“Old dogs can be a regal sight. Their exuberance settles over the years into a seasoned nobility, their routines become as locked into yours as the quietest and kindest of marriages.”
– Gail Caldwell
“But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called -- called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.”
― Jack London, The Call of the Wild
It rained the evening before we went. The downpour was torrential the way storms in Indiana can sometimes be. The ground had absorbed all the water it could and now there were pools in every depression. Despite the warmth of the summer sun, it would be days before the mud would finally harden.
It was that morning, as the world was trying to dry itself out that I found myself standing in a dog kennel run filled with muddy water and piles of dog poop. All around me a dog was running full of youthful “zoomies”. His name was Yodel. Of course it was. As he skidded on the mud and poo, he could have no other name.
My phone rang. It was a local number so I decided to answer it.
“Glenn?” , the voice said. She was the sister of a friend of mine who worked for a Dog rescue in another town.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I understand you would like a Golden Retriever I have one but It is an urgent situation. I need a Foster Home for a couple of days for the dog or they are going to kill it”
“What?”
“The dog will be put down because it has no home. She is only two years old. Will you foster it for a couple of days?”
Yodel skidded to a stop in front of Charlie, our aging Coon Hound, who we brought to see if he was compatible with the dog. He seemed unimpressed and went to Colleen for comfort. When she petted him, Yodel immediately growled. She wanted to be petted as well and did not like the attention Charlie was getting.
“Of course we will help, “ I said on the phone, “Where is the dog now?”
“Alabama”.
“I beg your pardon?”
__________
I should back up here. I am getting to far ahead of the story. After Flash died we became absorbed in other activities. Things with my theater festival were starting to heat up and Colleen was busy with her landscaping. We noticed Charlie, our adopted Coon hound , seemed more lethargic. It was hard to tell if it was just age, he is 10 1/2 now which is old for a hound dog, or if he was depressed missing Flash. It was likely both things.
Colleen was feeling very sure of herself after our success with CoCo. See https://www.roadtobali.net/post/overhead-flights
I felt differently of course. The local dog rescues, to me, felt like visiting a juvenile detention home and hoping to get a kid that would not murder you in your sleep. I wanted to see if we could go a safer route. I wanted to get a Golden Retriever. After all, they have the highest ratings of any pet dog in the world.
Colleen put up with this hope and I started asking around. I called a pet store in Carmel that featured pure bred dogs.
“Hi, do you have Golden Retrievers?” , I asked on the phone.
“Yes”, she replied. “But you need an appointment to come see them.”
“An appointment?”
“Yes, and we will need to run a credit check.”
“…..what is the price point of these puppies?”
“They start at $8,000 dollars”
I hung up the phone. “Colleen! We are off to Juvie!”
Once again we entered the world of local dog shelters. You start off by looking at pictures on line. It feels a little like picking out a mail order bride from the Philippines. Almost everything is a pit bull variant. From what I understand the breed has an undeserved reputation for ferocity, but I am old , retired, and I was not willing to take a chance. Anything that looked like another breed we latched on to as a possibility.
“Gentle, lovely Lab mix looking for a Forever Home”.
Then, in the fine print, “12 years old, incontinent with a fistula and responsible for the death of her previous owner. Needs responsible new owner.
“But, she is a sweetie!” , the internet exclaimed.
I was telling a friend of mine about our search and she told me her sister works for a rescue in Bloomington. She would tell her about us and maybe she could help.
We got on their site and there found a number of different breeds. We got our hopes up. One puppy had big ears and paws and looked vaguely liked Flash. I was drawn to his picture.
I spoke to the foster parent who told me, “She is a Catahoula Leopard dog.”
“Your making that up.”
“No, it is a real breed,” she insisted.
My mind immediately went to this image.
So I looked it up, and sure enough, despite the breadth and scope of my education I did not know Catahoula Leopard dogs existed. I loved the word though.
It was so much fun to say, “Catahoula!”
Here is a grown one. Now if you are honest, it is just as frightening as the image above.
The breed scared me to death.
Wikipedia: "They are not good family pets. They eat grandparents"
“Catahoula“ is a Choctaw Native American term meaning either ‘Sacred or beloved lake’ . Combining that word with leopard seemed completely logical.
They are from Louisiana. That fact totally made sense to me.
Moving on.
We kept looking. We finally were led to Yodel, who was the only non pit bull at this shelter. She seemed hyper but very puppy like. Compared to what we had seen we thought this may be the one.
So we filled out an application, gave our finger prints, blood and urine test. Only then we found out we were “seventh in line to adopt her”. They could have told us that at the beginning. We left crest fallen thinking this whole process is a waste of time.
Sure enough, a few days later we were called and informed we are first in line to get Yodel. We needed to bring Charlie in to meet Yodel to see if they were compatible. Sort of a doggy Tinder date. My first thought was, “What was the matter with the other six applications?”
In the mean time we kept searching other shelters and came across George. Here was what we were looking for. George was a 3-4 month old puppy that had been treated poorly and had been nursed back to health by the shelter. He was a short haired collie mix with long gangly legs and, at that visit, a gentle disposition. He would softly play with you and seemed charmingly submissive.
We immediately put in and application but were once again told we were at the back of the line and several other people wanted George.
We kept our Tinder date with Yodel. We are unsure now. We were not certain if Yodel was the one or we were merely settling on him.
__________
So here I am , standing in the muddy poo with Yodel, who, crazed with puppy energy, was showing aggression to our geriatric coon hound.
I told Colleen about the call and we both talked a bit. We decided to wait. Although it appeared unlikely, George may become available and we were now fostering a Golden Retriever for the next two days.
But the dog was in Alabama?
My friend’s sister told us to meet her behind a pet store in Bloomington the next morning. She would have all the supplies. The dog was being driven through the night from the South.
This meeting had all the trappings of a “Breaking Bad “ episode. The next morning we drove to our rendezvous location. There we met our handler. A few other people were loitering about in the alley behind the pet store. Up pulled an unmarked large white van. The door slid open and inside were over 20 animals ranging from an adult doberman pincher to toy breeds. I was at the door peering into the vehicle trying to get a glimpse between the crate bars of our dog.
The handler asked me, “Are you the one for the Golden Retriever?”
“Yes.” I stepped back on the side walk. I realized I was standing next to a Doberman and jumped a little. The new owner was a large muscular man with a MAGA hat.
“He’s a sweetie”, the MAGA man said.
By the sheer law of statistics all of these animals can’t be sweet. This one looked about as sweet as a Mako Shark. But his new owner was happy and the beast seemed content with the thought of all the vaccinated liberals he would soon be able to eat.
“Yeah, he looks great, “ I said trying to be polite
“Here she is, ” The handler said, as she led a dog out of the back of a van.
My first thought was, “That’s not a Golden Retriever”. She was far too small. She was reportedly two years old and weighed maybe 30 pounds. Her head was angular with fox like appearance. She was thin with a body like a collie.
She was gold though. Her coat was like flowing corn silk. It cascaded to her fox tail. It was so soft. She had keen, alert eyes and liked nothing better than crawling into your lap to be petted. When she was panting her lips curved into that derpy smile characteristic of retrievers.
She was, in a word, “sweet”.
As we prepared to take her home her handler came over to us. As was petting her gently and the told us, “I have some bad news.”
“What's that?”
“She has heart worm”.
My hand recoiled off her back.
“Don’t worry”, the handler said, “It is not contagious. Dogs get it from mosquito bites”.
“Of course,” I said as I slowly started to pet her again, “I knew that…”
This diagnosis used to be a death sentence for dogs mostly because the treatment is long and very expensive. The handler reassured us that the Rescue Center would pay all bills. We would just have to commute to Bloomington to get it done. The entire course of treatment would be 6 months. At this point we were just scheduled to be a two day foster so it didn’t seem that important.
We brought her home and were delighted that the ever noble Charlie seemed to not be bothered at all by her. Both of them were calm and a pleasure to have in the home. What followed next was wholly predictable. We rapidly fell in love with this golden fox like, feminine dog who was undeniably ‘sweet’. We informed the rescue that we would like to adopt her and we were rapidly approved.
We sent off a DNA test to learn more about her. The results are below
So, it is fair to say that she is ‘mostly’ Golden Retriever. She is unique. There is not another like her. And that is wonderful. But, she had a secret habit. More on that later.
__________
Four days later we got the call.
“You can come and get George”, the caller said, “Your application was approved.”
How can that happen? He is such a pretty puppy, how can all the other applications be turned away?
We took the day to think about it. He was so cute, playful yet submissive. Perhaps having a puppy in the house would infuse our lives with youthful energy. He was our first choice after all. We have had 3 dogs before. Of course that was 10 years ago, but what does a decade matter? Charlie would be a good mentor and he was over 10 years old now.
My late Father in Law had a phrase for such decisions. “Glenn”, he would say, “That is not dumb. No, that is SUPER dumb.”
We called back and told the shelter yes we would take him. We new he came into the shelter malnourished and from a difficult home. This information made us feel heroic. We are going to rescue George from an unhappy life! We were told he was a “Collie mix”. Who doesn’t like a collie?
It had been almost two weeks since we last saw him. He was lying in his crate and tenderly played with Colleen’s hand as we got to know him.
We sat in the office as they went to get him. I was nervous. Would he like us? It was a bright sunny day and I saw the attendant walking across the yard with the puppy. Except this wasn’t the same dog. This was a baby horse. He had doubled his weight in the time since we last saw him. His legs and paws were huge.
“My God, he was a Great Dane puppy!” Colleen whispered.
The attendant chuckled, “Oh he is a good eater”
She reviewed the paper work as we took turns looking at our new colt munching on a blanket like it was fresh hay.
__________
Our lives have changed. What used to be peaceful mornings are now taken up with two young dogs playing together while Charlie sits to the side watching peacefully like an old male Orangutan looking over his harem.
We have discovered that George’s name in the Inuit language means “He who eats dirt”. It is a constant battle to keep him from consuming entire dirt clods.
And dear sweet Gracie had a secret. Despite being two years old, she only likes to poop in the house. And then, only in secret. She is like a stealth defecator. She will quietly find a back hall, lay down a heaping pile of poo and come out waging her tail saying, “I am so pretty”. George has better potty habits and he is only 5 months old.
We are blundering through dog training and going to bed more tired than normal. It is like having two furry toddlers in the house.
They are full of life though. We are more active taking care of them and slowly getting used to the new routine.
And coming home to the madness reminds us both of our younger days when through the fatigue and exasperation joy would creep in. They want so much to please you. It is unfiltered love. To receive that much affection is worth all the poo.
At least I think it is …..
Say good night Gracie.
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