Here and Everything In It

Let's Do It Again!

Last year, we all voted for the NWT SPCA Northern Community Animal Shelter  in the Aviva Community Fund competition. AND THEY WON!

(there were three separate links up there :)

This year, Nunavut is desperately in need of the same help -- funds to build an animal shelter for the mistreated, abandoned and abused dogs in its territory.

Geography doesn't matter when it comes to animal welfare. Having lived in the North, it's not hard for me to imagine that the treatment of animals doesn't change with the political boundary between the NWT and Nunavut. When I was in the NWT, it was clear that the rights and general treatment of animals had a long way to go to reach humane standards. I'm sure it's very much the same in Nunavut.

Please register with the Aviva Community Fund again this year, and vote to build a shelter for northern animals that are otherwise abused, starved, or left to die of exposure.

This is the link to the Nunavut Animal Shelter page on the Aviva site.

Right now they're in first place and there are 12 more voting days to go! You can log in to vote once a day, so the sooner you register, the more voting power you have!

It's not an extensive registration process to vote on the Aviva site -- you just need an email address.

My friend once told me something wonderful. She said she believed that all the animals you love on this earth will greet you in the afterlife, wagging their tails, chirping and purring, happy to have you home. And if that isn't a cozy, lovely thought, I don't know what is.

Please vote. Spread the love.

Baby Needs A New Pair Of Shoes

Hi! We're in California! Lots of things have happened in the last few days!

Let's start at the beginning ...

Saturday came sooner than expected, and we all managed to pile into the truck by late morning despite our plans to get going at the crack of 8am. So, one baby, five dogs, and two adults, crammed into a teensy Toyota Tacoma with one hockey bag, two schoolbags, two suitcases and a baby seat? Turns out packing for a trip with a child and several billion canines produces a total luggage weight much greater than the combined weight of the travelers actually doing the traveling.

Two of the five dogs were fosters, one of whom was Woody, the dog we've been trying to get our foster paws on for three years:

As it turns out, foster dogs aren't such great travelers, and about an hour into our journey (as I was crammed into the rear bench seat in the truck cab attempting to soothe a perpetually screaming infant), I started to hear some strange clicking and sliding noises coming from the back of the truck. Turns out Woody had expelled some anxiety diarrhea into her crate (she was separated from the general population due to previous anti-social interactions), and was sliding around as though she was on skates and sloshing all that nasty business over the edge of the crate and onto the other dogs' blankets.

Needless to say, Scarlet was pissed.

So we stopped on the side of the highway, and while I corralled the other four dogs, Brad hauled everything (Woody included) out of the back of the truck for a deep paper towel scouring. Half an hour and a novel's worth of swear words later, we were back on the road.

After that, everything went rather smoothly, and we dropped Silver off at her rescue and Ida met us in Calgary to pick up Woody:

Innis was pretty good on the plane from Calgary to Sacramento; some crying, some runny nosing, but he spent most of the time whipping his head back and forth, looking for pretty ladies to flirt with. He certainly spread the baby love, shooting gummy grins to anyone within firing distance.

... and also took some in-flight pictures of himself, apparently.

Now he's got a cold, but is not (surprisingly) that much more miserable than usual because of it. We're trying to keep his snotty little self away from Cy (who is adorable), so that we don't end up with a house full of cranky, sick babies.

We're not going to let the sniffles get us down, though, and have been going on our walks in the sunshine just as planned. Innis is slowly getting into the groove of being in a stroller, though he's still adjusting to the idea of not being carried absolutely everywhere. For now, the little emperor must be satisfied with his chariot.

Cy is still small enough to fit into Sara's carrier, and though the weight maximum for such an apparatus is 35 lbs, I don't think I'll be carrying Innis around in one any time soon, mostly because I value the alignment of my spine.

I did, however, fall prey to the enticements of the local baby store, in which I spent more money than I probably should have, but figured that one pair of baby shoes won't break the bank.

Well, maybe they dented it a little bit, but -- c'mon -- how could I deny this little face?

And this little face needed shoes.

WHHYYYYYYYYY?????? ... maraner

Meet Silver:

She's one of several Weimaraners that have appeared in town lately, as apparently this breed is very fashionable in the North at the moment. Unfortunately, they are hopelessly ill-suited for life up here: paper thin ears, lean bodies, NO undercoat ... and if they aren't dressed up in the winter time, they don't last very long outside. Did I mention that they're also very high-energy? So if they don't get exercise (because they can't go out in the cold), they get crazy?

Yesterday, we were told that because Silver had just destroyed part of her owner's leather couch, she would be shot that very evening if we didn't take her. So ... we did.

I -- hold on, wait a sec: *puts on Hat of Judgment.* Ok, I'm ready -- I don't understand why people would bring these dogs to the North if they weren't prepared for the reality of what the breed needs to be healthy and calm. I don't understand why breeders would sell these dogs to Northerners without being assured that their puppies' needs would be met.

She's really sweet, though. I see a mix of Scarlet and Badger in her -- in her quiet moments, she's very soft and gentle like Badger. When she gets excited, she's a lot like crazy Scarlet, but just about 40lbs lighter (phew).

We only have her for two weeks, though, before we take her south at spring break with Woody (I told you we now have legitimate foster-ownership of Woody, right? After three years of wrangling with the owner?), so I now have to step over/around four big dogs, the playpen, the Jolly Jumper stand and Rex as I navigate my way through the house carrying a squirmy baby and praying to the gods of coordination to keep me upright. But I think I can do it. I'll treat it like an obstacle course, like exercise. I'll be ready for bikini season in no time.

More Dog Politics

And  suddenly, this website is a platform.

The Northwest Territories government is currently reviewing a Dog Act that could potentially heighten protection for dogs throughout the Territories. It's a step in the right direction; however, there's currently a proposal to include a clause that exempts animal owners who are treating their dogs according to traditional or locally accepted practices. Not only does this clause threaten to exempt many animal abusers, it opens the door widely to the willful misinterpretation of "traditional" and "locally accepted."

As many in opposition to this clause have stated, animal abuse is animal abuse, regardless of traditional or local context.

While a complete omission of this clause is the ideal, there are also discussions about clarifying exactly what "traditional" and "locally accepted" mean before the Dog Act is passed.

In the meantime, help us voice opposition to this clause by signing this petition. There's also more information on the CBC News here.

Oh, Happy Day!!

WE WON!

The NWTSPCA has been awarded $300,000 to build a community animal shelter in Yellowknife!

This is awesome, and amazing, and SUCH A RELIEF!

You can check out the shelter information page on the Aviva site here.

Thanks to everyone who voted. This is just mindblowing.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

A Big Deal

For the time we've been here, Brad and I have been running a dog rescue/shelter from our home to try to make a difference in the lives of animals that live in our community. To date, we've rehomed 105 dogs. These were dogs that were either threatened with being shot or drowned, abandoned, starved or neglected and left to the elements. One of the biggest problems we've faced has been that there's no Territory-wide shelter big enough (or willing) to house many of the unwanted animals up here. There are pockets of groups like Brad and I throughout the Territories, but we've always had to send all the rescues down south after fostering them in our homes because there's been no central, northern care facility to send them to. The communities' animal lovers are essentially left on their own to figure out how to help the animals where they  live.

But there is hope -- the Aviva Community Fund is a competition for community groups to win funding for social betterment projects. As of today, the beginning of the semi-finalist voting round, the NWT SPCA Community Animal Shelter is in the running to win the funding they need to open up shop.

This would be such a HUGE deal for Northern communities, because the NWT SPCA Community Animal Shelter is committed to taking in animals from places like ours that are running at max capacity, and without community financial support, to help rescue dogs.

Please register to vote for the NWT SPCA Community Animal Shelter at the Aviva site. You only need a working email address to register. The semi-finals start today, and run for twelve more days. Each registered voter gets one vote per day, and you need to sign in to vote each time. Follow the links above to find out about the Aviva Community Fund, and the NWT SPCA Community Animal Shelter, but if you need more inspiration, check out the history of our own little shelter.

Please help. It  would make such a difference for Northern dogs.

Westward We Go; Or, Official Retirement

Tomorrow, Brad and I are driving out of the North (yay!) and west into BC. On Saturday, we'll take a ferry over to the Queen Charlotte Islands, where we will luxuriate in all the freedom our beach-side cottage rental can offer.

This ALSO means that my last day of work was today.

(Wait, I want to do that again):

THIS MEANS THAT MY LAST DAY OF WORK WAS TOOODDDDDDAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wheee!

I'm not sure how connected we'll be for the next few weeks; I've been communicating with the cottage owner via email, so there's bound to be internet somewhere on the island, and if this is the case, I shall do my best to avail myself of these services in an effort to keep you all updated with stories and pictures of our hijinks so you don't think we've dropped off the end of the earth/country or anything.

I'm going to make sure I enjoy the next few weeks, as they are most likely the last relaxing weeks we'll have for ... well, ever. I hear babies are pretty time-consuming, and even though the dogs have been attending babysitting courses since we found out we were pregnant, apparently society frowns upon having your pets take care of your newborn infant as full-time nannies. Whatever.

But, we will be assembling all sorts of baby gear during the month of August, which will no doubt lead to an enormous number of posts wherein I bemoan our limited ability to follow simple furniture assembly instructions, so there's that to look forward to.

And that just reminded me! Brad and I totally scored this weekend and picked up a barely used Graco playpen, a hiking stroller, and a hiking backpack baby-carrier, all for $100! I love when people keep their baby stuff, move to the North with it all, and then sell it to us when they suddenly realize their seven year old isn't a baby anymore and that they are definitely running out of basement storage space.

On another note, this week Ida and I had a major dog washing session trying to prepare two unwanted dogs for their trip down south.

Here is the first Rastafarian dog we've ever fostered:

See those extra "tails"? They're dreadlocks. We cut at least one full grocery bag of mats off this guy before his scrub in the tub. His undercoat was so thick I had to brush for what seemed like ages just to get a glimpse of skin. BUT SERIOUSLY, as if he doesn't have the most adoptable face EVER.

And then, one of the skinniest dogs we've ever fostered:

Looking slightly less ridiculous:

As a result of some genetic mishap, this guy's lower jaw stops short a good two inches from the end of his snout. Poor little overbite.

The more dogs we interact with up here that've lived their entire lives chained to boxes through all kinds of weather, without being fed and watered regularly, and without regular human or dog interaction, the more we realize that they really don't have aggressive bones in their bodies.These two didn't know Ida and I at all when we picked them up on Monday night, but they let us brush them, bathe them, dry them off, haul them in and out of the car, pull them through doorways (they'd never been inside anywhere), without even so much as a lip-lift. I mean, they were petrified, but there was no fighting, no growling, nothing.

But now these boys are on their way to new and happy indoor lives, with owners who'll feed them well and take them on hikes and adventures. No more chains and outdoor kennels, being ravaged by bugs or frozen by ice and snow.

And WE are on our way to our summer! adventure! And don't worry, I'll schedule some posts to appear on here for the time we're away just in case I can't get online during our travels, so keep visiting the site!

And Happy July!

Down And Up Again

We're just on the drive back from Brad's one-month post-op checkup in Edmonton, and according to his surgeon and nasal specialist, he's recovering really well. According to me, and from what I could see on the screen when the nasal specialist put a camera up his nose, Brad has very hairy nostrils and a healthy sinus cavity that looks a lot like a cave made out of bubblegum (and boogers). I also got to see where the incision was made through the wall of his sinus and into his brain, but it had healed so well that I couldn't even identify where it was the doctor was pointing to. Apparently, there was scar tissue there ... somewhere ...

But, for now: success! Just no power lifting or skydiving for the old boy for a little while longer, but he'll hang in there. He's tough.

Anyway, before we left for the drive south, we also found ourselves in possession of five lovely babies, so we decided to combine this medical trip with a puppy run.

And on our way down, we had some early morning walkies:

 

And had some fun in the park while we waited on the last puppy's new family to arrive:

Overall, it was a successful few days, but we're happy to be going home. We've spent so much time on the road the last few months that we're starting to feel a bit like rockstars. Or at least mildly popular folk musicians. Ok, so maybe just like traveling die-hards for inner-city open-mic poetry nights. Whatever. Point being, I miss my bed. And my dogs. And my cats. And kitchen food. And Glee (DON'T tell me what happened on tonight's episode -- I still have to download it!).

Happy Mother's Day!

 

This is our shelter's newest resident mum. Sort of a heart melter, no?

An End To The Drought

So, somebody finally called us to pick up some unwanted puppies even though I'd pretty much written off our puppy rescue after that Christmastime PR nightmare.

We've brought the mum over to our yard as well, as the babies are too young to be weaned, and though we campaigned to place her down south along with her litter, it doesn't look good. The owner, who doesn't even live here, wants her chained back up in his yard again when the puppies are all placed. Bah.

 

 

All we can do for now is feed mum up and hope the owner changes his mind.

In the meantime, we will enjoy all the lovely squishiness that grubby, bleary-eyed little rescued puppies can offer.

And yes, that is snow. And it was May 5th when we took the pictures.

Maxing Out At 100

So, over Christmas, we placed our 100th! Dog! into a loving, forever home. We were pretty happy about reaching that goal, but were most proud of the networks we'd built over the three years we've been doing this. I actually commented to a coworker a couple of weeks ago that things were getting "easier" with the dog replacement program. We weren't just going it alone anymore; we had people in town who supported us, and people in the south who were very willing to help. We had our CAAT application submitted. Things were looking up.

And to put a cherry on top, though I was joking when I agreed to have a 100 Dog Party whenever we reached that milestone, our friends took it seriously and threw us a celebration the weekend after we all got home from Christmas break. It was awesome.

BUT THEN. We'd noticed that over the last month, we hadn't received any phone calls about dog/puppy pickups. Usually, January is a quiet month, but things were getting a little too quiet. And then, Brad kept hearing these strange murmurings from some of the kids in his class, how they had seen their dogs on TV, and how the TV said their dogs were rescued after being neglected and starved, but Brad just took it with a pinch of salt, thinking maybe the kids were just being kids and identifying random pets on TV as their own.

But no, they weren't. Turns out that the four sled dogs we transferred out of here in December (we had no room in our dog yard and they were going to be shot by their former owners) eventually made their way down south through the SPCA network, and then made it into the news. I couldn't find it, but apparently there was an actual CBC TV news segment on the dogs. Turns out everyone in town has seen this news story but us.

So, I called the people who gave us the dogs and apologized, saying that it was never our intent to start a smear campaign. But apparently, the dog mushing community up here is now shunning them, and they've had a dog officer call them to book an assessment of their property and dog sled team.

And now the word on the street is that if you give your dogs to us, you'll end up on the TV, and it won't be a positive portrayal.

GAH.

But, Ida brought up a good point the other day. She said, "when we started this, we always said it would be worthwhile if we could save just one dog," and she's right.

And we did.

And Then, And Then, AND THEN ...

It's been a crazy few weeks with all this puppy turnover: plans for getting them to their new homes, deworming their little bellies, vaccinating them against all the nasty nasties. Part of me always looks forward to Christmas because it means that we do a major dog run (sometimes two) -- and if you read that quickly, it almost looks like we run drugs over the holidays -- Ha --, and for a little while our foster yard is empty and the craziness stops for a few days, or weeks -- if we're lucky.

It's not that I don't like fostering all these dogs; it's just that it gets enormously stressful at times. There are some days when I have to promise Brad I'll do all sorts of domestic things like ALL the dishes or cook the ENTIRE supper so he'll go out to do the night feeding, or the bed checks, or the poop scooping. I really struggle with seeing the dogs out there, especially in the winter. They're in insulated, heated kennels, they're very well fed, they're safe from the wind and cold and other animals, but I just feel so bad anyway. I see how happy our own dogs are sleeping on their cushy dog beds, getting regular ear scratches and head massages, and it just hurts my feelings that all dogs in my care aren't getting that same level of attention. And though I beat myself up over it, I know they can't come inside, first of all for their safety (puppies that are too young to be vaccinated are like little disease sponges, and my vaccinated dogs can carry things indoors without being affected and transfer them to the babies), and also, we're operating under limited spatial capacity as it is.

I took our three fooligans into the traveling vet's on Monday night to get their kennel cough vaccinations. Helo was a star -- while in the waiting room, he gave kisses to other clients, thumped his tail like a drum mallet whenever anyone walked by, and was the coolest, chillest dude the entire time he was there. Even when the vet scraped his teeth and poked a thermometre up his bum (but not at the same time. That would be uncomfortable, and a feat of remarkable veterinary skill). 

But of course, Badger peed his pants as soon as he was touched by the vet and Scarlet had the shakes so bad that she almost shimmied herself off the stainless steel table. Dummies. I even had to pick the Miss up to weigh her (all 76lbs) because she wouldn't stop galloping in midair when the vet tried to hoist her up and they didn't have a dog scale, just a human scale that doesn't have enough space on its weighing platform for a retarded, floppy canine. And, as a side note, let's just say I was shocked and apalled at how much I weigh with my winter boots and jacket on. Because, of course, it was all boots and jacket weight. All of it. All 2.7 ounces of that down fill ... really makes a difference ...

But anyway, all this to say: I see an end in sight. When next Tuesday comes around, our dog yard will be empty, its former residents in the back of the truck as Brad drives them down south, our own three getting all the hugs and shnuggles a mommy can bestow.

Well, that is until I take in that sled dog a guy called me about last night. And follow up on a litter of six month old pups that I didn't have room for one month ago ... and continue stressing about the application I'm making on behalf of the town to CAAT.

I seriously can't wait until I can sit down, drink a cup of tea and eat chocolate. Because isn't that what Christmas is all about? Sitting down at the end of a long, hard year?

I sure hope so.

Youth Is Wasted On The Young

So, I never told you where Angel ended up, did I? Well, turns out our mangy, half-starved pitbull foster baby never made it on the flight to the pitbull rescue in Vancouver after all -- because her foster dad fell in love with her and couldn't give her up.

(we sort of saw that coming)

The deal being, of course, that whenever he has to be away from home for an extended period of time, we are Angel's lucky puppysitters. She lived with us for about a week at the beginning of November and spent the ENTIRE TIME either crushing on a slightly perturbed Helo or rolling around on the floor with Scarlet, engaged in no-holds-barred, professional level wrestling.

This weekend she's here again and alas! more of the same: (and no, we haven't fixed the hole in the wall yet. I know. I really have no excuse other than adaptation ... I really don't even see it anymore, unless it's made glaringly obvious as in the above picture) My favourite: And Badger, in all his old age (he's turning THREE in one week), has turned his back to the chaos and for the last half hour has been resignedly resting his poor ancient head on my lap: Kids these days.

Little Monkeys

Here are the babies we're shipping down south this weekend. Just in time to make way for the new litter we're taking in on Saturday!!

Here's Milly:

 

 

Fiona:

 

And Skipper:

Love them.

Down And Out

The sickness. It's got me.

Last year I made fun of Brad for letting his puny immune system take control of his life six whole times, for two week stretches a piece. He'd be coughing and spluttering, blowing his nose at all hours, and so frequent and regular were these expulsions that I began to think of them as idiosyncrasies, like, "Oh, that's just Brad, coughing up a lung like usual," and I even started to get annoyed at one point, thinking that he could control his obsessive coughing if he just tried hard enough.

We did a dog run to Edmonton last weekend, because what's a long weekend for if not overnight 13 hours drives and a truck full of animals? We homed 16 puppies, which I think is a record for us, and the thought of this kept us going in a relatively positive manner until ... oh, Sunday morning, when I was struck down by The Evil Virus.

It started in my throat, moved into my sinuses, pummeled me senseless with fever, and has been lingering like a late-night, unwelcome party guest (why don't you leave so I can SLEEP?!) for the last week. Yes, WEEK. I don't even know what to do with myself. My face hurts. My back aches from shivering. I am a sorry, sorry sack of self-pity.

It doesn't help that on our drive home, and all through this week, we've been listening to Swine Flu statistics on the CBC, which indicate that a predominate number of H1N1 sufferers in Intensive Care Units around the country are actually women in my age bracket.

Of course, if I do end up having H1N1, it's just bad karma for all the scoffing I've done at the illness itself, and at those who've [mistakenly] feared they were suffering from it. I just couldn't resist, like when I'd speak to a student who was FOR SURE sick with THE SWINE OMG, I'd ask, in all seriousness, "well, are you oinking yet?"

It's not that I would be insensitive if someone actually had Swine Flu, it's just that, don't you notice that whenever there's a new plague, suddenly everyone knows of someone who's just been hospitalized for it, and they're sure that their own sniffles are textbook cases? I think the Western World has plotted its own demise from epidemics since, well, forever.

And, I don't think having the Swine Flu would be that terrible for me, since it would mean some serious rest and relaxation in an ICU somewhere. Hospital vacation? I'll take it.