Gardens For Goldens

Time Flies on Restless Pinions

Somehow it became December. Don’t ask me how.

The garden does not seem to know, but the neighbors’ Christmas lights are up and the rain they said would not come has arrived.

Muddy dogs are a sure giveaway.

It feels like we moved seamlessly from summer to winter. I would say that it has been unseasonably warm but I think we should stop saying that with climate change now increasingly knocking on our door. The garden is still full of color and wonder. Nature snuck in the beauties of fall.

One beauty was missed here. There were plans for a guest blog to remember a very special person and devoted volunteer. The words never came—perhaps too hard to find—leaving the impression that her memory belonged to only a few. That’s not the case. She was loved and is remembered for her good and tender soul, and for her devotion to the dogs. Be among your fellow angels, Debbie, and watch over us all.

My husband and I are on foster puppy number fifteen of the year. Perhaps that is where the year went.

Her name is Daisy.

She is perfect but someone didn’t think so. Purchased too young, they must have missed her hairy eyeball. When they realized it, she was thankfully was surrendered to us. We suspect we know where she came from originally and would not want to see her back there. She is home with me and my husband at Camp Yogi in preparation for becoming a one-eyed pirate.

It suits her since she belches and snores like a drunken sailor. And she has a forever mom anxiously awaiting her arrival who, too, thinks she is absolutely perfect.

There is so much to catch you up on. I will try to be better and get there amazing stories to you in the next few weeks. We can start with Heidi.

Out of the corner of their eye, passersby saw her in a ditch as they sped by. A neighborhood alert went out and a good Samaritan went out looking for her. Spotted hiding in a huge blackberry bramble, she was too scared to come to him. She ate and drank the food and water he left. He repeated this act for five days hoping to earn her trust. It was ridiculously hot. Failing all efforts, and sensing that her time was running out, he purchased a coyote trap. Two days later (with the help of bacon) she was caught. He whisked her to Homeward Bound where we were standing by. She was transported immediately to the vet where she was stabilized and underwent surgery for a broken leg and injured pelvis. After months of rehab, emotional and physical, this is Heidi now.

Their application said they needed a mellow, trained dog – relatively young. Behind the front desk, they met mellow, trained, lovable, affectionate, hilarious, and dog-cat-bunny-people-loving, sugar-faced, Rosie – 12 years old. They fell head over heels in love and took her home. You never know where your heart will lead you.

Weston had been dumped and was roaming and foraging in a remote, rural area. People put out food, but he was scared and uncatchable until a rescue team responded. He arrived covered in mats, malnourished, with skin, eye, and ear infections.

This is Weston today. He is in foster with hopes of an adoption. Paws crossed.

Monk is also 12.

When his owners left him at the vet and moved away, this adorable boy came to us. We removed as much of his cancer as we could. It may eventually come back but the reality is that old age will likely come knocking sooner.

Regan (in teal) is an amazing young girl who collects and delivers gifts for the dogs on her birthdays. This year, she left with a gift of her own and, in the process, gave a very special one to our deserving boy. Regan fell instantly in love; mom and dad said ‘yes,’ and Monk now has a forever home.

The seasons seem to pass so quickly now.

Maybe it is my age, or the time marked by so many memorable rescues.

“Time flies on restless pinions — constant never.” ~Friedrich Schiller

I will work to get caught up. There are stories to share, much-needed inspiring tales (and tails), and they should be remembered here.

Shasta’s Long Journey Home

My human dad raised me from a puppy. He loved me and I brought joy to his golden years. He was old and old school, and believed that dogs should be kept outside. So the yard was my world. My whole world.

I didn’t know anything different. I had everything I needed – until the day he was no longer there to care for me. Before he left this world, he needed to know that I was safe. So I was sent to Homeward Bound.

My world had been turned upside down and I had no idea why. You can see the look of sadness and terror in my face those first few days.

It was the first time that I slept inside. The yards are big, but my room was small. And I shared the dorm with other dogs. I knew nothing about other dogs and they scared me. So they would not sense my fear, I went on the offense. Loudly and ferociously.

I knew nothing of leashes and walks, so I pulled and tugged. When I came upon other dogs, or birds, or bunnies – I tried desperately to chase them. They called it prey drive. Apparently, it is not a desirable trait. All I wanted was to be with my human again in the safety of my small yard.

My first evaluation read like a horror story. So I was assigned homework. I don’t know if you believe in visitations, but I swear that my dad came to me one night in my dreams. He asked me to do one thing: try.

I worked very hard at becoming calm in the kennel. I became better at walking. And I worked on being less overbearing toward by dorm mates – inside and out. I was still running the fences with the dogs in the next yard, but now it was a game, not a threat.

I was sent for overnights, then weekends, and even weeks. They called it “foster.” It means a try-out. And I did great.

I jumped a fence and found myself with two other dogs and do you know what happened? Nothing. I did nothing.

I literally looked like a different dog.

I got adopted once; and returned. I was still too much dog, they said.

I saw dogs come and go. And come and go.

What I needed were humans who understood the heart of a dog who was most comfortable in a small world. A homebody who was happy with a homebody dog. Someone who could love me as I was – not the way they wished I would be. When I found them, I would give them my heart.

It took 266 days.

My name is Shasta and I am home.

I live inside.

I have a bed, a small, comfortable yard to call my own, and a special window to watch over it when I am not playing in it.

I have people who love me. They want to try to introduce me to some dog friends, but they are not in any hurry. Maybe when some time has passed and I have my confidence back. Or maybe never. They don’t care. They like me for me.

I hope my dad can see that I am OK now.

It was a long journey, but I am safe and I am loved. All I had to do was try.

Nature Will Improvise

We need new descriptors for gardening in our valley now. Thanks to climate change, “full sun” should be relabeled “scorch-resistant.” Beyond “drought tolerant” should be a new category: “desert-like.”

Everything I thought I knew about the garden has changed.

“Despite the gardener’s best intentions, Nature will improvise.” ~Michael P. Garofalo

Nature will improvise. But our gardens, as we have known them may be forever altered. Plants that once sought daylong sun now shrink from the blazing afternoon heat and require shade relief.

In years past, we had to provide protection for a couple weeks of 105 to 110-degree weather each summer. Now, most days from June through September brush or crest the century mark requiring a very different strategy for a garden that is not visited by its keepers daily and can only be partially served by a drip system.

Mulch is a necessity, but not near plant bases to ensure the water reaches roots. Planting in mounds surrounded by moats allows water to collect and pool while still providing good drainage. Systematically amending the clay soil with compost and leaf mulch helps it retain precious moisture, deliver nutrients the plants need, and supports an ecosystem of beneficial microorganisms.

Extra steps are required to support those who visit as well. Shallow trays of water are placed throughout the garden for thirsty birds, bees, and butterflies.

Tall, airy plants help to shade more tender varieties while still letting light in.

They also provide shelter for birds and butterflies from the baking sun.

With the cooler temperatures and a fall bloom, our hummingbirds and butterflies have returned to feast on salvias, penstemon, asters, zinnias, California fuchsia, and verbena.

I will have to get used to seeing these friends early and late in the season but not in the heat of summer.

“We are the first generation to feel the sting of climate change, and we are the last generation that can do something about it.” ~ Jay Inslee

Live in Each Season

“Live in each season as it passes.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

Having lived through the wet of winter, the erratic fits of spring, and the scorching heat of summer, it is time to rejoice in the mosaic of fall.

I love the chaos of the fall garden.

All the little starts and shoots have grown tall and wild.

Their well-defined contours are now a tangle of color and cascading form.

They lay all over each other like summer camp friends clinging on – knowing a goodbye is ahead.

Like the joy in seeing my little foster charges grow up and go home, the fall garden is the culmination of winter dreams, spring plantings and summer labors.

And then it starts again.
I walked through this weekend and made notes about what worked and what failed…
which to divide and which to let stand and go to seed.

Maria brought gifts from the plant sale that found new homes adding to next year’s bounty.

And planning is underway for a wedding in the garden next September.

Fall is full of chores – all in good time. First – a breath and a moment to sit, soak it up, and take it all in. Living in the season.

A Legacy of Faith and Hope

From a certain angle, you would never know there is something different about these two girls.

To me, they could not be more special. As puppies, they set me on the path to puppy fostering.

Surrendered by a breeder, they both had a congenital abnormality called Megaesophagus. The esophagus – which connects the throat to the stomach – is enlarged and lacks the elasticity or motility required to move food and liquid down to the stomach. Unless gravity is employed, puppies vomit up their food and drink, lose weight, fail to thrive and often do not survive. They were fragile and adorable.

We named them Faith and Hope.

And after a brief time at the rescue, they came to stay with us. They were the first puppies that my Bella accepted.

All previous attempts at fostering failed quickly. But somehow, Bella knew that these puppies had a special need and she overlooked their foolish puppy ways and welcomed them home.

Hope was adopted by one of our volunteers with a heart for special needs dogs.

Faith stayed with me until a home could be found.

As a very young puppy, she was extremely active.

But I noticed that as she grew, she would often stop and refuse to move.

I carried her home on more than one occasion. I thought she was just being stubborn.

She was adopted by a lovely woman who had a special needs son herself. She was drawn to Faith for this reason. But Faith’s stopping continued creating a challenge that was more than the woman knew how to deal with.

By this point, my Bella’s own special needs were overwhelming. She was losing her battle with cancer.

So not long afer Faith was returned, she went to foster with her sister – now named Sophie – and her big brother, Jasper.

We all met up at puppy class,

and Cassandra and I looked at each other with alarm when – in the middle of play – both girls simply collapsed.

They said that it was normal for puppies to overdo – but we both knew it was more. It turns out that Faith and Sophie had another inherited concern: centronuclear myopathy or CNM. Muscle fibers do not grow normally. Dogs are unable to walk and exercise normally and are prone to collapse or locking up in heat or cold. It develops between six weeks and seven months; the result of poor breeding. What we were seeing was its progression.

So what did Cassandra do? She adopted them both!

Four years later, you can clearly see the muscle wasting from other angles,

but the dogs have thrived in their mom’s great care. I honestly don’t know where they would be without her.

They began their journey in Hello Kitty chairs

and now have grown up custom dog chairs that they back themselves into to eat and sit upright for an hour while gravity does its work.

Mom monitors their exercise in hot or cold – but mostly they all enjoy couch time and snuggles together. Homeward Bound ensures their medical care for life.

Once a year, when mom takes a much-needed and well-deserved break, the dogs come to stay with us. This week, I was on puppy duty anyway, so I gladly took on Faith and Sophie’s feedings as well. It is the very least I could do for a woman who opened her heart and home to these very special sisters.

Bella left us not long after Faith went to live with Cassandra. I reflect often on her unique acceptance of these two girls. I think she would be proud of the puppy-fostering legacy she began – with Jackson and Yogi giving others hope and faith that the will get the start in life they deserve.

P.S…my sincere thanks to the adoption team who managed to get Barley and Hops adopted today so I can leave on my trip to Yellowstone worry free!!

Camp Yogi: Temporary Closure

This is Yogi taking a forced break from puppy fostering.
It has been nonstop since the beginning of July. GiGi’s litter: Garrett, Gabe, Griffin and Gracie.

Beau

Dude

and Conway.

Before them, Rose, Ty, and Nutmeg,

Anna,

Sara,

Lily,

and Noah.

Fourteen puppies in eight months. No wonder Yogi is exhausted!

He’s such a great sport and expert puppy raiser, entertaining them, teaching them boundaries, watching over them, and generally allowing them to torture him.

It’s that later part that put him in the cone. Too many puppy licks in ears and eyes leading to infections; lowered immune system and allergies causing hot spots. He has more than earned a break. Camp Yogi is temporarily closed for business. So, naturally, as soon as the cone went on, these two showed up.

Adorable little Heeler mix pups that someone dumped in a field near the rescue. Thankfully picked up by a good Samaritan and brought to us. We named them Barley and Hops. It kills me to leave puppies at the rescue. Not that we have not raised hundreds. But I believe puppies need to be in a home where they can get all of the attention, care, and socialization they need to start their young lives off right. And no matter how careful we are and how separate we keep them, there is always the risk of another dog coming in carrying their own unwelcome guest before these little fur balls have developed strong immune systems.

So naturally, one of these two became unwell. When I arrived last weekend, Barley was clearly not feeling good. His temperature had skyrocketed, he wasn’t eating, and he didn’t want to get up. Emergency measures were kicked in. The fever broke quickly, and by the next day, he was eating. But his legs were not working.

While my mind races right to dark, scary places, our leader stays firmly in the light of hope and drags me along with her. His brother showed no symptoms. She said to let the medicine and rest do its thing. They remained separated, but together, and isolated from all others with only the two of us watching over them. Thirty-six hours later, he got up long enough to poo. The next day, he stood to eat. And by the time Doc set eyes on him again, he greeted her standing with tail wagging. From there, he progressed rapidly. A week later, he is running and jumping…and now…my puppy worlds have collided.

While they wait for their own adoption day, Barley and Hops are hanging out with my former foster, Conway – now named Chance.

I’m hoping we can get Yogi over his hot spots as quickly, because everyone loves a happy ending.

Justice for Justice

She spent her life in an outdoor yard. So terrified of indoor enclosures was she that she broke through a window to avoid being confined.

Emaciated. Sick. She had to fight to protect what little food scraps she was given. A Great Pyrenees mix weighing in at only 58 pounds.

Her mouth partly paralyzed; who knows how many litters of puppies she had produced and what damage that had inflicted.

Used up, she was dumped. Two others were “coincidentally” found not far away; we suspect they were her offspring. Younger, they were spared from years of similar harsh treatment. The shelter staff named her Justice.

While the instinct was to surround her with love, she first had to be quarantined to ensure the safety of others. And then, the work of restoring her sense of self, safety, and trust would begin. Inside, was a surprisingly resilient and social girl.

That human beings can treat helpless animals with such callous disregard is a reminder of our capacity for evil.

That human beings can dedicate their lives and hearts to helping those abused and neglected find a path to a new and better life is a reminder of our potential for good.

We have seen both in the ways that humans treat each other these past weeks.

Justice would be to steal the freedom and dignity of her abusers as they stole hers. That is unlikely to happen. But renewal is found with the family who took her home today. With a huge yard where she can make herself at home, walks in the woods, and time at a family cabin and beach – Justice will be eased into the life of a loved family dog.

Today, the world was made right for Justice.

What Rescue Is

“Hi. We are interested in rescuing a Golden Retriever. Any suggestions?”

I have to bite my tongue when I get these messages. What this well-intentioned person means is that they want to adopt a rescued dog. Hurrah for them! The world needs more good people willing to give an abandoned, surrendered or rescued dog a home. They are a critical part of the effort. Rescue does not work without them. So I keep my thoughts to myself – except here, of course.

There’s a saying that rescue is not a verb; it’s a promise. I have quoted it. But the truth is that rescue is both a verb and a promise.

Rescue is the person who waits three days in a field for a dumped dog that she does not know and is twice her size to come close enough to leash. That dog needs to feel her intention and trust. It’s a risky leap of faith for both.

Rescue is the man who sees two chained dogs in the freezing mud of winter without shelter or clean water and knocks on the person’s door to persuade them to surrender the dogs ensuring that they both have a real chance at life.

Rescue is the person who convinces an addict who cannot help himself to allow help for his dog before it falls prey to the threats and ill intentions of others.

Rescue is the people who walk into a shelter to bring dogs to safety knowing they can’t save them all.

Rescue is the people who report the horrors of puppy mills, hoarding, abused animals, and overseas dog meat markets – and those that follow to shut them down and bring the animals to safety. What they witness can never be forgotten.

Rescue is the heartbreak of losing a hard-fought battle and coming back again – because you have to try.

Rescue is the people who show up without pay to transport, feed, bathe, heal, comfort, care for and help prepare a dog for the family interested in adopting a rescued dog.

And rescue IS the adopter who brings home a rescued dog that others have passed over time and again because they are too old or too sick or too much of a special need.

Like the woman who took home 13-year-old Holmes this weekend (right) because she learned he had been waiting since February. He was not the dog she came looking for, but he was the dog she felt needed her most.

Rescue is hard work. It is sometimes heartbreaking. It changes you. And it could not be more rewarding.

Rescue is a verb. And a promise.

Summer

Lazy. Hot. Slow. Summer’s Dance.

Outtakes

The last puppy is home! Garrett stayed with us for an extra week until his new mom came back from her vacation.

He was a joy to have. Smart. Funny. Playful. Sweet. A bit of a baby who gained some much-needed confidence with the big boys away from his littermates.

He has taken to his new family like water…forgetting all about us like yesterday’s news!

The thermometer topped out at 106 so the weeds were allowed to continue their march. Relative cool returns tomorrow and so will I to uproot the blasted Bermuda grass and free the sizzled garden.

Fifteen dogs are on their way to us, but the lull this week was lovely. After submitting my last work project on Friday, I started organizing old photo files. For the website, we look for a direct eye contact and a happy face. Looking into a dog’s eyes is where people first fall in love. But it is the outtakes that warm my heart and truly capture their personalities.

The brat…

The faker…

The “I thought I saw a kitty cat!”…

The joker…

The “I am safe” look…

And you name this one!

Somehow my teammates managed to get 11 dogs home this week before adopters passed out from the heat. All are special, but a few are especially so.

Casey lived such a sheltered life that he attached too strongly to his mom to the point of fearing all others—including her husband. The situation became impossible. His whole life was uprooted when he was surrendered to us. He gradually accepted a select few into his inner circle; their job was to expand his circle and help him learn how to adapt to new people and surroundings. His adopter has traveled two hours each way to visit him weekly and earn his trust. This week, our team will transport Casey to her so his transition to home is as smooth as possible.

Blackie is the other half of Blondie and Blackie.

These 10-year-old Shih Tzu mixes came to us through a volunteer when their human dad could no longer care for them. We thought they would be gone in a heartbeat, but two videos and one special appeal later, only Blondie had been adopted. They adapted surprisingly well as little dogs in a big dog rescue, but home is where they both belong. Another volunteer took Blackie home this week and will be flying him to his mother who has been searching high and low for a boy just like him.

Little Libby has a fan club. She was dumped in a field in Southern California mostly blind and deaf and covered in mats. She was picked up by animal control and taken to a high-kill shelter. Imagine the terror. She could not stop whimpering. A campaign was launched to secure her release and she was ultimately transported to us where she received good care and medical attention; still, she was inconsolable. Which made her the perfect candidate for our well-known dognapper who scooped her up and quickly became a foster-failure. Libby is now home.

Not a Golden Retriever in the mix and we couldn’t care less. All are deserving of a second chance and a place called home.

Dog Days of Summer: 2019

I know I have been away too long when this takes up residence in the entry arbor.

After an easy pace to the first half of the year, it has been raining dogs, lately.

My co-volunteers carry the heavy lifting of feeding, cleaning, vet trips and walking while a couple of us make sure that photos are taken, their bios get to the website, and we get the word out. It truly takes an army.

Jared has been with us since February. He arrived via another rescue that was having difficulty understanding his needs or finding a willing foster. He stayed with our foster for a bit and then came into our program. He was malnourished, anxious and acting out. Today, he is a dog transformed. Jared’s reward came this weekend when a like-hearted man saw straight into his soul.

Lola was pulled from a Southern California shelter but when their foster homes were all booked up, they told her rescuer to return her.

Her rescuer saw that this dog was extraordinary and was not having it. She took Lola to her home already overflowing with foster dogs where Lola comforted her severely autistic son and the rescuer began reaching out across the state. She found us. She had Lola flown to us.

And Lola found a family where two broken hearts – one human and one canine – were mourning the loss of their canine companion. Lola’s rescuer is now a member of our family, too.

Little Wyatt was dumped in front of a shelter at the age of only five months. He was malnourished and had a horrible skin issue but this wiggly boy wormed his way into everyone’s heart. Meds, good food, and TLC restored his health and coat – so his new family could see in him what we saw all along.

If everyone who put in an application for Mabel took home a dog, our kennels would be empty.

This girl is terrified of thunder, gunshots, fireworks, and loud noises. She lived in Utah where she was experiencing one storm after another. Mabel was transported to the safety of our Sacramento Valley where thunderstorms are extremely rare. Her new home will ensure the peace and quiet this girl needs and deserves.

And my husband and I have been hosts to these adorable puppies since the 4th of July.

The product of a Golden Retriever mom and a Dobie daddy, they inherited his looks and her heart. All are now adopted; one will stay with us for another week.

Meanwhile, the garden has been on automatic pilot where spiders are free to weave their webs across our arbor, bermuda grass runs wild, and the hot colors of summer have replaced the blues, purples and pinks of spring.