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Meet Penelope, My Latest Dumb Decision

Because I am not known for thinking rationally when it comes to animals in need, I have acquired a Great Dane puppy. For those keeping track, she is now the third Dane living with me right now. She is the product of an irresponsible backyard breeder. (Is there any other kind?)

By the time the litter was five months old and the breeder had sold only two of seven pups, he saw the light and thankfully, instead of dumping them at a shelter, called a rescue for help. The rescue, Hand in Paw (consider giving them a donation please!) posted a notice about them and three of my friends immediately sent it to me. (With friends like these….Just kidding.)

Pen. Or one of her siblings, three were identical, at the breeder’s house.

Fast forward a few days and a friend and I were driving home from El Monte with a terrified puppy in the back. Puking.

Multiple times.

The puppy had never been out of her kennel except to explore the breeder’s yard while glued to the side of her identical twin this made sense. The puppy had never had a collar and didn’t know how to walk on a leash. The breeder carried to my car, all 71 pounds of her.

She was absolutely freaked out. Commence vomiting.

Back at my house, it took us almost 45 minutes of half carrying, and half dragging to get her into the house. Obviously this traumatized her even further, but it was late and cold and she couldn’t stay in the car. I fed her in her crate and she passed out on her new fluffy pillow.

Pen’s first night. Showing of one of Ruckus’ baby collars. It only took 15 minutes to get it on.

This led to a new problem. Once she was in the house, she never wanted to leave, but eventually she followed Ruckus out to the back porch and peeked out to the yard. For the first week she hid behind a potted plant and quietly took everything in.

The horses terrified her. Grass terrified her. Basically, everything terrified her.

Thankfully, she adored Ruckus immediately. Ruckus was thrilled to have a playmate, which helped the pup, now dubbed Penelope (Pen, never Penny) settle in. The first time Ruckus took T-boned Pen while they playing, Pen tore in the house, ran into her crate and wouldn’t come out for an hour. Eventually she cautiously came back out to play. Now she takes down Ruckus regularly.

I’ve always found Danes super easy to housebreak, most of mine are trustworthy by about 10 weeks. I expected Pen to be difficult since she’d never been indoors before coming to my place and had no clue about potty training.

But she absolutely loves Ruckus and Jasper and follows them everywhere including out the dog door. By the time we were together a month, Pen was house trained.

Phew.

Dogs are incredibly resilient, but I am astounded how quickly Pen adjusted to my house. While initially she would hide when new people came around, now she goes directly up to new people, and asks for scratches and pats.

Since Pen hadn’t had puppy shots or ever seen a vet I didn’t start working on leash training immediately, though I dug out one of Ruckus’ old collars for her to wear. She instantly learned how to slip out of it, so I bought a harness that could grow with her.

Not so easy for a Great Dane puppy gaining almost 10 pounds every two weeks. But with a lot of dedicated searching, I found one. Yay!

The biggest issue I’ve had is getting her to gain confidence outside my yard and walk on a leash. Parvo is rampant in Los Angeles so until she had her second puppy shots, I didn’t even try to take her outside my yard. This was far from ideal, and I’m paying for it now.

She is incredibly frightened of leaving my yard on a leash. After a week of trying, bolstered by lots of treats (for a vegetarian I buy a ton of Farmer Johns wieners) and patience, we had got almost half way around the block. She had even overcome her terror of the very scary fire hydrant. On the way home she was almost strutting.

She isn’t sure that the fire hydrant wasn’t going to eat her.

I was so prouder than a certain puppy was after digging a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in my backyard.

Then my neighbor’s dog ran up its fence barking. Now this was an itsy bitsy Chihuahua, and the fence was a good thirty feet away.

My now 90-pound, six-month-old puppy didn’t wait to check out where the scary barking was coming from. She literally turned tail and ran in the other direction. Since I was on the other end of the leash she didn’t get far. So she sat down refusing to move and shook like a little black leaf.

Now she will only comfortably leave the yard if Jasper accompanies her. He loves babysitting for a good reason: whenever Pen gets a snack, so does he.

It is slow going. After two weeks, we have only gotten three houses away.

Some days.

Other days a dog will bark or a car will pass and she sits won’t move even for a hot dog.

This too will pass.

I hope.

Pen has turned out to better than I had dared hope. She is a loves snuggling, plays until she is exhausted, adores Mighty and sleeps through the night.

A squad of Danes. (L to R) Pen, Mighty, Ruckus and Jasper in back.

Except for eating my brand new glasses, (all my fault, but still!) she is been pretty perfect.

I wish all my dumb decisions ended up this well.

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Bella My New, Perfect Old Dog

Bella the French Spaniel and perfect old dog.

About a month ago I got a new dog. Bella is actually a very old dog; she’s just new to me. At 14, she’s a super-senior.

I admit I don’t actually know her entire background, but she had been well taken care of and loved. I got her from NBRAN (National Brittany Rescue and Adoption Network) where she had been surrendered. Bella came with a sheaf of medical records dating back years.

My friend Monica regularly fosters for NBRAN. She had Bella for about six months and Bella was initially in rough shape. She was obese and could barely walk. According to the vet records, euthanasia had been discussed. Monica and her two younger Brittanys were up for the challenge. They got Bella walking, and eventually she lost some weight.

Bella is not a Brittany, she is a French Spaniel. And, let’s face it, she is really, really, old.

This is a photo of the breed standard of French Spaniels. Bella looks just like it.

Those were two big strikes against her when finding a forever home. People tend to go to a breed-specific rescue for that breed, but NBRAN is cool about taking almost-Brittanys. They have a lot of skill placing Brittany-mixes.

But rehoming old dogs is almost impossible. Most people want puppies, not elderly dogs with health issues. Potential adopters look at old dogs and worry about the loss, not what they bring.

Not me. As much as I love puppies, I adore old dogs. For one thing, geezer dogs have manners. They are housebroken. They don’t chew. And, if you are busy or lazy, they need far less exercise.

They are also very resilient. In my experience. I’ve adopted five extremely senior dogs and they just adapt. They show up at their new house, look around, settle, in and usually take over. They don’t have time for histrionics.

That doesn’t mean that they don’t come with strong opinions. Old dogs, like old people are bossy. But in a much cuter way.

Every elderly dog I’ve ever rescued had a very strict idea of when bedtime falls. Hint: it’s early.

My first elderly rescue Morgan, used to stand in the hallway around 8:58 and bark at me until I caved and went into the bedroom. Then she’d happily climb on her bed and go to sleep.

Bella is a little more subtle. Now a true Jewish dog, she uses guilt.

Around 8:45 she wakes up from her post-dinner nap and wanders around. She is 100% able and willing to use the doggie door, but when she believes it’s time to hit the sack, she ignores it. She walks around the kitchen –past the dog door- and strides back into the den. There she stops in front of me and looks pleadingly into my eyes. She repeats this behavior about four times or as long as it takes.

Eventually, I get up and ask her if she needs to go out. This brings the Danes out of their slumber, and a small riot occurs at the front door. I force my way through the scrum and the Danes fly out and get to business. Bella, the catalyst of all this, pauses on the stoop and looks at me like she has no idea why we are here.

I coax her out by walking down the driveway. She slowly inches her way onto the lawn. If I wait long enough, Bella will do one of two things. Either she will meander around and pee. Or – and this is far more likely – she makes a U turn and trots back inside.

Then I have two choices. I can go into the bedroom where she waits patiently for her nighttime snack. Or I can try to be the boss and keep watching tv causing the whole dumb charade to repeat until I give up.

For a dog that used to have serious mobility issues, Bella loves her walks. Almost every day she goes out alone with me, or when I walk Jasper and Ruckus. Initially Bella liked to lead. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was marching there. Now she lollygags around, sniffing with the rest of them.

Before I adopted her, I introduced Bella to Jasper and Ruckus. I wanted to make sure that they’d all get along. It was a non-event; they all totally ignored each other.

My next concern was Bella and Tilly, my once-feral cat. Bella is old, but she is a Spaniel and they are bred to have a strong prey drive. If Tilly and Bella have not bonded, they have become comfortable roommates.

It was Jasper, and Ruckus who got crabby when Bella walked in and stayed. The first day Ruckus followed her around and yanked a chunk of fur out. Bella is exceedingly fluffy and wasn’t hurt.

She was scared, which is reasonable.

That first week I never left the dogs alone together. Whenever I left, I put a baby gate between them. Soon Ruckus stopped following her and Jasper stopped grumbling.

Jasper and Bella work hard in my office.

One day I returned from the barn and the baby gate was down. Only Bella could have knocked it down. All three dogs greeted me happily at the front door. We were on our way to a peaceable, if not quiet, kingdom.

She doesn’t care about Talen at all. He is careful around her.

Bella had never seen a horse before, but they barely register on her radar. They are very aware of her. When she wanders into the paddock they always – even when she is practically under their hooves – step carefully around her.

The only time I’ve seen a typical Spaniel reaction from Bella was when she noticed my neighbor’s chickens. She was fascinated. It’s a good thing there was a fence between them.

Bella’s eyes got huge and she tried to push toward them. Since chickens are chickens, the whole flock crowded up to stare at her, clucking away. Then Ruckus ran over and scared the birds.

Chickens fascinate Bella. The feeling is mutual.

Now, the first thing Bella does when she is out, is trot to the back looking for chickens. Sometimes she does. The chickens never remember her.

Pretty much everyone who meets Bella loves her. Well, duh, she’s a pretty awesome old dame.

My heart will break when she dies. But I knew from the beginning that our time together was limited. I know that when every creature– young or old – enters my life. I never get to keep them long enough.

To me, it is always worth it. This is particularly true when it’s an old animal, coming from a rescue or the pound. All I want is for them to have a comfortable place where they are loved to spend whatever time they have.

I don’t think I have failed my oldsters. I KNOW the only time they have ever hurt me is when they leave me.

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Spotless Dalai, The Bestest Girl. Part II

Dalai, proudly registered with the AKC as Spotless Dalai (I named her after the Dalai Lama in the hope that it would inform her behavior) settled easily into the household. Murray’s grudging toleration of her grew to fondness.

Eventually they developed into a gang. As long as Dalai realized Murray was the mob boss.

Murray liked Dalai, but not enough to give up his ball.

The only time I recall that they got into a bad spat was when we were loading into the SUV for agility class. Dalai pushed past him and started to jump into the truck. The Boss was having none of it. He grabbed her by the back leg and dragged her out. Instead of going to agility, we went to an emergency hospital to get her leg sewn up.

She deferred to Murray from then on.

Agility is not the default dog activity for Great Danes. Danes were originally bred to hunt boar in Germany, but sport is not the first thought when someone mentions Great Danes. Couches arIn my house dogs do agility. All dogs. I started with Murray when got bored of obedience classes.

Agility requires a lot of obedience, but it’s fun. And he loved it. So I did too.

My trainer was originally skeptical of Danes doing agility, but he was won over by Murray’s devotion to the sport. (Except for dog walks. Murray hated and feared dog walks.) By the time Dalai came along, Poppy had been going to class regularly, and depending upon her mood of the day, was either spectacular or spectacularly bad. More than once Poppy leaped off of the top of the A-frame to chase a squirrel. Her weave poles were spectacular.

In my house everyone goes to agility class.

So Dalai did agilty. She nailed jumps, turns, the tunnel and tire. Even the dog walk didn’t faze her. She was no Poppy on the weave poles, but was getting the idea.

We were at class one day when Dalai started limping. When she climbed into the car, she cried. We went directly to the vet.

By the time she got there, she was unable to move without howling in pain.

After a barrage of tests and X-rays, it was determined that she had severe disc issues so we were off to a specialist. The vet thought surgery was in order, but wanted us to see a neurologist first.

I was numb. By this time, my barely three-year-old dog couldn’t stand without pain.

As soon as I got home, I called the neurologist who was part of a snazzy emergency /specialty hospital in Santa Monica. She was booked for the next two weeks.

Dalai couldn’t wait that long.

I called the surgeon again, hoping she could pull some strings for an earlier appointment. She couldn’t.

One more call to the hospital, this time in tears. The receptionist took pity on me when I said that Dalai couldn’t wait two weeks. I’d have to put her down; leaving her in that kind of pain was unconscionable.

“Well…” she said. “You could bring her in as an emergency. Then she’d already be a patient and the neurologist would see her.”

With tons of tears (me) and crying (Dalai), we headed back to Santa Monica I got there and called to tell we were there and needed help. It took a bit to convince them that I needed someone with a gurney since Dalai couldn’t walk.

I signed a ton of paperwork and handed over my credit card. The neurologist would see her that day.

I wasn’t sure if I would ever see Dalai alive again. Or if I was doing the right thing.

By the time I got home (traffic on the 405 IS that bad), the surgeon called me to schedule for the surgery the next day.

Of course there were caveats. Usually this surgery is done on small dogs so there was no guarantee it would work on a dog Dalai’s size. (It wasn’t until much later that I learned that this was the first time the surgeon had done this on a giant breed.) Dalai would have to be confined and kept very still for months.

I gulped at the cost estimate and gave my credit card number.

I set up an X-pen in my bedroom, to keep her contained, but I never even closed it. Dalai was a perfect patient. She took her daily 12 (!) Tramadol, and tons of antibiotics without a problem and never moved unless she had to potty. She never used a towel sling to help her walk – instead she chose to hop and cry. It broke my heart, but that’s she was still stubborn.

A vet friend who came to the house to do acupuncture and laser treatments on Dalai’s back and wounds and I moved my office into the house so she wouldn’t go outside.

It worked. She started to heal. Six months later she could wag her tail – something the surgeon told me she’d probably never do again.

She also could finally go for walks again. That’s how we met Werber family. They had just adopted Blue, a year-old blue merle Dane. Blue and Dalai bonded quickly and deeply. Most afternoons we’d either walk the Danes together, or Blue would come over to play. They’d chase each other around at astounding speed and leap and jump in the air. When they were tired of the zooms, they’d chase Poppy until she had enough and went into the house with Murray.

When Murray died, (at the age of 11 ½!) Dalai and Poppy bonded even more. They also fought. Poppy was a third of Dalai’s size, but four times as tough. Dalai occasionally thought she could push her little sister around.

She couldn’t.

The fights were short, dramatic and thankfully rare. They always ended the same way: a frantic drive to the e emergency vet with me explaining that my giant Dane had not only started a battle with a small spaniel, but had lost badly.

When Dalai was six, I decided that it was time to add a new Dane to the pack. Dalai didn’t so much jump with joy, when Jasper came home from Kentucky with me, as sigh in a ‘there goes the neighborhood’ way.

But they did play together. A lot. Their zoomies were something to see. Dalai was older but wise and Jasper was young but a dumb puppy. He’d run around the yard and she’d cut him off at the pass every time. They loved each other.

At some point Dalai had moved from sleeping on my bed into Murray’s big crate. She’d occasionally sleep with Jasper and I, but seemed to genuinely prefer the crate with its many orthopedic dog beds. She looked a little like the Princess and the Pea. Appropriate.

Dalai started being a geezer about two years ago. She had the lumps and tumors of old dogs, and her back legs were occasionally wobbly but she wasn’t in pain.

She was still Dalai. She ate, barked at whomever had the nerve past our yard, chased squirrels and ran out back to fuss at the horses. She still played, even when Ruckus arrived last December, Dalai would zoom around with Jasper and the puppy. She was just more strategic than fast.

That couldn’t last forever though. Last month she cried when she struggled to stand up in the morning. It wasn’t the same as when her discs first blew out, but for the first time since then, she was in pain.

Covid meant my regular vet couldn’t come to my house but I found a kind, gentle vet who did in-home euthanasia. I bought Dalai a McDonald’s quarter pounder with cheese which she ate daintily, then she sighed and passed peacefully in my arms. She was ready.

I wasn’t. The thing with the Bestest Dogs, and they are all the Bestest Dogs, is they just can’t stay with us long enough. 11 years is a long time, but it’s not nearly enough time.

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I Want (?) A Puppy for Hanukkah

I had no plans to get a puppy. And, even though I enjoy the video, I really didn’t plan for a Hanukkah puppy.

With three dogs (and a cat, a canary and two horses) already sharing my little homestead in Los Angeles, more than one of my friends have questioned my sanity. It’s a fair query. But we all know the mental health ship sailed long ago.

But honestly, I didn’t expect to get a new puppy. Yet.

That isn’t to say I didn’t have puppy fever. I always have puppy fever. Doesn’t everyone? Their smushy puppy faces, pink tummies and new puppy smell… Who doesn’t swoon at a puppy?

Puppies are adorable. They are happy, innocent beings, full of joy and life. They wake up every day excited for what great, new things they will discover. Mostly they discover the joys of ripping up paper, chewing sneakers and passing out twenty minutes after eating.

Everyone needs a little of that in their lives.

I sure could. Particularly after 2020.

The pandemic, which cost the lives of family and friends and kept me from seeing the living ones since March, has been devastating. I also lost my five-year-old horse Faith, who had been with me since conception, and my dear Great Dane Fiona, who I’d only had for nineteen months. They died the same week.

But did I need a puppy? Need is such a loaded term.

People need food and shelter. But some of us also need dogs.

I had planned to wait until my two ancient canines, Poppy and Dalai, passed before I got a new dog. Dalai is a 10 ½-year-old Great Dane. Her hind end is weak and getting worse, and she has many small tumors, some of which are probably malignant. Understandably, she is occasionally grumpy. She is the Queen of Seven Hills Farm West.

Poppy is a 15-year-old mostly deaf Brittany with Cushing Disease. Last year she had a dramatic case of glaucoma that resulted in an eye removal. She tolerates other dogs, but her playing days are years behind her.

All old Ladies need a recliner of their own. This is Poppy’s.

Given all that, I was going to wait on an addition to the family.

Additionally, my friend Twinkle got a Dane puppy. Twinkle is a teacher, and her classes on Zoom coincide with my morning ride times. This meant I could take her puppy, Mighty, almost daily to play with the barn dogs, several of which were puppies. This is my idea of heaven.

I got my puppy fix and she could concentrate without worrying about Mighty tearing the house apart or driving her older dog Blue, crazy. Win-win.

Mighty should have fulfilled my need for a puppy. Perhaps if I was a normal person it would have. I have already established this is not the case.

I am very conflicted about purchasing a dog. I am a supporter of rescuing dogs. I know that shelter dogs are rarely dumped because of anything they’ve done. Somewhere along the line their owners have failed them. Badly.

All eight of my Brittanys, and two of my five Great Danes were rescues, but I knew my next would be a puppy. I had too much death in 2020 to adopt another ancient dog, and I believe that my grumpy old dogs would more easily accept and train a goofy puppy, than a confused, disoriented, senior. Since Great Dane puppies in rescue are slightly rarer than unicorns, I would be buying a puppy.

I had no plans to purchase a dog any in 2020.

Man plans, God laughs.

About three weeks after Mighty’s arrival on the scene, Dalai’s health declined drastically. Coincidentally, Jasper’s breeder posted photos of her four-week-old puppies.

At four weeks, the breeder called Ruckus, Zada.

This complicated things.

I like this breeder. She is super-responsible and only has a few litters a year. It helps that Jasper is the whole package: he is gorgeous, has a great temperament and so far (knock wood) has had no health issues.

The breeder had two females, and I had already decided on a girl. I told her to pick out the most passive of the girls, and I’d put a deposit on it.

Venmo sent, the deal was done.

There was still one more kink in the chain. The breeder and the puppies are in Kentucky.

In November when this was all coming together, I still believed that I was going to throw all of my dogs into the car and drive cross-country to see Mom for the holidays. I’d make a side trip to Kentucky to pick up the puppy, just like I had done for Jasper. Easy-peasey. And fun! (I LOVE Kentucky, if not their politics.)

Plans….

In December Covid-19 cancelled non-essential travel for everyone except selfish jerks.

The puppy needed to leave the week before Xmas, I needed a plan B to get her to Los Angeles.

Located deep in Kentucky but a few hours from Nashville airport, the breeder has shipped puppies all over the country, so that seemed like a plan. She also had another puppy coming to Los Angeles.

This would be a no-brainer for most people. Most people are not neurotic freaks. I however, am.

I am no fan of flying dogs in cargo. With the help of Xanax and an elaborate strategy I have flown with Poppy in the belly of a plane. My tactics involves kissing up to the pilot, flight attendants and cargo people by bribing them with expensive candy and charming notes.

That only works if I’m on the plane.

I flew Jasper home on my lap, but, Covid. There was no way I was flying back and forth to Nashville pick up a puppy, even for this puppy. Nor was I, as a friend from a obviously different economic situation suggested, going to pay a human to fly her to me.

(Full disclosure, 15 years ago I did fly back and forth to Albuquerque on morning to get Poppy from the American Brittany Rescue. That was pre-Covid and I had a zillion frequent flier miles. Neither of which count now.)

The little one was going to have to go it alone.

To Be Continued…