Two Sisters

 

Sweet Rebecca -- a picture of love and trust.

Not-so-sweet, sister, Suzie Q. "You can take me out of the alley, but you will NEVER take the alley out of me!"

All that said, Suzie nevertheless likes the easy trappings of life on a cozy cushion.

Recently, I rescued two "feral" cats who had been living in the alley in back of my building for years. (I had them spayed as juveniles.)

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Some of my Yuppie neighbors began complaining about the cats "meowing" disturbing them. Never mind that the cats kept rodents away and never mind that the same people who complained about "meowing" are the same ones who throw loud parties every weekend. It somehow became my "responsibility" to "do something" about the cats.

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But the two sisters are as different from each other as day is to night. This despite them sharing identical lives and the fact that both cats welcomed my petting and handling of them when living in the alley.

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I rescued Rebecca one rainy morning last March after she had been missing for more than a week. Her tail was severely dented, she had lost weight and was extremely filthy and dehydrated. Moreover, she looked like a drowned rat in the pouring rain. It didn't require much effort to scoop up the severely weakened cat in my arms and bring her to my apartment bathroom.  

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Rebecca recovered very rapidly over the following week. Though a little nervous at first, Rebecca responded very positively to my overtures to pick up and clean her off. Later, I discovered that she greatly enjoyed being held and nuzzled like a baby.

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What Rebecca didn't enjoy was being confined to the bathroom. She quickly let it be known that she wanted to explore the rest of the apartment and meet my other five cats.

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Surprisingly, Rebecca adapted very well to my other cats (and one dog then) and they to her. Rebecca was confident, but not intrusive. She respected the cat hierarchy in my home and issued no challenges. At the same time, she held her own and showed no fear. It seemed almost too good and too easy to be true as usually when new animals are introduced, there are many "adjustments" for both newcomer and resident animals.  

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But who Rebecca most bonded with was me.   

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"More dog than cat," Rebecca follows me around, never leaves me alone and demands constant attention and petting. She is far more affectionate than most cats raised in human homes since kittens.

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Enter her sister, Suzie.

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I rescued Suzie six weeks ago due specially to the neighbor complaints. She wasn't injured or ill. Rather, I just scooped her up one evening and put her in a cat carrier. Easy as cake.

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Initially, I put Suzie in a large cage so as not to overwhelm her with the other cats and the strangeness of a human home. But Suzie wanted no part of the cage -- or me -- and yowled her head off in protest. My few attempts to pet her in the cage were met with loud hisses and swats from her claws.

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After only a few days, I released Suzie from the confines of the cage mostly to shut her up and avoid neighbor complaints about the loud "meows" coming directly from my apartment.

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I need not have worried over Suzie getting along with my other cats. On the contrary, she was delighted to again be reunited with her sister, Rebecca and like Rebecca seemed to know instinctively how to blend into the cat hierarchy without being intrusive.  

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However, what has not been "easy as cake" or in any way similar to her sister, has been getting Suzie socialized to me! -- This from a cat who welcomed my petting in the alley and even allowed me to cut mats from her fur on occasion!

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I have not been able to touch Suzie even once over these past six weeks or even get close enough to.

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That is not to say Suzie has been shrinking in a corner or is loathe to her new surroundings. On the contrary, she enjoys sleeping on cushy cushions, free-feeding and sharpening her claws on furniture. And Suzie absolutely worships her sister, Rebecca, often rolling over for her and trying to solicit her sister in play.

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Only Rebecca has become a "human oriented" cat now and chooses mostly to ignore her long devoted and beseeching sister.  

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What has perhaps been amusing about this entire fiasco, is watching the utterly shocked and disdainful look on Suzie's face whenever her sister is nuzzling on my lap and soliciting my attention.

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"HOW could you sell yourself out so cheaply to some lowly human? Have you forgotten where you came from?"

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Suzie then half-closes her eyes and gives me a dirty look as if to say, "You can take me out of the alley, but you will NEVER take the alley out of me! I am a proud alley girl!"

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Well, Okay.

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My only hope now is that Suzie will eventually (albeit reluctantly) take the cues from her much beloved sister and come around to me.

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But I won't hold my breath waiting for that; stubbornness and pride seemingly the main character traits of Ms. Suzie Q.  -- PCA

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They Loved as Cat and Dogs

 

Dusty wooing Chance in Dec of 2014, two months following Tina's passing.

Forming bond.

Chance was a little slow to accept Dusty's overtures.

But, eventually Chance came around and the two became inseparable.

The past couple of weeks have been like an impenetrable fog that is hard to see through.

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Last week, I had to have my 16-year-old male cat, Dusty, euthanized due to acute renal failure. (The vet was very kind and ensured me I was doing the humane thing.)

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But it wasn't his kidneys or advanced age that ultimately killed Dusty. I believe it was a broken heart.

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Dusty had always loved dogs and for years, was extremely attached to my Corgi-mix, Tina. When Tina passed two years ago at the age of 21, Dusty took the loss much harder than my other dog, Chance. But over the months that followed, Dusty eventually cozied up to my reluctant Pomeranian and won over his heart. Eventually the cat and dog became inseparable love bugs.

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But, this past August, I had to have Chance put down due to incurable Lymphoma. The one worry I had at the time was how Dusty would take to the additional loss. Though I had four other cats and attempted to give Dusty extra attention, he seemed to retreat into himself. The love of his life suddenly gone, Dusty spent most of his time sleeping on Chance's old doggie bed as it presumably still contained of the dog's scent.

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Unfortunately, over the past several weeks, Dusty (who had always been a healthy cat), suddenly spiraled down. Loss of weight, dehydration and sudden consumption of water were signs of the obvious. Cataracts suddenly appearing over his eyes, made my 16-year-old cat appear ancient.

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For some days I debated with myself on whether to take Dusty to my vet in hope there were miracle treatments that could magically reverse the signs of rapid aging and seriously declining health. But, it was also his behavior that gave me pause. Put simply, I didn't have the sense that Dusty wanted extreme measures to prolong his life. Though Dusty still responded to me when called, he did not seek petting or comforting. It was almost as if he had made conscious decision to let go. Truth was, there were no "miracle treatments" that could bring back the two lost loves of Dusty's life.

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So, is was with extreme heavy heart and dread that I finally took Dusty to the Animal Medical Center at the crack of dawn last week for the inevitable. (Thankfully at that time in the morning, there are no crowds or having to wait.)

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The AMC staff and vets were very kind. I was able to stay with and gently hold Dusty through the administering of (first) anesthesia to put him to sleep and then the lethal solution to peacefully end his life. I am quite sure he did not feel anything other than perhaps a strange relief to be released from any pain or emotional suffering he had been experiencing.

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As I gave Dusty a last kiss good-bye, I prayed for the fog to lift and the sun to shine through to some special spiritual world where he can again be young and whole and reunite with the two great loves of his life, Tina and Chance. I pictured the two dogs and one cat romping happily together on some grassy field where the pains and limitations of earth are a million miles away.

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As I walked home that morning embracing and reflecting upon the loss I had just experienced, I thought to myself, Don't ever let anyone tell you that an animal doesn't grieve or cannot die from a broken heart. For sure, they can and do.

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Peace be with you, Dusty as your friends await; their only question being, "What took you so long?"  -- PCA

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Chance of a Lifetime

A happy Chance last October when first riding in his stroller.

Enjoying the green grass again.

"Who me, old? I can walk the rest of the way!"

My "baby."

 

It was the worst shelter dog photo I had ever seen.

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An angry, snarling Pomeranian who actually had extra fangs in the middle of his mouth.

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"Vampire dog," I thought.

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But if the photo was less than endearing, the shelter description of the dog who was then on the Euthanasia list for the following morning was even more troubling.

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"Male, neutered, Pomeranian, ten-years-old, 17 lbs. Severe behavior. Extremely aggressive; tries to bite. New Hope Rescue only."

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As a New Hope Rescue partner to New York City's Animal Care and Control shelter, I had Internet access to the shelter's "Kill List" animals each night. When having an open foster spot, I routinely checked the list for any dogs or cats I could responsibly save.

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The snarling Pomeranian with extra vampire fangs intrigued me. Yes, I could personally foster a small male dog; even a slightly temperamental one. My main concern was that he could get along with my cats and spayed, female dog.

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I called a trusted and dedicated AC&C volunteer and dog walker to inquire if Evelyn knew anything about the Euth List Pomeranian named, "Chance."

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"Oh yes, I know the dog," Evelyn replied somberly. "But I don't know that you should take him. I was not able to get him out of the cage. He tried to bite numerous times."

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I was completely taken aback. In all the times I had called Evelyn to inquire of a dog, she had never once advised not taking the dog! On the contrary, she usually begged for rescue of them!

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Chance must indeed be quite the risk, I thought ruefully -- apparently fully living up to his vampire image.

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Nevertheless, after speaking with Evelyn and probably against my better judgment, I called the New Hope number anyway to put a "hold" on the feisty Pomeranian and essentially save his ass.

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I rationalized and told myself that another rescue probably called before I did as Chance was a small, purebred dog and except for the Dracula fangs and angry snarl, appeared to be quite cute. Surely, other rescues would want him!

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But I was the only one to call on the nasty Pomeranian who appeared proud of his extra fangs -- "The better to bite you with!"  Jessica, the New Hope Rescue Coordinator for AC&C called me early the next morning.

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"Patty, how soon can you pick up this dog? He needs to get out of here today."

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I was at the shelter in less than an hour.

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Two kennel workers had to wrangle Chance out of his cage and brought him to me at the end of a slip leash.  I am not sure how they accomplished the feat. Everyone just seemed eager to get "Cujo" out of the shelter.

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I did not dare try to touch or pet Chance who was aggressively baring all six fangs to me. After signing the bite waiver and other paper work, I turned to leave when suddenly Jessica announced that she had a "nice surprise" for me!

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"Charlotte, the shelter Director is so pleased and grateful that you are taking Chance that she ordered a $200.00 check be sent to you. You should get it in a few days."

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Shocked beyond belief, I was nearly speechless. I had rescued more than a couple thousand of animals from AC&C over the years and had never been offered a dime to take any.

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Just how bad was this dog, I wondered nervously?

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But, instead of voicing concerns, I simply smiled and told Jessica to thank Charlotte for me.

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Hoping to burn off some of Chance's frustrations and "anger," I walked him the mile and a half home. He was a good little walker on the leash, but also an embarrassment. He had at least a couple of pounds of hard feces stuck to his backside. It looked like he had not been groomed in years.

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The "story" on Chance is that he had been owned by an elderly person who died. Relatives didn't want him and brought him to the pound. According to them, Chance was good with other animals and that is what primarily mattered to me. That he "didn't like people" could be resolved with time.

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What I didn't think about then was how I could adopt out a dog with all the "Severe, Aggressive Behavior" and "attempts to bite" on his shelter record even if and when overcoming his behavioral issues?  Were Chance to ever bite anyone, I could be sued for knowingly adopting out a "vicious dog."

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But for those early days, my prime concerns were for cleaning Chance up and over time, getting him used to and comfortable with strangers. I would worry about the other stuff later.

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As matters turned out, Chance was wonderful with other animals, including cats. He and my Corgi mix, Tina, got along beautifully and were well matched in size, age and energy levels, and even coloring. Tina was however, much friendlier and trusting of people than Chance.

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I did not try to clean the crap off Chance's rear immediately or to bathe him. Such would have been suicidal. Sure, I got some discerning looks from neighbors in the early days, but I am not one for adding stress to my life or the animals in my care.

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It was about two weeks before Chance got entirely cleaned up, bathed and brushed. By that time, I had slowly earned his trust in small increments -- enough to allow cutting the stuck poop from his butt in the first few days.

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Chance was quite handsome when all cleaned and poofed up. He had a very long, dense and luxurious, red coat. Except for his unusually large size for a PB Pomeranian (most are under ten pounds these days), he looked every bit the "expensive" Upper East Side, Manhattan dog....well, except for the extra fangs.

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But as much as people were drawn to the beautiful little fox-like dog, I sometimes had to warn them to admire from a distance in the early days. (The last thing I wanted was a law suit.) However, once Chance opened his mouth and showed his extra fangs, most people backed off without being told.  Vampire Dog.

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I had Chance a couple of months before finally taking him to my vet to have his extra fangs removed.

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By that time, he had evolved into a confident and mostly trusting, sweet dog. Long walks in Central Park everyday with his human-friendly companion, Tina, had magically transformed Chance into a whole new dog -- one whom I had grown to deeply love.

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Any thoughts of "adoption" long flung out the window, I nevertheless still had the perfect excuse of a "horrible shelter record" to offer to others, including my own daughter for keeping Chance. Despite his amazing transformation, my daughter and some friends still didn't quite trust Chance when visiting. I could never understand the caution and "reservations" on their parts for what had really become a very loving and beautifully behaved little dog.  

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Labels like "Vampire Dog" and memories of extra fangs apparently die hard -- even long after the extra fangs are gone.

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Fast forward, a bunch of years and thousands of long walks in Central Park -- particularly at night.

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I loved walking Chance and Tina in the park at night and both dogs, though small and "poofy," took their protective and other duties seriously. People often remarked how "well trained" my dogs were, always staying close by me, waiting patiently while I photographed the geese and ducks of Central Park and remaining watchful, but friendly to other people.

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But I never officially "trained" Chance and Tina. Both dogs were conditioned to a particular routine and lifestyle that they loved, took pride in and looked forward to.

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Unfortunately, time moves on and dogs age.

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Tina was a couple of years older than Chance. Though she remained amazingly healthy and spry for her age, eventually it began to catch up to her.

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The last year of her life, I had to cut out the 2 to 3 mile walks in the park everyday and settle for only a few blocks. Medications helped for a while, but at nearly 21 years of age, Tina's days were numbered.

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Two years ago, when Tina could no longer walk without pain and her appetite left her, my daughter accompanied me to the Animal Medical Center on Labor Day where the only humane option was euthanasia. Despite the kindness and support of the vet, I was a complete basket case and was lucky to have my daughter, Tara, to literally hold me up.  

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Fortunately, I still had Chance to come home to.

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Though hurting himself with loss of his long time canine friend, Chance was the brave little trooper for me. Always happy and attentive and looking forward every day to his walks in Central Park.

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But, as with Tina, age catches up and Chance significantly slowed down over the past year. Long walks were out of the question as he was approaching 20 years of age.

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Then, last October, I got the brainstorm of purchasing a stroller for him.

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I ordered a pretty blue stroller from Amazon.com with no idea of whether Chance would adapt to it or not.

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Fortunately, for both, Chance and me, he not only "adapted" to the stroller, but loved it!

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Most of all, it enabled both of us to still enjoy the long trips to the park. Chance loved being wheeled around most of the park (like a baby) while still being able to walk the last 7 or 8 blocks home. For me, the experience was like reliving the early days with my daughter when she was a baby. Only the "baby" this time was a senior little dog who was limited in his ability to walk, but still delighted in the park.

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Some people laugh or even scoff at the idea of treating a dog "like a baby," but sometimes the circumstances merit it. Anything that adds quality and enjoyment for both the dog and caregiver in the animal's waning days is worth it. I trust that one day pushing a senior or disabled dog in a stroller won't seem any more "strange" than taking a dog in a car. I think for dogs, strollers are very much like car rides.

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But, as the saying goes, all good things eventually come to an end.

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A few weeks ago, I noticed that Chance was not as animated when taken to the park in his stroller. Instead of sitting up and looking out alertly, Chance was slumped back and appeared listless and uninterested. More alarmingly, he had trouble walking the few blocks home and would fall down a few times.

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I tried to attribute the "sluggishness" to advancing age, poor vision and the heat of summer.

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But when his appetite suddenly dropped off and I noticed he was lighter to pick up, I decided it was time for a trip to my vet.

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Part of me realized I might be compelled to make a painful decision. But I refused to think about that too much.

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I was sure, Dr. G. would have some magical potion or pills that could help alleviate some of Chance's aches and pains and afford him more months of quality life.

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What I never considered was that Chance had terminal and quickly descending disease.

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"Lymphoma" was the lethal and certain diagnosis. And no, there was no magical cure.

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Dr. G offered that chemotherapy can be an option, but it would only add a "couple of more months" if even that. Neither he nor I thought chemo the appropriate course of action.

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I stayed with my little boy through the anesthesia and the eventual injection that brought on peaceful and merciful death. But it was so, so hard.

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Afterwards, I kissed Chance on his still head and said a prayer to God to welcome his beautiful little soul to heaven......

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It's been almost two weeks since Chance's passing and no, I am not "over it."

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I am not sure that we ever really "get over" the loss of deeply beloved animal -- an animal who literally becomes as a child to one.

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It's been nearly two years and I am "not over" the death of Tina. Both, she and Chance live in thousands of memories inside my heart and my head. The loss of both now leaves huge voids and gaps in the center of my soul and in the banality of the everyday.

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It is only today that I even attempt to write about Chance.  

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But, I prefer to write primarily as he had lived and not how he eventually died.

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Yes, Chance was the only animal I was ever paid to rescue (so desperate was the shelter to not "euthanize" a healthy, purebred, small dog who no one but a fool would want). And yes, he was the "vampire dog" who mirrored a canine version of Dracula, complete with long, threatening and extra fangs. And yes, Chance's snarling dog photo was the worst I had ever seen.

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But, underneath all the "severity and attempts to bite" beat a strong, enduring heart of pure gold that though already ten years old at the time of rescue, would continue to lovingly beat for another ten glorious years.  

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Ten years of romps in the snow, walks in the sunshine, endless primping, brushing and making pretty and ten years of seemingly endless love and devotion.

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My Chance of a lifetime was in fact, one of the great blessings of my life. He was the risk that never for a moment was regretted.

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I hope that somewhere, Chance is able to find his pal, Tina and that both now freely romp heavenly fields of green grass or glistening snow and infinite blue skies.

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And like so many days of old, I hope both still patiently wait for me with happy, eager grins on their faces.  -- PCA

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Candy -- The Reluctant Mallard "Octomom"

Candy and her six of her eight scattered babies last week.

On their own again.

Mom finally shows up.

Candy and some of the kids this morning.

While one swims off.

Taking a breather.

Mom with one of the kids casually watching as the others take off.  "What me worry?"

 

No sooner had it been predicted in this blog that the last, remaining goose family would leave the Central Park Reservoir, that they actually did.

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Hansel, Greta and their three goslings in fact vacated their nesting and child rearing location the very day I posted the last blog -- forecasting they were about to depart.

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"Eleven weeks" appears to indeed be the developmental period in goslings that, for whatever reason, compels the families to stretch their wings and seek new horizons.

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It is likely that neither of the two goose families will be observed back at the Reservoir until next March. That has been their pattern over the past several years. If there is one thing we have learned about geese it is that they are creatures of set patterns and rigid time schedules.

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Though there are currently no geese at the Reservoir, that is not to say it is entirely without a water bird family.

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For the first time in many years, there is actually a mama duck with 8 ducklings.

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I noticed "Candy" and her eight tiny hatchlings nearly three weeks ago.

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Or, rather I first noticed eight frantic ducklings who were wildly swimming and crying out in the water. They were desperately seeking their mother who was apparently no where to be found!

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I thought the mama was among a small group of mallards in the water who often come to me for treats. But, why wouldn't the ducklings simply stay with her?

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After a few minutes, the ducklings moved to the north side of the Reservoir, still crying out loudly and still searching their absentee mother.

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It was only when the hatchlings were nearly a quarter of a mile away, that a female mallard finally left the ledge where she had been greedily gulping treats from me to fly back to her wayward and frantic brood.

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I could not believe a mother duck would prioritize treats over protecting and staying with her newly hatched ducklings (hence the name, "Candy.")!  What kind of "dutiful" mother was this?

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The following night it was the same story. But that time, I immediately recognized the irresponsible Candy and gave her a swift pat in the butt with the back of my hand (instead of treats). That was to send her back to her distressed babies who were loudly squawking and panicked in the water.

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As someone so used to observing the devoted and extremely protective parental behavior of Canada geese towards their young, it was truly shocking to note the nonchalant and devil-may-care attitude of a mother mallard towards her young.

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Candy was by far, the worst animal mother I had seen in years! Everything about her screamed, "Whatever! If they make it, they make it. If they don't, they don't!"  

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Granted, eight babies were a lot of mouths to feed and worry about. Human "octomoms" aren't apparently so great either.

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Considering the high mortality rate of ducklings (under normal circumstances with good mothers), I was determined not to "feel" too much for this particular batch of little ones as I was sure few, if any of the ducklings would ultimately survive.  Though the Central Park Reservoir doesn't contain abundant predators, there are many raccoons, some hawks and maybe a snapping turtle or two.  I figured the ducklings were doomed.

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Low and behold however, it is now three weeks later and all eight ducklings are still hanging in there!

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Don't ask me how, as Candy's behavior towards her brood has not changed in the least.

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A few days ago, I thought she had lost five of her babies as I only saw her with three. But continuing to walk along the Reservoir, the other five ducklings were spotted 30 or so feet away from the mom and other siblings.

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"If they make it, they make it. If they don't, they don't."  Candy is obviously not one given to worry.

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This morning, Candy and her brood were to the north side of the Reservoir. Her babies are big enough now to climb along the rocks and scoop up some treats with their mom. But a few got quickly bored and returned to the water to swim off on their own.

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If mom has "taught" them nothing else, she has taught her babies early independence.

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Nevertheless, the fact Candy still has all eight ducklings might suggest she is not such a "bad mom" after all.

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Either that, or she is simply extremely lucky. -- PCA

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