“Give [them] hell from us, [Edisto].”

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.

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4 Responses to ““Give [them] hell from us, [Edisto].””

  1. paul roberts Says:

    if you paid for the dog, is it not your dog? I will not go into this any farther, but if I paid 150 I could give that dog to whomever I please. They want you to bringthe dog back and your parents pay another 150? Sound to me that these people just want to make a buck. Tell “S” to use regualr fence, take hog rings or metal twists and connect the bottom of the fence to the laid down fence. The dogs can not bend or break that, chicken wire is too thin. cover up to fence with dirt. That is what I had to do, and it kept all dogs in, they never got back out

    Paul R

    • fisknp Says:

      I should have known to ask a McBee country boy! My poor city boy husband.

      Hog rings! A perfect solution.

      And, as for the rescue organization: I’m willing to give them kudos for the good they’ve done and are doing in the community. But, yes, sometimes I think these organizations lose sight of what’s important.

      Instead of saving another dog from the kill shelter, they spend all this time and effort to go through a second adoption process for a dog already safe with someone who has been approved for adoption, and should therefore be trusted to do right by the dog, whether they keep him or rehome him.

      Thanks for the advice, Paul!

  2. Jamie Libby Boyle Says:

    Grrr. I’m mad for you. Really mad. And I hope K. comes back. Will tell my Scott to be on the lookout. He’s running on our side of GF today.

    • fisknp Says:

      Thanks, Jamie! Kincaid is such a lovebug that my Scott’s convinced he’s out socializing with neighbors and other animals. K. would love to meet your Scott.

      And, yes: Grr indeed.

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