Rescued: Thursday February 23 from my front yard
Retrieved by owner: Tuesday March 6th
Meet Izzy:
I can’t believe it’s been so long since my last post — a month! But, there are several reasons for that,one being that I’ve been focusing attention on some previous Fisk fosters. I was distracted by Hazelle (Ella), who came down with and eventually recovered from Parvo (yay for recovery!), and also by Edwards who was a return foster. Poor Edwards. Penny, who was trying him out as a member of the family, adored him. Penny’s cats did not, and they were wrecking havoc on the house in protest. I’m happy to report, though, that Edwards — handsome boy he is — was snatched up by Dog World Rescue and has three families vying to adopt him. Here’s hoping they have only dogs or dog-friendly cats.
The main reason for the absent posts, though? We’ve moved, and anyone who has ever moved knows that the process requires hitting the pause button on pretty much everything else. So, when I found out we were moving, I contacted faithful donor Ashley Smith and asked that she hit the pause button on her monthly donation, since Fisk Fosters was on hiatus.
And, honestly, I wasn’t sure when we’d come back, or if we would at all. I was planning the farewell post, a last “where are they now,” along with a thank you to all who had adopted, encouraged, and contributed financially (speaking of that last part: special shout out to Rebecca Pomeroy Shores whose December donation paid for the neutering of three male dogs AND enabled us to hire a pet-sitter for the pack and travel as usual for the holidays). I had figured everything up: 60 dogs in 10 months, which averages 6 dogs a month. And I calculated our expenses. I was happy to report to Scott (who, at one point, had shown me a chart that suggested we spent 60% of our income on foster dogs) that we in fact spent about $300 in all. Many good people hit the “Donate” button. Again, thank you.
Here are a few of the photos I planned to share:
Remember Clover, renamed Carley? What a Cinderella story!
Remember Gilbert and Hampton, renamed Romeo and Cooper? Here they are, enjoying the day on their porch.
Remember York and Daphne Bordeaux, renamed Pepper and Sissy? Here they are, watching Harry Potter on Mom’s bed:
And here’s a closeup of Daphne Bordeaux/Sissy:
And, remember Abbie Faith and pups? Well, just look at them now! We have Abbie and her human, co-sleeping.
We have Abbie’s and Hilda’s reunion:
And we have Fairfax (Otis), the pup who pulled through!
And, finally, in what may be my favorite canine photo of all time, we have Gregor (Trigger) in his raincoat:
I had planned to announce that I would still get a dog for anyone who wants one. But, I planned to do more behind the scenes work, reach in my bag, and pull out another of my social justice issues to address: orphans? (maybe Scott would allow me to adopt 60 children) or the human rights violations in North Korea? (maybe I could drop 60 copies of The Hunger Games for the people there to read — seriously, read about the censorship in NK).
But, then Izzy showed up in our front yard:
It was dark outside — around 8:00pm or 8:30. At first, I thought Izzy was a deer. She’s that big. She was limping, and I noticed two healing wounds on both her front legs. Also, she has a lump protruding from her chest. I wondered if she had been hit by a car and broken a rib, but the lump isn’t sensitive to touch, so I suspect it’s a hernia. She was flea-ridden, and we could see her ribs.
Arina said, “Well you have two choices, Mom: leave her out here, where she may get hit by a car. Or, put her in the backyard and let her get better.”
Of course, I chose the latter. So, as Arina says, we have three “healthy” dogs and one “wobbly” one. Casey’s response: “Well, Nicole, you needed a wobbly one.”
Izzy is OLD, as you can see in the photo below. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog with age wrinkles, but Izzy seems to have them:
When I opened her mouth to age her by her teeth, I saw that many of them had fallen out and the others were discolored with age. I’m thinking 10+. And the limp? I’m beginning to think it’s arthritis. Even Izzy’s bark sounds old. She thought about protesting when I put her in the dog pen out back, but she just made three raspy-sounding barks before shrugging, settling down on the bed I made her, and falling off to sleep, as quickly as my grandfather used to.
Still, you can tell by her profile, that she must have been quite the dog in her prime:
We’re on a literary system of naming, so I thought about Isolde initially. It seemed perfect in a way, since she “Is Olde.” But, she looks more like an Isadora, we think — Izzy, for short. Isadora is the . . . um . . . sexually motivated protagonist in Erica’ Jong’s Fear of Flying. I don’t know if Izzy was ever similarly motivated, but she doesn’t have a spay scar, so I can only imagine the number of litters she’s had. /sigh
And Scott? He didn’t complain, probably because he was so amused by the fact that when I called to tell him about Izzy, I also confessed that I had somehow managed to lock myself with Izzy in the outside dog pen that conveniently came with the new house, and I needed his advice about how to get out.
Happily, I escaped. And, so far, the only other memorable mishap has involved chasing Morven around the neighborhood, after he managed to get under the house and push away a piece of the brick foundation in his eagerness to explore the new neighborhood. He got into so much trouble that, since then, he’s been content to pretend that he’s Mr. Knightley’s fuzzy blanket:
So, welcome, Izzy: Foster #61. And, thank goodness, you’re not like Morven.
If any of my readers would be interested in being Izzy’s retirement home, send me a message!
Update: Izzy has been reunited with her family! The longer she stayed with us, the more I became convinced that she had belonged to someone who loved her. She had a spay scar after all, and she knew how to catch a frisbee — well, she was too old to actually catch it, but she hobbled after it, picked it up, and brought it back.
I began to think that she had wandered off to die, honestly, and then changed her mind. Maybe she wanted to catch a frisbee a few more times, and eat a few more dog treats.
I visited the local vet and was thrilled to learn that someone had reported a missing female Lab. I left my information, and Audrey, Izzy’s mother, called me this past Tuesday! Like us, she has recently moved to Holly Hill, and — like Morven — Izzy (henceforth called by her given name: Daisy) escaped from the backyard fence. Being in an unfamiliar area, she got lost and has been lost for the entire month of February.
After hanging up with Audrey, I called Daisy to come inside, and I swear she knew she had been found when she heard her given name. “Your Mom is on her way, Daisy,” I said. Pure excitement. We waited together, and Audrey pulled in the yard within five minutes. The reunion was beautiful to watch.
Daisy’s age: 16 years
The lump on her chest: a fatty tumor (one of several apparently). When first diagnosed, Daisy was given a year to live. That was 5 years ago.
Our farewell? Audrey and I chatted awhile; then, Audrey asked, “Ready to go home Daisy?” Daisy turned to look at me and barked four times.
“You’re welcome, Daisy. And, yes, I know you have to go. It’s okay.”
She bumped her big head against me, wagged her tail, and was off.
Farewell, Daisy! You were a lovely house guest. Feel free to visit, though next time: ask your mother first.
Fostering Chester 