Body Mod for Dogs

Call me a teetotaler, but I don't have any tattoos or piercings. Not for lack of trying really; my ears have been pierced twice, but have a strong desire to heal so that I can't wear adorable earrings. Maybe third time will be a charm. As for tattoos, I simply cannot commit to an inscription or image for the rest of my life. The dogs, however, are a different story.

In the days before microchips, owners used to tattoo their dogs as a form of permanent identification. That's mostly fallen out of favor (it's a much more involved process than microchipping, and more painful as well). That's still not to say that tattoos have completely fallen by the wayside in pet ownership and rescue...

See that little green line? That's Brugge's tattoo. Yep, you read that right. My own dog is inked. People ask me about it all the time when we're out and about at places like the dog park, "What's that on her belly?" When I tell them the answer their facial expressions usually range from shock and derision to a grin meant to express kudos. I can't take credit for it though, she came that way when I rescued her. The shelter from which I adopted her tattoos their dogs to denote that they have been altered (altered meaning spayed or neutered). It provides an easy way to tell the animals have been "fixed" should they end up in a situation that once again lands them in a shelter. Typically, the animals get a quick line, but I have heard stories of shelter staff snapping up an animal as their own right after intake, and then requesting a shape for their tattoo, like a heart or a smiley face. Kinda cute, right?

Well, there is a less cute form of dog body modification going on around here right now. Poor little Tim landed himself in a bit of trouble on Saturday morning. See, it's not always easy to manage three dogs in cones, especially when they delight in freeing each other from the plastic and gauze (which is super fun to play tug with, by the way). Saturday morning, Steven took Brugge out for her morning walk and left Tim and Willem behind, seeing that they were still sleeping peacefully. Since I've been a wee bit sleep-deprived as of late (mostly due to factors not involving the dogs), he decided to sneak out without waking me. It was a sweet idea, and his intentions are good, but when the dogs hear the chime for the alarm system after opening an exterior door, they are at attention. I snoozed for 5 to 10 minutes before the rustle and play snarls of the boys woke me up. In that time, Willem had pulled the gauze securing the cone on Tim off, and Tim's cone had fallen off. I shot out of bed, scooped Tim up, and immediately inspected his incision.

"Uh oh." Where there had been tail ends of sutures poking out, there was now nothing. Obviously it wasn't completely devastating, because he was still held together. I waited for the vet's office Pawfect Match uses to open; mercifully, they're open on Saturdays. I explained the situation, and they told me to bring him in so they could have a look. It turned out he had completely removed his outer stitches, but his internal stitches were completely in tact (whew!). To be on the safe side, they added a surgical staple for a little insurance. It comes out after ten days, and in the meantime we are affectionately calling it his belly button ring (even though it's not really around his belly button).

So, sometimes body mod isn't such an act of rebellion. It's more like a product of an act of rebellion around here. I'm proud to report that other than the one indiscretion Tim is doing extremely well in his healing process, as is Willem. Their incisions look great, and they are their happy-go-lucky, playful selves. And, now that they're fully vaccinated and neutered, they are 100% ready for their forever homes! Could it be with you? ;)

A Photo Friday; Coneheads

Another long day, another late post. I debated whether or not to post today, seeing as most people will be kicking off their weekends by having fun away from  their computer. Then I decided just to do a quick post. Then I had the idea for Photo Fridays. I'm not sure what kind of a schedule it'll be on, but every so often I'll do a "Photo Friday." Basically a snapshot with a beefed up caption. What do you think?

 Due to the boys getting neutered and attempting to lick their incisions, and a particularly nasty allergy flare resulting in an infected paw on Brugge, everyone ended up in the Cone (or BiteNot Collar) of Shame. This photo is from Wednesday night, but the landscape around here is going to remain pretty much the same for another day or two. Fortunately, they're all considerably less mopey and starting to try to get into trouble now, a sign of a return to normalcy. This morning, in the span of 15 seconds, Brugge pulled off Willem's cone, and Willem undid the bow and pulled off the strip of gauze securing Tim's cone, which then fell off. We continue to live by the motto "Never a Dull Moment!" around here. I should get that in needlepoint or something. Have a great weekend, everyone!

The Most Expensive Cheap Blanket Ever.

This past weekend was just incredible. Not really in a good way, but not completely devastating either. More just in a "did all of that stuff really happen or was it a dream?" way. It was the kind of weekend where you sit back afterward and don't moan about everything that happened; instead you just say, "I'm glad that's over and I made it through... even if it was by the skin of my teeth." And, in her usual fashion, Brugge was an integral piece. She set the events of Friday and Saturday in motion.

She looks so innocent when she's sleeping.

Steven and his brother went out of town Friday afternoon to visit his dad in Tennessee for Father's Day weekend. He had been out of town when I first found TWill, so I figured a weekend alone with the dogs would be doable... maybe even "no big deal." Famous last words. Friday was nonstop. As you may have read, I was dealing with a piddle accident on a dog bed. I had also dropped Steven off at work so Eric, his brother, could pick him up from there and head out. Add to that regular dog duties and job hunting, and I had a busy day before even heading over to Phydeaux. I put the boys in their "room" (the guest bathroom), Brugge in her crate (because she still can't be trusted without a level 8 to 10 dog-proofing sweep of the house, which I did not have time for on this particular day) and headed out to meet Jessica at Phydeaux. We had both gotten 10% off coupons for participating in the SPCA of Wake County K9 3K Dog Walk earlier in the Spring, and Jess still had hers to use.

We perused everything from toys to bowls to beds to collars and leashes to toys again and finally to treats. Mickey and Florence (her two dogs... Mick is her permanent dog, and Flo is the foster that betting people would put good money on being a Foster Failure) made out like bandits. If you're a dog owner, you know the thrill of buying dog stuff. It's possibly even more intoxicating than buying kid stuff, but then again, I don't have a human kid yet. Jessica's and Eric's friend (and Eric's coworker), Charlotte had met us there too. Jess and I love introducing people to Phydeaux. It's right up there on my list of Most Fun Stores Ever, along with Target and Ikea.

Anyway, we were all going to go to dinner after, but Jess got called into work. We made plans to meet up after she got off for frozen yogurt, and Charlotte and I ate together and had a great time. Then I ran home to feed and walk "the zoo," as I call them. I was in a hurry since that whole process can take some time, but after the walk and getting everyone's food (and meds, in the case of Brugge) ready, I paused to watch them eat. I separate all the dogs, but I still supervise to make sure they all give each other space to enjoy their food.

I looked down at Brugge and noticed her stomach looked a little big. Wait, no, it kind of looked really big, but in a subtle way. Subtle enough that Steven wouldn't probably have noticed, but I certainly did. And it looked bigger on her left side than her right. I felt her stomach, and she shrank up a little as I did so, which I had learned during a bout of gastritis was a sign of pain or discomfort. She also burped when I prodded at her, which seemed to make the extra bubble on the left go down a little. "Oh no... could this be bloat?" Bloat, which can also be called (gastric) torsion or gastric dilatation-volvulus, is a life-threatening condition where the stomach fills with gas. In most cases with dogs, it is not just gastric torsion (a belly full of gas), but also gastric dilatation-volvulus, where the stomach twists as well, preventing gas from escaping. Surgery is often required, and there prognosis for a dog suffering from bloat is not usually good, but is better the quicker you catch it.

No one is certain what causes bloat, but risk factors include being a deep-chested, large breed, playing or other vigorous exercise just before or after a meal, eating only one meal a day, eating a small kibble size, and eating too quickly. Brugge is a Doberman mix, we think tempered with Lab, and Dobies are a deep-chested breed. Fortunately, Brugge's chest is deeper than usual, but not so deep as a true Dobe, so there is less risk.  Feeding meals from a puzzle toy can be a great way to curb bloat because it forces the dog to slow down (and it's good a good form of stimulation to boot, but that's a topic for another time), but I didn't have time at this particular meal. Brugge is usually a moderately paced eater. She eats all her food right away, but doesn't really inhale it. However, with the fosters around she has taken to gobbling up her food and running to watch them eat so she can lick their bowls when they're done.

Would you say that's the face of a troublemaker?

I called my standby emergency vet's office like I have seemingly hundreds of times before (including the time where she ate half of a discount club case of Clif bars where they taught me how to induce vomiting three days after we adopted her). They have usually just allayed my fears and never suggested that I bring her in unless I really wanted to. This time was different. When I explained the situation to the receptionist, she said to definitely watch her, but if it were her own dog, she would bring her in to be safe.

I was already sleep-deprived, and I seem to have been hemorrhaging money on dogs lately, so I decided first to bring Brugge to Jessica's house. She happens to live in a neighborhood literally across the street from a different 24-hour vet clinic. She also knows what Brugge looks like usually, and I trusted her to give me an accurate second opinion about Brugge's looks. Brugge was still acting completely normal (goofy, playful, had pooped normally and eaten all of her dinner with the usual gusto), or I would have brought her to the emergency clinic immediately.

When I arrived, Jessica and I let the dogs play a little (it had been well over 30 minutes since Brugge had eaten... more like an hour and a half) and took them for a walk. Brugge pooped again, but as we looked at her she definitely seemed bigger than usual, and that bubble on the left was still there, possibly even bigger than before. I called the emergency vet there and they asked me a series of questions and told me I better bring her in. Jessica, who is awesome, in case I neglected to mention that earlier, went with us. They took Brugge in the back, and we nervously waited for the doctor to come in.

When the doctor came in he introduced himself quickly but genially, and then he sat down, looked me straight in the eyes, and asked "I need to know, what has she eaten? What do you feed her? Did she get into something?" Somehow taken aback, I stutter out that she's had exactly 1 cup of food, twice that day (I ALWAYS measure), 4 mini dog biscuits, and a little bit of rawhide just recently at Jessica's when she commandeered one of Mickey's bones. Sometimes being anal retentive has its advantages. "Well, I ask because her stomach is completely full. I did an X-ray because the first thing I thought of was gastric dilatation-volvulus, but it turned out that the distention you're seeing is because she is just so full." Jessica and I looked at each other, shocked. I rummaged around in my brain for anything she possibly could have eaten. I explained that I watch her like an infant because I know her potential to get into things. The vet said he would give her something to induce vomiting, and be back in a minute. He paused, "...Would you like to see what comes up?" I nodded vigorously before realizing that it was little weird to be that enthusiastic. Oh well, it's what happens when yucky stuff never really bothered you to begin with, plus you have a dog that's had intermittent stomach problems from the get go.

After the doctor walked out, Jessica and I theorized about the cause of Brugge's predicament. Did she eat kitty litter at Jess' house? No. Dog or cat food? no. We came up with nothing. The doctor returned with a dog bowl lined with a trash bag in one had, and a tongue depressor in the other. Everything looked normal at first... there was just a lot of it. Dog food, a wee bit of grass, the rawhide, what I thought was a calf ear... Then we spotted it. A triangular strip of fabric, 2.5" by 1" at its biggest. I recognized it immediately. "That's the corner of one of the fosters' blankets!" Sneaky Brugge just loved fleece as a puppy and tried to eat it, but I thought she had outgrown it. Then, when the fosters and their $3 blankets from Big Lots I got for them came along, her old habits resurfaced. I had caught her chewing on it earlier and taken it away immediately, the gnawed off portion escaping my notice.

Tim's best Zoolander impression in front of the offending blanket.

The vet went on to explain was that the wee bit of blanket had likely been blocking her stomach from emptying. He said it was a good thing I had noticed her problem, because had it gone on much longer she could have had a full-on obstruction, or the liquid could have drained from her stomach, causing the remaining contents to solidify into a brick. Both other outcomes would have required major surgery. The doctor gave me a special food for the next day in case her stomach was still upset and also a few pills to calm things back down, along with a list of anything to look out for, but he was optimistic that there was just one offending piece, and she was good as new. He repeated, "You really DO have to watch her like an infant, don't you?" in both a light-hearted and sympathetic manner. At least he wasn't judging me! I love it when a vet understands dogs can be crafty.

At checkout it dawned on me. The calf's ear. The blanket. I had taken the blanket away the day before. I had given Brugge the calf's ear the day before too. That's why there was SO much in her stomach! It had been accumulating for at least a day and a half! Good grief. I paid my $300 vet bill and headed out. And that, my friends, is the story of how a $3 fleece blanket from Big Lots ended up costing me $303. Hopefully Brugge's health insurance will cover it. I invested in it the day after she ran face-first into a picnic table and split a good chunk of skin right under her eye open. That dog just loves to keep me on my toes!

Serendipity

From Wiktionary:
 Noun
serendipity (countable and uncountable; plural serendipities)

1. An unsought, unintended, and/or unexpected discovery and/or learning experience that happens by accident and sagacity.
2. A combination of events which are not individually beneficial, but occurring together produce a good or wonderful outcome.

   Serendipity is when you find things you weren't looking for because finding what you are looking for is so damn difficult. – Erin McKean, speech at TED

   The most random serendipity brought the two of us together, and now, we are happily married! If I was just 15 seconds slower, I'd have never met her!

   Serendipity is digging for worms and finding gold. – a character in an episode of Max Headroom

Yesterday was a momentous occasion; TWill had their first accidents in the house. It was really my fault, because these guys seem to be potty trained, but I was experimenting with their small dog bladders and tried to stretch walk time to 6 hours. They're totally fine overnight, so I figured, "Why not?" Bad idea when you have two unneutered males with little bladders who've been super diligent about hydrating due to the blazing heat outside. It was probably also a bad idea for me to take a shower right before taking them outside, you know, running water sounds and all. I blame my poor judgment on sleep deprivation (which is also my fault).

Anyway, someone -- I'm not going to name any names... partially because I'm not sure who did it -- wet the bed. And not the bed with the super easily washable cover and water resistant lining. Noooo, the bed with the water-resistant-maybe-on-the-side-but-definitely-not-the-top cover and the super fluffy delicate stuffing middle section that I have no idea how to wash without destroying. Of course.

So, I soaked the top with Nature's Miracle (I swear by that stuff) and let it dry. A band-aid for the evening. Now today I actually have to fix the situation. The cover is fine, but the center innards may be toast. The foam on the bottom and sides is still good though. Then it hit me. I would be going to Phydeaux, my favorite local pet supply store today. I could get a new bed there! But wait... I'm also kind of broke and dog beds are pricey. Then it REALLY hit me.

Steven and I had to replace our pillows because they had flattened into little useless, rectangular, poly-filled pancakes. We had just (somewhat grudgingly) bought new pillows for that purpose. We now had a surplus of two pillows! Huzzah! So now the plan is to purchase a Molly Mutt "armor" water resistant liner for it at Phydeaux (which is miraculously significantly cheaper than even Molly Mutt's own website), put the pillows (still in their protectors... I have dust allergies and am offended by drool stains... don't judge) in the center of the bed, continue to use the foam around the edges and on the bottom, stick the whole thing in the armor, and put the machine washable cover back on. Wow, I do love a good run-on sentence full of parenthetical interjections, don't I? Longer-than-necessary story short, I'm feeling like a sharp cookie for figuring out this serendipitous solution, and for about 15 bucks the bed will be good as new. Maybe I'll eventually replace the cover with something cuter too.

Brugge modelling the yet unscathed (but I'm not holding my breath) bed, with its stylish Molly Mutt Cover.

Also, just to be clear, I haven't been compensated by any of the companies mentioned here, I just really like their stuff!

The Ballad of Tim & Willem, part 2

(read part 1 here)

I'm really proud of myself for how I handled Willem's escape. I didn't even curse. Most people who know me know I can have a short fuse (mostly Irish, German, and Ukranian heritage... what do you expect?). I took a few deep breaths. Mom plucked a tick off my back. I was focused. I called Cindy back and she grabbed treats and slip leads and headed our way.

The next couple hours... Oh yes, hours. The whole capture ordeal took about 3 hours total... were spent trying to regain their trust. Tim was too weak to think much of us one way or the other, but he remained out of reach. Willem was none too pleased with us, but he was still hungry. Another good samaritan pulled up. "Is there a snappin' turtle over there?" she crowed, as we were peering into the woods, where Will had retreated. In a fluke of good luck, I was able to corner Tim and slip the lead over his neck. SUCCESS! I was confident that once I had one of them I could get the other. This was going to work out.

The four of us attempted to herd Will to corner him. I was too slow with the slip lead, and Willem wised up quickly. I wished I had cattle roping experience. The good samaritan produced a bottle of water from her car, Cindy grabbed a travel bowl from her car, and we poured some out for the dogs. Tim was too peeved, scared, and weak to care. He crawled under a semi-abandoned car, out of the heat. Cindy and I sat on the ground, me holding the lead, both of us trying to feed him bits of treats, which he would take but only once in a while. I briefly pondered how thankful I was that the storms from the day before seemed to be keeping at bay, even though I was sitting on soggy ground. The other lady had to pick up her kids. My mom had to deal with a situation at home. They both headed out and promised to be back soon.

Mom didn't take long, and came back with canned dog food (Paco's special urinary tract health formula) and a couple plates. We tried herding Willem again and managed to get him to settle under the car, next to Tim. We scooped out canned food onto plates. The dogs were interested, but scared. I hand fed them chunks, and they acted like it was mana from heaven. I made the slip lead into a large circle and set it around the plate, with the idea that if Willem would eat from the plate I could quickly whip it over his head, like a well-intentioned booby trap.

All of our patience was waring, the wind was picking up and the sky looked threatening. Mom and Cindy decided to put Tim in Mom's car. We gently dragged him out from under the car. This unsettled Willem and when Tim was out of his sight, Will crawled out from under the car. I was solo, but he trusted me the most. I fed him a few more chunks by hand, closer and closer to the plate. Finally, he approached the plate itself and began to hungrily gobble up the food. In a split-second, I had the exact clarity I needed despite my fatigue and the heat and my uncooperative coordination. I slipped the lead over his head. He and I looked at each other for a second in stunned silence. Then I stood up and started whooping and hollering. I allowed a little bit of the adrenaline that had been accumulating to escape as I shouted down the hill to my mom and Cindy "I did it! Success! I GOT HIM!" I led him down the hill, and he quickly grew accustomed to the lead around his neck and looked at me with happy expectation. I could tell his stress was melting away, the same as mine. He didn't mind getting in the car at all, especially with Tim there. At just the right moment, the good samaritan reappeared to see that we had caught the boys. I was glad for her to see us before we headed off, because I know if I had been her and returned to the cars and dogs gone, I still would have wondered. We thanked her, she thanked us, and she headed off.

Once again, the question nagged at my brain, "Now what?" Fortunately, Cindy was there. She made some calls and put in a found report at the county shelter with my name and number. It was the perfect level of vague and specific, so that a person looking for their dogs would know to contact me, but also so that unsavory types couldn't contact me falsely claiming the dogs were theirs. We took the dogs to a local vet to be scanned for microchips.

Tim just slept the entire time he was in the car. You can see some of the ticks here; those two bumps on his eyelid are ticks too.

Willem, exhausted from the three hour ordeal. He's covered in ticks too, but his fur is thicker so they're harder to see.

I was not optimistic, proclaiming "If these dogs have chips, I'll eat them." Of course, they didn't. These dogs reeked of abandonment. Two young, small-ish mutts, non-neutered males, skinny, scarred, covered in ticks, near a lake. They didn't know any words, not even "food," "treat," "cookie." I think they were pets at some point due to the willingness for belly rubs, but they were probably outdoor yard dogs at best. The vet tech and I discussed how unfortunately in this economy, many people were dumping their pets near the lake, hoping "their natural instincts will kick in." Dogs are so domesticated that most perish quickly. This vet was booked for the day, so my (future) sister-in-law Jessica called ahead to her vet, who also happens to be a 24-hour emergency clinic, and they said they could do an exam and shots. I also called my friend Cait, who I know has ties to Pawfect Match Rescue, the one closest to me. I resolved to foster them so long as I could get help with their vet bills and care.

We bid Cindy adieu and traveled to met Jess at the vet. She also fosters and is a huge dog lover, and was excited to meet these sweet boys. I figured a 24-hour vet was the way to go, in case they had to be kept for observation or something I wanted to be able to visit them. The staff marveled at the amount of ticks on both of them ("Don't you just feel like they're crawling all over you?"). Tim's gums were pale from the loss of blood. I sprung for their first round of shots, deworming, heartworm preventative, flea medicine, and tick collars. They took their shots like champs, even though Tim was so scared he curled into my stomach as I held him on the table and wouldn't look up until I said it was over. The vet thought they're a little over a year old, and possibly even litter mates despite their different sizes. Jess counted as a referral for me, so I got a $25 discount per dog, which helped take the sting out of the bill, even just a little. Plus, I knew that money spent on fosters counts as charitable donations on taxes, and frankly, I can't put a price on saving a life. By the time we left, the boys had been named with Jessica's help. Tim, for Tiny Tim because he was only 14.8 lbs of skin and bone, and Willem, a good strong name for the dog that had watched out for him.

The next two days were interesting, to say the least. My mother stayed with me as she had planned to anyway. I took Brugge to daycare for the first several days to help keep the dogs separated in my one-story, open floor plan, under 1300 sq. ft. home with no fence. At the vet's advice we kept the dogs in my guest bathroom on an easily-cleaned floor due to the ticks. The tick collar would kill them all completely within 48 hours, but at first they were coming off alive (although dying, I didn't want them crawling around my house), and we picked them up constantly as the dogs scratched them off. Hundreds and hundreds of ticks. None of us got much sleep. Tim's gums quickly became a healthy pink again. Mercifully, they were already housebroken, which can either be an indicator of a past life in a home, or they're just picky about where they go, which seems more likely to me.

The Itchy and Scratchy Show doing work on those ticks. Yuck.

The morning of the second day their lab results came back. Negative for intestinal parasites (a huge and welcomed surprise!), negative for heartworm (they will need to be re-tested in 6 months, just in case, but that is a great sign), and positive for Ehrlichia, which was no surprise. Still, I was happy to only have to pick up antibiotics and Rimadyl (an anti-inflammatory to make them more comfortable). Then came the fantastic news that they were in Pawfect Match! All future care until adoption will be covered by them, including their vaccine boosters, and neutering, and I was able to have them chipped and get them regular tick and flea preventative. Plus, they gave me their super cute collars and leashes to use.

Now, as you all know, they have settled in beautifully. They are fantastic little guys, and they get along well with Brugge, my 55-pound furry ball of enthusiasm. I plan on writing up little bios for them, but in the meantime contact me via the Lace And Twill facebook page if you want more information on adopting them! Don't you just love happy endings?

Here is my Do Not Try This At Home message: Please note that my actions in catching unfamiliar dogs without any equipment or training were very dangerous. There were several points at which I could have been seriously injured. If you encounter stray, strange dogs, the safest thing to do is to leave them alone and call the proper animal control authorities in your area.

The Ballad of Tim and Willem, part 1

Sometimes in life, you find yourself laying on asphalt, softly but brightly cooing, "Poochie poochie! Who's a good poochie? You are! Come here, poochie poochie poo!" What? Is that just me? This is how my time with Willem & Tim (TWill) began.

I was out at my parents' house. They live in a heavily wooded area near a lake. Steven was going to be taking a long weekend to accompany my brother to Canada as he moved there for work for the summer. The car was packed, we said our goodbyes, and they headed off. Then the phone rang.

"Uh, there are two puppies in the middle of the road... like, sitting on the yellow lines... I figured you would want to know," Steven's voice was heavy. Encumbered by the sense of duty he had to report the situation to me, coupled with the dread that I would indeed bring them home. "I'm on my way!" I chirped. My mother and I hopped in her car and headed down the road.

Steven and Mike, my brother, were waiting for us, keeping an eye on the dogs. "Those are no puppies!" were the first words out of my mouth. Sure, these guys are little and young, but they aren't babies anymore. Not that that fact really made a difference. We sent the men on, and my mom and I got to work. Fortunately, the dogs had moved to the bottom of a little private road that branches off the main road on which they were first spotted. Otherwise things would've been even more exciting, being that the main road has a speed limit of 55mph and plenty of blind curves.

The boys were understandably skittish. I could tell their fur was patchy, they were skinny, and they were coated with ticks. They had been on the lam for a while. Still, behind their wariness, I sensed a desire to interact with me. Their tails would wag a low, peaceful, happy wag when I spoke to them. This is important because a tail wag can mean a multitude of different things, from the classic "I'm happy to see you!" to "If you don't leave me alone I will rip your face off!" I had my mother park her car at the bottom of the hill. Since this side road was not frequently traveled, I decided to plunk myself down on the asphalt, facing perpendicular to the dogs, speak softly, and move slowly. Willem was very interested. Tim was curious, but exhausted, and we later found slightly anemic due to blood loss from ticks. I focused my efforts on Willem.

Over the course of the next half hour, I spoke softly and scooted slowly up the path toward Will to cross the 35-foot distance between us. I averted my gaze, and made sure my arm was outstretched every once and a while so he could get a good whiff of me if he wanted. Finally, I inched up to being a foot away. He sniffed, he wagged, and he did an oh-so-subtle happy tap dance with his front feet. I every-so-carefully reached out my hand. He sniffed it, then plonked onto his back to ask for a belly rub. The only reason I didn't immediately dissolve into tears was the fear I would ruin my hard work up to that point.

"Now what the heck do I do?"

I called down to my mom, who also looked close-to-tears, and asked her to call her friend Cindy. Cindy is another Crazy Dog Lady like me, but quite a bit more experienced. She's done everything from agility to therapy work with her dogs, as well as tons of training. I aspire to be another Cindy. Of course, my mother didn't have Cindy's number saved in her cell phone. So she called my dad and told him to call Cindy to tell her to call us. Whatever worked. We needed slip leads and guidance.

At this point, a sheriff driving down the busy road spotted us and pulled over to see if we were OK. Mom informed him of the situation, and I continued to sit on the pavement some distance away, crowing "Ask him if he has any slip leads!" ("No ma'am, I don't carry any equipment like that.")like the crazy person that I evidently am. He did confirm our suspicions of the overwhelmed, under-supported local shelter, "Well, if you get 'em, don't take 'em to the county shelter," implying what we already believed to be true. [Note that this is NOT Wake County, where I live, this is a more rural area in a different county]. They would be put to sleep.

At this point, my mother finds two chewers in her car from Paco, my parents' dog (and the dog I grew up with). I've gained Willem's trust, and Tim is following behind us. I break pieces of chewer into little nubs and feed them to the dogs, moving toward my mom's car. Finally, I have an opportunity, and I take it. This is one of a few moments during the capture process that I think, "If I'm going to get bit, it's going to be now." I swoop down, scoop up Willem's sturdy little top-heavy body, and toss him into the backseat. It was all one motion, but it was far from graceful. Success! I was confident that once I had one, I would easily be able to nab the other since they seemed very bonded and concerned for one another.

Then my phone rings. It's Cindy. My mother doesn't know how to work my phone to answer it. I turn to tell her, not thinking about the open car door. In the split second I look away, Willem hops out of the car and bolts. I've spent my one lucky shot, I've damaged his trust, and there are no dogs in that car to show for it. Crap.

To Be Continued on Wednesday... but you already know it has a happy ending.

Here is my Do Not Try This At Home message: Please note that my actions in catching unfamiliar dogs without any equipment or training were very dangerous. There were several points at which I could have been seriously injured. If you encounter stray, strange dogs, the safest thing to do is to leave them alone and call the proper animal control authorities in your area.

Unleash the Hounds!

To keep everyone safe and healthy, my vet recommended we keep TWill and Brugge separate for the first 7 days. Neither Tim nor Willem have shown any signs of an upper respiratory infection, and Brugge is fully vaccinated, but we would rather be safe than sorry. I'll admit, we fudged a wee bit to let everyone get familiar with each other by way of brief greetings on the way to and from walks, and walks with all 3 dogs being kept separate (with two people).

Today, quarantine is officially over! I started with a solo walk with all three dogs. It went amazingly well. Tim & Willem are fantastic on leash, and Brugge is much more laid back on walks when she has companions of the canine persuasion. I only had to untangle leashes twice, and they weren't very tangled to begin with. Once while I stopped to pick up poo and once when a neighbor with two dogs on flexi leashes approached; fortunately not close enough to get themselves tangled and turn it into an all out rope-burn fest. Lots of good natured sniffing and shuffling in both cases. Thank goodness for Brugge's European style lead. I wore it cross-body and held Tim and Will's flat leashes in my hands. My sweet neighbor and fellow dog rescuer loaned me a coupler, but I've found it's much easier to keep the boys from accidentally tinkling on each other if kept on separate leashes. Then it was a quick romp around the house and nap time.

Now, nap time is over. Currently, all three dogs are loose in the main part of our house. As I write this, Tim is taking turns sitting on my lap and tapping in with Willem, who is in epic puppy play battle mode with Brugge. Don't let Tim's size fool you, he's a pretty fierce competitor with his ankle gnawing moves. In summary, things are rocking along nicely at Lace & Twill Headquarters. More pictures and videos to follow, but for now, I leave you with this one:

Distance from camera determined by interest in treat vs. interest in exploring the kitchen table leg jungle ratio.

TWill are officially in rescue!

Great news, everyone... Tim and Willem have been accepted into a rescue program! I will still be fostering them until they find their forever home (home... singular... I'm insisting that they go together because they are extremely bonded), but they will help out with their care, and most importantly, exposure. The rescue that will be helping me is Pawfect Match, and we plan on attending an adoption event with them this Sunday! I'm SO excited!

Speaking of exposure, my incredibly talented sister-in-law came over and took some AMAZING photos of them last night. I added a watermark to deter creepers from stealing the photos to use for other means, but the shooting and editing was all her! Have a look...

Tim has such wise eyes.

Willem is such a model.

Welcome! And an explanation...

The time has finally come for this Crazy Dog Lady (CDL) to start a blog. I've subjected my Facebook friends to enough posts about all things dog since adopting my own in April 2011, and now that I'm fostering two more, this only makes sense.

Allow me to explain the name choice. What do fabrics have to do with dogs? Well, not much.

"Lace" is to represent the first two lives I saved by foster and adoption. In July of 2008, I found a puppy on the Louisiana/Texas border while on a trip. Long story short, I named her Tulah (short of Tallulah Belle), she came home with me back to North Carolina, and I fostered her until she was adopted in late August. She's a pit bull and blue lacy (lacy... lace... get it?) mix, and since I've been fortunate enough to keep in contact with her adoptive family, I've gotten to see her blossom into a wonderful dog.

Tulah, being dogsat by us, September 2010

The second "Lace" dog is my own girl, Brugge (pronounced "brooj"). I'm a big doberman fan, and when I saw this wiggly dobie mix at the shelter I couldn't resist. She's named after the city in Belgium (also known as Bruges in English). I studied abroad in Lille, France a few years back, and my boyfriend, Steven, came to visit. While there, he was able to tag along on a program field trip to Brugge with me, and we just loved the city. While there, I mused that if I ever rescued a male Doberman, I would name him Brugge. Fast forward to April 2011, and we had been homeowners long enough for my puppy fever to reach the breaking point. After trolling rescue sites, I saw my girl, went to visit, thought about it for a few days (But we're not ready! We don't have a fence! But... but... buuuuut...), and it was all over. Steven reluctantly agreed, on the condition that he got to name her. So Brugge it was. Fun fact: The city of Brugge is known for its beautiful, handmade lace.

Brugge, 4/7/12

And last, but not least, this past Wednesday, after 3 hours of coaxing and a lot of patience, I rescued these little dudes off a busy, rural road near my parents' neighborhood. I've named them Willem and (Tiny) Tim, and will be fostering them until I can find them a forever home. They were coated in hundreds of ticks (more on that in a future post), Tim was emaciated, and they both were pretty scarred up. I placed a "found" notice with the local shelter, took them to a vet to be scanned for microchips (they didn't have them, surprise surprise), and then to a 24-hour vet to be examined and have their first round of vaccines. Now, on Day 4, they're recovering from their ordeal and getting stronger every day. Very sweet and happy little guys. My dad came up with their celebrity couple name of "TWill."

Crumby cell phone photo of Willem (left) and Tim (right) on Day 2 of their rescue, 5/31/12

 So there you have it, Lace and Twill. I'm excited to use this blog share all the trials, triumphs, and learning experiences I encounter as a dog owner and foster. I'm passionate about animal welfare, animal rescue, fostering, and (possibly most importantly) responsible pet ownership. I hope this will end up being an informative, helpful, and maybe even entertaining resource for all you dog lovers out there!

- M