Fostering Chester

Hurrah! Kincaid is back!

For those of you following my blog, you’ll remember that foster Edisto the Wonder Dog keeps breaking out of our backyard fence, and taking friends/sidekicks Abbie Faith and Kincaid with him on adventures. Kincaid is a bit of a dunderhead, though. He’s like the dog in UP, constantly distracted by squirrels, and once separated from his friends, was unable to find his way back.

Luckily, he’s microchipped.

On Wednesday, my friend Howard, from the City of Columbia Animal Shelter, called to tell me that Kincaid had been . . . um . . . apprehended by Animal Control. This was poor Kincaid’s FOURTH time in the slammer, since he had been adopted and returned three times before I pulled him. Needless to say, he was VERY happy to see me.

And the pups were very happy to see him. See Fairfax, climbing in bed with Uncle Kincaid, and napping contently beside him. Hilda (not pictured) was running in circles.

Those of you following my blog will also remember that I was contacted by someone in local rescue, demanding that I return Edisto. Edisto was pulled from a local rescue rather than a kill shelter, and they keep strict tabs on their dogs. After someone in the neighborhood called to report Edisto roaming (b/c I stupidly left the tag with the rescue organization’s # on him), they said that I could not have one of “their dogs.”

There was a public outcry among my friends. My favorite email was from Casey, who often pup sits for me. Casey was the first person to dub Edisto a Goober, and he subsequently has a soft spot for him.

I’ve roped Casey into countless dog-rescuing adventures. During the summer, I was trying to talk Scott into buying me some land, building Casey a tiny house (see below), and letting him live there rent free if he agreed to feed all of my dogs. I thought the idea was brilliant. Both Scott and Casey rolled their eyes at me.

Casey’s email: “I JUST READ YOUR BLOG!!!!!  IS THE RESCUE TAKING BACK EDISTO!?!?!  WHAT THE HELL!?!?!   Fine.  I agree.  Get me a tiny f**king house and a parcel of land.  He can sleep on my tiny f**king bed.”

I decided to take my mother’s advice and tell them to come and get him, rather than return him myself. Knowing Edisto, he would curl up and die if put in another kennel. Or break out.

Surprisingly, I haven’t heard from them in over a week! Scott thinks they found my blog and read all about Edisto and have decided that they’d “prefer not to,” to quote Bartleby.

So, our problem became: how do we keep Edisto from breaking out of the fence? A friend of mine came up with the solution. She offered to donate an invisible fence. I hesitated at the idea of shocking Edisto, but Scott was delighted. He installed the fence, put the collar on Edisto that administers the shock, and said, “Edisto, I’m going to light up your ass!”

Note: I only agreed to this, because I realized that getting shocked is better than getting hit by a car. And Edisto was putting not only himself in danger, but Abbie Faith and Kincaid as well. Scott held the collar and touched the fence, before putting it on Edisto, to make sure that the voltage (shudder) was perfect.

Poor Ed.

The next morning, Scott and I watched Edisto and Abbie Faith and Kincaid from the breakfast table. As soon as we let them out, they took off for the fence, Abbie Faith and Kincaid sitting beside it and waiting patiently for E. to work his magic.

As soon as E. touched it, he ran away. Then, he stood and stared at it, with his tail sticking out straight behind him.

Score 1 for the fence.

Abbie Faith and Kincaid looked back at him like he was crazy, so Edisto went to the fence again. And, then, he ran all the way to our wood deck, jumped up on our picnic table, and stared straight at the fence for a full twenty minutes, trying to figure out what happened. We think he thinks he’s being attacked by invisible bees.

Score 2 for the fence.

Scott, of course, was laughing like a crazy person. E. hasn’t ventured out of the backyard again, but the fence has become his new nemesis, and he’ll spend hours a day watching it from atop our picnic table.

Abbie Faith and Kincaid have finally given up on outside-the-fence escapades, since Edisto now refuses to break them out. The result: Kincaid looks for things to amuse him inside the fence, and, being an 8 month old, that mostly involves tearing things up. See my new doormat below:

Welcome back, Kincaid! *sigh*

Oh, Edisto. You’ve really done it this time. See below:

Those of you who have been reading my blog know that Scott and Edisto have been battling for control of the backyard fence. Scott says Edisto must stay in and fortifies the fence accordingly; Edisto says he must get out and destroys Scott’s fortification. Every time.

I’ve cut and pasted my record of previous battles:

Battle, the first: E. dug under the chain link fence. S. stacked rocks under the fence. E. moved them. — who knows how. He’s a Wonder Dog, after all.

Battle, the second: S. attached chicken wire to the bottom of the chain link fence, stapling the wire to a buried piece of wood. E. pulled out the staples with his teeth.

Battle, the third: S. attached chicken wire to the bottom of the chain link fence, NAILING the wire to a buried piece of wood. E. stretched the chicken wire with his teeth and squeezed through.

And here are the recent editions:

Battle, the fourth: I enter the fray, stacking  3 planks of wood longways between wooden stakes S. put in the ground. The fit is super tight. I actually had to jump on the planks to get them wedged between the stakes. Success! — for a week!

Today, Edisto stretched another section of chicken wire with his teeth and slipped out.

Battle, the fifth: I mend the hole in the chicken wire and plan to have S. drive in more wooden stakes when he gets home.

E. makes quick work of my temporary fix, escaping again.

Battle, the sixth: Scott mends the hole in the chicken wire fence and sets to work burying the fencing more deeply into the ground. — a foot and a half deep.

While he takes a break, E. stretches another section of chicken wire and escapes again. Yes. Three times in one day.

*SIGH*

As if escaping isn’t bad enough, E. takes pals Abbie Faith and Kincaid with him. Abbie Faith is a smart girl and always comes back with Edisto . . . but Kincaid is a dunderhead. I don’t care what S. says. K. is a dunderhead. I had to pick him up after someone found and dropped him at a local vet today.

The poor guy was thrilled to see me and licked me the entire way home. “Kincaid, you can’t listen to Edisto,” I said, “He’ll get you into trouble. Every time.” And, no, K. still hasn’t made it back from the latest escape. I only hope that he’ll slip in the yard during the night, or that someone will let him crash at their place and give me a call tomorrow. He’s micro-chipped, thank goodness.

Little Hilda is beside herself, though, since Kincaid’s tail is her security blanket and she needs it to sleep.

As if all this isn’t bad enough . . . I received a call from someone at the local rescue, where we got E. Normally, I pull my own fosters from kill shelters throughout SC, and sometimes from NC. However, Edisto was pulled from a rescue, because Mr. Boise (a potential adoptive parent) wanted a Beagle; the Beagle I pulled from the kill shelter passed away from distemper; and a local rescue happened to have one in need of a home. I paid $150 to pull Edisto from them, but they maintain the right to reclaim their animals if they feel they aren’t being cared for.

I answered the phone.

Lady: “This is _____, from _____.”

Me: “Oh. Hi. How are you?”

Lady, in a snappy voice: “NOT well. Where’s Willie?” (Edisto’s name before he became Edisto).

Me: “Here.”

Lady, surprised: “Oh. Well, we received a call from a woman who was very upset and says that she has seen Willie running around off leash and unattended several times.”

Me: [explaining Battles 1-6]

Lady: “You cannot have a dog from us. What if he gets hit by a car?”

Me: [beating my head against a wall]

So, basically, Edisto is being rescued from us, the rescuers. And Kincaid is MIA. Here they are, in happier times of puppy wrestling.

And here’s another, this time with Hilda joining in and Edisto escaping the frame.

Hilda loves her uncles.

Scott says that he will win the fence battle and that I should fight to keep Edisto. Mom says that I should get his microchip with the rescue’s information removed and a new one put in.

I’ve thought many things. — about making them stay inside, even though they love to go out. I used to make Edisto and Kincaid at least sleep in the house at night, until they started whining to go out to Scott’s shop with Abbie Faith and the pups. And, then, once they made that move, I have to admit that I embraced it, since it allowed me to rescue more: a pack inside and a pack outside.

But, I realize now that I’d be terrified to adopt out E. anyway, for fear of an Ellen DeGeneres style snafu:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2007-10-17-degeneres-dog_N.htm

The rescue group did call me once before to find out how E. was doing with Mr. Boise. I told them that E. was difficult for Mr. Boise to handle but talked excitedly about the possibility of my parents taking him. — something that they were considering before we realized that E. would have a mini heart attack every time the hail cannons went off in the nearby peach orchards.

Lady: “You can’t do that.”

Me: “Oh?”

Lady: “If your Mom and Dad adopt Willie, you’ll have to bring him back to us, and they’ll have to pay another $150 pull fee.”

Me: “I’ll just keep him then,” while planning to give him to Mom and Dad anyway.

So, after the call today, I’m thinking it’s too risky to find him a home myself.

My consolation is that the rescue wants him back, because they think that I’m not the best parent. And while I admit I’m not perfect (ideally, I believe that all dogs should be “inside” dogs), I trust that this rescue will have him under surveillance. Forever. And, for Edisto, that’s not a bad idea.

Still, I question their decision to take back Edisto, who is being cared for to the best of our ability, rather than give his spot to an animal literally on death row.

And, I have to admit that I read a part from Harry Potter to Ed tonight. — the part from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, when Fred and George leave Hogwarts. And I made the following revision:

Rather than “Give her hell from us, Peeves,” I said, “Give them hell from us, Edisto,” and I hope that Edisto gives them at least a taste of his very best Wonder Dog behavior.

And, I’m sure that Edisto, “whom [we] [have] never seen take an order . . . before,” would sweep off his belled hat if he had one and would spring to a salute if he could.

I imagine him doing it now, although after such an adventurous day, he’s WAY too tired to really do so.

On Tuesday evening, around 6:30, I went outside to feed the pups. All seemed to be doing well . . .

Bradley:

and Cayce Truman:

and Duncan:

and Elloree, who was doing so well that I didn’t get a photo. (Remember, Elloree is the go-getter of the group and is always going and getting. She reminds me of Edisto, since she is able to break out of the pen I’ve set up in Scott’s shop for the pups. None of the others have figured it out and will complain loudly every time Elloree is out running with the big dogs while they’re stuck at the proverbial kids’ table).

and Hilda:

But one pup, Fairfax, was missing in action. I finally found him in Arina’s playhouse. He had green and yellow snot running out of his nose and was breathing rapidly. He saw me and began to whine. Alarmed, I took him inside, wiped him off, and tried to give him food and water. He refused to eat or drink. So, I bundled him up and set off for the emergency vet.

The vet took xrays of his lungs and saw that they were full of fluid. She said that she suspected canine pneumonia and put him on oxygen immediately. “But he was fine this morning,” I wailed, “even this afternoon, when I checked on them before going to work.” “Canine pneumonia can develop rapidly,” she said, and she recommended aggressive treatment with antibiotics, fluid, and an overnight stay.

I called Whitney, from Last Chance Animal Rescue in New York, since I’m fostering mom Abbie Faith and the pups for her. When I told her how much the recommended treatment would be ($700+), she verbalized what I was thinking: “OMG, those are New York prices.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“What if the other pups get sick?” Whitney said. “We can’t afford that for all of them!”

“Exactly,” I said.

We decided to ask for two bags of fluid, a shot of antibiotics, and any other at-home care they’d help me provide (we were hoping nebulizer, but that didn’t happen).

And even that was $300+. The vet made me sign an AMA (against medical advice) before she let me leave with Fairfax, and told me that he may not make it through the night.

I gave him a pep talk on the way home.

It must have worked, because the next morning he was breathing much more easily, and he was famished. I was prepared to force feed him with a syringe. Whitney had told me that the most important thing was to get him to drink/eat. “I don’t care if you have to feed him the stinkiest wet cat food you can find,” she said “I’d rather him get SOME nutrients and an upset stomach than nothing.”  (Apparently, dogs refuse to eat if they can’t smell the food; enter stinky wet cat food.)

But, see below, Chester Fairfax the Wonder Pup eating dog food like it’s going out of style:

And look who’s feeding him:

Why, hello Mr. My-wife-fosters-dogs-while-I-roll-my-eyes-at-her.

Fairfax drank. And ate. And drank. And ate. And then he peed on my kitchen table, which I’m counting as Memorable Mishap #I don’t even know anymore b/c I’ve lost count.

We’ve all been amazed by Fairfax’s progress. Whitney had warned me that he had a 50/50 chance at best, that she’s lost entire litters to canine pneumonia. Knowing this, and watching Fairfax struggling to breathe, has confirmed two things for me: (1) that life is precious; and (2) that those who are doing it (“it” being the sometimes hard work that is living) deserve to live fully. I’m reminded of the 22+ dogs that were shot by Chesterfield county shelter workers and wonder how many of those healthy adult dogs were little Fairfaxes who had beaten the odds, only to be killed in a shelter.

So, yay for Fairfax! May he live a happy, full life. Let me know if you’d be interested in adopting the little trooper.

And, now, for the latest installment in The Adventures of Chester Edisto:

I woke up at 1:00 am on Thursday morning to frantic crying. — what sounded like puppy wails. I honestly thought it was Fairfax, who was sleeping in our 1/2 bathroom. Feeling better, Fairfax had been pestering us to let him rejoin his puppy pack, but we were insisting on extra days of rest and relaxation. “Go to bed, Fairfax,” I said, and closed our bedroom door. The closed door didn’t help. I put my pillow over my head and prepared myself for a sleepless night.

Then I realized something about the noise. It wasn’t coming from INSIDE, but from OUTSIDE.

Edisto.

I jumped out of bed. Abbie Faith and Kincaid were in their dog beds on our wood deck, the puppies were asleep in Scott’s shop, but I saw no sign of Edisto. “Edisto!” I whispered sharply. “Be quiet! Go to bed!”

The whining stopped; then, as I got back into bed, started again.

I know that keeping the neighbors happy is what will allow me to continue to foster. And, for that reason, I’m VERY sensitive to noise. I jumped out of bed again, got on my shoes, and went to find Edisto.

And find him I did. He had tried to sneak out and his collar was hung on the chain link fence. He couldn’t move and was panicking in true Edisto fashion. I don’t know how he did it, I was never able to free the collar, and I finally just unsnapped it from Edisto’s neck; yes, it’s still hanging on our fence.

Oh, Edisto.

I told him he must apologize to the neighbors. See below:

Dear residents of Hamptonwood East,

I’m sorry I’m a sh*t show.

Love,

Chester Edisto.

Chester Edisto

Pulled: Thursday June 2, 2011 from a local rescue

Adoption commitment: None; still available

We were worried about how Chester Edisto would react to losing pretty Chester Isla, renamed Lucy, who has found her forever home with Krystal Branch and family. E. has taken it surprisingly well, though, since lately he’s turned his attention to looking-better-by-the-day Chester Abbie Faith.

I watched them one morning. E. is an expert at breaking out of our backyard fence. There has been quite the battle in the Fisk household, between Edisto and Scott.

Battle, the first: E. dug under the chain link fence. S. stacked rocks under the fence. E. moved them. — who knows how. He’s a Wonder Dog, after all.

Battle, the second: S. attached chicken wire to the bottom of the chain link fence, stapling the wire to a buried piece of wood. E. pulled out the staples with his teeth.

Battle, the third: S. attached chicken wire to the bottom of the chain link fence, NAILING the wire to a buried piece of wood. E. stretched the chicken wire with his teeth and squeezed through.

Edisto seems to be breaking out to impress Abbie Faith. She always follows, and he always waits for her on the other side. But, she’s bigger than he is, and often has more trouble getting through. I’ve watched E. on the other side, digging to help her out, while she digs from inside the fence. As soon as she’s through, E.’s tail starts wagging and they’re off.

We’ve gotten several calls, thanks to E.’s “home again” tag, so S. has made several trips to pick them up at whichever house they decide to crash. One day, he had all three of them (Ed, Abbie, and Kincaid) in the bed of his pickup truck, when E. decided to try for the ultimate romantic expression. He jumped from the moving vehicle and waited on the side of the road for Abbie to follow. Smart girl that she is, she did not. So, E. is left with asphalt scratches on his knees and chin. And wounded pride.

Still, Scott admits it was quite the sight. — seeing, from the side view mirror, E. flying through the air, ears flapping in the wind.

Oh, Edisto. You’re such a Wonder Dog. And a Goober.

And, Chester Kincaid

Pulled: Thursday August 25, 2011 from City of Columbia Animal Shelter

Adoption commitment: None; still available

See Kincaid, above, sad because he got in trouble for pulling on and tearing a hole in S.’s hammock. We can’t stay mad at Kincaid, though, because he’s become everyone’s favorite uncle.

Now that Edisto and Abbie Faith have teamed up, Kincaid is left to tend to the pups. — a job he takes very seriously. See, below, his morning ritual of checking on and being mobbed by the youngest six Fisk fosters.

The pups LOVE Kincaid. He’s much more patient with them than their mother. They always seem to hope that he’s developed teats filled with milk during the middle of the night, and Kincaid always stands patiently until they figure out that, no, that did not happen.

Well, he stands patiently until one of them inevitably mistakes his . . . um . . . masculinity for a teat, and then he moves very quickly.

Poor Kincaid.

I always try to come to the rescue quickly with some puppy formula: 1 can of evaporated milk, 1 can of water, an egg, a dab of honey and wet puppy food.

Never being much of a cook, I’m proud of myself for being able to make something that someone seems to think is delicious. And, I’m saving  money in the process, since the puppy powder formula I was buying at the pet store was $25 a can and only lasted a few days.

So, Kincaid stays with the pups while I fix breakfast. Then, they eat. Then, they play and sleep for the rest of the day, with me or Kincaid or the kids or Emily (our fabulous neighbor from across the street), checking on them periodically.

Relieved to be off duty, Abbie Faith avoids them as much as possible and growls at them if they try to nurse . . . which makes Kincaid bark at her angrily . . . which makes E. dislike Kincaid. So, yes, lots of Fisk foster family drama.

Remember: Nearly the entire pack (Abbie Faith, Edisto, Kincaid and 5 of the 6 pups) are available for adoption. Scott says “Remember, PLEASE.” And so does pretty blue-eyed Hilda, below, who would love a forever home.

Upcoming post will feature other current fosters, Chesters Lexi and Mac.