One of the unforeseen fallouts of the pandemic was that spay & neuter services ground to a halt: First mobile clinics ceased since no one could be in person anymore, anyway. Then, to keep healthcare supplies in stock, non-essential surgeries were cancelled—and spay & neuter were considered “non-essential”.
By the time surgeries were being performed again, many brick & mortar low & no cost spay & neuter had to close their doors for good. And the mobile units still weren’t up and running. The consequences: the shelters were getting full again from unplanned litters, people turning in their dogs when they reached that obnoxious pre-teen age (neutered or not, still super annoying), and the economic downturn overall. Veterinary costs (and all costs of everything) were beginning to climb and wages were not—if you were lucky enough to even be employed. The pandemic unemployment relief was over, and that $600 extra per week in the unemployment check did a hell of a lot of good keeping people fed and housed.
I volunteer for an animal welfare organization that, among many things, helps people find low and no-cost spay & neuter services. I wasn’t in one of the zip codes they serviced, but being unemployed—even for months prior to the strikes thanks to the studios’ “slow down”—I figured I had to qualify somewhere. If I did, these folks would know where I could get services.
They did find a couple of clinics I could qualify for, but they were booked for many weeks out. The backlog from the interrupted services was still there, along with the litters and follow-up generations from those not being spayed and neutered during that time. And mobile clinics, the ones with the most surgeries done and the ones most needed, hadn’t restarted. Gordie wasn’t going to impregnate anyone, but he was at risk of Tucker losing his patience, which could be life-threatening for both of them. Tucker is a saint and he was enjoying playtime with the rugrat, but I could also see that at times Gordie was getting to be too much.
By the time surgeries were being performed again, many brick & mortar low & no cost spay & neuter had to close their doors for good. And the mobile units still weren’t up and running. The consequences: the shelters were getting full again from unplanned litters, people turning in their dogs when they reached that obnoxious pre-teen age (neutered or not, still super annoying), and the economic downturn overall. Veterinary costs (and all costs of everything) were beginning to climb and wages were not—if you were lucky enough to even be employed. The pandemic unemployment relief was over, and that $600 extra per week in the unemployment check did a hell of a lot of good keeping people fed and housed.
I volunteer for an animal welfare organization that, among many things, helps people find low and no-cost spay & neuter services. I wasn’t in one of the zip codes they serviced, but being unemployed—even for months prior to the strikes thanks to the studios’ “slow down”—I figured I had to qualify somewhere. If I did, these folks would know where I could get services.
They did find a couple of clinics I could qualify for, but they were booked for many weeks out. The backlog from the interrupted services was still there, along with the litters and follow-up generations from those not being spayed and neutered during that time. And mobile clinics, the ones with the most surgeries done and the ones most needed, hadn’t restarted. Gordie wasn’t going to impregnate anyone, but he was at risk of Tucker losing his patience, which could be life-threatening for both of them. Tucker is a saint and he was enjoying playtime with the rugrat, but I could also see that at times Gordie was getting to be too much.
I had purchased a small crate off Facebook marketplace so Gordie could be separated from Tucker while in the same room when he just couldn’t control his urge to hump Tuck’s face. His sleeping crate (the 42-incher with the K9 Ballistics’ crate pad) was in my bedroom, but I didn’t want him to feel ostracized for doing something his hormones demanded of him; I just needed it to stop. So I set the little crate up in the living room, where the three of us could be together, but Gordie’s nut sack would be far, far away from Tucker’s face when Gordie felt the urge. However, Tucker commandeered Gordie's time-out space for himself.
Not wanting to wait a month or more for discounted services, I dipped into my savings to take Gordie to Tucker’s vet for a once over and prep for neuter. She estimated that he was at least a year given the size of his testicles and status of his teeth, and that he was overall in good health. At 10 pounds, I didn’t want to over-vaccinate him, so I said I’d get titers for his Parvo and Distemper. However, I said, “We can’t really get away with the rabies thing though, huh?” She said No, which is true—states do not accept a titer test as proof of rabies (even though scientifically, it is proof of immunization). Rabies vaccinations are not based on science; they’re based on legislation. So I said Yes to the Rabies and made the appointment for the neuter.
At the 10 day mark, with no old owner showing up on any of the channels I posted his info on, Gordie went in for his neuter, taking the next step to peace in the house and finding Gordie’s forever home. Tucker kept him company during recovery and assured him that he wouldn’t miss his balls anyway. He was lost his testicles entirely, but gained a higher level of friendship with Tucker.
At the 10 day mark, with no old owner showing up on any of the channels I posted his info on, Gordie went in for his neuter, taking the next step to peace in the house and finding Gordie’s forever home. Tucker kept him company during recovery and assured him that he wouldn’t miss his balls anyway. He was lost his testicles entirely, but gained a higher level of friendship with Tucker.
A rescuer up in Oregon had offered to post his adoption ad up near her and she connected me with an independent rescuer to list him here locally. I love Oregon and knew there were lots of good homes up there. I was open to the idea of a road trip to bring him to his forever home if it felt right or put him on a transport if I could get a slot.
However, it was risky. Gordie seemed like a pretty well-adjusted little guy given his situation. He did well with Tucker (minus the humping), and while he did bark at other dogs, I thought that could be resolved. However, if an adoption went south, getting him back would be difficult.
I learned quite quickly that rescuing today is nothing like it was a decade ago. Before Tucker, I could foster a dog and find a home for them within ten days, two weeks tops. A few difficult-to-place ones might take 3-4 weeks. But it was never a long-term commitment. There were plenty of good homes. I hated making the decisions though. I didn’t want to be responsible for putting a dog into a home they didn’t feel like they belonged in. As a rescue friend said: There is no perfect home, but there are good homes, and that’s all they need. But I’m a hopeless romantic. I believe in true love and settle for nothing less. Hence: Tucker.
The rescuer locally was kind enough to do the Stage 1 screening of potential adopters for me. She had many years of experience and was able to sort the bullshit from the real potentials. I gratefully accepted the time and energy she put in. When I received applications from my own postings, I ran them by her as well.
Nothing seemed to fit. Why was it so hard to find this little kid a home?
However, it was risky. Gordie seemed like a pretty well-adjusted little guy given his situation. He did well with Tucker (minus the humping), and while he did bark at other dogs, I thought that could be resolved. However, if an adoption went south, getting him back would be difficult.
I learned quite quickly that rescuing today is nothing like it was a decade ago. Before Tucker, I could foster a dog and find a home for them within ten days, two weeks tops. A few difficult-to-place ones might take 3-4 weeks. But it was never a long-term commitment. There were plenty of good homes. I hated making the decisions though. I didn’t want to be responsible for putting a dog into a home they didn’t feel like they belonged in. As a rescue friend said: There is no perfect home, but there are good homes, and that’s all they need. But I’m a hopeless romantic. I believe in true love and settle for nothing less. Hence: Tucker.
The rescuer locally was kind enough to do the Stage 1 screening of potential adopters for me. She had many years of experience and was able to sort the bullshit from the real potentials. I gratefully accepted the time and energy she put in. When I received applications from my own postings, I ran them by her as well.
Nothing seemed to fit. Why was it so hard to find this little kid a home?
There were a few applicants over the age of 75. I don’t mean to be ageist, but if you’re adopting a one year old small dog at the age of 75, you will, most likely, not be this dog’s person for the entirety of their life. Dogs are living longer than ever. A small breed puppy can live 15-20 years! Older dogs are harder to find a second home for—yours included should you not be able to care for them for their entire life. Case in point: even YOU are looking for a puppy!
If you are dead set on getting a puppy, please secure backup plans for if/when you pass away, as well as if you need to go into assisted living (has the place you chosen allow dogs?) or a nursing home (where they won’t allow dogs at all). And you need to be realistic: can you provide the level of activities a puppy needs to to stay healthy and happy? I realize any one of us could drop dead at any moment, so it could be argued why bother ever adopting. But honestly, there are age and health factors that make the odds of suddenly going unalive a tad higher for those over 75 than under 65. If you’re an active 75 year old looking for a companion for your adventures: Great—get a dog! But how about a 10 year old dog? Or if you need one with more spunk, how about a large 7 year old pup? Match the dog to your lifestyle and energy. Gordie is already wearing out Tucker, and he’s the equivalent of a moderately active, spry 70 year old human.
If you are dead set on getting a puppy, please secure backup plans for if/when you pass away, as well as if you need to go into assisted living (has the place you chosen allow dogs?) or a nursing home (where they won’t allow dogs at all). And you need to be realistic: can you provide the level of activities a puppy needs to to stay healthy and happy? I realize any one of us could drop dead at any moment, so it could be argued why bother ever adopting. But honestly, there are age and health factors that make the odds of suddenly going unalive a tad higher for those over 75 than under 65. If you’re an active 75 year old looking for a companion for your adventures: Great—get a dog! But how about a 10 year old dog? Or if you need one with more spunk, how about a large 7 year old pup? Match the dog to your lifestyle and energy. Gordie is already wearing out Tucker, and he’s the equivalent of a moderately active, spry 70 year old human.
The other demographic that reached out about Gordie were families. I didn’t know how he’d do with children. There seemed to be a good family up in Oregon who had recently lost their pup and it may have been a good fit. But it was risky. If it didn’t work out, my rescue friend in Oregon would take him, but it seemed like too big of a gamble as kids and another dog were involved.
It had only been a few weeks, but with so few applicants, I was getting worried. People asked why I didn’t keep him. “Because he’s not my dog,” was the truth and my first response. Very few actually understood. So instead I started saying, “I’m not a little dog person,” hoping no one would recall that I grew up with dachshunds. More people could accept that. Evidently size, not connection, was a better excuse not to commit myself to 15-20 years with a dog. I loved him, don’t get me wrong, but I was not his person. I am Tucker’s person. Gordie’s person was out there. And I was feeling desperate to find them.
It had only been a few weeks, but with so few applicants, I was getting worried. People asked why I didn’t keep him. “Because he’s not my dog,” was the truth and my first response. Very few actually understood. So instead I started saying, “I’m not a little dog person,” hoping no one would recall that I grew up with dachshunds. More people could accept that. Evidently size, not connection, was a better excuse not to commit myself to 15-20 years with a dog. I loved him, don’t get me wrong, but I was not his person. I am Tucker’s person. Gordie’s person was out there. And I was feeling desperate to find them.
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