Laurapenpusher’s Weblog

Not being able to ride yesterday was a disappointment. I made a phone call to determine what I needed to do. It meant I had to go to the auto parts store and take the battery out of my bike in the parking lot. I have two neighbors, both men who ride, and if either of them saw me working on my bike – well, I didn’t want to deal with either of them. I just didn’t want to deal with people in general so I didn’t get the bike running. I have to leave the house today to go and check on my mother. I’ll stop at the auto parts store then. Saves on gas anyway, right?

My savior through all the bad days and disappointments, including yesterday, is a skinny, little dog. I’ve referred to her as my “little rescue case” although I believe she’s done more rescuing than I have in our relationship. Lee (not her real name), an acquaintance has two Chihuahuas she takes to her shop every day. As she was opening for business one morning, her two tiny dogs scooted inside with a raggedy ball of dirty white fur scooting in behind them. It was a puppy, a female. She looked like a Poodle, mixed with some other unknown breed. She was friendly and hungry. Her little ribs and hips were visible even under her badly matted fur. But her big, bright black eyes and little black lower lip forming a smile under the white facial hair made her adorable. Lee fed the dog, and posted fliers in the neighborhood. No one claimed the dog and in a couple of months, Lee decided she couldn’t keep a third dog. After a lot of thought, I brought her home with me.

She was still too thin and her hair was still matted badly. When we arrived home, she found a hiding spot under my bed and only after a couple of weeks and a lot of coaxing, did she finally emerge. I took scissors to her hair, managing to get most of the clumps out and she looked even worse than she had before. The hair on her ears was so matted I was afraid to use the scissors or clippers for fear I would cut her in the process. I decided to allow more growth before trimming any further. One night as I stroked her ears, my thumb nail appeared to go right through the ear! It was all matted hair, about an inch and a half below the ear! I cut that off and gave her a bath. Wet and with a lot less hair, I could see just how painfully thin she was. Once she was clean and warm and dry, she became a little clown, running at top speed through my small apartment! I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time!

She still wasn’t gaining any weight. I called a friend, a professional dog trainer, who gave me a recipe for her food. With dry food, canned food and a mixture of rice with vegetables, I kept food in her dish at all times. She seemed afraid to eat when I was around, but instead, ate during the night when I was asleep. I’d find her food dish empty every morning. She was growing taller, but was still skinny. During all of this time, I was calling her Baby; I hadn’t “named” her, but just in coaxing and cajoling, the term came out of my mouth in habit. She began responding to the word and it became her name.

Baby didn’t know how to play. Toys meant nothing to her except another reason to hide under the bed. It took a few months before she realized the toys were hers, they wouldn’t hurt her and I wouldn’t get upset when she took them gingerly into her mouth. Once she got the idea, I realized she favored the plush toys over the hard rubber or plastic. She became the clown again, whipping the toys back and forth, throwing them into the air and tossing them in my direction demanding I participate. We were becoming good friends.

She became fearful again with the first trip to the veterinarian for shots. Instead of lying her on the cold, stainless steel table, I held her in my arms while we waited for the vet. During the exam, she stood on the table, calmly but looking at me the whole time. The doctor felt those little hip bones jutting out from Baby’s behind and looked at me as though I was starving the dog. I told the doctor about how I’d gotten Baby and what I’d been feeding her to help with weight gain and the doctor advised me to continue the special meals. Baby was estimated to be about 1 year old which meant she was only 3 or 4 months old when she ran into Lee’s shop. It made me wonder what she’d gone through the first few months of her life. When the vet wanted to take her to another room for the shots, I could see the look in Baby’s eyes and I opted to hold her myself while the injection was given, trying to assure Baby I was there and not leaving her. Outside of her poor weight, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health and we went home.

That was almost a year ago. Since then, Baby ha finally put on enough weight and has been spayed. The doctor did indicate that while Baby is at the low end of a healthy weight, she may never gain a lot because of her inital malnourished condition. Baby and I are good buddies; we’ve gotten into a routine with each other. On the mornings when the day seems too much for me, Baby is the reason for forcing myself out from under the covers and outdoors in the sunlight if for no other reason than she needs to go outside. She no longer hides and at night, after I’ve climbed into bed, she sits as close to me as she can possible get and then simply flops down, comfortably into place. We seem to be made for each other; she’s my hero!