not my soul dog.

When Tucker and I returned from our last film production venture, it took almost two months before TAPS had a potential foster for us. Her name was Canelle (Elle for short.) She was a delight. I didn’t even have a chance to write about her because she was so easy, polite, and a pleasure to be with that she was adopted quickly. She was house-trained, walked on a leash fabulously, was quiet, and just the right amount of affectionate. She and Tucker got along famously.

They played well and outdoors only. Inside they were civilized with each other to the extent of being too polite to even take the bed from the other, leaving it empty.

Elle was with us for one week. Rightfully, she was snatched up in an instant one Sunday afternoon without even a foster-to-adopt contract. This guy was certain: she was for him for life and Elle got adopted right then and there.

A week later, Christy called me with another similar dog to Elle. Probably a Viszla mix, she was around Tucker’s age and size and energy level. We did a meet and greet and they got along well. Ruby plays harder than Elle. Unlike the refined, cautious Elle, Ruby is a brash, undisciplined puppy with confidence and no internal editor. She is the female version of Tucker two years ago.

Ruby is a sweetheart. She is soft and cuddly and doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She expects the best from others, as Tucker did at that age: she shoves her face into Tucker’s when he’s eating or chewing on a bone not realizing that not all dogs can take that level of personal space invasion. Tucker growls a warning, and she gets it, but is a little offended.

Tucker and Ruby are well-matched when it comes to playing.

They even run the same:

They are the same height, but Tucker weighs in at ten pounds more. Ruby is a girl, but certainly no lady. She is rough and tumble and floppy and silly. I could watch them play for hours. Ruby is the first dog Tucker has played Tug with. Usually he or the other dog find it too much of a risk, but since Ruby doesn’t have a filter and is pure innocence, she knows the game is all in fun.

She's also madly in love with Tucker:

Ruby is learning, but it’s hard to teach a first grader when you have a senior in high school right next to her. Tucker has an extensive vocabulary and expects to be rewarded for understanding the same concepts that Ruby struggles with at this point. Ruby will learn them. I’m confident of that. When Ruby finds her person, he or she is going to teach her amazing things and she’ll get them quickly. I, unfortunately, can’t teach her a lot with Tucker right there.

Going for a walk is difficult, although I know most people don’t see why. Tucker walks next to me or behind me 90% of the time. I hook his leash to my belt, and that’s usually enough to keep him in line. If I see another dog approaching, I’ll put the leash in my hand to guide him to stay where he is. Ruby, on the other hand, lunges ahead, tugging on the leash, not used to being constrained by a six foot piece of cord. It’s not her fault; she was simply never taught.

She doesn’t pull much, but she’s constantly ahead of me and hasn’t gotten our walking rhythm down yet. A lot of people walk their dog in front of them and her walk wouldn’t bother them in the least. I, however, have extremely high standards and expect a dog to walk beside me in loose leash walking style.

But that takes training. Training I can’t do with Tucker with me.

When I used to foster, before Tucker became my partner,  I did some foundation training with each dog. It was easy and fun, and I enjoyed watching the dogs learn. But now I’m lucky to get anything in. Training is learning and learning is a life-long activity. Tucker and I still go to classes. I need to reinforce obedience often as when we get out of habit, he gets lazy and starts doing inappropriate things like jumping on people when he gets excited. It’s like anything in life: if you don’t use it, you lose it. I still want to teach Tucker more skills, but I always need to reinforce the old skills to keep them solid.

Ruby makes me realize just how far Tucker and I have come. And that not fostering for the first year with Tucker was the absolute right decision. He and I needed to build our foundation. Today he doesn’t need be crated as he’s no longer destructive. He only needs leash-walking reinforcement when we’re in new or over-exciting situations like adoption and fundraising events. He’s even starting to Come when he’s told on a more consistent basis. All of this comes with age and practice and the strength of our relationship.

Ruby is ready for her forever family. She is brash and undisciplined. She is destructive, but not out of spite—just out of not knowing any better. Channeling a dog’s energy for good instead of evil is every dog guardian’s responsibility. Tucker and I know how to channel his energy. Someone out there knows how to channel Ruby’s.

Ruby doesn’t mean to be destructive. When I yelled at her to stop digging a hole in the yard, she looked back perplexed on why this would be a problem. I couldn’t even yell at her when she went through the patio screen door because I was in another room when it happened, and it was evident that she just didn’t see it or understand it. Tucker can see the screen and waits for me to give him the go ahead; she can’t see it and isn’t waiting for permission.

Fostering is a chance for Tucker to have company when I’m gone. But it appears this might not be working out. Left to her own devices and a plethora of toys to choose from, Ruby still ate the strap off one of my crocs (when I bought them I did think, “These totally look like a dog toy” but bought them anyway because Tucker knows better), and now today, she ate the brim off my hat.

Two years ago, Tucker ate the brim off my favorite hat that I had for almost half a decade. I was upset, but I forgave him because I love Tucker. Love gave him a get out of jail free card.

Ruby is not my soul dog. I of course forgive her, but I’m much more frustrated. I had been gone less than four hours. It was morning. She had Tucker and any of the many dog toys to play with, but she chose to eat my hat, get a bunch of string from somewhere (I can’t recall where it came from), knock pillows off chairs, move the dog bed to the hallway, and channel her energy for evil rather than good. But it’s not her fault. None of it is. She needs guidance and training. She needs discipline and patience. And she needs that person who loves her so much that one indiscretion doesn’t cause her to be returned to the rescue.

Ruby is a great dog, just as Tucker was a great dog when I met him. Ruby has just as much potential as Tucker did then to become a well-trained, polite but still fun, dog who knows her boundaries and what is acceptable and what isn’t. It sounds like a tremendous task to get her to that point, but it isn’t because all of that comes in one package: her person. Ruby’s person is kind and generous, intelligent and patient, and will forgive her for eating his or her favorite hat, going through the trash, and whatever else she does while they build their relationship. Her person will do that because he or she recognizes Ruby as his or her soul dog and will love her no matter what.

This is a prime time for Ruby’s forever person to join her life. She’s ready to learn and eager to please. She’s still all puppy but is adult enough to not need house-training. Yes there will be tough times, and yes she isn’t perfect, but she is perfect for her person.

If you think you’re Ruby’s person, or know someone who might be, please send them her way. You can find her ad here: https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/33716558

I know Ruby's person is out there. Please come get her. She's ready to start her life with you. And I can't afford to lose any more hats.