A Facebook friend posted a link to a Petfinder listing for a Japanese Chin. I needed to procrastinate for a few minutes, so I clicked it and read the information. Cue the sound of a jaw hitting table. Are they kidding? I’ve seen some spin in describing animals up for adoption, but this was a minor masterpiece. Here’s a dog who clearly has issues, but which are cleverly disguised with a sprinkling of exclamation points and an emoticon, and, shall we say, a pretty thorough re-framing.

Oh, and anyone who adopts him will have to pick up the tab for “a dental.” Wonder what kind of shape that mouth is in.

The name of the dog has been changed to protect any innocents from having their face slept on. First is the listing information. It will be followed by my “reinterpretation” of what is actually going on, from the dog’s point of view.

From the listing:

INFORMATION:  Tootsweet is a great boy with a huge personality! He loves people and dogs he knows, but he is territorial of his neighborhood with dogs he doesn’t know. And car rides … I don’t think he understands that an open car door doesn’t mean he can jump in with just anyone for a joyride! He loves to go for walks but his person needs to work with him on his social manners. … or just cross the street when there is another doggie walking into “his” space. Tootsweet is in great health but will need a dental at some point. Like most Chins, he is a quiet guy except he will bark when the doorbell rings….he gets so excited for company :) He presently lives with 3 other Chins and has never had a problem with any of them. He will choose his own place to sleep….sometimes that is on the pillow above your head, other times it’s the floor or the back of the couch. We pretty much let him choose…..and toys. He MUST have his morning play session with a favorite toy. He is such a great boy…..Oh, he weighs about 13 lbs, has a cute underbite and sits nicely for a treat. If you have any questions, you can email me. Everyone who meets Tootsweet loves him!!!
HEALTH: Good, but will need a dental in his new home.
————-
TOOTSWEET sez:

Ok, here’s the deal. I’m in charge of everything. No one has ever said “No” to me, so it must be true. Therefore, I can do whatever I want.

I can also enforce my will on anyone or anything I want to because I have “a huge personality”.

I don’t particularly like dogs that I don’t control, so I let them know exactly, in great detail and at great length, what I think of them (but only when safely on a leash with the human at the other end for back-up). “My territory” is as big as all outdoors. Deal with it.

I sleep wherever I want, which includes up around your head if that’s where I want to be. Too bad if you don’t like it. Try to move me and see what happens.

I own the car, so I get in when I want to, which is ahead of you.

I own the house, so I make sure whoever comes to the door knows it.

Even though I’m a boy, I’m a bitch if you don’t play with me when I want you to AND with the toy of MY choice.

Dear foster mom: I sit nicely for a treat just to con you into thinking you are in control. I’ve got you trained. Totally.

Some of my bad behavior may be caused by constant discomfort because my teeth and gums hurt, but no one has bothered to do anything about that.

You feel sorry for poor cute little homeless me, don’t you? Hehe, sucker. If you want to adopt me, great! New worlds to conquer!

I realized that this little snow job irritated me because I can imagine this poor dog being bounced like a rubber ball from home to foster to home to foster home on som on because of his behavior, which needs to be addressed by someone with a higher level of expertise than the average dog owner. And certainly higher than the well-meaning, but clueless, foster person. Your thoughts?

The AKC dumped Pedigree as a sponsor after a partnership of nearly a quarter of a century because, well, it depends on whose story you believe. AKC says it’s because Pedigree’s ads promoting shelter rescues bummed people out and made viewers change the channel. The truth is probably much simpler: AKC has no use for shelters. What most of us have come to understand over the years is that AKC is going to shun any person or organization not fully in agreement with their rules, regulations and principles. The AKC breed standard isn’t about promoting the health of a breed, just the look. Shelters are about saving lives. They haven’t the luxury of concerning themselves with breed standards. As the AKC will freely admit, the breed standard is their coin of the realm.  That’s problematic when you’re talking about a German Shepherd, a Pug, or a Pekingese.

Speaking of Pekingese, what was your reaction when Best in Show was awarded to Malachy the Peke last night? You didn’t stand up and cheer? Why not? Don’t answer. I know why. I know what your reaction was (let’s censor it down to “oh darn”). Personally, I was rooting for the wirehaired dachshund, but I noticed something interesting in my Facebook feed around 10:45pm Eastern last night. My many dog-obsessed friends may have been rooting for different group winners, but they all said largely the same thing before the winner was announced. “Not the Peke. Not the Peke. Please God, not the Peke.” When Malachy won, the universal reaction was “Oh darn” (or a distant cousin thereof). Even more fascinating, a number of people commented “AGAIN?” There’s a perception that Pekes win an inordinate number of Westminsters. The truth is that Malachy is the first bedroom slipper, oh sorry, I meant to say Pekingese, to be awarded BIS at Westminster since 1990, and only the fourth ever to take home the grand prize. If you look at the list of BIS winners, you’ll see that terriers and spaniels have been dominant in recent memory, accounting for a combined dozen wins since the last time a Peke won before last night.

So why the outrage and disgust from so many? Perhaps it’s because the Peke has become emblematic of everything that is wrong with breeding standards and trends today. Perhaps it has something to do with the Peke typifying the dog as fashion accessory movement (though to be fair, in the case of the Pekingese, twas always thus). My pal Deb Moulton supplied an interesting link. Check out what the Peke looked like a century ago here and even more clearly here. Now look at Malachy. The AP writer called him a “bobbing pompom.” Ok, let’s presume the writer isn’t a big dog expert. The point is the Peke barely looks like a dog to the untrained eye. This was not an issue with Hickory’s win at Madison Square Garden last year. A Deerhound won Westminster in 2011, and everyone had to admit he was an outstanding specimen of a Deerhound (right, Christie?).

A Pekingese, particularly as we’ve come to know them in 2012, does an alarmingly poor job of exemplifying “dog” as a healthy, vital part of our lives. The Dobie, the Kerry Blue and (I keep saying) the Wirehaired Dachshund had it all over Malachy, and yet today we’re reading about a bobbing pompom as newly crowned royalty.

The AKC has a whole host of problems, but chief among them is a massive public relations undercurrent that reinforces the perception of them being the 1% vs the rest of the canine loving world’s 99%. Out of touch, insensitive, arrogant, and reinforcing all the wrong stereotypes…and being utterly uninterested in becoming anything other than what they already are.

The only potential silver lining I can point to is that Crufts opens on March 8. I don’t presume to hope that a Dachshund will win Best in Show across the pond, but please…not the Peke, not the Peke, please God, not the Peke.

Oh, and the wedding. A couple got married today in the benching area and had their reception in the press room. A Tibetan Mastiff, the one who won the breed, gave the bride away. A wedding at Westminster is a first. The ceremony was officiated by Cherilyn Frei.

Yesterday’s excitement was that my friend Susan’s Bloodhound, Windfall, took Best of Breed. Susan’s other Bloodhound, Kiss, took Best Opposite. That’s a rare thing for a breeder to have two dogs do so well at Westminster. She and I sat and watched the Groups together last night and were talking about how it’s always the dogs with the extreme features that get the biggest crowd applause. Joanne Anderson and I have been noting the same thing tonight: in the Working Group it was the Dogue de Bordeaux and the Neapolitan Mastiff that drew the loudest whoops and whistles, breeds that Nature would never make herself. Says the woman whose breed isn’t as extreme as some but certainly has features that wouldn’t be found naturally.

You may have noticed you’re not getting much on terriers. They are not the Group of greatest interest for me. I do like Cupcake the white Bull Terrier (or maybe I just like cupcakes), and I hear that Adam, the Smooth Fox Terrier I profiled for VetStreet, won the breed and is here in the ring. He’s up now.

Of more interest, I finally found time to go to Bonham’s auction house this morning and view the dog art that will be auctioned tomorrow. Happily for Jerry, the prices are too rich for my blood. He is grateful. I also did not find anything I liked at William Secord’s gallery. He is exhibiting, and selling, the last of Geraldine Rockefeller Dodge’s collection.

I saw Boykins this morning and was hoping to meet the one belonging to a Facebook friend, but we didn’t find each other in the crowd, so instead I went wandering and found my way to the High Line, an elevated park with a view of the harbor, including the Statue of Liberty.

We hear that the Irish Terrier likes to get into as much trouble as he can. I would imagine that’s a lot. I’m sitting next to Joanne Anderson, who compiled all the media information on the dogs here, so she is a font of information. I’m glad she’s my friend.  The Miniature Schnauzer, JR, is from Beijing and is owner-handled. The owner says the breed is very popular in China.

Casting back to the Sporting Group, the 5-year-old Irish Setter who won had 15 puppies last spring, all of whom survived. She’s now back in the ring, an inspiration to working mothers everywhere.

Okay, I love the Staffie Bull Terrier, Daphne. What a fun-loving dog. She is leaping around in the ring and at home plays ball for hours on end with her favorite kid.

And the Kerry Blue takes the Terrier Group, GCh Perrisblue Kennislain’s Chelsey, handled by Bill McFadden.

Coming up for BIS are the Irish Setter, the Wirehaired Dachshund, the Doberman, the Kerry Blue, the Pekingese, Dalmatian, and the GSD that couldn’t walk. I’m rooting for the Irish Setter.

More tidbits while we’re waiting: the Malamute likes to snowboard with his handler. The Afghan was born in Chile, raised in the U.S. and now lives in Sweden; she won the breed here in 2010. The Spinone likes to chase butterflies. The Weimaraner goes by Schatze Page, after Lauren Bacall’s role in How To Marry a Millionaire. The Anatolian, Gator, lives on a ranch in Idaho and guards cattle against wolves, coyotes and mountain lions. He also mothers the orphaned calves. He also won the breed here last year. When he leaves here, he’ll go right back to work.

The lights have dimmed and the spotlights are circling. Here come the dogs! The Peke is last in and the handler makes a slow, small circle with him. I think with those dogs that the handler should just tuck the dog under his arm like a football and run around the ring with it. A PETA activist just tried to run in the ring and was roundly booed and hustled off.

The Irish Setter is prancing and dancing. The Dalmatian, from Laguna Beach, likes to surf in his off time. I’m surprised we’ve never seen him. And here is Cartman waddling around the ring.

And the winner is NOOOOOOOOOO the Pekingese. I have nothing more to say.

Dora

Just a few weeks ago, in the comment thread for my Things Not to Say to the Owners of Small Dogs post, I allowed as how my small dog isn’t one of the tinies and isn’t really at risk of being mistaken for a squeaky toy by large or giant breeds, the way the tinies are.That was then. This is now.

At the time, I was thinking of getting a second dog–in the spring, of course. It would take time to find the right dog, and the spring is a good time. I wanted a male this time. Another puff. Black and white if I got my pick of color, but I have never in my life wound up with the color I had in mind when I set out to acquire the next pet, so I knew that wouldn’t happen.

Then I discovered that Addy’s breeder’s website was down, and I sent her a Facebook message asking if everything was okay. She had decided, for family reasons, that it was time to retire from breeding and showing. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but when the website payment came due, she decided it didn’t make sense to pay for another year.

Oh, and she had two hairless girls she wanted to place.

You know where this is going.

After some back and forth over the details of the two dogs, energy level, personality, we settled on one of them as being the more likely match for me and Addy. By good fortune, the woman who had handled the other girl when she was showing heard that Addy’s breeder was retiring, and asked if she could have the girl she’d shown. Addy and a friend of mine met the breeder and the dog at a mutually convenient Petsmart, so that the girls could meet on neutral ground. it went very well, the girls weren’t instant best friends, but they were favorably disposed towards each other, and the little hairless girl was a total charmer.

The breeder, meanwhile, was seeing Addy for the first time in several years–and she told me that Addy was once again the dog she had sent to Virginia, not the scared, emotional mess she had gotten back from Virginia. That made me feel wonderful!

Of course, the outcome was inevitable. I took Dora–a new name for her, the breeder’s name for her was, I think, a result of having had to come up with too many names over sixteen years. The girls are both adjusting–Dora to the fact that she’s in a new home and there’s only one other dog, and Addy to the fact that there is now another dog. They are walking together wonderfully; on our longer walks, I have the two dogs walking slightly behind me, side by side. Dora is following Addy’s example, and learning “upstairs” and “downstairs” and “in your crate.” Also, of course, the all-important “Let’s go!”

And, because God has a sense of humor, she’s a black and white dog, and weighs just 8.6 pounds.

“Gina … Gina! I need help,” he said from next room. “Sorry! It’s Torky!”

The house burning down I could probably sleep through. A medical emergency? Never. I jumped out of bed and careened into the living room, blinking at the light and trying to focus without my glasses on. “What happened?!” I said.

He was kneeling next to his dog on the hardwoods, holding her still on a bath towel. She stood there on all fours, looked at me guilty eyes, and wagged her tail slowly. She looked just fine … except …

“She chewed off her bandage!” said Ed.”She was in the car and when I came out there were pieces of bandage everywhere. What should I do?!”

“Is she bleeding?” I asked, and he said she wasn’t. “We need to get a bandage back on her,” he said. “If I hold her, can you … ?”

“No,” I said. “You’ll have to take her in. She’s too soon post-op and it needs to be looked at before it’s wrapped.”

He blanched. My veterinary hospital is a specialty and emergency practice, so I knew he could take her where the record of her recent surgery for a malignant tumor was. But it was now after midnight, early Sunday morning, and that meant the trip to ER would be … expensive.

And that is a bigger problem for Ed than for many people.  Fortunately, there was still money in the fund-raising account for Torky’s surgery, so off he went.

I’d barely fallen back asleep when I heard them come in, but I hadn’t the energy to get up again. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

This morning, Ed couldn’t wait to tell me what happened.

“They didn’t charge me,” he said. “I went in and it was slow. I explained that her surgery had been done there, and that she’s chewed off the bandage. The vet looked at the wound, said it was fine then they wrapped her back up. I went to pay, and they waved me off.”

Oh, and did I mention it was his birthday?

Like most dogs, Torky hated The Cone of Shame she’d been sent home wearing. She slammed it into Ed’s knees once or twice before he got the message and took it off her. But now he’s not hearing her complaints anymore. She has lost her no-cone privileges, and will be wearing it until the veterinarians say otherwise.

Because one middle-of-the-night post-op panic is more than enough.

—

Image: Torky’s pleading eyes beg for release from the Cone of Shame this morning. On her bandage, one of Drew’s empty IV bags protects the foot from the damp lawn.

So what’s wrong with sharing some sugarless gum and candy?

The problem is that a sweetener called xylitol can be fatal to dogs. It could be a problem for cats if they bothered to eat it, but it is not part of Mouse Toast at the Rodent Buffet.

It’s not a problem for people. It’s actually great stuff for diabetics because it doesn’t affect glucose levels or plasma insulin. It helps prevent tooth decay, which is why it’s in so much sugarless gum. It’s referred to as an artificial sweetener, but that’s a misnomer: it’s a sugar alcohol made from the bark of birch trees. You can find it in all kinds of unexpected stuff: nasal spray, vitamins, bulk baking sweetener, candy, powdered protein, and tons of dental care products.

But boy oh boy, do dogs metabolize it differently than we do. When dogs gobble up two or three or 60 pieces of gum containing xylitol, or a plate of cookies made with bulk xylitol for baking, they get a whooshing release of insulin that creates what is referred to as a “sudden drop in blood sugar” resulting in hypoglycemia; in dogs, it’s the metabolic equivalent of Wile E Coyote going over a cliff and falling to the ground far, far away with a very big thud at the bottom.

If too much xylitol gets in their system, their liver goes wonky. Wonky enough to spend days in the ER on the brink of death running up humongous bills. Wonky enough to go into liver failure and die.

Nasty reaction, that.

Dogs who only eat two or three pieces of gum can have a slightly upset GI system, lethargy, or some seizures. But many of them end up in the ER or the clinic. Some don’t need to go. It depends on how much xylitol they ingested.

Each brand and type of gum or candy has a different amount of xylitol, ranging from hardly any (it’s really expensive) to a lot: technically, from 0.9 mg to 1,000 mg per piece of gum, according to the ASPCA Animal Poison Control Center. A Great Dane chomping a few pieces of the 0.9 mg per piece gum isn’t likely to be a big deal, but a Maltese with two pieces of 1,000 mg per piece will in serious trouble.

Read one of the best articles on the topic: Sweet but Deadly by our own Christie Keith.  And here’s a new one I just wrote.

So why am I blogging about it after just having written an article? Because I know a sweet dog who spent nearly a week in the hospital fighting liver failure after eating nearly 60 pieces, yet managed to survive. Her vet bill was about $7,000. Her owners had no idea that xylitol could harm their dog. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else.

It is frightening to me to know that so many dog owners do not realize the dangers of xylitol, and are walking around with the potential for liver failure in their pockets. I’m repeating the warning ad nauseum until dog owners know that xylitol is worse for their dogs than chocolate, grapes, or raisins. So be aware of it: know this toxicity, tell your dog-owning friends about this danger, and keep anything with xylitol inaccessible to your dog. It’s not as bad as ingesting antifreeze or rodenticide, but it’s still toxic.

Be aware of it so your dog, or the dogs of your friends, don’t become a statistic at the SPCA Animal Poison Control Center. Spread the word!

I’ve had three fully stocked first aid kits ever since; one in the house, one in the car, and a third one at the Kindred Spirits dog training yard. I use a tool box for each kit, prominently marked as “First Aid Kit.”

When I pull a kit out, people do tend to laugh. Maybe because I use a tool box. They aren’t that big; but I guess they are big enough that to some people they are funny. But when someone is hurt – human or canine – my first aid kit is the one everyone goes for. So I guess having them really isn’t all that funny.

Recently I needed my first aid kit when Bashir got stung by a bee on his tongue. I didn’t see him snap at it but I assume that’s what happened. I shoved a couple of Benadryl down his throat immediately and took off for the vet’s clinic.

Every first aid will differ depending on your dogs (and/or cats, ferrets, birds or other pets) and on the activities you do. For example, when we were back east and did search and rescue work, I had a bigger kit in the car and a smaller more mobile one to carry. Your activities with your dogs will also dictate what you need to have in the kit as will the weather where you live or travel with your dogs.

A basic kit should include, at a minimum:

Gauze pads of various sizes (more than you think you’ll need and of various sizes)

Bandaging tape of different widths (again, more than you think you’ll ever use)

Stretch tape; the kind that sticks to itself but not the dog

Vet wrap (several rolls)

Butterfly closures

Band-aids of various sizes

Hydrogen peroxide

Antibiotic ointment

Cortisone ointment

Benadryl

Pepto Bismal

Motion sickness medication

Nutracal

Sterile eye wash

Wet wipes

Antiseptic wipes

Cold compress

Styptic pencil and/or powder

Scissors; two pair – round tip and sharp tip

Nail trimmers; scissors kind

Tweezers, metal ones not plastic

Narrow beam flashlight

Disposable razors

Pen, pencil, and paper

A space blanket

An extra leash and a dog collar

A muzzle

Also in my car is a couple of towels, paper towels, and a blanket. I also carry bottled water.

Check your kit every six months to replace expired medications and to replace things that have been used.

Put a copy of your dog’s vaccination schedule and any medications in the kit, too, along with your veterinarian’s phone number.

If you aren’t sure about your first aid skills, enroll in a pet first aid class. The American Pet First Aid classes are pretty basic but come with a small first aid book and a DVD. The book is great for adding to the first aid kit as a quick reference.

Photo above: Bashir, photo by Liz Palika

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.

An animal rescue is meant to be a conduit — critters come in one end, are improved and assessed in various ways — and leave out the other end, into what we try to ensure are permanent, happy homes.

So why do we hear so many complaints about rescues and fences?

One kind of fence, a sort of type-specimen for the problem with many rescues,  is the literal one.  If you are applying to adopt a dog from a rescue or from a shelter that has any sort of screening program, you can expect to answer a question about whether your yard is fenced.

What you can’t expect is to know what the “right” answer is.

For one rescue, the fence may be a red flag that you will toss the dog out into the yard for “exercise,” and may not be committed to walks and training.

For a different rescue, the fence or lack of it is just an entree to further questions about your plans, and may be useful information when matching a dog to you.

But all too-often, the fence — of specific height, construction, and materials — is a non-negotiable item.  No fence, no dog.  In general, these are organizations that place no faith in the efficacy of training, and undue faith in the reliability of physical restraint.  You may find that a dog acquired from one of these entities has not had the benefit of any education during his time in the kennel or a foster home.  He comes to you ignorant and unmannerly, and the expectation is that he will remain that way, a cute and useless drunk-and-disorderly love-object who has to be shut out in that fenced yard when company comes.

The lack of a fence becomes the wall between you and adopting a dog.

The thing about walls is, they are rigid, but unreliable.

The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.

This week, Slate published this article by Emily Yoffe decrying the unreasonable intrusiveness  and petulant criteria of pet rescue adoption screening.

And I’m inclined to agree.  Except when I don’t.

For every story that a would-be adopter tells about being turned down to adopt for inflexible, unreasonable, and downright insane reasons, I can match you a story from a shelter or rescue worker about the entitled, lying, deluded would-be adopter who thinks that adopting agencies have no right to ask any questions or indeed, practice any judgment about where the animals they have cared for, rehabbed, and come to love should go to live.

I’ve been on both sides of that story.  Guys, when the write-up on the website says that this specific dog will not be available to a home with children, the fact that your eight kids “fell in love” with her picture does not alter that reality.  Are you trying to get your offspring bitten?  Do you think we decided that for whimsical reasons, because we are communiss anti-family atheist un-American lesbian separatists?  One of us has been caring for this dog for months.  That person may well be a professional trainer, and is likely to be a very experienced foster person with years of experience dealing with this breed.  He or she has been working with an adoption coordinator, and maybe with one of the behavior coordinators, to both assess the dog’s temperament and address any training needs she may have.  We are not just making this up, and there is no injustice involved in the fact that we are the ones to decide who can adopt each dog that is in our care.  We do own the dog, you know.

On the other hand.

I used to volunteer for a local shelter.  I’d walk dogs, foster litters of kittens, but mainly, I fostered supposedly hard-case dogs — the ones that were borderline in behavior, the ones that worried the kennel workers, and might trigger a meeting of the euthanasia committee for this “No Kill” shelter.  They all left my house reformed and adoptable.

I stopped actively volunteering for them when my breed rescue duties expanded, but also when I discovered that their personnel wouldn’t refer adopters to my training practice because I was not politically correct — but they would continue to send me “thugs” to “fix” in ways that they must have imagined were brutal, but which were okay as long as they didn’t see or hear about it, and nobody knew. I declined to continue using the servants’ entrance, as it were.  But I didn’t say anything when I stopped.

Couple years ago, I applied online to adopt a cat from them.  I was interested in a mature housecat that liked dogs, if they had one, or if one came in.

The application was not extensive, but it did inquire about the reproductive status of all my current animals. Meaning, had all of my critters had their gonads removed?

(This can be a simple screening question.  For example, if an applicant wishes to adopt an adolescent male pit bull puppy, the presence of a male Akita in the household might be a cause for concern, and potentially greater concern if the older dog is intact.  This can be an opportunity for rescue or shelter personnel to suggest that a female pup might be more conducive to pack harmony.  Just for example.  Or if the rescue releases pups on a sterilization contract, rather than pre-sterilized, they may choose not to adopt a male pup to a family with a bitch until one of them is sterilized, especially if the family doesn’t have the experience and means to keep the dogs separated effectively.)

My answer was no.  Out of seven total dogs and cats, one of my SAR dogs retains her ovaries, and is likely to do so indefinitely.

Their response:  Did I need help paying for her to be spayed?

I did not.  (And if I did, what business would I have seeking to add another pet to the household?  But perhaps this was a trick question with no right answer.  I never found out.)

Ah well, then — no cat for you.

Did the shelter imagine that the bitch endowed with the freakish reproductive organs that she was born with would miscegenate with a neutered cat, adding both numbers and strange to the shelter population?  Were they worried about providing bathrooms for the transpecial offspring of the English shepherd and the moggie?

Is there some research showing that dog ovaries emit fumes toxic to kittehs?

Or was there simply a reflexive, unexamined, self-reinforcing orthodoxy within the adoption department that dictated:  People with unspayed dogs are all puppymilling trailer-trash who will use the cat for target practice?

The adoption “counselor” seemed excited by dangling what she thought of as the “reward” of being allowed to pay them for a cat as an incentive for me to do the obviously right thing and surgically sterilize my SAR partner.  (Only then could the world be spared the horror of more superb working dogs being carefully bred and sent out to loving homes where they will perform feats of service during their long and healthy lives.) She was on a holy crusade against dog gonads, and a theoretical kitteh was her spear.  Maybe I could be coerced into following the One True Path.

I was not interested in what she had in her bait bag.  And I no longer recommend that people support this shelter, or do so myself.  I can guarantee that this shelter lost a great deal more than I did when it turned what was meant to be a mutually pleasant exchange into a power gambit over my dog husbandry.*  Have you any idea how easy it is to acquire a cat elsewhere?

This very well-heeled shelter’s “thinking” is a good example of the fallacy that confuses rigidity with rigor.

The words share a Latin root, but are not the same thing.

There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors.’

Rigorous standards for pet adoption are those that are designed to ensure that adopters are qualified to own a pet at all — they aren’t, say, on probation for zoophilia, or planning to sneak the dog past a disapproving landlord, don’t have a history of adopt ‘n’ dump.    They are designed to discover whether the kind of animal the rescue offers is a good match for this adopter.  And they are designed to help the rescue or shelter find a good match — or determine whether they currently have one — for this adopter.

What we want for the animals we care for is long, happy lives where they fulfill their individual potential and are assets to their families and communities.

Just avoiding legally actionable abuse is not where we set the bar.  Thus screening — including interviews, background checks, reference checks, often home checks — and thus, the adoption contract.

Because in your town, chaining the dog to a stump out back and tossing him some Ol’ Roy once a day may meet legal standards for proper husbandry — but it’s not the reason our volunteer just spent four months patiently training him to stay, come, and stop hiding behind the couch when a stranger comes in.  The second quickest way to burn out a foster volunteer is to send her charges to carelessly-selected homes.  (The quickest way is to kill them for space when she returns them to the shelter and call it “euthanasia.”)

I don’t have a lot of sympathy for would-be adopters who blurt out “You’d think we were adopting a child!” when faced with a three-page application.  I strongly suggest that these people, if they wish to avoid a hearty smek in the puss, refrain from such exclamations within earshot of anyone who actually has adopted a child, or is in the process, or dogforbid was unable to do so.

If a rescue is not applying any rigor to adoption screenings, and has none in its adoption contract, you should ask yourself — on what else are they skimping?  How well has each dog been vetted, evaluated, and rehabbed — medically and behaviorally?  If I have trouble with the dog, will my calls be returned?  If I need training or behavior advice, does the rescue have both the willingness and the expertise to help me?  If I have a life setback that makes it impossible to keep my dog, will they really take him back — and if they did, would I be happy knowing that his next owner would be selected in the same way I was?

Many of the would-be adopters featured in Yoffe’s article, and many online commenters, sheepishly admit that after being rejected by rescue organizations, they “did the wrong thing” and went to a breeder for a dog.

First, I am not too thrilled at how thoroughly the public has reflexively adopted the attitude that buying a puppy from a breeder is always “wrong,” in contrast to the always “right” choice to adopt from anyone who claims to be a “rescue.”  We can discuss that false dilemma another day.

An ethical breeder’s screening process is about the same as a well-run rescue’s.  Her contract is going to be similarly rigorous.  There’s going to be a return-to-breeder clause.  Any differences in criteria should be pretty directly related to differences in the dogs being offered.  For example, a well-bred puppy won’t automatically be sold on a sterilization agreement, though there should be some health and performance criteria for breeding written into the contract, and this can be intrusive.  A small puppy places more demands on your time and attention than does a mature dog, so the breeder may be legitimately more concerned about your working hours or other commitments, and this can be intrusive.  But a well-bred, well-raised puppy should not have any fear issues, health issues, temperament issues — no issues or hard caveats, period, just varying potentials — so a conscientious breeder is less likely to have restrictive criteria about what home a specific puppy can go to.  (She’s still likely to select the puppy for you, or narrow your choices to the ones that she thinks will make a good match.)

Good rule of thumb.  If it is way easier for you to get a puppy from a breeder than it is to adopt a dog from a shelter or rescue something is very wrong.

Maybe something is very wrong with the rescue or rescues, as the Slate article claims.

More likely, something is very wrong with the breeder.  Because for every inflexible, misanthropic, paranoid, power-tripping teetering-on-the-edge-of-hoarding animal rescue group out there, I give you a dozen internet puppymillers, small-time “miller lite” producers looking for pin money, and “Gypsy is such a pretty Labradoodle, let’s get pups from her” dabblers who have put no thought or expertise into producing the pups for sale and don’t care about you, or about what happens to the pup after the check clears.  What I said about rescues that don’t screen also applies to breeders; if it’s easy come, easy go, you will be SOL when you need help with your dog.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.

Consider this a plea for moderation, flexibility, and understanding.

Adopters, please appreciate that the rescue personnel — almost certainly unpaid volunteers — have poured their time, money, lives and love into each dog they are offering for adoption.  You are not “doing them a favor” by taking an unwanted animal off their hands, and any hint of that attitude is going to raise hackles.  If you “fudge” on your application about some “triviality,” expect to be regarded as a liar and rejected.  If you come across as crazy or unstable, expect a reasonable person to reject your application by finding some statable reason other than “You give me the wiggums.”   A thorough vetting when you apply and a strong contract that protects the animal’s welfare are evidence that the rescue is not a revolving-door profitable “nonprofit.”  You are a stranger, and you are asking to be entrusted with something these people love. Approach accordingly.

Rescues and shelters, understand that tick-marks on a checklist are no substitute for judgment.  Examine your procedures and criteria for potential Catch-22′s and any unexamined shibboleths that your organization may have enshrined without a reasonable cause.  Potential adopters are, almost to a person, excited about adding a dog to their lives, and also excited about the feelgood rush of adopting rather than buying.  There’s no reason to make the procedure so distasteful, so marred by dominance posturing and Mrs. Grundy judgements, that even approved adopters come away wanting to spit out the bile.  This is not an adversarial process.  Most people are not trying to pull something over on you, but the more nervous you make them, the more evasive and defensive they are likely to become.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

————
* Later the counselor found out “who I was” and allowed that an exception might be made on that basis, but only for certain specific cats — by which I think she meant, the ones they couldn’t move out of the shelter, i.e. the ones that were less valuable to them.  Nice.  No thanks.

But she’ll be fine.

Better yet: The chip-in covered the cost! Thank you, everyone!

So, that was Riker’s last therapy dog visit.

I have been doing therapy dog work since the mid-1980′s – Riker was my ninth certified dog. He began visiting when he was just over a year old but we had a hard time finding the right people for him to visit. He has always had so much love to give he was too enthusiastic for visiting the elderly. He wasn’t rowdy or dangerous; he was just too MUCH. He wasn’t calm and quiet enough to visit hospitals or reading programs. So for a while we just tried various types of visits but couldn’t find the right place.

Then I got a call from a day care center for kids being protected by the state. They wanted to try a therapy dog but had special requirements as the handler would need to have a high security clearance. Since I already had one from the military and would just need to have it updated, I told them I would give it a try.

This visit was made for Riker. He loves kids and the kids loved him. His puppy-like face, thick coat that just asks to be petted, and his enthusiasm were a wonderful fit. I have always said that people aren’t 100 percent reliable and dogs shouldn’t be considered to be, either, but with those kids Riker was. Some days he would disappear under a pile of kids and all I would see was his tongue hitting every single face. As a dog trainer I tell people all the time not to allow this kind of behavior but with Riker at this facility, I did.

Many of the kids were very damaged – I won’t go into details – but he won them all over – every single one.

As the director and I talked yesterday, she knew that Riker’s time visiting was limited. As a dog owner herself she had seen the signs. But she also didn’t know if her facility was going to continue either. State budget cuts had been threatening them for a while. But I promised when Sisko was more grown up mentally, if he showed signs of being good with unpredictable kids, I would call her.

Meanwhile, although I’m very sad as Riker always enjoyed this work so very much, at almost 13 he also deserves his retirement. sigh……

Photo: Riker was the first dog registered in the AKC’s new therapy dog program last year.