For the first time in a year, Monday came along and I was not worried about Tyson.  I always knew he was well cared for at Pasado's, more that I worried he didn't have a home to spend his nights in, a warm groggy face to take him outside in the early morning, and a lap to place his head on as the evening progressed through Wheel of Fortune and into Jay Leno.  Tyson is home now.

Tyson goes home tomorrow!

Home Check!

I am going on a home check...Wish me luck!

There is something profoundly sincere about owning an older pet. Your decision being the first thing. The result being the second. The response is the third.

First, by choosing and older pet, you've granted yourself a chance at being part of a life that had memory and circumstance not your own, which makes the event exciting, new and intriguing. You'll get to know a critter who has grown and adapted to life, maybe not such a good one, and they'll better appreciate the one you give to them. You'll also be choosing to grant security and faith in a critter who has perhaps lost those values in their experiences. Least of all, you are making a selfless act in that what you are creating is a home for a pet, which has lost theirs due to unforeseen or perhaps terrible circumstances. It's a raw emotion for them as well as you, the likes of which are really strong and just.

What you get is apprehension followed by loyalty. It's that apprehensive period, however, that connects you to them. You both learn good and bad feelings, how to manage them and then how to overcome them. As in, our cat B came to us very shy of touch, but it was only after a vet visit that we learned why. Severe arthritis. The poor kid was just in pain. It wasn't that he disliked being held, more that we had to learn how to hold him without causing him pain. Also, Levi: we had to recognize that his situation often left him hungry, so his overeating was something we had to monitor, not something for which to berate him. Being hungry or in pain all the time makes a critter reactive. They respond like us, don't they?

Last, the result. Adoration. Joy. Trust. Critters who have been neglected or abused, abandoned or lost, turn to you to seek comfort. What solace it brings to the heart knowing you've given them peace. Enjoy it.

I know Tyson will find his home. And I'm grateful for the people who have considered being his care-givers. I've delighted in the possibility and struggled with the denial, but I get it. When you want to adopt him or others like him, you think to yourself, "Am I the best fit?". It's honest. It's sincere. It's noteworthy and admirable.

We all have our places in life. And he will find his. I'm sure of it. In fact, he already has. He is loved. Cared for. Warmed and fed. Without fear. With love. Tyson is in a good place. He is. Ted and I, like many, just want his health and happiness. He's already there. Still. I look for his Norman Rockwell life, beside the hearth, with loving parents, and a warm, soft bed.

Good night, my sweet. You are loved by many, and soon, you be loved more ardently by one. Sleep well, my dear. Tomorrow is another day.

Squeaky Clean

I met the best people today.  Connie's husband, Bill, at the Pet Groomer in Sultan bathed Tyson today, knowing I would return with cash next week and with kudos across the board.  The Sultan Vet Clinic trimmed his nails without charge, because of his excellent behavior.  Salt of the Earth people...

Now, Tyson is squeaky clean and ready to meet his forever home.  Outside the tremendous joy I got to experience by being near him, there will be even greater joy when his forever home adopts him.  Tyson deserves this.

See you next week, sweetheart!

Bye bye sweet one.

I just got an email from Pasado's about little Trigger's passing.  This is a photo from that email of her--isn't she beautiful...

Extending a Paw

This is a photo of the first time we met Tyson.  He wasn't quite sure about me yet, but he was already hamming it up for Ted.

"Do you still see Tyson?" was the question tonight at work.

"Of course!" I exclaimed and then repeated.

Because we have 2 pups does not mean we neglect "the boy."

I think about Tyson every day, twice or ten times daily. I've even adopted his status as "juvie" in the house...as in, "Tyson can't come home because of bad behavior;)"

Tyson is an amazing pup. He fills me with joy and hope. If Tyson were to receive treatment and become okay with felines, he'd be in our home now. Immediately. No question.

It's been nearly a year now. I've hoped for his arrival into our home without issue for many, many months. And I never grow weary that he'll find one.

Though our visitation has gone from weekly to bi monthly, it doesn't mean we care or think anything less of our boy. Only that we are busy, making plans and "doing" for the future.

Granted that pups take hold and remind us to be homeward bound, we still converse with the Pasado's staff as often or more often than is usual, likely annoying them with our questions.

I'm totally in love with Tyson. Nothing will change that.

New Link to See Tyson with some Kids at Pasado's

http://www.pasadosafehaven.org/2012/05/kids-for-pasados-brighton-school-students-shine/

That boy!  He's such a ham.  Check out that lolling tongue of his.

Determined

I managed to rediscover huge determination for Vet School buried some place deep within my soul and it needed to be dusted off. I remember that empowered feeling, and I carried it with me everywhere.  That confidence was often misconstrued or misunderstood, but that's no longer an issue, because today it feels ripened and alive!  I can't explain this sense of exuberance, nor should I ever apologize for it--again.  Still, I'll have to take it out for a test run here as soon as possible, because there is a little guy named Tyson and now a little guy named Charlie that I have to thank.  I'm yet again inspired...turns out that muses come in different sizes, hair coats and breeds.  Thanks, Tyson.  Thanks, Charlie.  I won't let you down.

Charlie belonged to us all

The following excerpt was part of the trial that coined the phrase, "a dog is a man's best friend," and happened in 1870 in Warrensburg, MO when Charles Burden sued Leonidas Hornsby, neighbor farmers, over the shooting of Old Drum, Burden's dog:

"Gentlemen of the jury, a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow, and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens," orated George Graham Vest.

Today, I learned that no dog is singly part of one man's life.  Though an individual man's dog represents solidarity and keenness to his master, when the dog becomes injured and his master is no where to be found, it is up to you and I to take charge, helping him.  

As Ted and I drove back from our leisure day in Eastern Washington, we meandered through valleys and by rivers, gaped at the sun in awe, hoping it arrives sooner than later in the Western part of the state.  We stopped at a state park wherein Ted remembered days of youth with his father, for taffy at a roadside shop where we watched mom and dad coral 6 baby geese, and to peruse an antique store where we found the perfect little mirror for just $19.  Had we altered any part of our day, had we not stopped for this or that, had we not walked down by the river with the pups, we would not have seen or witnessed what we had when we had.

We had reached the middle of the town of Gold Bar on the way back from Leavenworth when Ted saw a black and white dog running full speed into an intersection from the river side of the road.  In his mind, he was waiting to see him come out the other side of that intersection, but as soon as the car ahead of us turned right, the dog was revealed, stopped and lying in the very center of the road.  His head lifted two or three times and then no more.  "Pull over!" I shouted.  The door was open and I was out before the truck had completely stopped.  Quickly, but admittedly not too securely, I had checked to see if any cars were coming and in a split second, they all looked to be stopped, so I went out into the intersection to help the poor critter in whatever capacity I was able.  

Meanwhile and still inside the truck, Ted had been cursing me as he slammed on the brakes, and before pulling the emergency break.  He was now scared for me, and not just the dog.  Ted quickly hopped out to follow me.  Though the doors were all shut, the truck was still running and unlocked, blocking all traffic from turning right as we both knelt in front of an unconscious, choking dog.  We had become part of the scene.  Bright pink pulmonary blood was leaking from the dog's mouth as he gasped for air, his eyes were rolled back into his head, and he was not responding. The fate of this poor dog was apparent.

I suppose I had wished for a pistol, quickly hearkening back to the childhood days when my dad would put a deer from its misery after it had been hit by a car.  It seems odd to say it, and for many to hear it, but allowing suffering is far more cruel and lingering than something instant and loud.  Ted, thought to himself, I am going to give these people nightmares if I billy-club him.  Neither were things we could do--or wanted to do, but they were panicked thoughts on how to quickly put a dog from his pain and agony.  Then someone shouted that there was a Veterinary office just a few blocks away.

We were both knelt down beside him.  Ted felt for a reaction--"Pain always elicits something," he said, and rather than let him die in the center of a roadway or wait for a policeman, Ted scooped up this boy and was off, carrying him to the Veterinary Clinic, clinging tightly to the furry mass while I hopped in the truck to follow and to secure our two boys.  The E-brake was still engaged as I drove, but I didn't realize that until I went to pull it to park.  


People kept asking Ted if he had been the one to hit this dog, and when he said he had not, they asked who had.  "It doesn't matter now," Ted responded.  A strange woman walked with Ted, guiding him to the Veterinarian's office.  Ted's arm had gone numb, and the poor pup's head had gone from limp, to just hanging there--lifeless.  I could tell that very little, if anything was remaining, but Ted said he had felt the life leave the dog altogether.   And that's when the blood came gushing out, leaving a significant trail of blood and lung tissue down his pant leg, across the parking lot and then up a stairway into a Veterinary Office next door to a farm and feed.  

When I reached them all, Ted, the strange lady, the dog and the Vet Tech were already inside an exam room.  Clean, white tiled floors now bespecked with blood.  Ted and the female stranger were there with their backs to me waiting for the attending technician to tell us that she could do something or anything, maybe nothing.  

The office was silent.  I couldn't even hear my breath.  I don't even remember hearing my footsteps.  

With a stethoscope in hand, the technician checked everywhere for a heart beat, but was shaking her head.  "No.  No.  He's dead,"  was the very audible sound of a woman saying absolutely nothing, but hoping for something.  I think we all knew he was not going to be saved, but we wanted him out of pain more than to lie in the center of the road or along the side walk and to suffer.  As the warmth drained from his body, this strange woman and I reached down and touched his stomach, petting his lifeless limbs.  My words were silent, but hers echoed them exactly, "I am so sorry, little guy."  And then she cried, and the faucet sounded as Ted began washing his hands.

We left, and on the way out a gentleman and lady stepped from the feed store asking about the dog.  "How big was he?  What color was he?  Was he black and white?  I think I know who he belonged to.  His name was Charlie.  His owner was homeless."  And then the same gentleman who had stopped and blocked traffic for us with his black two-door sports car, came into the lot to discover the outcome.  "At least you did something," he said.


I was okay until he had a name.  I was okay until I knew he had been named, "Charlie."  Charlie is the name that you give to your best friend.  Maybe it's a typical name for a dog like, Max or Buddy.  Maybe it's a name that reminded his owner of the Porky Pig pooch--the homeless dog that vied for adoption.  A homeless dog and a homeless owner.  The scene had just gone three-dimensional in my head and as a result, had just become deeply saddening.  


I asked if we ought to find Charlie's owner and tell him the bad news, but the gentleman at the feed n seed was going to take care of that, so we left.  I turned from the passenger seat to look at Simon and Garson in the back seat, and was grateful they were safe.  But then my mind turned to Tyson, and I immediately sent a message to Virginia to give him a hug for me as soon as possible.  I pondered the value of Tyson's life--what his value is for all of those who volunteer for him.  Those that work for his health and happiness.  And what he has done for me...

It was a few minutes before he said anything, but after a long silence, Ted said, "You can't help anyone if you are dead, Amy.  Don't just go running in the road like that."

Retorting, "I checked to see if anyone was coming, and all cars were stopped."

"But you never know if the guy who is texting on the phone is paying attention to everyone who is stopped."  He said.

"I love you, too."  It was all I could say.  Ted was right. 

I felt sorry knowing that Charlie's owner would hear of his fate from someone else, but glad that he did not have to witness it, and hoped that maybe, just maybe he might get to see his best friend one last time before he is taken away to that place that all dogs go when they die.  I hope he heard that there were two people who cared for Charlie like as if he had he been theirs. 

Aiding Charlie, best friend to a homeless man, remarks of the inner makings of man (woman), and if you can't bring yourself to come to their rescue when they need it most, and if all you can do is sit in your car and hope for someone else to get out and "do something" then you do not belong to be a Vet in the making.  It's not pride that beings me to this idea--I have always been a critter-helper, I think it is me saying this is only the beginning.  Whether it's Charlie or a stray this or that, a French poodle with diabetes or a Persian with failing kidneys--this is my calling.  

This is my future.  This is what I was born to do, but next time, rather than just be a concerned layman, I want to know why you need to touch an animal before you pick it up, not just that you should out of instinct.  I want to know what pink blood signifies, not just wait until Ted tells me what it is.  I want the stethoscope to hear for a heartbeat, and I want the tools to manage trauma and save a life, rather than to watch in silence.  I want "to do" and "to be."

Poor Charlie who lived about a year and a half as a pauper never really knew he was poor.  He just knew he was loved.  "...a man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow, and the snow drives fiercely, if only he can be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world."   His owner bathed him in love and life, and it's obvious because he ran carefree down a hill into an abyss of tragedy, but didn't know it even existed until there was no more running to be held.  His lungs were full of breath, his legs in full gate and then...nothing.  Charlie was no pauper at the end of his life with that kind of care-free joy bounding down the street.  No, in fact Charlie was king for his last day.  We all want to die that happy... 

Ted's and my love for animals far and exceeds most.  Ted didn't care about the blood, nor did I.  I didn't care about holding up traffic to save an animal from further pain, nor did Ted.   We didn't know Charlie at all, not one ounce, but still, for those few minutes of his life, we loved him like he was ours.  In a sense, Charlie did belong to us, he belonged to everyone of us who saw his life go from glee to chaos on such a beautiful Monday, because I will bet that not one of those people who has a pet at home didn't rush to them and annoy them with hugs and kisses the first moment they lay eyes upon them after a day of work or being out and about.  

Rest in peace, sweet boy.

Tea with Tyson

This morning, I went out to see Tyson at Pasado's.  Every time I see him patiently waiting at the corner of his yard for me, I get excited.  I muse that he is there awaiting my arrival as much as his neighbors, Mary and Trigger, might be.  I know I am the treat lady to those gals, but I came on a mission today sans treats.  Today, I went strictly for the boy.  

See, I've been in touch with a behaviorist named, Dr. Dodman, who is sure he can help Tyson overcome his fear around other dogs, making him compatible in multi-canine environments and I am hopeful.  Dr. Dodman is head of his department at Tuft University in Massachusetts, is a researcher and practitioner of the words he preaches.  With medicine and behavioral techniques, Dr. Dodman believes he can curb poor behaviors, thwart aggressive issues, and altogether balance an imbalanced critter with a certain plan of action--individually prescribed and monitored.  Now, every progression has a set-back, but and yet, those set-backs aren't poor, they are just learning curves.  And as I have stated time and again, you can't know one thing without knowing its opposite.  As such, if there are relapses, and I imagine in the first few months, there will be trials and errors, success can only come in the end.

I found Dr. Dodman in a magazine.  The doc obviously wasn't stuck inside of those high gloss pages, jumping out of them and at me, waving his hands in the air and screaming for me to notice, but he was quoted in an interview about older dogs and their blindness causing certain bad behaviors that resonated like a beam of light off the page.  I think angel-song resonated in my ear or something.  So, I Googled him.  I searched the Amazon book pages and "looked inside" his books and found he does some great things will blindness and aggression--the two, perhaps, going hand in hand--or paw in paw in this case.

In securing a home for Tyson, we must all exhaust any and all resources. I am not sure what the other stories are, but the story for Ted and me has been met with a lot of dead ends or a lot of bad advice, even some advice that seemed rather scary in tactic, like putting an eye bolt in the floor, tying Tyson up to it, and just letting him have a free for all with any cat who dared to approach-squirt bottle in hand for bad behavior, or even putting our cats in carriers and just letting this prey-driven pup have a heyday sniffing and pawing at it until he became bored enough to leave it alone and get accustomed to the smells.  Meanwhile, we have PTSD cats on hand. (Let me explain prey-driven again: Tyson was alone, lost and blind.  He likely had to find food wherever he could.  If that sounds bad to anyone, he's not the right dog for you, but if it sounds reasonable, then you might grasp how desperate hunger is for any being.  How much it would suck.  How scared you would be.  Now add to that--you are totally blind.  You see nothing and sounds are scary, not friendly.  So, you do what you must.  And given his horrifying emaciation, he was very poor at the "hunt" itself.  Ugh.  Poor little guy.  I am so glad he's safe now.)

Right off the bat, Tyson's not an easy sell to most, because he is blind, older and has some aggression issues resulting in his blindness and whatever else happened to him when he was lost and emaciated--alone and fending off a scary, dark world all by his lonesome.   While for others he's an easy choice--only, they have other pets.  So, the plan is to help Tyson overcome his fears and learn to trust other canines around him, even when he can't see them coming.  He needs some assurance that he won't be injured, that nothing wishes him harm, and that he will still be fed, not losing out because there are other dogs around.  I hope this will work.  It has to work.  I am positive this will work.  But if not, I know I there is another way;)

And while my intent through all of this has been to see Tyson in my home, just waiting to be added to the family Christmas-time photo, I am thrilled to see him in any loving home. And yes, I mean that.  Though, I suppose that can be intimidating to some.  How can this couple, who spends so much time thinking and doing for Tyson be so apt to just allow him in another home?  If you knew Tyson as much as we think we do, you, too, would only want him to be pictured in one of those Norman Rockwell-style paintings somewhere in front of a roaring fire between two loving owners: The owner on the left with his hand on his head, petting him, and another hand of the other owner on the right scratching his belly.  Also with each owner holding open a book with a cat curling between legs and nestling into Tyson's belly for even more warmth.  And so, that is how it is for us-  We want him happy and warm, a part of a family, comfortable and sated in every need (maybe a little spoiled, even).

As my husband said, he's not a dog park accessory.  He's more of a lap dog though he's not ideally small like a Cockapoo or a Chihuahua.  He'd be a bed hog, a couch cuddler, a stick-by-your-side kinda guy.  Tyson's not terribly social with other pups, but he loves humans immensely.  Today, he sat in front of me at the Adirondacks, both paws on my chest, licking my face.  I had to clean my lenses off with all the slobber.  I pick him up and put his 80+ pound body on my lap and hold him like a lap dog.  I have fallen asleep under the stars with him, his paws on me while I held him.  I am truly in love with him.  But love is big and strange.  I want for his happiness, more than I want for mine.  And so, with this treatment, we seek you--whoever you are--to take him home, love him like a son, give him snuggles and scratches, massage his massive muscles and never let him ever experience what he once had to go through ever again.  Like one of the volunteers up at Pasado's, you, too, can have Tea with Tyson.    




Tyson needs you, and I won't give up until we find you.  Just...help us out and do a little "screaming" from your high gloss life so we can see you a bit more easily;)    

About Tyson

"A loving, affectionate boy." Ted says, "I've not known such a dedicated boy. He longs for a home, wherein he can direct his love.  He needs peace in his pursuit in life as we all do. I wish he liked our kitties."

...Another Pasado's photo

This photo is a Pasado's pic

Why has this boy not found a home? I know Pasado's has so many good dogs, but Tyson holds our favor. If you're looking for a dog park accessory, he's not it. But if you are looking for a solid companion, a good at-home luvbug, Tyson is the one. He's an awesome, awesome boy.

Boxer Love

One cannot know the verity of something without another side of it being present...

An older dog is your best friend, bestest buddy, and most stalwart companion. I'd say that's pretty cool. Just go visit Tyson.  Any concerns you think you have about owning an older, blind animal will totally fade away.  He's too sweet, smart and funny to ignore.

Pumpkin Tyson

What your window says about you

For my cats...Levi's favorite window is anyone in the house he can jump into, look out of or chirp at, Bartleby's is anyone he can get into without issue or pain, and Bleue's favorite window is anyone that Levi and Bartleby are not using. For me, I prefer a window that a new friend shows to me, or the one that an old one wipes clean for me. I enjoy the one I look at while I write this story, as well as the one that helps me to search inside myself for answers when I read from wise old sages and masters of philosophy. The windows that a movie may create in my mind or that music stirs deep beneath my own flesh are just as brilliant as the ones that afford me to spider web with thoughts during a great discussion, finding new truths in old ideas.

Windows aren't merely varying sizes of double-paned glass inside wooden encasements---the window must allow my whole being to see more than my eyes alone are able to see. I have to be able to absorb more than what's on television or what I hear at work, thereby allowing me to circumvent barriers of shoulds and should nots. I prefer this sometimes ugly new visibility over the closed-minded, warped and decaying, but pretty leaden glass of what someone else tells me is true. Raw truths must be found in diverse locations, layered for effect and cooked at a certain temperature until perfect for digestion. Who cares how many truths you have to talk about until you get to the right one that fits and fits in snug.

My best guess for Tyson is that his favorite window to the world is a human's voice. Within the many voices he knows certain truths. He will be fed. He will be pet. He will be walked, comforted, rubbed, scrubbed, looked after, well kept and warm. A dog learns first by sound, then by smell. The unopened eyes of a newborn puppy smell mom, hear her licks and the sounds of his litter mates, and then can taste her milk. He feels warm when in a bundle or pile of other puppies, and can sense where mom is by the texture of her skin over the skin of his brothers and sisters.

Tyson is not at a loss because he is blind. (He can see shadows in direct light.) Tyson is likely more keen than most because he is blind. A window for Tyson is a guided smell or sound, which he must then refer to something else in his mind. In other words, Tyson must connect dots in a complicated pattern, making his neurons fire differently than most. A window for Tyson is therefore more open and more clear than often the windows for those who can actually see, likely because when you can see you miss things. You overlook things. You may even deny what you see as unnecessary for your life's journey because you forget that relying on your other senses is imperative for intellectual growth. Yet, Tyson must rely on all that he can hear and smell for his own path, making his window more broadened than most.


Tyson, the ever giving sage.... I tell ya, his life is more extraordinary every time I sit and think about it. Yes, yes, to all ethologists who are upset I have given Tyson over to anthropomorphism, may you quell your distaste and open another window.

So tired that he missed the bed entirely...

Handsome and muscular!

Sweet Face

Resting in the back yard

The second picture might actually be my favorite one of Tyson.  You can see the puppy in him...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=2YjZqZ7hmv4

This is a very recent video about Tyson. It mentions a particular couple who are good to him... I wonder who that might be!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBudrDfSvYk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIjjXdHMfvo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idduKcRFx5s

Howarth Park in Everett

I remember the day that we took Tyson to the beach in Everett.  It was a gorgeous PNW day with a slight breeze and just a cloud or two in the sky.  The sun was high, and the temperature had risen up into the low 80s.  And anyone who had Monday off was outside, somewhere, doing something.

Ted and I were just new to Tyson.  We would pick him up around 10 am and head off for the day.  Mondays being our only day off together, we like to have adventures and find new places to explore.  Wherever we went we were extra careful with Tyson's disability, too.  We had no idea he was so keen and well adapted, it was us who had the issue with his blindness.  We would walk one human in front and one in back during precarious steps or hills, and then one on each side on pathways and sidewalks to pad Tyson from anyone who couldn't tell he was blind.  I even still go so far as to carry him down steps or a pathway that I believe is too much--and Tyson is no little guy!

That particular Monday, we decided we would see what Everett had to offer.  We meandered from the North End where they love to fly kites and sailboard, and down to Howarth Park.  There, a small child pitted her parents against each other as she looked for the most opportune moment to need something from one of them, and then cry at the other for neglecting her, a family roamed the upper playground, picnicking on Spanish entrees and laughing along with us at the new parents below, while wandering teenagers held hands and kissed in the bushes.

My husband and I walked ever so carefully with Tyson down the steps, across the bridge and past hundreds of laughing, chatting, splashing, painting, running and ever so happy people.  We slipped off our shoes and led Tyson into the water.  As it lapped against his legs, he stared in its direction.  He sniffed it, tasted it and didn't care for the flavor as evidenced by his face and shaking head.  A gull sounded off to his right, and he looked near to it.  We three just stood there, ankle deep in surf, enjoying the freedom from shoes, and the unique things Tyson was experiencing.  A small dog barked behind him, and he ignored it.  Around us, some smaller children seemed anxious about this little beauty we had brought with us.  Some wanted to pet him, but parents had warned them to avoid him, and that broke our hearts.  And then some adults commented on his striking beauty.  Oh how we beamed with pride, and offered out how friendly he really was.

Once people saw that this 80 pound dog was just a little puppy, they wanted to pet him.  Fear of large dogs has never been an issue for me as I have been around them all my life, and I generally even go for the black ones, too.  Big, black and beautiful, right?  But there is something about a breed that just looks strong or is it that they look confident, because they are strong and that intimidates us?  Tyson's rippling muscles and square jaw can admittedly shy someone, but then they see how he nuzzles and cuddles, and they are at ease.  Tyson will loll around on the grass like a goofy child given the opportunity, and he is anything but intimidating.

The biggest fear we had was how he would react to other dogs, so we kept him near and held him close if a not so friendly or way too energetic pooch came near.  It would bother me, too, if I were blind and energetic pooches neglected that and just came-a-rough-housing without considering my disability.  But that is what we were there for.  The barrier. The padding.  The alpha.  Any animal has to know it is safe with you as their protector, otherwise you wind up with an animal who is trained as your protector and can mistake the alpha role.  Our pets rely on us for food, love and comfort.  And we give them that because we are good pet owners, right?  It's like treating your husband kindly.  You do because you love them, and it's not a chore, it's a privilege.

What's more amazing, because this blind dog is not afraid of any human.  He loves all of them: young, old, spry or even special needs.

I love that boy like he was mine, but I know he has some issues with cats.  Any trainer said that he would need some training to thwart that issue, but it may never be entirely cured.  Did it come before his blindness?  Was it inherent?  Was it a mode of survival?  Who knows.  No one will, either.  When you are 8 years old, blind and someone finds you because you have been lost and wandering for goodness knows how long, that you are even alive is greatest feat.  How you managed to stay alive is just an indication of your fortitude.  Anything that comes from that can't be harshly judged, either.  Countless humans walk into my place of work every day with back stories and things they have conquered and it is not my place to judge, right?  The separation between us and Tyson is that we are supposed to have better cognition, though I really question that with some people these days...

Tyson needs a home with loving family members, but no cats, and since we have cats, he can't come home with us.  As per my earlier statement, one is required to take care of their pets and keep them safe, happy and healthy.  I have had my elder feline for 16 years now.  That's nearly two decades through a marriage, then a divorce, just under a dozen moves from across country to urban and suburban lifestyles, and then new kitties and a new marriage...And!  She still loves me;)  So, she must be my first priority, but that doesn't mean I give up on Tyson.  I will just keep telling and sharing his story until someone finds it compelling enough to say that they want him.  It's funny, I showed a picture of him to a customer once.  He said that Tyson ought to be auctioned, not adopted.  What he meant was that he had never seen a cuter mug, a more indelible face than that of Tyson.  It's true, the boy is quite handsome, isn't he?

I once told V. Becker that I would be in this for the long run, and that I didn't care how long it took to get Tyson a home, but that I would be present in his life until he had one.  And maybe that's strange to some people, but when you put forth an effort, I believe it is important that you continue your effort even if the outcome changes from your original goal.  Some say we have held on too long, or that my love for the boy is intimidating to prospective owners...but when they meet Tyson, they know exactly why anyone is immediately smitten with him.  Just watch him sit pretty for a treat, he looks like a little puppy in his big shell.

If you who are reading these little stories are the one who gets to adopt him, I want you to know that he has been cared for by countless staff and volunteers for some time now.  He's been nurtured, pampered and spoiled just waiting for you.  And you are getting a dog who is quite possibly the smartest critter I have ever met.  That makes me jealous--but in the best and happiest way possible;)

follow this link to discover Tyson at Pasado's Safe Haven

http://www.pasadosafehaven.org/2011/10/happy-halloween/

Follow your bliss

I'm reading about Jane Goodall and her project in Gombe. When chimps grieve they tend to wander the same spot of their loss. They remember other events, people and places astonishingly well, and much like humans. In fact, her beloved Flame wandered the spot wherein her own mother had died.  Flame paced and paced until she was so consumed by grief, she laid down and never got up again.  Apparently this feeling of utter destruction is not uncommon.  Chimps are such amazing critters, aren't they.  We are lucky to have organizations that help protect them against over hunting for Bush Meat as well as habitat protection.  It's too bad we can't learn from all past experiences rather than look upon new ones and new chimps for medical experimentation.  An animal's last day should not be its best.

Likewise, we have amazing agencies here in the US, which protect the rights of animals who are abused or neglected.  I believe animals are even more cerebral than most people give them credit.  Fortunately a lot of other people do as well.  They think, have fear, know and show love, get sad and even know joy.  I think it's incredibly funny that after all these years we still need someone to tell us that they are having an emotion, rather than being able to read it on their faces or see it in their body language.  Name a half dozen advocates for animal rights and there are a sleeper cell of millions of us donating 10 dollars here and 1O dollars there, of which we expect no recompense except in our own beings.  You can't get a tax break for donating 20 bucks online to fluffy's kidney surgery, and so many people don't expect to be able to do so.  We just do it, because we give a damn.

Tyson, though blind, has mental and emotional images of his loved ones.  He knows where my truck is often parked.  He'll pull (more like drag me) the leash right for the general spot every time. Tyson, too, is an animal propelled by memory. Perhaps it is his blindness which has forced him to be more keen.  Or is Tyson a generally smarter canine than most?  He knows my voice, and I often feel like he knows the sounds my shoes or steps make, too.  When I must leave, Tyson also remembers that I stash a treat on his bed, which he seeks out every time we return from an adventure. He's a smart, smart boy.  He can remember the layout of a room, how to escape chair legs and just where the end of the deck is before he needs to step down.

Like she would a child, Jane greatly grieved the first chimp in which she made contact.  David Greybeard had died shortly after the pneumonia epidemic swept the forest.  I can only imagine what that must be like.  You struggle and fight to get somewhere, doing something you have wanted to do since you were a child, and then you actually get to see your dream come true, only to have that first glimpse die too early on.   As morbid as it sounds, I can only imagine what losing Tyson will be like for me when his day arrives, too.   How do you grasp losing a teacher, losing the most pivotal marker in your life?  Tyson is why I again seek to become the veterinarian I always wanted to become.  A simple, but beautiful dog gave back to me back the dream I had buried.  If Tyson hadn't opened my eyes back up, I'd still be getting by and surviving rather than ardently working for my bliss. I owe him so much, which is why I ardently devote time to him weekly --as possible.

My dearest Tyson, I hope you find a home soon. You deserve a warm fire and to bring joy to a family as much as you've brought me and ours.  But until then, I'm so happy to see and visit with you, gleaning spots of wisdom when I can.  You are my David Greybeard, if I may be so bold to compare you.  May you, however, live to ripe old years and filled with tender people who love you immensely, oh, and really great veterinary care!

2eme Avril avec M Tyson

Absolutely lively pooch! Tyson and I went strolling down a long pathway this morning. He was so darn excited to take another Monday adventure. When he got into the back of the truck he fluffed his blankets, twirled a bit, and found his comfy spot. Exhale. Sigh.

Later, I sat on a bench with Tyson at my feet, then invited his front paws up and said, "I love you, buddy."  To this he responded by putting both paws on my stomach and breathing happily in my face, wagging his little tail. Such a sweet, sweet boy.

When somebody loves you...

Thank goodness for Tyson (and of course my husband!). Tyson could care less if I'm perfect or not, likely because he doesn't worry about it himself. I can show up to see Tyson in my grubby jeans and old coat, and all he cares about is that I'm there. Well, I'm sure the treats help, too.

I wish people were more like Tyson and stopped judging me and all rest of you, too, on how perfect we all are or not.

I'm lucky. Lucky to have that acceptance, and not just to have it, but to know that when you are loved and wanted, no one cares if you've done your hair, or spackled on your face for the day. Come as you are! Bring love, bring happiness, and bring a yummy treat, too. Cake, anyone? I prefer blueberry pie. Tyson? He's not picky.

Perseverance

I'd have to say that the worst thing I hear all night long is something from the person who has settled, "Life is what it is, and a lot of people..., and a lot of others...," etc, so they then just accept "that" (whatever "that" may be) as truth.  And then I look at Tyson--my bundle of wisdom rolled up into a fawn colored Boxer. Tyson was left for dead. He was emaciated to the point wherein his skin started sucking between the bones of his rib cage. He was all set for tragedy when something happened.  He was found.  And I wouldn't call it a second chance at life, at least not in his case.  For Tyson, life is about survival.  Consequently, survival is the only option for life.  And so he did.  What makes survival unique for critters is how we humans interfere.  Positively or negatively, we affect them.  It's our doing, because we seem to hold some grandiose key of life or death unto anything existing, even when it comes to fellow human beings.  The rest of the planet just gets to go along with it.

Why are so many people unwilling to fight and struggle like Tyson?  Why are so many unwilling to starve and tread and trudge?  Life is hard. Life can be very, very angry. And still! life is beautiful.

Tyson is my hero. I love that boy so much. He's filled with wisdom and guidance if you just open your head to the idea than you can learn real truths from a canine- founded on experience and heartache. I get that dogs and cats aren't as filled with thought processing abilities like you and I.  I'm not daft.  But what I am choosing is to listen to the variances of life, that like the breeze which blows is right in front of me--and you, too, can only really be seen when you stop, listen, maybe close your eyes to feel it. Truth doesn't need to come to me from a webpage, the television or a newspaper. Truth, though obscure, can be attained by simple measures and transcends the bounds of humanity.  Measures that make you in charge of interviewing the process of your own life, rather than someone else gauging the vivacity for you is about being in control.   You wouldn't let someone monitor your joy for you, would you?  You'd like as much joy as possible, right?  But some people do and ever so willingly allow the misgivings and mal-intent of others determine the magnitude of their own joy.

I'll not settle.  I'll not give in.  I'll not lie down and take it like those that do.  Like Tyson, I'm in this for the long run.  And the next person who tells me that life is so, so bad and that they're just going to accept it---I'll nod my head, and give them another beer, and feel sorry for all the joy they are missing.  I get to see my Tyson but once a week and that's 6 days of joy anticipating every moment I'll get with him. Then another six reveling in it, until the next. It's a Joyous cycle:)

And when people mistake Tyson for my blind son, I am just going to let them believe it here out, because when they hear it is a dog, not a kid, they stop believing in the message of hope that my stories about Tyson provide.  Tyson is my "blind son," and one day, he'll be someone else's blind son, giving them the exceeding joy he already brings to me.

Life's an adventure, not a shame game.

I always take away something great from Tyson as he is quite the sensei!  Yesterday, I learned it is okay to pack on some winter pounds.  It doesn't make you less attractive, or less than you were when you were skinnier.  It gives you warmth when the weather is cool.  So, for all who bury themselves in their sweaters because of a few extra pounds when the temperatures drop, pick your head up.  Your body is supposed to insulate itself.  It's a reasonable and normal process of being an organic being.  And just think how rewarding it is to watch it all shed and then to fit in those shorts or that bikini again.  What would you have to look forward to if you were skinny all year round?  It's not like most of us are jet setters able to vacation on tropical islands any given time of year and often throughout!  Get over it, and enjoy the extra attention you give to yourself while working it off.  Life's an adventure, not a shame game.   --And Tyson...would you ever fault him for putting on a few pounds because it's cold outside?  No?  So, go easier on yourself, too.

I'm down in the pasture letting Tyson run off leash and there are birds chattering all around us. Off in the distance a few piggies talk while a plane hums in the sky. A crow sounds in the distance, and a rooster, too... A few bugs zip around to mark themselves present as well. Tyson's too busy chomping on his beef tendon to appreciate this, but I'm grateful for the abundance of nature that surrounds us.Tyson is getting better at his commands, but needs daily work.  He's still really great at running beside me, but he's a wanderer when he's just walking with you...so many smells!Look at that sweet muffin!  He's so ready to be in someone's home.

Isn't Tyson handsome!

I just got up to Pasado's and discovered Tom is being fostered!! Woohoo!!!  Tom had that look of "Petey" from The Little Rascals.  Aw, and just when I was starting to make friends...Trust me, I am more excited about Tom having a warm place to sleep with some loving humans than I am about making friends:)

Wow things are blossoming with the Springtime!!  Mary is super fluffy with growing hair, Bella is running in the big yard, and there are some new faces, too!  So happy that there are rescued critters getting love and attention.

Then there's my Tyson.

Tyson was more eager for his treats than to see me perhaps;). He even knew which pocket to sniff.  He still has his monkey, though most the innards are shredded out.  Good thing, because I still have my stuffed heart!

I think I got some really sweet pictures of him out in the pasture, but Tyson has always been very photogenic.

Cuddle bug

He melts into my arms every time we meet or is it the other way around?  Look at that little spot on his nose...and those fluffy jowls...he loves to have them pet.

Tyson has great hearing!

Impatiently awaiting a treat.

It took me 3 shots to get this photo, because Tyson kept jumping for the treat.  Blind or not, he knows when there's something good waiting for him.

Tyson loves grass

Yum!  And look how beautiful Tyson looks against the green of Springtime!

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.. I love this little lady.

Little Mary lets me know every time that she, too, needs a chew treat when I come to visit.  If I don't see her, I stand outside her house and call to her to make sure she knows I am there.  Eventually she'll rouse and come on out within a minute or two and then start calling to me to bring it on over.  How could I ever forget that sweet girl?  I bet she'd be happy in the passenger side of anyone's pick-up truck or just lazing around the farm yard.  Funny, Mary reminds me of my grandpa's old sheep dog.  I can't recall his name all these years later, but the two seem to have the same disposition--a little strong, but easily melted with the right tactics, loyal as all get up.  Like careful humans, we need not expose all of our good traits to you right off the bat, sometimes a little charm goes a long way.  For Mary, she's just a good ol' gal.  Needs some love and some pets, and she'll be yours forever.

Admittedly, Mondays with Tyson have taken a dip. Ted and I lost the long run of Mondays with him due to work and school obligations and now I have this tremendous guilt looming over me. It almost feels like abandonment. Atop that, I saw this video online today about a small pooch, left for dead in a trash pile, blind and needing surgery. The little guy was one of those teacup mini poodle type purse dogs. How can you just throw something away like that?  And so my guilt looms about not getting to see Tyson today. I have not seen Tyson in two weeks and can't make it up to see him until tomorrow, so while I study I am filled with guilt. I miss the boy so much.

I miss how he breathes in my smell by first exhaling and then taking a long, slow sniff. How he gets so excited once he hears my voice. I miss the little spot between his eyes that he loves to have rubbed, going straight into coo mode...

And alas how I am ignoring my homework as I think more about him than opening the book in front of me to get in some study time. How can one dog take over my heart so much? How can anyone ever throw away a little guy into a trash, or even send them outside without food or warmth, or even push them from a car window while speeding down a highway...How can anyone even do what was done to Tyson?

Sweet boy. He deserved better. And now with the help of Pasado's he is getting it, and will continue to do so.

I have missed my boy over the last few weeks, and am so eager to get to see him today!  

Wisdom gleaned from the Feline

So, we shaved her.  My 16 yr old "princess" has been shaven from her ribs to her hips to expose all needed room to let the ultrasound doc (who was wearing a Patek Phillippe) tell me how much longer I have with her.  Apparently it is at least 3 years or better, which means it is settled that I will have my first child before "baby girl" passes away.  As long as we follow through with therapy and meds, and as long as we alter "my sweet's" diet to something conducive to her needs--which include potassium as she is in renal disease stage 1, she will become an old, old "little munchkin."  "Ninja" has been with me through 10 moves, a divorce, some serious relationships, and a marriage, two new kitties and two new puppies, ...drama, ...intrigue and all gamuts of emotional circumstances.  "Bleue bird" has been my rock and only stable thing through 16 years of my life.  I owe "the wee one" duty and reward.  And though her tiny belly is now shaven, "sweet pea" is still just as beautiful as always. It's just that Bleue's little grey belly looks funny against her long, shiny black hair surrounding it.  It's no wonder she is sitting atop floor vents and adamantly seeking heat-in-force for that petite 6 lb frame, which has to be chilly now that 1/3 of it is minus hair.

From Bleue I take...

-It matters not how many times you move, just if the scenery (and birds) gets better.
-Your friend will sacrifice anything for you.
-Even if you do not like some of your roommates, there are those who you can't wait to crawl into bed with.
-If you get lost outside, stay put, and you will be found.
-It's okay to be choosy about your humans that "come and go," and peeing on their clothes is the best way to say you hate them.
-Dancing makes everyone happy, and so does having your own song.
-The best place to be is on the shoulder of your loved one, resting, purring and being pet.
-Blankets are never too warm from a dryer.
-I have never met a fish I have hated.
-Betrayal is an unclean litter box.
-Being photogenic is inherent.
-If you are concerned whether or not you are more important than your mom's new friend, just jump on the bed when she is entertaining and see...
-A collar is for dogs, unless it is diamonds.

-

a treat is the best way to say I missed you

Ted walked up to the mesh of the pen, letting Tyson sniff what he was about to eat. I have never seen this before in my life, but Tyson's tongue reached out of his mouth and I swear, nearly 4 inches (maybe more) of pink fleshy salivating muscle reached out for that morsel of goodness.  Holy Toledo!  The boy continues to make me laugh with every new antic I discover about him.  But, no matter how much I wanted the attention from Tyson today, it was Ted whom he sought for affection.  Tyson hasn't seen Ted in a few weeks due to circumstances beyond Ted's control, and all Tyson wanted to do was jump inside Ted's skin and cuddle in for a nap.

Once Ted was inside the pen, it was all Tyson could do to contain his joy.  Tyson followed Ted everywhere looking to touch him with his paw, nuzzle in close and really get some loves from just Ted--I was invisible.  No matter, though.  Tyson's happiness, not mine, is most important, so I just took a walk and let the two of them have their time.

Down at the barn, a black and white cat was meowing for some attention behind some  wooden slats.  She seemed too intimidated  by the llama, two sheep, one rooster and hen mucking about to crawl out from behind them, but that didn't prevent her from using her voice to let me know she was there.

I had never seen sheep up close before.  What interesting faces they have.  Kinda square, full, forward looking visages--as if eagerness, curiosity and intrigue could be molded into what a face might look like.  It was definitely a sheep's face.  Big eyes were filled with wonderment at who this new, strange person might be...  Pam said they could be bullies and really push and shove to get what they want, so that explains why their faces look like blocks of hardened wood.  The rooster and his hen seemed perfectly happy to cluck about with no worry for my presence.  How nice that must be.  Yet the llama held back and stood intent on making sure I was good and proper, like I might be assailed if I do something wrong...and likely I misunderstand it all because that really was the first time I had been that close to any of those critters before.  How strange, right?  You can live your life, grow up around the countryside, but never once meet a sheep or a rooster close enough to touch...  However, I have met an owl, a deer, a turtle, a horse, a cow, a bear, a tiger, a mini goat, snakes and fish, but no sheep.  And until this past year, I hadn't met a pig either, but they really are the friendliest little (big, really) critters.

Well, it was a short little moment with Tyson.  I wish we could stay and visit eternally with the boy, but as of late, I hadn't seen much of my husband either, and sometimes you have to sacrifice time in many directions.  Ted and I have been visiting Tyson now for many months, and since it was our intention to adopt him, it's increasingly sad seeing him then leaving him behind.  It's emotional torture and I am not sure how my heart really feels about it all anymore.  Wanting what you can't have is heartbreaking no matter the scenario.  I really envy the person who gets to care for Tyson 24/7.  Really envy them.  He'll be a delightful addition to any home.  He'll be a constant companion and friend.  He'll be a delightful addition when at play and during moments of relaxation.  He will be a warm snuggle bunny on any sofa or carpet.  The boy is truly a treat.

And so he deserves one after a long absence, doesn't he?  As always we left one right on his bed, which he sniffed out in pleasure. Until next time, sweet boy.

it's a 1000 miles until next time...

When I leave my pets with a sitter, I call them every day and night to check on them. I like emails and updates after each visit, and really concern myself with the welfare of my pets--and my home. I don't think it is unusual to be concerned about that which you invest such great time and interest.

As such, I am learning that Tyson, too, has reached that pinnacle for me. I want to call and check on him, but I know he's fine. I want to spend more than the time I have to do so, but I know he's got other people looking after him. I suppose it is one of the ideas that in my heart, he is part of my family, and as such, I feel like I want to check on him like I would the critters in my home. But here's the thing. I am his pet sitter. That's a tough one to grasp especially since we so desperately wanted him in our home.

I think I now know how Adele felt every time she came to our little Seattle apartment to visit Claude. She gave him shots twice a day for his diabetes, took him to the doctor when he had an issue, and even brought him Christmas gifts. So, when Claude had to be put down, Adele was saddened as much as we were. Claude had become her ward and as such deserved the full value of grieving his loss as much as we did.

Now, I see this little paw sticker on the back of cars around town and it reads, "who rescued who?" I suppose it takes the best kind of love to know that you can't find where the circle begins. And right now, I have a home filled with pets who are all asleep, taking the preferred cushions and beds or heating pads for their rest and I know that with each rescue my life has grown more full.

It's funny. Almost 8 months ago I thought I was going to bring this beautiful blind Boxer into my home to live with me and my husband and our 2 cats. Still, these some months later, I still get just as excited to see him as I did those first few months. And this last time on Valentines Day, I got a little scared like I wasn't going to have much more time with him. In that, I mean someone is going to find him and fall in love just as much as we did not that long ago. It's bittersweet, really.

That you can learn to love an animal so much that you would do anything for them, and yet their fate is not in your hands; That you are just the pet sitter, the care giver from time to time, but that your affection and love is only intermittent; That you are stalwart and attentive, but your overall place in that pet's life is limited to the babysitter...It makes you feel like there is a missing piece to your puzzle. But and yet, how great the gift is in the interim. I suppose, then, what Tyson has taught me this week is that no matter how much or how little you have to spend with anyone, that it is appreciated if full heart is intended. No time small or great is unappreciated.

Life is about the little variables and the complexities of time. Use them wisely and they will fill you in the times of void. That I don't get to see my husband but that one day a week does not make our relationship weak, especially if I spend the next 6 missing him and waiting to see him again. And if all I had was an inundation of time with him, I wouldn't fully understand his importance in my life. Tyson, like any thing we love deeply, has carved a trench in me, leaving nothing but room for those sought after moments spent in waiting for "the next time."

Happy Valentines Day, sweet boy!

Give him a chance. He'll give you his heart

Tyson deserves a warm and loving home.  (Whomever cast him off should be flogged.)  He is smartest critter I have ever met.  He is compellingly adorable.  He is delightfully friendly.  He is honest and sincere.  I told myself I would be part of his life until he found someone to be part of his and I never thought it would take so long for someone to find him.  I am not complaining, I am just curious why others don't see in him what I do.

Are they afraid of his blindness?  He really is so well adapted that most people wouldn't know he's blind.  He just needs help with the layout of a house and he's perfect.

Do they fear his muscle and size?  He's really a lapdog.  Tyson doesn't know he is as big as he is, and as long as you are smart about your situations, he's fine.  Don't put him in a place that would be harmful to him, and difficult for you to get out of.  For instance, if you want to walk him down steep stairs, walk one human in front, and have one hold his leash.  Make noises for stairs and obstacles.  His blindness just means you half to talk about all the things you would normally just recognize.  For me, I am already chatty, and this just adds to my day of talking;)

Is it training?  He is practically there.  Just, with so many things to distract him, he is pretty poor at listening when he is in his house at Pasado's.  We get him to our back yard and the pooch is a peach to manage.  He's polite.  He's a good listener.  He's well-behaved.  Tyson is sweet and attentive, doesn't wander and likes to sit by your feet (or in your lap).  If he could crawl in your skin to be closer to you, he would.

Ugh.  I haven't seen him in a week and a half and I miss him so much.             Give him a chance.  He'll give you his heart.

Irresponsible Pet Owners

My neighborhood is no Madison Park, but we are happy in our colorful little neck of the woods with neighbors from all over the world within earshot.  Dogs and children run amok.  Little "orange kitty" visits me every day at my back patio looking for some ear scratches.  "Black and white" stays clear.  "Bobtail" is elusive.  Raccoon eat the eggs I set out for them, squirrels wait at the deck for nuts, and our feeders are filled with so many birds that its like a Disney movie in my back yard.  I even have a band-tailed pigeon which visits from time to time.  We love all the critters that hang out here.

Little Capone is the neighborhood's "always getting loose" dog.  He's gorgeous--kind of that velvety blue/gray that some pits exude. And he's the smallest pit I have ever seen, but he's a stocky mass of muscle with short, shiny fur.  Fat, thick and heart-shaped head.  Rough and tough exterior, but sweet and wags his tail like a well-behaved gentleman.  There's just one issue.  Not only is his house constantly filled with the unseemly type, but it reverberates a bass that would injure even my ears if I had to listen to it that often.  I understand why he always wants to escape.  As such, I feel he could have more caring owners.  Ones who turn the music to a reasonable level, and ones that socialize him with other dogs.  Once, I asked how he was with other dogs, and one person said, "He's fine as long as nothin' happens."  What could that mean??

I have taken Capone back to his house a number of times since we have lived here, and I probably will continue to do so.  He doesn't seem unhappy or unfed.  He doesn't appear beaten or abused.  He talks to me when it's dark, because it's scary having a stranger come up to you, but he still wags his tail.  He likes me.  He loves his ears scratched and body massaged.  He's a good boy for the most part.  He doesn't even chase cats in the neighborhood, but is definitely curious about them.

So, while out on a walk with the little ones recently, Capone came a-running up, and it scared me.  So much so that I wouldn't let him near my puppies.  Was this wrong?  Did I over-react?  He seemed curious and interested, but those words came back to me, "He's fine as long as nuthin' happens."  It was 20 minutes before I got the boys back to the yard.  And another 20 minutes to get Capone home after my kids were safe and behind a gate.  And another 20 minutes for me to realize that I hurt my wrist when I was corralling the boys beneath me.  I know I scared the heck out of the puppies, but and yet, I also realized that my protective mother mode kicked in.

Capone, while great with humans, could injure my boys badly...if sumthin' happened. And I know it's cruel to judge an already stereotyped dog like that, but it's not Capone I am judging, I am judging the poor care of his owners.  That they don't socialize him.  That they don't have control of him.  That they can't find him 3 out of 7 days a week.  Therein lies potential for harm.

Not only that, Ted and I want to bring Tyson over to meet the boys and get him accustomed to other dogs.  What if I had Tyson on a walk, who already has aggression with dogs, and Capone came just trotting along?  With Ted, we have the security of two humans, one for each dog, but alone, I am no match for those two.  I know I would do something stupid like try to get them apart.  What is the best thing to do in this case?  The worst part of this could be that my dog may start the problem, but Capone would get the bad rap because of his breed.  What a rotten situation for both guys.  Ugh how frustrating for really great animals to be mistreated or abused or poorly socialized to the point where our faults get them in trouble.  It's not the little, cuddly, furry puppy that hopes to grow up angry, but the fault of the owners who help that aggression right along by not caring for strong and potentially aggressive breeds.  Let's face it, neither of those dogs is a happy go lucky golden retriever...

I think it is probably better to anticipate potential, than to arrive at all of this carefree.  I'll take my chances that I am wrong, and save everyone heartache in the end.  The safety of all critters in question is far more important than proving a point to society.  They deserve to be protected even if that protection means avoidance.

The worst part of all of this is I missed my day with Tyson.  My adrenaline had kicked in so much I just plopped down on my sofa afterward and passed out.  Sorry, Tyson.  I miss you, boy.

Starting Date Fall 2012

I realize I could start school this Spring Quarter and get back into the swing right now, but the start date for School is not going to come along any earlier as a result.  Now, what to do with all of my time?  This means I still get to be with my Tyson on Mondays, practice Yoga, compete in two 1/2 marathons this summer, and tackle that sky high pile of books calling me from the office --to include some science review/preview on Khan Academy.

Life is good.

Sweet boy.

Tyson loves that little white spot on his nose rubbed...his ears are so, so soft, and if you massage his gigantic Boxer muscles, he breathes slowly and heavily.  

He loves it.