Libby the Rottie

Anyone watch the State of the Union address last night? :: yawn :: I didn't. I try to not waste my time listening to Bush speak. Because in the end, all I see is a text balloon above his head that says blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.

The people who give him a standing ovation are hypocrites. Of course, that's just my lowly opinion. From what little I read in the news online, no mention was made of his over 700 incidents of breaking the freaking law or ignoring the flippin' Constitution. But yeah, let's be optimistic about our economy because he's giving us a few million in tax relief. Let's be happy he wants to drill the hell out of the Arctic saying he cares about the environment. Let's give him a round of applause for saying we are an anti-whaling nation but screw the whales and dolphins off the nation's coast that are being subjected to Navy sonar training.

Excuse my language, but fuck him. (Not literally of course. Good God.)

Will our next President be any improvement at all? Gosh :: scratching my head and rubbing the crystal ball :: I doubt it.

Guess I'm just a cranky butt today :-P

My partner and I had fostered a lab mix for a few months and he was just adopted a few days ago. Malcolm was a sweetheart and while I miss him, once he moved on to his wonderful new home, the energy in our home seemed to suddenly return to normal. Our five dogs seemed much more relaxed and we agreed we'd not foster any new dogs for awhile and just focus on our own dogs for awhile.

That lasted two days.

My partner got a call that a 7 month old female Rottweiler was in a kill shelter and would be put down tomorrow unless someone took her in.

The people who owned her are elderly and got Libby as a puppy. Well she's still a puppy I know. But anyway, they didn't seem to realize how big Rotties can get, so Libby became too much for them and they took her to the shelter. It's doubtful they knew it was a kill shelter. Many people don't realize which shelters are no kills and which are kills.

I didn't want to bring in another foster. Given I am home most of the time, I end up taking care of the dogs for the most part. Not a problem really, but when we're also dog sitting for a friend of ours and bringing in a rambunctious 7 month old Rottie who's only maybe half the size she's going to be one day and she's already big, it can feel a bit much at times.

Libby is beautiful though. She's very sweet, and very playful. But she's also a handful. Most puppies are. They just want to bound around sharing their joy, eating toys, and diving onto your lap unaware that their huge size can knock the literal wind out of you and also splay your coffee all over the damn place.

The Planned Pethood organization has adoptions every Saturday at the local Petsmart. Libby will be heading there on Saturday and she already has an applicant interested in her. Given she's a purebred and how popular Rottweilers are, I'm sure she'll be snatched up soon.

I'm a softie. I rant and rave about how I need a break from fostering abandoned dogs for awhile and that works for a day or two then my partner gets a call and with sad puppy eyes of her own, she tells the story of a particular dog that will die unless we save it.

I know I can't save every dog on the planet as much as I want to, but I also don't want it on my shoulders if I say "no" and the dog ends up being put down. I can't stand that.

We are known to be a last resort choice but we're also known to take in special needs dogs. Like older dogs that take longer to be adopted out, dogs with disabilities or health problems, and dogs that have been neglected and/or abused.

I try to remember the end result. When a foster has been with us for awhile, they get a lot of love, attention, and care. They may arrive with matted hair, being malnourished from lack of food, and having trust issues with people. They usually leave with shiny coats, full bellies, and the joy and trust returned to their spirits.

I like that.

But sometimes I just want a break. We've got five dogs and we dog sit for a friend often, so we usually have five to six dogs in our place. And we don't live in an apartment or a house, but a converted section of an old gym my partner's father owns. It's big .. kinda like a loft looking place, but we have no yard. So imagine at least five dogs being taken outside, most having to be on leashes, and all going about their business peeing and pooping and jumping over one another and getting tangled within each other and around my legs.

Not a pretty sight, especially if it's been snowing and there's ice on the ground. My ass is likely to be black and blue half the time.

Ok .. I jest. I exaggerate. But it has happened. Not as often as I make it out to be, but enough to make my treks outside with a herd of various-sized dogs interesting.

I have some things to say about the latest news on the whaling front, but will do that later tonight or tomorrow. While Libby is in her kennel while I try to catch my breath, she doesn't like it much. Imagine that. I'd hate it too.

Mahalo,

Dolphin