Usually, when I foster, I choose a smart and cute wayward adolescent who needs some training and guidance, and I actively participate in the search for an appropriate home for the dog, and then provide guidance and advice to the new owner. Or, I foster a litter of puppies who are going to be adopted lickety-split. Either way, I usually feel great about the whole thing – getting to help a dog become more likely to succeed in his or her happy new home. Today, though, I’m sort of miserable and sad.

As you may have read here before, my most recent fostering project is a heartworm-positive mama hound and her seven puppies. The puppies, as ever, are going to fly off the shelves – that is, they are certain to elicit an ample number of applications from the website of the coonhound rescue responsible for taking on the whole mess and finding the family appropriate homes.  But the mama – who is going to take the mother hound?

I did not particularly enjoy having the mama hound at first. She was so emaciated and neglected when she arrived, 10-day-old puppies in tow, that it was understandable that she was rather protective of her food. I had to make sure no other dogs were anywhere in the vicinity of her food – not even her own puppies, once they began crawling around. She would get a little harsh in guarding her meals from them, and even taking over their food from them, if she got a chance.

It was obvious to me that she has received very little handling and training. If you snapped a leash on her collar, and pulled on the leash (either to prevent her from going somewhere she wanted to go, like back into the kitchen to eat the puppies’ food, or to get her to go somewhere she didn’t want to go, like outside to eat her own food), she would just sort of sink to the ground, the ultimate in passive, uncomprehending resistance. We made headway only when I armed myself with my all-time favorite, most powerful, not-at-all-secret dog-training tool: Stella and Chewy’s Chicken Meal Mixers, which I have been using in copious amounts to lure Mama in and out of the house, to reward her for pottying outside on cue, and to follow me and the leash.

Early on, Mama seemed to have near zero personality. That was undoubtedly a symptom of deep stress and anxiety – from being starved, lost or abandoned, picked up as stray, being held in a shelter long enough to have her puppies there, and then being transported to the house where I have my office. She was just very undemonstrative; she didn’t wag her tail or change expression when spoken to or petted. The only clue we had that she actually did like attention was that if you sat in her presence, she would come and stand very close to you; she liked to put her face very near your face – a quite uncomfortable sensation with a dog who has no expression, and isn’t wagging her tail or trying to lick you. She would just approach, stand very close, and hold very still – odd.

Very slowly, she grew more and more comfortable with me and the tenant who rents a room in my office/house. It took her a couple weeks to seem to realize we were keeping her and her puppies safe from the other dog who lives here (the tenant’s dog) and my dogs (who come with me to work), and that there was more than enough food to go around. (Thank goodness, I had just completed the November issue, which contained WDJ’s canned food review, so I had tons of delicious, nutritious food on hand to feed her and the babies.)

She had been here for about three weeks when she first wagged her tail – when I praised her enthusiastically for going potty. She finished, and then put on a submissive grin and trotted toward me wagging her tail, looking for the treat she now understood would be forthcoming, and why. The lines of trust and communication had opened! I actually cried as I fed and made a fuss over her – it was our Helen Keller moment.

In the past couple of weeks, she’s gotten more and more demonstrative, wagging her tail and showing more expression on her face when spoken to. She also started to play with the puppies’ toys – something she didn’t do at first, even when my two-year-old dog Woody tried to engage her in play, by grabbing a puppy toy and shaking it in front of her, then darting away. It was as if for weeks and weeks she didn’t even see the toys, and then suddenly, there they were (even though the toys were there the whole time). Any chance she got, she would steal the puppies’ toys one by one, and hide them under the bamboo in the back yard. Several times a day, I had to go retrieve all the toys and redistribute them to the pups. Darn it! I’ve started to like this dog.

All of this explains why I got so weepy yesterday, when it was time to take her to the

breed rescue’s Western-region coordinator, who runs a dog daycare and boarding facility. Mama Hound is going to stay there while she undergoes treatment for her heartworm infection and gets spayed, and then she will go up for adoption. It’s a nice facility run by a superstar of dog rescue! But when we walked into the facility and she heard and smelled lots of other dogs what I saw on Mama’s face was confusion. She got that shut-down look on her face, and started to do that “go limp,” passively resistant thing again. Clearly, she knew her circumstances were changed again – and the recognition that I broke her trust just broke my heart. I had to keep hiding my face in her coat.

My friend the coonhound-rescue-hero laughed in a kindly way at my tears. She said, “I don’t cry anymore because I know that this is another step along their journey, and things are just going to get better and better in her life.” I get that, but it’s a rationalization that humans can’t possibly make to the dog who only knows what she sees in front of her: “I’m getting ditched again.” UGH.

But I can’t keep her for the next few months as she goes through treatment. I have my hands too full as it is, with the now-very active puppies, who will be getting adopted one by one, and moving, my next challenge. And I would far prefer her to find a permanent home after treatment, rather than play third wheel in my family as a foster dog again. I’m hoping she finds a forever-home with someone who wants a pretty, calm, affectionate, playful hound. If you know someone who is looking for a sweet, quiet companion, won’t you point them to the coonhound rescue site? 

It’s simply astonishing how fast puppies grow. Three weeks ago I wrote a post about the then-four-week-old puppies I’m fostering. Three weeks ago, they were just starting to show little bits of grown-up dog behavior: adorable little growls and barks, playing with each other, and running toward me when I call them for a meal or to go outside (or come inside).

Today, the seven Treeing Walker Coonhound puppies are seven weeks old and just the most amazing, perfectly formed little dogs. They (unfortunately) remember things they learned days ago – like how exactly they got through the barriers I erected in the kitchen to keep them out of the recycling bin, where there are crushed aluminum cans and plastic bottles just waiting to be strewn about the kitchen (so, for a while, the recycling bin will have to be relocated to a table top). Fortunately, they also remember good things, like how they can get attention and petting if they sit in front of me, rather than jumping up or biting my bare ankles (ouch!). 

Housetraining is going super well, too. I keep them in a large kennel that’s on my back porch, with a tarp under a thick bed of wood shavings. They have an enormous crate, covered with cardboard and then blankets that are holding in the warmth from an electric heating pad (the hard-plastic kind made for dogs; it only heats up to dog body’s temperatures, and turns off when there is no weight on it). When I awaken them in the morning, I open the door to their pen and rush down the porch stairs into the back yard. Just 10 days ago they couldn’t “do” stairs. Now they tumble down in a group and they all immediately halt in the dirt and go pee! Yay, puppies! Cheers and petting all around. Then we race back up the stairs, and I open the back door and let them into the kitchen. They run around and play (and try to bite my ankles, and pull on my pants legs) as I prepare their breakfast. Immediately after breakfast, we all race outside again, back down the stairs into the backyard, and now it’s poop time! It’s all routine, and hardly any more indiscriminate pottying in the kitchen.

I’m letting them into the rest of the house now, but only in ones and twos – not the whole herd. That’s tooooo much. They go in too many different directions and I don’t have the whole house puppy-proofed. Why is it that puppies this age have such a strong instinct to grab anything that looks like a cord? But I do want them to be comfortable with the sounds of the TV, vacuum, heater, stereo, people opening and closing doors, and so on, so after pottying outdoors, that’s the time to have supervised and nearly individualized indoor exploration time. (It’s a wonder I am getting anything done!)

Mama Hound still sleeps with the babies and plays with them a bit outside, but she really, really appreciates getting to come in the house and lay about with my other adult dogs in the house while I work. I remember how great it felt when my toddler son started kindergarten and I could work unencumbered for much of the day – ahhhh.  That’s how she seems to feel. She will be headed soon to the Western coordinator of the American Black & Tan Coonhound Rescue – the group that is sponsoring the whole family’s rescue, to be spayed and start treatment for her heartworm infection. At least now she’s put on some weight and is more familiar with people and loves attention and affection. I’m not sure she had any love before this group pulled her from the shelter that took her in as a stray, skinny, pregnant, and heartworm-positive. She was so shut down with stress that she seemed almost comatose. Now she’s developing some darling play behaviors and frisking about with the pups and even with my two-year old dog Woody.

If anyone is interested in a calm, sweet, low-maintenance mama dog, or one of these darling pups, check out the AB&TC website. The pups will appear on the site soon, in the “available puppies” in the Southwest region. The mom won’t be available until after her spay and heartworm treatment (unless, by some miracle, someone wants to foster-to-adopt her through that period).

WDJ contributor/freelance writer Barbara Dobbins sent me a text from the waiting room of a busy veterinary practice the other day:

“Sitting at the veterinary specialist and watching all the traditional cones go by. Why don’t they offer or even discuss alternatives? Sigh.”

Dobbins’ dissatisfaction is understandable: She most recently wrote a review of alternatives to the classic veterinary “cone” or Elizabethan collar (“Shameless Protection,” WDJ July 2017). Dobbins tested eight different products that can be used to protect a dog’s wound or surgical site, each of which offered greater comfort, vision, and less amplification of sound than what a dog typically experiences with a conventional, vet-issued “cone.”

The classic cone offered at most veterinary practices is made of very heavy, stiff , opaque plastic. Most dogs suffer more from the cones than whatever wound they have that is being protected. They are often bigger than they have to be to protect the dog’s wound site, and because the plastic is opaque, the wearer often bashes into doorways and table legs, trying to move around his house. Many dogs, and especially senior dogs, seem to find the whole experience so disheartening that they often reuse to try to eat or drink or even walk around with the cones on.

Many pet supply stores carry lighter-weight, translucent cones, which often come with a strip of fabric or vinyl that lines the inner edge of the collar, making it less liable to dig into the dog’s neck uncomfortably. If your dog has to wear an Elizabethan collar for a short period, for example, following a surgery or wound repair, we’d recommend picking up one of these inexpensive alternatives.

If your dog suffers from a condition that calls for longer-term use of a protective cone, we’d strongly recommend looking into one of the other alternatives Dobbins describes in her review.

After seeing the alternatives, we’d never bring our dog home from a vet’s office with one of those  classic, unwieldy, uncomfortable (and often over-priced) cones again.

Ack! As I type these words, it’s the day before Thanksgiving, and I have less than an hour to write this. I had a different topic in mind for this week’s blog post, but it’s going to take more time to write it, and I’ve run out of time.

I overslept this morning. My husband and I were up too late, tidying up the house, getting ready to have houseguests for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Ordinarily, I would put them up at the house where I have my office, two blocks away, where they would probably be more comfortable, with their own bathroom, but the comfort I’m working to preserve is that of – you guessed it – dogs!

At my office/house, I already have a delicate dog situation. I’m fostering a mama hound and her seven puppies, and I have a tenant there who has a female dog, MJ, who is my dog Woody’s crush and very good playmate, but MJ and Mama Hound don’t much care for each other, and orchestrating their movements takes a bit of care.

My guests for the weekend are my husband’s brother and his wife, and their Boxer Rosie, and they are bringing a foster Boxer, too. Rosie is another female with a strong personality and opinions about things, and having her stay at the house with the other two females – not a good idea. So they can stay at our house, instead, where all we will have to juggle are the cats (who can generally take care of themselves, even if it means spending a certain amount of time on the roof) and the chickens, who will have to suffer the indignity of being locked in their pen for the weekend, so they don’t end up as Boxer food.

I might leave Woody at my office house overnights with my tenant and MJ. They get along splendidly, and it might be less bananas. The foster Boxer is reportedly an adolescent who doesn’t know much. If he likes to play, he and Woody might be too much to contain in a small house.

Who won’t be here to play this year: My son’s dog, Cole! He and my son are having the holiday with my son’s dad and that part of his family. They will be missed, especially on the hikes.

Once everyone is settled, I’m looking forward to glorious hikes with all the dogs (well, not Mama or the pups, but all the puppy-free grownup dogs); my in-laws are great hikers, and we always have epic dog hikes when they come. I’m so looking forward to it! Especially because my sister, the chef, is cooking for all of us! We will need to hike for four days to work off one dinner!

All the dogs will be settled into safe zones before we go to my sister’s house; we won’t bring any dogs there, not even my dogs, who have been there many times and who get along with her dogs, because there will just be too many people and dogs in one spot. My sister and her husband have four little dogs; they don’t take up much physical space, but they take up a lot of the sound space, if you get my drift. Ruff! They are darling, but I don’t want to add to the chaos.

Well, maybe just dignified Otto can come. He doesn’t add to chaos, ever. He’s the anti-chaos dog.

I hope you all have a nice holiday with your dogs. Just don’t skip an extra long walk with your dog or dogs sometime afterward, Friday, the weekend, or both. In my view, it’s the part of the holiday I’m more thankful for.

I’m fostering a (heartworm-positive) mama hound and her seven puppies for one of my favorite breed rescues, the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. It’s my first foray back into puppy-fostering since the epic Great Dane mama and litter of 11 fostering experience, which wiped me out in terms of time, energy, and even spare cash for a while. After that litter, which came to me underweight and sickly, and had to undergo treatment for coccidia and giardia, I took a break from fostering puppy litters for a while.

But I couldn’t resist this bunch: They came from an open-admission shelter north of me by 90 miles or so, and were “pulled” by the ABTCR, whose Western-U.S. coordinator is about 90 miles south of me . . . I was in the middle, see? I had to help!

The mom had come into the shelter in early October, super skinny and yet obviously pregnant, with grossly long nails – and a heartworm infection. She had her pups in the shelter on October 17, and the shelter put out a call for help. The ABCTR responded, and then asked its volunteers for assistance (which is where I stepped up). The group will see to it that Mama is treated for her heartworm infection once the pups are weaned, and get all the pups vaccinated, microchipped, neutered, and adopted – all in good time.

In the meantime, I get to play with the puppies (which is fun) and the mom (less fun). Mama isn’t house-trained – I’m not sure she’s ever been in a house, judging from her worry-free propensity for jumping up on the kitchen counters when I’m preparing food. She also guards her food, even from her own babies, which is maybe understandable given her extreme thinness. I hope as she gets comfortable and in good weight, she’ll relax a bit.

The mom and the puppies were delivered to me by a shelter volunteer when the pups were 10 days old; that makes them the youngest puppies I’ve fostered. Almost all the rest of the puppies I’ve ever fostered were about three weeks old when I got them, and what an incredible difference there is between 10 days and 21 days! These guys were sort of grub-like – fat, gooey pups, eyes mostly closed, only able to sort of wobble and roll toward mom, spending all their time either eating or sleeping.

At two weeks, worried that a couple of the pups weren’t getting enough to eat, I offered them formula. I didn’t know that at that age, they didn’t yet have an instinct or ability to lap at liquids offered to them; all they could do was suck. I gave the littlest ones some formula in a puppy bottle (you know, a baby bottle for puppies), and kept trying. The puppies were all wild when offered the formula; they’d get frantic and start lunging toward it. But they had absolutely no ability to lap it up, until one day, at about three weeks old, they did. No more bottles needed.

Other developments happen daily, like magic. Their eyes opened, and daily, it’s clear they could see more and farther. Their vocalizations went from simple whimpering when hungry or cold, to include yelps when mom steps on them, and then playful growls at each other, and now, barks of alarm or excitement. They used to poop and pee anywhere and everywhere; then, one day, they started exiting the warm crate where their bed is and going out in the kennel (bedded with wood shavings) to poop and (most of the time) to pee.

Ten days ago, humans were just enormous things they didn’t really comprehend; now, at 30 days old, when they see people, they come running and tumbling toward the humans, eager to be petted and picked up and cuddled. It happened overnight, I swear.

I was dismayed to see that they have already developed the ability to remember scary things. The other day, I was removing some damp bedding from the crate (still a few bed-wetters among them) as the mom was eating her food outside the pen, and the pups were eating their (supplemental) food inside the pen. I carried the laundry about 10 feet away to the laundry room, took some things out of the dryer and folded them, added more to a load in the washer, and stepped out of the room just in time to see that the mom had finished her food, and was finishing theirs . . . and boom! She dramatically barked and snapped at one of the puppies who was still trying to eat its food. All the puppies yipped and ran into the crate; the one who got snapped at was so shaken, she missed the door of the crate and instead stood, trembling and cringing and trying to disappear in the corner of the pen. Although the pups still all dive toward their mom when she lays down with them for nursing, I swear they are all wary now when she walks among them in the pen.

Watching this incredibly fast development makes me realize how much, for better or worse, our puppies experience long before we usually get our hands on them. Were they raised in a scary, unpredictable place, subject to loud, clashing noises and other frightening stimuli? Was the environment stripped down and devoid of different textures, substrates, heights, and toys to experience, and people and other animals to see? Did they have a nice mom, or a scary one, or only minimal contact with their mother? It’s fascinating to ponder.

We can only do what we can do, and of course I’ll try to give this bunch of darling puppies the best possible experiences for the next couple of months – and stay more alert to protecting them from Mama when she’s eating. Sheesh.