Since I had been clutching the dustmop so close and hard as to not let him escape (although he really didn't seem like he wante to), I hadn’t really gotten a good look at him. So after getting Tucker back in his own crate, I took Blackie outside to see him in the daylight, and to let him pee.
He’s almost dog-shaped. Still closer to mop-shaped though.
He’s almost dog-shaped. Still closer to mop-shaped though.
Further inspection of the little guy led me to find his rather enormous set of balls. Tucker hadn’t noticed, but I was concerned that when he did, he wouldn’t be happy about it. Tucker has never hurt any other dog, but he does get quite uppity about another dog having their nuts. I wasn’t going to risk doing an introduction sans crate until I had the same number of humans as dogs in the room.
Blackie’s ill-fitted collar made me nervous. Going through my extensive collection of collars and harnesses, I was bereft to find that I did not have a single one small enough to fit him. I knew he was a runner, so a properly-fitted, secure harness was paramount. I called a friend who works in animal welfare and asked if she had any super tiny harnesses and if she’d be willing to help me do an introduction. She obliged but couldn’t come over for a few hours. To avoid any accidental introductions and to not frustrate Tucker who wanted to get all up into the little dude’s business, I decided to take Blackie for a pet supply run and get him checked for a microchip.
He wasn’t interested in Tucker’s highfaluten dog treats or food—except to roll in them—so I needed to get the kid some food. Being vegetarian, I seldom have even people food that is canine-friendly. I have chicken or steaks in the fridge readily available to cook up.
I also needed some appropriate grooming tools. Having a short-coated dog, I didn’t have any combs, brushes, or clippers that could help untangle the mess that was his fur.
Leaving Tuck at home, Blackie and I ventured out into the world. Looking at Blackie in the backseat (leash wrapped around the headrest as a terribly unsafe makeshift seatbelt), I was suddenly aware that I had neither dog nor dustmop, but rather, an Ewok.
Blackie’s ill-fitted collar made me nervous. Going through my extensive collection of collars and harnesses, I was bereft to find that I did not have a single one small enough to fit him. I knew he was a runner, so a properly-fitted, secure harness was paramount. I called a friend who works in animal welfare and asked if she had any super tiny harnesses and if she’d be willing to help me do an introduction. She obliged but couldn’t come over for a few hours. To avoid any accidental introductions and to not frustrate Tucker who wanted to get all up into the little dude’s business, I decided to take Blackie for a pet supply run and get him checked for a microchip.
He wasn’t interested in Tucker’s highfaluten dog treats or food—except to roll in them—so I needed to get the kid some food. Being vegetarian, I seldom have even people food that is canine-friendly. I have chicken or steaks in the fridge readily available to cook up.
I also needed some appropriate grooming tools. Having a short-coated dog, I didn’t have any combs, brushes, or clippers that could help untangle the mess that was his fur.
Leaving Tuck at home, Blackie and I ventured out into the world. Looking at Blackie in the backseat (leash wrapped around the headrest as a terribly unsafe makeshift seatbelt), I was suddenly aware that I had neither dog nor dustmop, but rather, an Ewok.
Shelter dogs get neutered and chipped before going home, and since this little guy still had his balls, I figured the chances of him being chipped were slim to none. But I had to try. The nearest PetCo said their microchip scanner had gone MIA, but I found a veterinary urgent care nearby who thoroughly scanned him. As I suspected, he came up chipless.
Picking a variety of sampler packs of food at Pet Food Express, we headed home where my friend and her husband came bearing gifts of harnesses and patience. I was ever grateful, as although the Ewok couldn’t be more than a few pounds, carrying him was getting annoying. I needed him to move forth in the world of his own volition but secured to me by leash and harness.
The intro went better than expected. Tucker was excited to have human guests (what a day! A new dog to get to know AND old friends of the human persuasion coming to visit!).
They also informed that the shelter wasn’t just closed Sundays, but also on Mondays… so the Ewok would need a two-day layover, not just one. Fine. So be it.
Tucker didn’t seem to mind the little guy’s testicles, and the little guy seemed to respect Tucker. So I felt better allowing them to mingle together. But I kept the leash on the Ewok as a precaution. As one trainer said in regards to leashes: you don't need to catch the dog, just the end of the leash.
Picking a variety of sampler packs of food at Pet Food Express, we headed home where my friend and her husband came bearing gifts of harnesses and patience. I was ever grateful, as although the Ewok couldn’t be more than a few pounds, carrying him was getting annoying. I needed him to move forth in the world of his own volition but secured to me by leash and harness.
The intro went better than expected. Tucker was excited to have human guests (what a day! A new dog to get to know AND old friends of the human persuasion coming to visit!).
They also informed that the shelter wasn’t just closed Sundays, but also on Mondays… so the Ewok would need a two-day layover, not just one. Fine. So be it.
Tucker didn’t seem to mind the little guy’s testicles, and the little guy seemed to respect Tucker. So I felt better allowing them to mingle together. But I kept the leash on the Ewok as a precaution. As one trainer said in regards to leashes: you don't need to catch the dog, just the end of the leash.
With Tucker and the little guy on good terms, my friends left and I began my internet posts: next door, facebook lost and found, pawboost, petco love, everywhere I could think of. Giving the pregnant woman the benefit of the doubt, wherever this kid came from was not a good place and he probably shouldn't be returned there. However, I needed to do my due diligence in case he once had a person who had cared for him, and that person had listed him as missing. I had no idea what breed he was, so I also searched lost dogs posts for any photos that resembled him—or what he may have looked like in a prior life a month or so ago.
Coming up empty, I gave the kid a bath and tried to get the tangles out. The groomer around the corner was very kind and told me that while they have detangler, in cases like this, it’s often easier and less traumatic to just cut out the knots. I asked after Goldie and he said that they had to call the woman to pick up the dog. She was so matted and scared, she defended herself with her teeth, making it impossible to work with.
Blackie’s tangles were pretty severe. I had to cut off large chunks of what felt like uncared for dreadlocks.
Coming up empty, I gave the kid a bath and tried to get the tangles out. The groomer around the corner was very kind and told me that while they have detangler, in cases like this, it’s often easier and less traumatic to just cut out the knots. I asked after Goldie and he said that they had to call the woman to pick up the dog. She was so matted and scared, she defended herself with her teeth, making it impossible to work with.
Blackie’s tangles were pretty severe. I had to cut off large chunks of what felt like uncared for dreadlocks.
But, according to the groomer and rescuers, this was no as bad as others. The tangles weren’t so close to the skin that he needed to be shaved.
Scissors would free him. But I was reluctant to do too much. I didn't want to hurt him.He seemed to trust me. Looking back at his mad dash to freedom, I was impressed that he was able to move so quickly. It had to have been painful; the crook of his legs were all matted with fur, so moving his legs through that range of motion would have tugged his skin.
How does a dog get to this point? He was super skinny, but you wouldn’t know that until you wet him down. He wasn’t keen on it, but seeing as I had witnessed his break-out dash, I was amazed at how much he let me do without trying to escape.
I did my best and then let him have full reign in the house. He didn’t pee on anything or poop. He seemed to know to go outside. So I wasn’t concerned about my stuff being peed on or pooped on. But I was a little concerned for my partner.
Tucker’s enthusiasm slowly drained…
How does a dog get to this point? He was super skinny, but you wouldn’t know that until you wet him down. He wasn’t keen on it, but seeing as I had witnessed his break-out dash, I was amazed at how much he let me do without trying to escape.
I did my best and then let him have full reign in the house. He didn’t pee on anything or poop. He seemed to know to go outside. So I wasn’t concerned about my stuff being peed on or pooped on. But I was a little concerned for my partner.
Tucker’s enthusiasm slowly drained…
Blackie, with balls, found it fun to hump Tucker’s head, and Tucker, being polite to his houseguest, didn’t correct him but just moved away, only to be humped again.
So while no one’s life was in danger, for the sake of Tucker’s sanity, I couldn’t let them be together for long period.
Blackie did not like any of the food samples I bought from the pet supply store. He did, however, like cheese and hotdogs, two things I had on hand from prior pill-dosing experiments for Tucker.
Not a very nutritious meal, but he got something in his tummy at least.
We didn’t pay the price until about 4am, when he cried from the crate to go outside and have explosive diarrhea.
I was grateful for him telling me that he needed to go out despite the hour. Still better than picking up liquid poop indoors.
I also commend the little guy for taking this entire situation in stride. I kept his harness on and whenever outside, also leashed even in my yard, for fear he’d dive under the deck and I’d never get him out. I had, after all, witnessed first hand his evasion skills. I wasn’t about to test them again.
With morning came breakfast, and not wanting to repeat the hotdog & cheese consequences again, I needed to find the guy proper food. I texted my next door neighbor who had a similar-sized terrier/poodle like mix, to see if he would be willing to gift us some food for the day.
I brought Blackie out to meet him, and while Blackie was hesitant at first, he was delighted with my neighbor’s offerings and decided to trust him. My neighbor, a single man perhaps 10-15 years my senior, looked at the little pup with pity.
“Can I give him a haircut? Please?”
He had been giving his own dog haircuts his entire life—over a decade now. His dog looked good to me, so I said sure.
Tucker and I stayed inside while Blackie sat with him on my deck and he delicately sliced off the matts from his tangled coat. Little by little, he became dog-shaped.
So while no one’s life was in danger, for the sake of Tucker’s sanity, I couldn’t let them be together for long period.
Blackie did not like any of the food samples I bought from the pet supply store. He did, however, like cheese and hotdogs, two things I had on hand from prior pill-dosing experiments for Tucker.
Not a very nutritious meal, but he got something in his tummy at least.
We didn’t pay the price until about 4am, when he cried from the crate to go outside and have explosive diarrhea.
I was grateful for him telling me that he needed to go out despite the hour. Still better than picking up liquid poop indoors.
I also commend the little guy for taking this entire situation in stride. I kept his harness on and whenever outside, also leashed even in my yard, for fear he’d dive under the deck and I’d never get him out. I had, after all, witnessed first hand his evasion skills. I wasn’t about to test them again.
With morning came breakfast, and not wanting to repeat the hotdog & cheese consequences again, I needed to find the guy proper food. I texted my next door neighbor who had a similar-sized terrier/poodle like mix, to see if he would be willing to gift us some food for the day.
I brought Blackie out to meet him, and while Blackie was hesitant at first, he was delighted with my neighbor’s offerings and decided to trust him. My neighbor, a single man perhaps 10-15 years my senior, looked at the little pup with pity.
“Can I give him a haircut? Please?”
He had been giving his own dog haircuts his entire life—over a decade now. His dog looked good to me, so I said sure.
Tucker and I stayed inside while Blackie sat with him on my deck and he delicately sliced off the matts from his tangled coat. Little by little, he became dog-shaped.
Fifteen minutes later, a pile of fur sat on my deck.
And this little boy emerged!
They say a haircut makes a man. This haircut definitely made this dog.
That smile is everything.
Throughout the day of hanging out, checking lost dog posts, and intervening any time the nugget wanted to shove his penis and ball sack is Tucker’s face, I contemplated the shelter situation.
I needed to register him, no doubt. It had been close to 15 years since I had needed to get the shelter involved with a found dog. I had found a white poodle mix while driving home on a Sunday night. I had to work in the morning, and my apartment didn’t allow dogs. I had called up animal control, and an officer met me there to take her in. I cried all night. I felt horrible that she was stuck in a shelter, alone and scared. The next morning, I felt no better. At the end of the day, I called and was surprised but pleased to hear that she had been picked up by her owner.
The shelter had done the job it was put there to do: keep a lost dog safe while their owner looks for them. That tale had ended well.
The dog I had found in Albuquerque, New Mexico and was unable to keep in my hotel room, I went through the same steps, except that dog was dead 36 hours later, killed because he was “unpredictable”… the Rottweiller who had sat on my tailgate giving me kisses, but who lashed out at the animal control officer who I had to hand him over to. I vowed to never take a dog to a shelter again.
This dog may have a person. And if not, the little nugget should get a home quickly.
But life in a shelter, no matter how nice and how no-kill, is stressful. And the shelters were beginning to get to capacity—even Burbank.
If we could stop him from humping Tucker’s head, there was no reason he couldn’t wait out his “stray hold” here with us.
The WGA had just gone on strike, and while normally feature films are free to keep shooting since scripts are done, WGA had started picketing films too. And Teamsters will not cross a picket line. With the possibility of SAG striking a month later, no films were gearing up. I was predicting I’d be unemployed until the end of the summer. So why not give a canine kid a peaceful place to recoup, maybe find his old person, or more likely, find his new person?
But I still had to go to the shelter. Maybe it was the better place for him to be found.
In the meantime, I’d give him another evening of snoozing on the ottoman and couch, playing with toys, and feeling safe.
Throughout the day of hanging out, checking lost dog posts, and intervening any time the nugget wanted to shove his penis and ball sack is Tucker’s face, I contemplated the shelter situation.
I needed to register him, no doubt. It had been close to 15 years since I had needed to get the shelter involved with a found dog. I had found a white poodle mix while driving home on a Sunday night. I had to work in the morning, and my apartment didn’t allow dogs. I had called up animal control, and an officer met me there to take her in. I cried all night. I felt horrible that she was stuck in a shelter, alone and scared. The next morning, I felt no better. At the end of the day, I called and was surprised but pleased to hear that she had been picked up by her owner.
The shelter had done the job it was put there to do: keep a lost dog safe while their owner looks for them. That tale had ended well.
The dog I had found in Albuquerque, New Mexico and was unable to keep in my hotel room, I went through the same steps, except that dog was dead 36 hours later, killed because he was “unpredictable”… the Rottweiller who had sat on my tailgate giving me kisses, but who lashed out at the animal control officer who I had to hand him over to. I vowed to never take a dog to a shelter again.
This dog may have a person. And if not, the little nugget should get a home quickly.
But life in a shelter, no matter how nice and how no-kill, is stressful. And the shelters were beginning to get to capacity—even Burbank.
If we could stop him from humping Tucker’s head, there was no reason he couldn’t wait out his “stray hold” here with us.
The WGA had just gone on strike, and while normally feature films are free to keep shooting since scripts are done, WGA had started picketing films too. And Teamsters will not cross a picket line. With the possibility of SAG striking a month later, no films were gearing up. I was predicting I’d be unemployed until the end of the summer. So why not give a canine kid a peaceful place to recoup, maybe find his old person, or more likely, find his new person?
But I still had to go to the shelter. Maybe it was the better place for him to be found.
In the meantime, I’d give him another evening of snoozing on the ottoman and couch, playing with toys, and feeling safe.
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